and… we’re done.

truncate finale
do not let other shoe drop
this week has to end

OK. After we had the leg stuck in chair/firemen incident I was relieved to think that the rest of the week would have to be very anti-climactic.

[insert sounds of evil demon laughing]

Yesterday, on the way home from picking the wee one up at school, I had a flat tire. A giant screw through the sidewall. Please feel free to come up with your own joke here. Luckily, I was able to make it home and the three of us didn’t have to schlep our way over hills and dales (is that how you spell it? "dales"? What is a dale anyway?). Interestingly enough, the wee one’s school is right next to the fire station, so I guess we could have just gone over there and begged for help from our new friends.

So we make it home. Hooray. Then the wee one goes outside to play with some friends in the cul-de-sac. Minutes later – screaming, wailing, tears and the doorbell. The friends’ mama is at the door with wee one, and he is wailing as he holds his limp wrist like a fop holding a handkerchief. He was playing Spider-man and one of his friends was the bad guy and the bad guy fell on Spider-man (no doubt after Spider-man did one of his patented homemade "kung fu" ankle swiping moves).

We whip up an ice pack, examine the wrist. It seems OK. Red, but OK. We decide to keep an eye on the wrist, and it decides to be OK. (At least it seems OK right now – he says it still hurts, but not too bad. How long does one let a wrist hurt before taking it to a doctor to get looked at? Maybe I should consult my Target first-aid kit instruction manual thingy.)

So anyway, I hope no one minds, but I’m canceling the rest of this week. Firemen, flat tire, hurt wrist AND IT’S ONLY WEDNESDAY MORNING.

I, for one, think this week has already earned its name in the annals of history, and I don’t think we need to prolong it any more.

Do you HEAR ME effing first week of October? YOUR ASS IS GRASS.

woo woo woo woo

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
paints.

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
child).

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
slats.

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.

MAN.

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?