Now Sweetie, Would You Pass Mommy the Cheez-Its?

She had been driving for hours on too little sleep and too little caffeine.

She’d risen early to pack their little suitcases, load the car and assemble the snacks.

Was his favorite smushy pillow on the back seat? Were her stuffed animals within reach? Was there an extravagant assortment of fruit, candies, crackers and chewing gum sufficient to their need for sustenance and diversion throughout the trip?

She had thought of everything.

Well, almost everything. Why not make one quick stop to purchase scribble pads and freshly sharpened colored pencils?

Were there ever two cozier children buckled lovingly into the back seat of a rental car?

It seemed not. At least for short stretches between bouts of squabbling, pinching, questions about the anticipated time of arrival and requests for assistance from the front seat.

"Make her stop singing!"

"I need a Kleenex."

"Turn the air conditioner down."

"It’s hot in here."

"He pinched me!"

"How many more minutes till we get there?"

And still she pressed on, gamely fishing tissues from her purse and negotiating complex settlements without ever taking her eyes from the road – or at least from that space in front of the car where the road is normally visible between Florida’s thrashing summer rain storms.

Her phone rang once. It was bad news from home. "Snowflake" – the beloved, cantankerous white rabbit whose care and feeding was the source of many an early morning dispute, had died during the night.

She kept her end of the conversation to a minimum, so the news could be broken later, when they were not hurtling down the interstate in blinding rain with the windows open. Why were the windows open?

They were open because one of the children had reached into the front seat while she was distracted by the phone and turned off the child locks.

Could scribble pads and colored pencils compete with the thrill of making the car windows go up and down during a rainstorm on the interstate? Of course not.

And still she did not kill them. Or leave them on the side of the road. 

She drove on.

An hour later, she wishes she had eaten breakfast. An everything bagel with cream cheese would be nice. But the trip was already taking too long, and the children were temporarily peaceful. She would settle for a handful of Cheez -Its from the bag spilling out onto the passenger seat.

Her hand was still in the bag when the girl’s voice came from the back seat: "Those are mine. You are stealing my Cheez-Its."

And there it was. The snap. The so-called "last nerve."

She railed. She ranted. Threw the Cheez-Its. Told them she was fed up. Unappreciated. Blah. Blah. Blah. All she did for them. You know this speech by heart, don’t you? Your own mother used it.

But then she went off the script.

It came out of her mouth before she could stop it.

No!, you are thinking. She didn’t!

She did.

"By the way," she said coldly to the adorable little girl clutching the bag of Cheez-Its. "Snowflake is dead."

Yes, yes, it was horrible.

Not without provocation certainly, but horrible.

Her remorse, as they are fond of saying in the courtroom, was demonstrable.

She really outdid herself with the memorial.   

But the guilt nags at her, lingering, shapeless.

No, that is not quite true. It is the shape of a hamster. Or maybe a kitten.

© 2007 Suburban Kamikaze

Photo: Phase One, The Snowflake Memorial Garden

Comments

[Paulita]

Did you save photos of the dead body to use later in case they get out of hand again?

[Dianne]

Well, now Liz has another book title: BAD PARENT! or, What Happens When Good People Anthropromorphize Meat...

['cuz I'm the Mommy, that's why]

Bwahahahaha!!! I'm totally crushing on you! A kitten!