Mum by any other name. | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Mum by any other name. | Previous Challenge Entry
By Josiah Kane
04/28/08
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Sam yanked at the steering wheel to avoid smashing into a joy rider, and barely managed to avoid a relapse into swearing. Then, as soon as the car was back on track, a lorry came charging down the wrong side of the road. Sam slammed on the brakes and the only damage, from what ought have been a crushing collision, was that the right wing-mirror was snapped and slid down the street. That was the first time she was happy to see a red light, which granted her a few moments to cool down. Such luck was not to be her’s. Within meters of reaching the signal it switched, and she had to keep on going.

Finally she could honestly growl, “Honey, I’m home.” She stormed into the kitchen and stared into her watch while waiting for the instant coffee to stop its tea break and get ready to be swallowed. She heard two of her three children tossing a ball about in the back garden, and took her overdue beverage to the back garden. She was greeted with a shout of acclaim, and a backlog of requests. “Can I have a biscuit; can I watch some TV; may I go to Dave’s house?” and the like. She couldn’t even just concede, lest the entire queue began again. “One at a time, please.” She shouted above the racket.

“Mum, I fell off my skateboard.”
“And what is Dad doing about it?”
“Look’n a’ter the skateboard.”
“OK, let’s clean it up. Could you do me a favour; look after these two while I talk to Dad.”
“Sure Mum. Can I use the PC?”

Sam stormed into the garage where her husband crouched. In one hand he held a snoopy book, in the other he pushed the baby back and forth on Dave’s skateboard.
“Samantha, Dear. Please make me some tea.”
“Make it yourself”, Sam snapped. “Do I have to do everything?”
Suddenly the baby sat up. “Mama, nappy yuck.” She warbled, “Dada wont.” Sure enough the garage stank, but no one else noticed it.

Her eyes paled, and Sam collapsed. She would gladly have slept on the cement pavement of the garage. “Seventeen years from now, where will I be?” She muttered “Not in this wretched nursery.” Her husband picked her up and gazed into her eyes—ever-working exhaustion to laid-back love. He read the problem in her eyes; easy since the message was printed bold and underlined by the drooping lashes. He nodded, grabbed the baby, and led her back toward the house.

As they passed the gate, Amanda Bell arrived with her four children, and two cousins. “Sammy, please baby-sit this hoard.” Amanda pleaded. “We have some urgent problems.” Sam wearily nodded and led the youngster’s reinforcements to the lounge. They possessed a limitless assortment of action-filled games that Sam had to join in with. It was the first, and most embarrassing, time in her life that Sam won a game of sleeping lions.

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