There are three tanks of fish in this living room. I go look. I am holding a tiny rectangle that is maybe a 1/4 inch thick plastic enclosed piece with tiny fish in it. I wonder how they can be still alive, there's no way to get food to them. I realize I haven't feed the fish in the three big tanks for years. I see large goldfish that appear dead, floating on their sides. I get the fish food and pour some on the top of the water and the fish swarm, boiling all around desperate for food. I feel really bad for them. I wonder how they survived. I see Howard's face around. Later, some child says, "The baby is hungry." I walk up some stairs and down a long hall to the back bedrooms. There are a lot of rooms. I haven't been here for a long time. Dovre as a pre-teen is with me. I find the bedroom where the baby is. She's laying on an old uncomfortable double bed. She is 3-years-old now. I am going to dress her and I'm looking for matching shoes that will fit, but can't find a matching pair. They are all colorful plastic see-through bootie slippers. I say, "It's about time we moved you into a better room. You're a big girl now. You aren't a baby." It's like a graduation statement and I make it seriously. I take her by the hand, and we walk back down the long hall with up and down stairs in it toward the front rooms where I live. She says, "How come I haven't been here very much? It's important to be here." I say, "I don't know, but now you will live here." I feel badly I've neglected her.