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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Feel (emotions) (08/26/10)

TITLE: Mother of the Year...NOT
By AnneRene' Capp
09/01/10


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Adamantly striving to be the good sport, I encouraged others to be, I graciously accepted the gag award, for Mother of the Year. However, my tears of laughter were in reality only a mask to cover my overwhelming emotions of inadequacy.

Yuletide gaiety infectiously lingered its warm ambiance throughout the dining room. The white linen tablecloths were meticulously adorned with festive Holly berries and warm flickering candles of scented mulberry, as employees, dressed in their finest, gathered for the annual office Christmas party.

“Excuse me, may I please have your attention. The Raulings Union School District has a very special award to present at this time. As you know, it has been the customary policy to award one District employee each year with a plaque for their outstanding hard work and dedication.

This year, however, we have decided to honor one selected employee with this engraved plaque for an outstanding job as “Mother of the Year. Would Randi Harrison please come up to accept this award?”

Smiling like Santa Clause himself, my boss, Ed, enthusiastically motioned me to come up, while good intentioned laughter prompted both applause and chuckles.

Back to that day…

It was a tranquil Indian summer day, embellished with amber hued sunlight and a warm feathery breeze. Summer was refusing to pass its seasonal torch and release autumn to its full-fledged glory.

The park was filled with excited little voices as children chided their excitement to one another. There was a sense of serene joy…until that heart-seizing scream of a child echoed its terrifying chill to everyone within hearing distance.

Instinctively, I ran toward the monstrous jungle gym of metal.

“Mommy, I want my mommy,” shrieked the gut-wrenching cry, which induced the realization that it was my child who had been injured. She had fallen head first through a narrow three-tiered hole meant only for sliding down a pole.

As I maneuvered through the fortress of well meaning children and reached my daughter, overpowering nausea consumed me.

There was Cici turned upside down with one arm tucked behind her body. She couldn’t move. Her little legs were above her head caught on the grated level above her while tears dripped through the bottom grate onto the ground of dirt below.

“Cici, mommy’s coming honey, mommy’s coming.” However, I wasn’t.

Without success, I frantically tried to squeeze through the opening made only for children sized people, before succumbing to the disheartening acceptance that my derriere was no match for the metal contraption that was now holding my daughter prisoner.

Eventually, my husband was able to reach Cici and free her from the steel prison. Her crying had stopped but she was pale and refused to leave the comfort of Daddy’s arms. “What hurts honey, can you tell mama? Does your arm hurt?”

“I just want to go home,” Cici, resounded as she nestled her head back into Daddy’s chest.

“Todd, I think we should take her to the emergency room to have her arm x-rayed.”

With tears resuming, Cici blurted out, “No, I just want to go home.”

With saddened eyes, Todd looked at me. “Let’s just get her home and then see how she does.”

Not long after arriving home, Cici acknowledge her pain. “My arm does hurt a little, Mommy.”

Slowly raising both of her arms out straight, I asked her, “can you hold your arms up by yourself’?

“I don’t think so but I’ll try.” As soon as I released her arms, she whimpered, dropping both arms immediately to her sides.

Although it was Saturday, I called her pediatricians office and spoke with the on call nurse. “The fact that she allowed you to raise her arms, tells me that it probably isn’t broken. Call back on Monday and we’ll fit her in.”

Going against my better judgment, I agreed.

At work anxiously waiting to hear from Todd at the Dr’s office, he finally called. “Well, honey, I have good news and bad news.” My heart plummeted.
“Cici did receive a pretty bad break in her left arm. The Dr. said it was a clean break, which is good, but she’s going to have to wear an upper body cast for about six weeks.”

Tears spewed from my eyes as I slowly sank down into my chair. My co-workers compassionately tried to console me. All I could say was, “I should have followed my heart and taken her to the Emergency room. To think of her in that pain all weekend is unbearable.”


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Member Comments
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Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 09/02/10
It's so hard to be a mother. Kids should come with a warning from the Surgeon General Parenthood could be dangerous to your mental health. Although the Christmas party was a bit confusing, (I can't imagine that level of cruelty from a boss)the story at the playground was riveting, and I chuckled about the MC's behind not fitting in. Writing is a lot like Parenthood, you have to keep at it and nurture your babies along. :)