I had just (narrowly) survived what I described to my husband as the most infuriating grocery shopping trip of my life. My three- and four-year-olds touched at least 3,567,492 items in the supermarket. Plastic-wrapped mushrooms were poked, signage was damaged, candy bars were fondled, and bags of rice were shaken. To the other shoppers, I must’ve appeared as a harried harpy incessantly reeling my little monkeys in. “Get down.” “Don’t touch.” “Get off.” “Come back.”
Groceries and children safely stowed in the minivan, we set off for home. The one-hit-wonders station played “Happy Days,” and I bopped along to the music. (Did you know it was a full song and not just the musical accompaniment to the TV show’s title sequence? Me either.)
Then there was the thud to the right front fender. I glimpsed a mottled brown creature being flung to the side of the road. Ugh. A groundhog? A rabbit? Uncertain, I found a place to turn around and doubled back. Though I’m not a hundred percent certain, I believe I hit a long-haired cat. Continue reading