All I'm Missing Is The Laugh Track

Sometimes I feel like I live in one of those sitcoms. Not the crappy ones they're passing off now, but one of the good ones from the 80's and 90's. You know, when they valued family and taught life lessons in between the canned laughter on the laugh track. (Other times I feel like I live in The Simpsons.) This is one of those stories.

It all started Thursday when I got home from work. My daughter said, 'I have to show you something" and ran off to her bedroom. Only to return with a newborn rabbit on a tissue in her jewelry box. "I found it on the side of the road Mom and I didn't see it's Mother anywhere and I couldn't just leave him there!" This thing is brand new. Like not even opened it's eyes and staggers like a drunk when trying to walk new. Immediately I tell her she has to put it outside because maybe the mother rabbit is looking for the baby and is frantic.

Except.... we can't put him in the front yard because the neighbor's cat roams the neighborhood and would probably use it as a chew toy. Alright, the back yard is fenced, put him there. Good. Done. I make her wash her hands twice like a good paranoid Mom.

Hubby comes home and the story is repeated to him. We tromp out to the backyard to see if the bunny is still there. Yup. We clomp back inside.

Mom guilt starts creeping in. It's getting dark. The nights are cooling off to mid 50's now. Is that bunny going to survive those temps? The daughter is adding to my guilt with her out loud thoughts. "I wonder if he's OK. Did he just shiver?"

Meanwhile, hubby is looking up care of wild rabbits online. About the time I decide we have to find a box or something he goes out and comes back triumphantly with a box and some grass he ripped out of our lawn. We get the bunny. We read on what you're supposed to feed abandoned rabbits. Kitten formula. Huh. Nope, none of that in the house. Hubby suggests maybe I feed the baby one breast and the rabbit the other. Uh, no, not happening. Cows milk is equally loved and hated but it's the only thing this baby bunny is getting. I manage about 2 cc's. I feel pretty proud of myself. We give him a tissue as a blanket in his box. The kids are debating names.

"No!" I say. "No names! We are not keeping this bunny."

It turns out I was right.

Fast forward to the next afternoon. The daughter calls me at work. He squealed. I reassure her he's probably OK. (And leave out the part where I add, "But what the hell do I know about wild, newborn rabbits?") She calls back. He got a little blood on his tissue "blanket". Again, I say, maybe he bit his lip. He has sharp teeth after all. She calls back. Crying. The bunny is unresponsive. (After 20 minutes of CPR and chest compressions....kidding!)

Crap.

There's a dead baby bunny who was probably dead rabbit walking anyway since nature is notoriously cruel sometimes. But that's not going to be comforting or helpful if I say that. Instead, I race home to remove a decomposing animal from my house. Preferably before the younger kid notices anything is amiss. Now it's in the garage. Phew. Good one. And the boy didn't even see me move the box to the garage. I'm feeling pretty accomplished. Darling daughter has written instructions for the bunny funeral. (We all have to wear black except the baby because he doesn't have any black clothes.) The oldest calls his "I need a ride home from work" call. I leave to get him. When we return home, hubby has arrived. He's thrown the dead rabbit away. Oh, and he let the boy know about the rabbit dying thing.

"What?!" I cry. "Why didn't you just lie and tell him that we found the mama bunny and that we took him back to her? Why would you tell him he died?"

"He's 7 hon, I'm pretty sure he's old enough to know about death." replies hubby.

Uh, turns out that's a negatory. It's now time for bed and the kid is in bed crying over this poor dead bunny. Okay husband of mine, this is all you. You broke it. You fix it. When I emotionally scar the children, it's my job to untangle that mess. But this one was you, so...good luck with that.

This is the part where the parent would go in and say something wonderfully parent-like and amazing to the scared kid and make it all better, right? And then ends with a goofy joke. The funniest part is that this is going to make a great "Remember when" story 10 years from now. Until then, I'm dodging inquiries of when we're having a funeral for a missing body because it was disposed of before the kids conveyed their desire for a sunset service.

Cue the laugh track.