It was a stand-off of epic proportions, the air as fraught and full of tension as that between Kellyanne Conway and every sane member of the mainstream media. My two-year-old son and I stared at each other over the rim of the fish tank lid, his bright blue eyes looking defiantly into my green ones.
“Do NOT touch that plug again, Evan,” I said with my momma-means-business voice. “NO-NO!”
Without even a blink, his gaze never leaving mine, his tiny hand once again tugged the plug from the socket. The light from the tank went dim, and silence reigned as the pump gurgled to a stop. Inside, Froggy watched the battle over his territory as it played out: light on—light off—light on—light off . . .
Before I had my firstborn, my maternal instincts were already searching for a warm or—as it turned out—cold-blooded critter to pour my love into. Since we lived in a small apartment, my ex-husband and I bought one of those gallon-sized octagon-shaped fish tanks and dutifully filled it with garish purple, pink, and blue neon gravel, cheap plastic greenery, and an adorable little African Dwarf Frog. Our little family was now complete.
I enjoyed relaxing in our darkened living room at night, the bulb in the lid of the tank creating a small cocoon of light, as I watched the little guy kick energetically, diving from top to bottom then back again, the air tube burbling happily and spitting out bubbles for him to swim through. Every so often he’d stop, floating spread-eagle at the top, all gangly-limbed and miniature webbed feet, eyes studiously looking at me looking at him. We were both endlessly entertained.
Three years later, the apartment still held three people and Froggy, but now I was a single mom to my newborn and toddler sons. Froggy was the only companion that had remained constant and faithful over the few years of my marriage, and his continued presence was a comfort — a touchstone to a simpler life and a relaxing way for me to wind down at the end of hard days as I watched him do his nightly water aerobics. The pressures in life were heating up, and I felt like such a failure: as a wife, as a mom, as a woman in general.
Sometime in the first few months after Braden was born, amidst those endlessly sleep-deprived and exhausting days, I noticed the thermometer on Froggy’s tank showed that the water was a little on the chilly side, so I turned up the heat. A few hours later I checked again, but the temperature was still cold. I turned it up a little more. Busy with the boys, I kept checking the tank and adjusting the heater, to no avail. Finally, I noticed that Evan must have once again been playing with the plugs when I wasn’t looking, but this time he’d unplugged the heater.
Thankful to have figured out the mystery, I plugged it back in, got the boys into their beds, and collapsed into my own. The next morning I went out to feed Froggy, but found him floating lifelessly in the miniature hot tub, the tank’s temperature gauge maxed out. I’d been so thankful to have found the problem, but in my exhaustion, I hadn’t realized how all those times I’d tried to turn up the heat had added up once plugged back in.
Sitting on the floor, I broke, body convulsing in gut-wrenching, shaking sobs. I mourned my frog, my marriage, the fact that my boys would be raised without a dad, everything…
If I couldn’t keep a simple frog alive, how on earth was I going to keep myself and my two tiny boys afloat on my own?! My life was a mess, and Froggy’s sad demise seemed like the perfect metaphor for the turbulent waters I found myself in.
Finally having cried myself out, I sat on the floor, head heavy on my bent knees with crossed arms for my pillow. I heard the door to Evan’s bedroom click open, and little feet shuffled sleepily toward me.
“Mommy? It’s okay…” he said as he leaned in to hug me and kissed the top of my head like I always did for him when he’d get hurt.
The sweetness and pure love of the moment took my breath away . . . Though times were rough, I knew my little family and I were strong enough to swim through anything, so long as we were together.
My heart cried with yours as I read your post, as I read about your dear Froggy’s demise and about how life can get so tough at times. Like it’s going on for me, right now. I know, things will turn out fine eventually. It’s just that we dream a lot and when those dreams don’t turn out the way we want them to, our world collapses and we lose all hope.
Thanks so much for the kind comments. I’m sorry to hear that your life is so hard right now, but don’t give up hope. It’s been over 20 years ago now, and looking back, that period of my life absolutely made me the woman that I am today. While I wouldn’t want to go through it again, I also wouldn’t trade the lesson I learned about discovering my own strength! Hugs to you… ❤
True, Tracy. It’s all the trials we go through which make us better a version of ourselves. It’s something I have come to believe.
