Fishing for Sympathy

In keeping with my recent post's themes of irony and skillfully fulfilling my daily quota of all things awkward ... it would seem that my latest mishap, or should I say 'misstep', (pun intended) will tie in beautifully.

As promised, my Mother safely arrived late Friday night. She was greeted by a tearful daughter, impatiently waiting, at the bottom of a crowded escalator. I held her hand as we walked to the baggage claim, ready to burst into song for the weary passengers as a display of my great joy. Alas, out of respect for my Mother, I refrained.

All week, I've been planning and plotting activities that would entertain Eliza; as well as scheduling time where she and I could leave the kids with Andrew for some one on one time. Some of the simple ideas included:

walking through the zoo
walking up at the outlet malls
walking through a pumpkin patch
walking through the Dollar store
walking through our soon to be completed home (a month from today we are scheduled to close)

*Key word: walking

etc...

So, this afternoon, we decided to impress my Mom with the best the South has to offer. No... we didn't go to Myrtle Beach. (*insert a healthy dose of sarcasm here). But close.

We took her to the Piedmont Interstate Fair. I would NOT use the following adjectives to describe the environment: classy, impressive, clean, awe-inspiring, well worth your money. Despite the aesthetics it lacked, the weather was nice and we witnessed Eliza's joy as she rode the merry-go-round,slid down a giant pink slide and rode a choo-choo train.

The tickets we bought evaporated fast. At the end of our mini excursion, we had three tickets left. I was certain I could sweet talk our way onto one last ride so we headed to the bounce house (we needed three more tickets and didn't want to fork out the money to buy another book of ten).

The carny denied Eliza passage into the bounce house because she didn't think Eliza would make it over an inflatable rock wall on her own. Due to my height, I wasn't permitted to accompany her. It was my duty to break Eliza's heart and drag her screaming little self away from her oh-so desired destination.

With my vision obstructed by my flailing two year old daughter's body, I didn't notice the uneven, sloped piece of ground that I was destined to trip down. Landing on my face would have been the least painful of outcomes, however, in an attempt to protect my daughter, I kept my arms securely wrapped around her as I fell twice; first on my left ankle, followed by my right knee.

Bear with me as I toot my own horn as I proudly give myself credit for being a good Mother.

TOOT TOOT

Despite the immediate pain swelling in my damaged ankle, the words that escaped my lips were, "How's Eliza? Is she hurt? Is she okay?" Grateful that my instinct to protect her prevailed over self preservation, I learned that the cause of her wails was a result of fear and lingering anger over the fact she hadn't been admitted into the bounce house.

Physically, she was fine. Relief.

I was greeted by the paramedics in a matter of minutes. In true country fried fashion, the EMT was nursing a wad of tobacco behind his bottom lip.

"Careful Miss " (*insert loud slurp of spit) "This here is gonna sting" he warned as he applied the antiseptic.

My Mom, always having my blog's interest at heart, whipped out her camera to capture a piece of the pandemonium. In between my examinations, I'm still hollering at the different workers, trying to figure out a way to use our tickets to calm Eliza down.Pretty sure, all it takes is one nasty fall to change the heart of an uncooperative fair employee. The above mentioned carny, did in fact change her tune, as she offered to allow our traumatized daughter into the BLASTED bounce house.

"I'm 5 feet tall" she explained, "I'm allowed into the bounce house and will help your daughter if she gets stuck."

Hmm, I silently wondered...considering that I weigh less than you, does that mean that you could have admitted the two of us IN THE FIRST PLACE!? I wasn't about to make her feel guilty, despite the temptation inspired by my pain. It was apparent she felt awful. My fall motivated them to move a bench over to the slope where I'd taken my spill.

After denying their services to take me to a hospital for an x-ray, we left the fair. I was fully depressed that my Mom, who is visiting from the other side of the country, was suddenly sentenced to wait on my children's needs as my HUGE ankle tries to heal. However, I have to say, as much as I love my husband, there is nothing like a Mother's touch or a Mother's concern. Watching her face crinkle up in sympathy as she predicts future bruising or as she watches me grimace makes me so grateful to be her daughter.I love you Mom. Here's to a "twisted" (again pun intended, do you get it? twisted ankle? -) week.
Update on ankle: It's doing better. It's not fractured, broken, etc... I'm hobbling around like a confused little duck, but feel optimistic that we'll have a great week. As for the rest of you...I'd like to make a toast...

In honor of all our Mom's everywhere... Here! Here!!