Round about 6:12pm this fine evening, I posted on Facebook, "How is it only 6:12pm?"

The reasons for this included the fact that since I picked the boys up at 3:15 it felt as if 95 hours had passed, and two, just out of the bath, they were wearing underpants and hoodies -and Jack an epic butt-cut- and posing in extremely suggestive ways.

If anyone wearing Star Wars underpants and an Ash Ketchum-inspired hoodie can be suggestive. Or should be.

Jack: "I'm the hottest guy in town!"
Oliver: "What's that mean?"
Jack: "I'm the sexiest guy in town!"
Oliver: "What's that mean?"
Jack: "PRETTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And then Oliver pulled his pants down. Duh.

I said, "Boys, I am going to sit on the couch and do my crossword puzzle. You can A) go upstairs and be loud, or B) stay down here and play more quietly."

Obviously they chose B and then acted upon A. I poured more wine and hid my crossword from prying Jack eyes because, and actually I am proud of this, I do NOT share my crossword with ANYONE until I've had at least 13 go-rounds with it. Even then I only gift "you should know this even though I don't" softballs. Invariably, Tom doesn't know and Jack does, and I'm irritated and impressed, respectively.

Tom does, however, ALWAYS and immediately understand the freaking pun theme. I rarely do and don't care. Because I'm that kind of SAT-vocab girl.

Anyway, we finally(!) made it upstairs and found that Guppy (my favorite fish) was seizing on the bottom of the tank. Shit. So inopportune, Gup. I love you, but you choose bedtime to die?

I was SO thankful I had two glasses of wine in me because I haven't been this sad about a pet death since my childhood cats (except for Scarlet, who always wanted to suck my fingers.) I made a very brief speech about not letting animals suffer (brief because I wanted to get that poor fish to the toilet), and we came to an agreement that euthanasia was the right course of action.

Jack: "It is Earth Day and now he'll back in the cycle." or something deep like that. I concurred effusively.

Oliver: "Mom, you put him in ve net, and I'll carry him to ve potty."

So we did this, and as he lay mercifully still at the base of the bowl, we each said something nice and the boys shed tears.

Jack was itching to depress the flush lever. I could feel and not stop his impulse. Oliver, who is completely stunned by even the smallest of decisions, could not fathom depressing said lever. As I watched Jack's arm reach out to crank that baby away, it was as if in slo-mo that can't be stopped. Away went Guppy and down rained Ol's always-ready, abundant tears.

Shit again.

Before I could do anything, Oliver slapped the crap out of Jack. Jack's tears began to flow, rivaling Ol's. Both boys flew to their rooms, each pleading with me to COME SNUGGLE WITH ME NOW.

Mother effer, where is my wine?

I went to Ol because really, to have your friend flushed away before you're ready would be the pits. After multiple consolation attempts, I decided to just get real.

"Ol, it is so sad about Gup. I totally understand how you feel. I remember the first beloved pet I lost. It was one of our cats, and El and I made a cross out of wood and painted it and planted it over the cat's grave. And then one day, a fat man named Junior mowed the cross down."

He laughed so hard I thought he might fart again, a result infinitely more likely than any other. From the other room I heard Jack ask, "WHAT? What was his name? And he mowed down the cross?"

Those boys snort-laughed to beat sixty. Junior! A handmade cross turned into wood chips! Where's that cat body now?

Guppy was gone, but not forgotten. Until Oliver remembered and cried again, and so on Friday we're getting Gup #2. He was my favorite.