Saturday, June 10, 2006

To Serve and Protect

Isn't that the sole purpose of a Mother? To serve and protect? You'd think I'd be the first one to take a bullet for one of my kids, right? I would think so. But where did I break down? Watching the BPALL Yankees play versus the Diamondbacks altered some of my better judgment. We were sitting out in the parking lot just behind center field - directly across (oh about 200 feet out) from home plate. Tail gate party. I never really liked them much either. Against my better judgment, I tell you. I sat there on one of the coaches truck reluctantly. I wasn't comfortable in my trusty lawn chair that I tag along with me to every game. I was too short to look over the yellow tubing on top of the fence and I certainly wasn't going to duck down, chin to my knees to see under the yellow tubing. It just wasn't very womanly. So I opted to sit on the back of the truck on the tailgate. Fine. If I have to I have to. Ariana took over my red and black chair and was looking quite relaxed in it too. She "owned" that chair and it fit her well. So the game continues. Just moments before a kid on the Yankees hits a homerun, I thought to myself : "If a fly ball comes out this way, should I catch it?" In the time it took me to snap to and come back out of my cloudy daydream, I see the ball coming right at me. As it becomes to descend almost on top of me, I faintly felt my right hand go up as if I were going to be the heroine and catch this screaming fly ball. About a million things ran through my mind: Do I catch it? Wait, it's my right hand. I write with my right hand. It's going to sting. I'm going to look awfully stupid if I attempt to catch it and it hits me on the head or it pops out of my hand. What if I catch it on my eye? What if I misjudge it completely and it hits my head? What if I break my hand trying to catch it bare-handedly. How stupid do I really look. I have no glove. What an idiot. Put your damn hand down. Who do you think you are?" It wasn't worth the humiliation. So I bent forward and slightly to my left to avoid the ball completely. Wrong thing to do. I had no idea it would come down and hit Ariana on the back. "Where the hell did you come from? Why are you sitting directly behind me, Ariana? Weren't you sitting in my black and red trusty lawn chair safely to the left of me and on the ground? How did you get up here?" All these questions raced through my mind and now I was feeling like the boob I was avoiding to be in the first place. "Good one, Mom!" I heard over and over again echoing loudly in my head. I jumped up after a slight sigh of relief only to realize "Oh my gosh! She's hit!" I jumped and turned around quickly to grab her and felt her breath get faster. And now I could hear her crying. Her chest and stomach were rising and falling faster and faster. "Get ice," I yell to one of the kids. And here I sat with only one thing to say, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Now I sit here guilty and feeling low as I write this. Way to go, Mom! Way to serve and protect.

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