I know I promised this story a little while back, but I was still too emotionally connected to be able to write it. Thus, I will share it with you now, as I’ve stopped thinking about this poor little deer on a day-to-day basis, wondering where it is or if it’s eating little deer cookies in deer heaven.
The day after the wedding, Sept. 18
On Sept. 18 at 6:00, I was ready to divorce John. It had been a long 24 hours, what can I say? Okay, Sweetie, since I know you’re reading this, really I wasn’t. I was just a little harried, that’s all.
On Saturday night, the plan was to spend time with family and friends at a relaxing dinner, which we did, but getting ready for it was one of the most unorganized two hours of my life. John had gone to the hotel early, justifiably, to spend time with his family because he doesn’t have the option I do of seeing his family every day. Or every few months for that matter.
While I tried to get dressed up and keep the boys looking half clean, they managed to:
- Get a hold of John’s aftershave and spread it on the carpet and sofa to say nothing of their outfits
- Poop. (By the way, is there some prophecy out don’t know about that when you’re getting ready to go, your kids will poop?)
- And spray hairspray all over the living room (I was just thankful that this didn’t get in their eyes).
My mom saved the day by coming over to drop off something from the wedding site and deciding to stick with me to help me get the boys in coats, etc. and out the door.
On our way to dinner, just where Hwy 5 meets 35, I heard my mom say, “Sweetie, there’s a deer behind that column.”
At this point, both boys were singing “Wheels on the Bus” in the backseat, I was wearing a dress and heels, and the last thing I was thinking about was a deer.
The deer apparently wasn’t thinking about me either.
She dashed in front of the car and slammed on the brakes (thank God no one was behind me) and we caught the poor things’ rumpus right on our hood.
“Keep driving, you did a good job,” my mom said as my hands shook and I tried to drive 70 to move in with traffic and the boys continued to sing, “The wheels on the bus.” Thank God for Britax car seats by the way.
“Ummmm …,” I said intelligently. All I could see was that poor deer flying into the underbrush of the bypass, lying in pain or saying, “Thank God for that ghetto booty.” I really hoped it was the latter.
And then my mom said something that made me think – no wonder I turned out so crazy.
“I always wondered what it would be like to hit a deer.”
I looked at her, incredulous. “Really? That’s what you're thinking right now?”
She patted my hand and looked hopeful. “Don't worry, Sweetie. I think that deer may have made it.”
Well, I hope so, but if you did Bambi, you owe me a deductible.