fire trucks are super
especially in driveway
at nine in morning
OK, the top five reasons why, when you start doing laundry on Sunday, you should finish doing laundry on Sunday:
5. So when you have to call 911 because your kid has his knee stuck
in the wooden slats of the glider’s armrest, your kid can be clothed in
something other than underpants smeared with peanut butter and poster
4. So when you’re talking to the 911 dispatcher you don’t have to
shout over the obnoxious noise your dryer makes (well, to be fair to
the dryer, you’d probably still have to shout over the screams of your
3. So when the firemen arrive they won’t trip on the piles of dirty clothes littering the hallway.
2. So you have something clean to dry your freaked out child’s tears
as you lube up his knee and try to slide it out of the glider armrest
1. So the firemen don’t have to sit on your piles of unfolded
laundry that cover the sofa as they take your personal information and
relay to the ambulance guys that your kid is OK and the paramedics
don’t need to come after all.
What a scary and crazy and funny and adrenaline-y thing to happen this morning. My hands have finally stopped shaking enough to type, and the wee one has chilled out enough to watch a little TV.
For a while there, though… it was pretty intense. I was on the phone with 911 dispatch, the wee one was crying and screaming "GET A KNIFE FROM THE KITCHEN AND CUT THE CHAIR" and I was frantically trying to give important information to the dispatcher, calm the wee one down, and find some kind of lube. (Olive oil and dish soap worked great, FYI.)
How does one get one’s knee stuck in the slats of the armrest of a glider? Only God and the wee one know, because I missed the actual insertion. But it was stuck in there good. I thought the fire guys were going to have to saw through the chair, but luckily they just distracted the wee one, and then squirted his knee out with a quick yank.
He’s fine now and I’m fine now, and the wee-er one just watched the whole thing, amusedly, from her bouncy seat, and Newman missed it all because he never stopped licking his butt.
I have since informed the wee one that if he wants a tour of a fire truck (which he got afterwards) and a cool 911 sticker (which he also got afterwards) all he has to do is ask. Nearly crushing his knee in a chair is not a prerequisite.
Is 10:32 AM too early for a margarita?