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Crap for class.
May. 24th, 2007 12:31 am The cow was a wedding present. A three-part cookie jar, shaped like a reclining heifer, with three separate jars and their lids. Dawn thought it was a bit tacky, but it was from her new mother in law, and so the politic thing to do was to put it out, in a place of honor on the counter. It held flour and sugar just fine in the head and the haunches, and cookies in the stomach. She could handle ugly. After all, she only had to keep it until some part broke.
It didn't break the first year. It survived a year of Dawn and Jack still enamored with one another, a year of sex on the counters and midnight snacking raids, twelve months of Jack’s friends coming by to rescue him from the drudgery of married life and playing football in the kitchen. Fifty-two weeks of experimenting with ‘just how did Dad flip his pancakes like that?’ and ‘Oh, baking powder, not soda!’
The second year, too. That cow survived their first real fight, even when Dawn threw one of its lids against the door that Jack had just slammed. Just a chip out of the edge. Didn’t change a thing about its dopey, cow-eyed expression.
The third year. The dog Jack adopted for Dawn learned to stay off the counters before she knocked the cookie jar off more than once, and that once, it landed in a basket of laundry. Dawn packed it away while she hosted her first Thanksgiving, but Dear Mother-In-Law asked where it was. It was back on the counter when she visited for Christmas.
The fourth year. Pregnant and ungainly, Dawn didn’t have much energy for baking, and the cow stood empty. But still unbroken. Gabby the dog broke six dishes in her never-ending quest to defeat the gaping maw of the dishwasher, but the cow remained intact and garish.
Fifth. Little Noah began pulling himself up six weeks early, according to Doctor Spock. Dawn baby-proofed the house, and moved the cow to a low shelf. It grew dust, and the chip in the lid began to turn grey.
Sixth. Noah liked to hide his pacifier in the center part of the cow, and then scream when Mommy couldn’t find it. It wasn’t working to go back to work, so Dawn remodelled the kitchen instead. In bright primary colors.
Seven years after the marriage. Dawn put the cow up, instead of down, on top of the cupboards above the fridge. It observed from on high the year of Noah’s worst temper tantrums, the kicking, screaming fits of a toddler that drove his parents and his dog insane.
Eight years, and the remodel was finally finished. Dawn dove into a flurry of baking that lasted months, but she used the cookie jar she’d received at Ben’s first birthday; an urn in the shape of a dolphin, that chittered when opened. Noah adored it. Until it spooked Gabby into knocking it off the counter. After that, the noises it made were a frightening gabbling, and Dawn made it disappear before she even thought that it might scare Noah.
Jack left in the ninth year, and the same lid took another chip. It shone white next to the older chip in the bright blue glaze. The yellow lid went missing for a few weeks, but Dawn found it two days before Noah started preschool.
Ten years after the wedding, Dawn took great delight in loading the cow from her mother-in-law into the car, and on the way home from dropping Noah off at preschool, swinging by the thrift store, and leaving it on their loading dock. Someone else would have a chance to break it.
It didn't break the first year. It survived a year of Dawn and Jack still enamored with one another, a year of sex on the counters and midnight snacking raids, twelve months of Jack’s friends coming by to rescue him from the drudgery of married life and playing football in the kitchen. Fifty-two weeks of experimenting with ‘just how did Dad flip his pancakes like that?’ and ‘Oh, baking powder, not soda!’
The second year, too. That cow survived their first real fight, even when Dawn threw one of its lids against the door that Jack had just slammed. Just a chip out of the edge. Didn’t change a thing about its dopey, cow-eyed expression.
The third year. The dog Jack adopted for Dawn learned to stay off the counters before she knocked the cookie jar off more than once, and that once, it landed in a basket of laundry. Dawn packed it away while she hosted her first Thanksgiving, but Dear Mother-In-Law asked where it was. It was back on the counter when she visited for Christmas.
The fourth year. Pregnant and ungainly, Dawn didn’t have much energy for baking, and the cow stood empty. But still unbroken. Gabby the dog broke six dishes in her never-ending quest to defeat the gaping maw of the dishwasher, but the cow remained intact and garish.
Fifth. Little Noah began pulling himself up six weeks early, according to Doctor Spock. Dawn baby-proofed the house, and moved the cow to a low shelf. It grew dust, and the chip in the lid began to turn grey.
Sixth. Noah liked to hide his pacifier in the center part of the cow, and then scream when Mommy couldn’t find it. It wasn’t working to go back to work, so Dawn remodelled the kitchen instead. In bright primary colors.
Seven years after the marriage. Dawn put the cow up, instead of down, on top of the cupboards above the fridge. It observed from on high the year of Noah’s worst temper tantrums, the kicking, screaming fits of a toddler that drove his parents and his dog insane.
Eight years, and the remodel was finally finished. Dawn dove into a flurry of baking that lasted months, but she used the cookie jar she’d received at Ben’s first birthday; an urn in the shape of a dolphin, that chittered when opened. Noah adored it. Until it spooked Gabby into knocking it off the counter. After that, the noises it made were a frightening gabbling, and Dawn made it disappear before she even thought that it might scare Noah.
Jack left in the ninth year, and the same lid took another chip. It shone white next to the older chip in the bright blue glaze. The yellow lid went missing for a few weeks, but Dawn found it two days before Noah started preschool.
Ten years after the wedding, Dawn took great delight in loading the cow from her mother-in-law into the car, and on the way home from dropping Noah off at preschool, swinging by the thrift store, and leaving it on their loading dock. Someone else would have a chance to break it.
