I dropped off the kids at swim practice and then ran to the grocery store while they lapped the pool. Whew. Another "car afternoon." The kind where my bottom conforms to the seat of my car and my hands to the steering wheel.
After their practice, Eva and Ethan came toward the car and plopped into their seats (without fighting over front and back!). We headed out onto the country road that took us home.
"How much homework do you?" My question was interrupted by a furry blur racing into the road.
I swerved. I braked. Clip. Clop. I hit the bunny.
Instantly tears came. "Oh, no! I hit the bunny!" I wailed over and over.
Bunnies, even little field rabbits that eat the hard-won lettuce of home gardeners, are furry creatures out of Bambi to me. I felt like I'd murdered Thumper.
I pulled the car to the side of the road where my tears continued. I couldn't seem to stop them. "I hit the bunny!"
Into my torment came the comfort of my children. From the back seat Ethan piped up, "You didn't mean to, Mom! It was just a bunny?no big deal!" Eva reached over and gathered me in her arms. "Mom. Mom. It's okay. You didn't see the bunny. It's okay, Mom."
In embarrassment I wiped my tears on my hands and tried to smile. I couldn't. The tears wouldn't stop. Maybe I was tired. It had been a loooonnngggg afternoon. I had to get myself together and get home. This was stupid. No it wasn't. I hit the bunny!1