"The Hamster Wheel - Samsara"

The hamster cage is disgusting.  It houses the most delightful creature, this blonde, soft, inquisitive little rodent with translucent ears, and I am surprised by my love for her.  Hamalicious.  My daughter says I am fur deprived.  I tuck her temporarily into my jacket where she curls up underneath my breast, her favorite napping spot.  I take apart the plastic pieces, throw away the trampled and musky bedding, scrub out those places that are covered in hamster yuck.  

Re-assembling the habitat a hard plastic piece breaks off.  I’m due to leave the house momentarily and now I’m faced with a hole, potential hammy escape.  I scramble around, sweet fur ball now in hand, to find the epoxy needed to restore the piece.  I read, “Hold in place for 20 minutes to set.”  “Shit.  Who has time for this god damn process?”  I’m shouting directions to my children, “Please put on your shoes! Please pack your backpacks! Someone bring me the hair dryer! ” Hamster in one hand, other holding the plastic piece, hair dryer tucked under my chin, my husband walks into the kitchen.  He shouts at the kids, “Get in the car!”  I snap at him, “I need a minute”, he scolds me for my terrible timing.  I put the hamster in the cage, she can’t sneak out while I’m holding this piece waiting for it to dry.  “Come on!  We have to go!” he roars.  “You never fucking help me!” I yell back.  Tipped over the edge, he corners me, is in my space, he’s angry, “Get away from me”, I almost growl, eyes narrowed, hateful.  Explosively, his fist comes down on the cage, plastic pieces flying everywhere. I am screaming.  I see my daughter over his shoulder, face stricken, my son is in the hall wailing.  The hamster scurries across the stove-top and I gather her up.  Still inflamed he yells again for the kids to get in the car.  I rush over to the front stair case and grab my daughter and am saying, “No, no, no, stop it, stop.  Come in the living room.  Stop”.  Everyone is quiet.  The children, crying, sit on the floor.  I am cradling the hamster and pass her off to her rightful Mama.  “It’s okay.  It’s okay.  Mommy and Daddy just had a fight and we are okay.”  My husband, his face full of distress, whispers, “I didn’t know she was in the cage.”  I speak deliberately, quiet, low and slow, “We had a fight, just like you two fight, you get angry and make stupid choices.  We are ok.”  We decide together to go to school late.  To make a temporary habitat for the furry girl out of boxes, filling it with bedding, food, a wheel.  Make sure she can breathe but not get out.  Kids are calmer.  My spouse is looking at me with great sadness.  We take the kids to school together.  I cry silently the whole way there, because we are not ok.