Emergency Contact

"Mom, what do I write here?" I pointed to the line on the emergency contact form, blinking back tears I didn't want her to see.

She glanced at the rectangular card. "Retired," she said impatiently. I wrote the word in tiny, smushed together letters.

I felt a strange heat in my cheeks as I continued filling out the form, the rest of the information second nature by then. I wrote Supervisor in the space asking for my mom's occupation, directly under my dad's new title. Wrote the phone number for my cousin's flower shop on Castle Street.

- See more at: http://www.runningnekkid.com/content/emergency_contact#sthash.dOC3i3TX.dpuf

My tweets

• Wed, 15:08: Sandwich bread baking, pumpkin breakfast bread cooling. Preschooler napping & teenager run through post-school check-in procedure. #Momming
• Wed, 15:48: I have my work cut out for me. #slobidarity @greatersafety @DoNotFaint http://t.co/cCfKW7eoUi
• Wed, 16:57: RT @VelveteenMama: Getting Unbroken (while feeling rather broken) http://t.co/WijuqJPuZ2 #NaBloPoMo {@greatersafety @story3girl @DoNotFaint…
• Thu, 11:39: The wrongness of listing "Retired" as my dying father's occupation. Emergency Contact http://t.co/8REcmua0eb
• Thu, 11:52: Emergency Contact http://t.co/yMPLtxMQDb #NaBloPoMo and tagging the awesome @greatersafety @velveteenmama @story3girl