Last night, Jacob had a hard time settling down at bedtime. He didn't seem to be in pain or anything, just sort of antsy and clingy. So I took him into our bedroom for a while, and turned on the light in the fish tank.

Now, as background, I don't WANT a fish tank in my bedroom. I'm not a big fan of fish - don't hate them, but find it difficult to bond. I prefer pets I can, well, pet. We got the fish for Emily's 4th birthday (in April), and they lived in her room until December. Then one day she decided to feed the fish. Three bottles of food. And a pine cone. And a Barbie head. So the fish got moved into our bedroom. She's got a marble jar with the promise of getting her fish back when she has 50 marbles. She's got 2 right now - it's been a rough week - so I'm optimistic that she'll get the fish back in time for her senior prom.

In the meantime, the fish happen to be guppies. Amorous guppies. Prolific, amorous guppies. There were only about 20 left after the Great Fish Massacre, but now there are, conservatively, 3 million. We're approaching the point where we have more fish than water in that tank.

So, last night, I brought Jacob into our room, turned on the fish tank light, and left the other lights off. And my boy didn't blink for the next 20 minutes. He just sat and STARED, very much in the manner of a man visiting a strip club for the first time. My husband told him, "Well, it's not a beer and a lap dance, but it's the best you'll get for a couple decades." Jacob seemed okay with this.

We did get him down for the night soon after, and I would imagine that he had delightful little fish dreams last night.