Monday, September 06, 2010
I killed Tweety.
Yes, me. I am the horrible mother, the terrible, no-good, horrible mother, who shattered poor Tweety.
Well, his likeness on The Kiddo’s favorite drinking glass, anyway.
I can’t remember when Tweety came into our lives, but I suspect it was sometime when we were making that slow and ponderous leap from sippy-cups to real drinking glasses. His smiling face and fluffy yellow body graced both sides of a glass that was easy for little hands to hold, yet big enough for me not to have to be on a constant run to the kitchen for refills.
Tweety had found a nest in our glasses cupboard, and he was The Kiddo’s go-to drinking glass. My mother would have (and frequently did when she was alive) rolled her eyes at the idea that I was allowing a non-matching drinking glass on our dining room table. But another bit of her sage advice was to “pick your battles,” and yanno, Tweety just wasn’t a battle I wanted to waste my time on.
Over the years, The Kiddo had given up on many of her hold-overs from baby and toddlerhood: by the time she was five, she no longer asked to eat on the Strawberry Shortcake plate she’d gotten for her birthday, and the colorful Princess cup she’d gotten from someplace had been likewise left in a catch-all cabinet.
Tweety, though, was still a perpetual favorite. Until today.
Today, as I was loading dishes, I reached over The Kiddo’s Tweety glass that she had left on the kitchen counter (per my instructions – the rule is, no eating or drinking except in the dining room or kitchen) for another glass.
The plain glass slipped from my hands and crashed down on the rim of Tweety. I heard the sickening crack of broken glass and I knew.
With all the will in me, I took a look at Tweety’s carcass. There was no saving him. “Oh, boy,” I said to The Husband.
He took in the situation and said, “Now you’ll catch it.”
I called The Kiddo in the kitchen with the news, and she wept for her old friend. “But where will we get another one?” she asked as I held her and mumbled, “I’m sorry, so sorry” about a million times in her ear.
I confessed I didn’t know, but that I would look. Tweety came from an antique/collectible shop to begin with, and I suspect he’ll be hard to replace (yes, I know, my mother would be tsking and telling me we shouldn’t have used such a glass in the first place.)
But then, The Kiddo’s tears dwindled and she headed back to the television program she’d been watching. A few minutes later, I heard her laughing, and spied her from a discreet vantage point. Her tears still wet her cheeks but a big smile graced her face.
Yep. Tweety will be missed, but maybe it was time to let him go anyway.