A Middle Class Family Doing Its Best

“Mom, can Spiky have some of my fires,” asked Zach, the seven year old. “Beetles don’t eat fries,” snapped Lucy, the thirteen year old. “Put Spiky down and eat, honey,” said Mom. Zach left the jar screwed shut and placed it on the table, Spiky inside. “Eat your food, Lucy,” said Mom. “I’m not hungry,” Lucy moaned. Mom sighed and pulled out her phone and opened the calculator app to add the calories of her salad to her daily intake. Over the limit again, but today had been especially stressful at work and someone brought doughnuts to the office. Dad came back from the bathroom, ketchup stain still obviously there on his white shirt. The Burger King bathroom didn’t have any paper towels. “If the actual Burger King had a castle, it’d probably be made of popsicle sticks,” Dad griped. This was his favorite shirt. He knew he should have gone drive-thru. Then he could have grabbed a Tide pen at home if the ketchup fell on him. Zach grabbed the toy out of the bag and thought Spiky would love to play with it.

“Lucy, do you wanna tell Mom what we talked about today,” asked Dad. Mom stopped scrolling through Facebook and looked up surprised. “Dad won’t let me get a nose ring,” said Lucy. “And neither will I,” followed Mom. “I gave you beautiful nostrils and you are not shoving a piece of metal through them.” “But you have tattoos, Mom.” “I do and I’m a grown up, you are not.” “So unfair.”

“Keep it up, missy, and I’ll take away your wireless headphones.” Mom knew the timetable of Lucy’s pouts. This was the “unfair” portion. Give it a few hours and the right bag of her favorite chips and she’ll be alright. She bought the right bag this time, with the stripes, not with spots as Dad was unfortunate in finding out were unacceptable to Lucy.

“Mom, I lost Spiky,” said Zach. “No, honey, he’s in the…” She saw the unscrewed jar. She then saw Spiky climbing up the cardigan of the old woman sitting behind her kids. Slowly, carefully, she leaned over to grab Spiky and in doing so knocked over her drink, spilling into the lap of Dad’s shorts. “We are stopping for ice cream on the way home,” she said out loud.