A little over a week ago was a big day for Zizza. A six year old kind of a day.
In the morning she puzzled over her first couple of presents.
She was glad to get them, (they were presents after all) but she wasn’t quite sure what they were for.
Then she opened one more…Hermit crabs! of her very own!
She and her brother spent over an hour at the table just gazing at the crabs. During this time the crabs never moved. She named one crab Hermy and the other Hermer and she’s been spritzing them and soaking their water sponge daily ever since.
Later that day, at 4:02 after a party with some friends she turned six officially, once and for all.
This morning, a little over a week later as I said, tragedy struck. I was doing laundry and she called me, “Mama something’s weird about Hermy’s shell,”
Ziz just stood there as I told her the news. I looked for signs of distress, a trembling chin, a teary eye. She seemed unphased until she she began to speak “I kept asking to go buy new shells and you kept saying ‘no!”
Now the tears were, coming. It’s true too. We had a busy week, both crabs looked to have plenty of shell room. I told her we’d go buy extra shells later.
We’ll hold a funeral service tonight, after a trip to the pet store to some alternate shells for Hermer. Also, I think Zizza’s grief is progressing well because after a few hours of mourning and “Hermy was my favorite, she had such a cute shell” she had healed enough to suggest getting a replacement crab.