Hugs to you, too! ❤
Your feelings in this essay were completely relatable to this non-parent, non-amphibious-keeping reader. My only concrit would be for the second segment to be told as one specific instance. So instead of describing how you generally enjoyed watching the frog and what he meant to you, describe a specific night. That might make that segment more narrative and fit in better with the rest of the essay. Otherwise, nice work!
Aww..I felt sad to learn about Froggy. Parenting is tough enough and when you’re a single parent, the struggles seem to multiply. I loved how the narrative was anchored around Froggy, yet making one root for the single mom. Beautifully written!
Thanks so much 🙂 When I think back on this time in my life, I’m amazed I made it through. I always have a soft spot in my heart for single moms…
I enjoyed this little story – it’s so easy to identify with. So often when times are hard, it’s easy for one failure make us feel that we ourselves are failures. You captured this quite well.
From a structural standpoint, I wonder if it you really need the opening sequence. It might be stronger starting out with the story about getting Froggy & what he meant to you. You can sneak in that E liked to unplug things in the next section.
I loved the feeling of hope that you left us with at the end!
Thank you for the feedback. The hug from my son really was a gift that I’ll never forget and truly did give me hope.
Overall, this is a sweet story, even if Froggy gets cooked in the end. I don’t think your last part needed breaking out with “***” since it was in the same time as the section before. Also, your title is perfect.
Thanks for the feedback! Looking at it now, I completely agree that I should have left out the last section breaks. I guess in my mind, it seemed like there should be a break between pre- and post-hug, but for reading, it doesn’t make sense.
How sad that you lost Froggy! Thank you for making me understand how important he was to you. I thought the piece flowed well and stopped short of hitting us over the head. There were one or two places that might benefit from another look. One that comes to mine is “toddler and newborn sons”. It made me think that you had two newborns.
Thanks – I completely agree with you on the “toddler and newborn sons” part… Even when I was writing it, I couldn’t quite figure out how to make it sound better.
Nice work using Froggy to connect the emotional tissue of your family and your sadness. I agree with both Stacie and Nate above for concrit.
Oh, this tugged at my heartstrings big time. I especially love your title and the way you describe the initial scene between you and your son. The only two bits of concrit I can offer are that I had trouble envisioning silence cutting the air. I can see a loud sound cutting or piercing the silence but the other way round is hard for me. And, in a piece where you are working with metaphor as the sort of set up, I don’t think it’s necessary to use the word metaphor. For me, it’s a little like telling a joke and then saying get it, get it? I hope this wasn’t too harsh. I’m still finding my sealegs when it comes to concrit. You write in such a way that is so relatable. I can’t wait to read more! 🙂
Thanks, Lisa. I think your critiques are great and not to harsh at all. It’s been a while since I’ve really taken the time to write just for pleasure, so I’m definitely feeling more than a little rusty!
This piece made me cry a little. I never thought I’d feel that way about a frog, but a pet is a pet and it’s a member of the family. I liked how you structured the piece, but agree with Stacie about the stars at the final section. It pulled me out and made me think time had changed, but it hadn’t. Otherwise, great piece! 😀
Thanks so much! And I completely agree with you and Stacie about the final section break. It’s funny how something makes sense in your head until you look back at it. That’s what I love about con-crit…
Beautiful story! I’m sorry to hear about the loss of froggy as well as your marriage, but I love that you found strength in the simple sweetness of your son.
While you do well describing the heartbreak of your situation (my sympathies,) one scene that really appealed to me was when you watched the frog swim to wind down, as a sort of meditation.
Thank you, both for the compliment, and the sympathy. It’s been over 20 years now, and in retrospect what seemed like the worst thing was actually a good thing, but I sure wouldn’t want to go through it again. It’s amazing how writing about it brought back the flood of emotions as if it were yesterday.
So much to relate to in Froggy and the boys. I felt that “when it rains it pours” when you just can’t take any more.
Thanks… It really was such a hard time, but the hug from my then-tiny son really was the lifeline I needed at that moment to keep going.
I can fully relate to that sobbing-heap moment of perceived failure. Kids will do that to you, right?