The Riverside Press-Enterprise
A lunging dog, a tumble or two and high-flying coffee
This past month has been a hoot at our house since daughter Sara unexpectedly became cozy with the sidewalk while walking my neighbor’s dog.
Considering how much she loves fashionable high heels (Sara, not the dog), it is ironic that she was wearing flip flops when the 60-pound pup lunged toward a baby carriage. Sara pulled him in the opposite direction and down she went, foot first.
“That’s a hell of a bruise,” the emergency room doctor said as he reviewed the psychedelic patterns that wrapped around her twisted foot and crawled up her leg.
A few torn ligaments, two ankle sprains and a big toe inflated like a party balloon gone wrong has made us roommates at my house until she can navigate the stairs at her place.
Basically, I’ve turned into an ice delivery girl with a sideline as a fry cook bringing hot meals to her bedside. Hot coffee is an important part of her wake-up ritual. Every morning I deliver ice for her foot and coffee for her tummy as cheerfully as a night owl can be at 6 am.
On this particular morning, after the drop-off, I slipped and fell backward grasping the bed to break my fall.
I saw the hot coffee tsunami coming for me as I hit the carpet.
The injured daughter instinctively reached across the bed to pull me up when she saw me falling, forgetting that the hot coffee was in her hand.
“Here mom, let me help you.” “Don’t touch me with that lethal weapon,” I replied pointing to the now empty coffee cup she was waving at me.
Stunned and quite moist, I pulled myself up on the bed, shaking with relief that I hadn’t become a part of the boiled wool carpet. Handing me the towel that had been wrapped around her ice pack, Sara waved at her crutches explaining that she panicked because she couldn’t jump out of bed and help me.
My low-drama tumble, which didn’t even leave me with a scratch to advertise my pain, would forever pale in comparison with my injured daughter’s splat on the concrete.
No one would care about the rug burn on my knee that you can’t see.
“I’m so sorry mom,” Injured Daughter said with great pathos.
I knew she meant it. After all, she still hadn’t had her morning coffee.