Weekends are for celebrations, right?

Whatever day of the week they fall, there’s no time between going to work—adult ‘kids’, —going to school and daycare—grandkids—and me unpacking, to celebrate birthdays.

So about 11.15 I get a text. “We’re on our way.”

About fifteen minutes later all four of them tramp in carrying stuff. H with small sealed plastic bag with water in it. A mystery.

L with a small bag of a granular substance. Huh? K with a small plastic bottle and my white bucket. I didn’t even see these to begin with.

Because then B came in with a ceramic plant pot that had the drainage hole epoxied over.

Ahh! The key to it all.

Assembling it all, water was fetched, de-chlorinated, granular pebbles poured and laid and sculpted by H and L, B fetched ‘the swamp’ from the carpark—a crate of water plants I’d asked him to keep for me—and we transferred the plants from it into their new home.

Last, the fish!

Pacific Blue Eyes, H proudly told me.

Back in the days that I had a bathtub frog pond I’d yearned for Pacific Blue Eyes. I must’ve talked them up, because both B and H remembered, they are the fish that eat mosquito larva, but do not eat frog spawn.

Back then, Cyclone Yaasi took out the Townsville breeding facility that supplied petshops.

So, finally, Pacific Blue Eyes. Though I will need to run to the shops later to fetch fish flake as no mosquitos and no larva.