Baby Cakes, I Tried.

Just the other night, we were all heading home from church. It was the usual chaotic mix of voices of three different conversations talking around the other. I was busy flipping through emails via my phone, occasionally reminding Abs to sit back in her seat so she would be safe.

Music drifted through the van, an unecessary background noise. The munchkins were shoulder to shoulder in the backseat, laughing about a joke someone had told. It was a normal Wednesday night drive home, everything was just as it should be. No one really thinking much about anything else except getting home and grabbing a snack before bed.

But then, out of the hum of voices and stories and smothered laughter, my mother's voice raised three notches. "No! Oh no, you're going to hit it. Honey, watch . . . "

And you must realize that it's an awful lot of dialogue to be happening in just the split-second of time it happened, but my mother talks fast when something big happens.

Six little heads popped to attention from behind the driver and passenger seats, six little heads craning their necks and peering into the dark night ahead to see what had happened. What the thud was, why the van swerved suddenly, why Momma was talking fast, why Daddy was saying "Honey! I tried . . ."

Those six little voices raised in chaotic vocal confusion. A slew of questions came piling from the back of the van, and there wasn't much sense you could make of it really. Springing into thoughtless action, everybody started answering everyone else's questions. Thus, more chaos errupted.

"What was it?! Did we hit something? Was it a cat?"

"Yeah, we hit something. I don't know what it was. Hold on . . ."

"Was it a cat? Brit! Was it a cat? Did we just hit a deer or something? SOMEBODY tell me if it was a cat!"

Each question came from the little guys, and what the girls and I didn't know we leaned into the front seat to figure out. None of us knew, Momma and Daddy were still Honey, I didn't see. Why didn't you swerve? -ing.

If there's anything you don't do, it's push my buttons when I'm just as lost as you are. And yes, I'm still working on improving that. But seeing as how I haven't gotten there just yet, Abs asked me a hundredth time, "Did. We. Hit. A. Cat?!!"

I'm human. I turned in my seat, almost buried beneath a handful of winter coats and bags and munchkin things. "No Abs! It wasn't a cat . . ." Much calmer, I added "I think it was a possum."

This caught Mommy's attention. Daddy was saying, "Baby, it's just a possum. And I couldn't get over in time, it's okay. At least I tried." Mommy was explaining they were Marsupials and they carried babies ~ like little Beans, she said ~ in their pouches kind of like Kangaroos. "Aw, the poor little thing! It probably had little babies . . ."

Typically, my father isn't a cold-hearted man but sometimes he really does just delve deep into a situation and find the worst kind of humor. Thus, he begins to crack up unbelieveably and says "Aint no more Beanie Babies now, Baby Cakes!"

My mother didn't appreciate this as much as he did, obviously. So he attempted to make amends, "Well to my credit, there was a big one over at the church the other night. I could've shot it but I didn't."

"The tires roll on the just and the unjust, I suppose." Mckenna piped up rather stoically from beside me. Ever the little comic, I daresay. Momma did kind of laugh over this, so it was all was fine and good after that.

It's times like this when I want to put such memories in a big Mason jar and save them for a rainy day. Hmm . . . what a wonderfully, happy little thought! * winks *