I'm Sorry
The weather is warming. Finally, after a long winter of listening to the kids scream from the boredom of being trapped indoors, I can let them outside. There’s so much to do outside, so many new things to play with, so many foreign objects to chew on. Even on the rare occasions when the kids start screaming, we’re outdoors amongst the trees and the traffic, also known as nature’s muffler, which makes any wailing more tolerable.
I don’t have to worry about screaming outdoors. The instant I move the kids indoors is a different matter. I pick up the children without complaint. I carry them through the doorway without complaint. I set them down on the floor without complaint. I shut the door, thereby clarifying their new status as trapped indoors, and they scream. All that time spent happily playing outside gave them a chance to rest their screaming muscles, and they unleash that pent-up fury with a tantrum almost potent enough to shame the door into opening itself.
Such was the prospect I faced yesterday afternoon. We’d been outside for a half-hour, and naptime was fast approaching. Actually, the time to go had already approached and passed like raisins through the digestive tract. I was stalling. The kids were playing so nicely, and I knew the instant I shut the back screen door they’d revert to howling monsters. So what if they were a few minutes late going to sleep? My lingering head cold didn’t help my motivation either.
Ian motivated me to move by chewing on sidewalk chalk. Sidewalk chalk quickly dissolves into a potent, rapidly spreading dye when mixed with saliva and tooth enamel. I knocked the chalk from his hand and carried him into the house. Abbie was bouncing on the trampoline, and I told her it was time to go inside as I walked past. I returned for Tory, and again told her it was time to go inside. She continued bouncing. I returned for Abbie, and found her still bouncing on the trampoline, except now she was jumping on the end opposite from the stairs.
After braving the bouncy surface, I carried Abbie indoors with her brothers. I still wanted the dog inside, so I held the screen door open with one hand, held the children back with one leg while they fought to return outdoors, and called for the dog. After much calling, I finally coaxed her through the mass of children glomming the doorway.
My one leg couldn’t hold the kids back much longer, so I pulled the door shut while making sure they didn’t get any appendages caught. No feet under the door as it closed. No fingers in the doorway as it closed. We’re good.
Everyone immediately screamed. Ian stood back and screamed. Tory screamed while flinging himself at the door, probably giving himself something else to scream about when he hit the door face first. Abbie just stood and screamed like she was in pain. I double-checked the door joints. No fingers in the doorway. No feet under the door.
Uh oh, her finger’s in the hinge.
I opened the door, and she yanked her hand back. I the brief flash before she pulled her hand to chest, I saw her left pinky looked suspiciously crooked. She was screaming, but not a pained scream. She screamed a staccato scream, as if to say, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
I comforted her for several minutes until she calmed to the point I could examine it. It didn’t look broken, but it was badly bruised. I gave her ibuprofen, but couldn’t get her to stop screaming, though. The pain must have been intense, but other factors were at work to make her cranky. Naptime had officially arrived. My head cold was invading her sinuses. Her brothers had been screaming next to her the entire time.
We went through the naptime routine while she continued whimpering. By the time I put her brothers down to sleep, it was a half-hour past the incident, yet she was still crying. I debated taking her to the hospital, but decided to try coaxing her to sleep. After much gentle singing and encouragement, she fell asleep with little more complaining.
I told mama about the incident when she came home. Before I could say “slammed shut,” Abbie woke screaming from an hour nap. Mama looked at her finger, and immediately took her to the hospital. It didn’t look any worse, but the door had broken the skin over the bone, and that’s very dangerous if there’s a break.
They returned with ice cream, soda pop, and good news. There were no broken bones, just a cranky toddler who could only be calmed with sweets. Now we just have to watch for an infection.
I don’t have to worry about screaming outdoors. The instant I move the kids indoors is a different matter. I pick up the children without complaint. I carry them through the doorway without complaint. I set them down on the floor without complaint. I shut the door, thereby clarifying their new status as trapped indoors, and they scream. All that time spent happily playing outside gave them a chance to rest their screaming muscles, and they unleash that pent-up fury with a tantrum almost potent enough to shame the door into opening itself.
Such was the prospect I faced yesterday afternoon. We’d been outside for a half-hour, and naptime was fast approaching. Actually, the time to go had already approached and passed like raisins through the digestive tract. I was stalling. The kids were playing so nicely, and I knew the instant I shut the back screen door they’d revert to howling monsters. So what if they were a few minutes late going to sleep? My lingering head cold didn’t help my motivation either.
Ian motivated me to move by chewing on sidewalk chalk. Sidewalk chalk quickly dissolves into a potent, rapidly spreading dye when mixed with saliva and tooth enamel. I knocked the chalk from his hand and carried him into the house. Abbie was bouncing on the trampoline, and I told her it was time to go inside as I walked past. I returned for Tory, and again told her it was time to go inside. She continued bouncing. I returned for Abbie, and found her still bouncing on the trampoline, except now she was jumping on the end opposite from the stairs.
After braving the bouncy surface, I carried Abbie indoors with her brothers. I still wanted the dog inside, so I held the screen door open with one hand, held the children back with one leg while they fought to return outdoors, and called for the dog. After much calling, I finally coaxed her through the mass of children glomming the doorway.
My one leg couldn’t hold the kids back much longer, so I pulled the door shut while making sure they didn’t get any appendages caught. No feet under the door as it closed. No fingers in the doorway as it closed. We’re good.
Everyone immediately screamed. Ian stood back and screamed. Tory screamed while flinging himself at the door, probably giving himself something else to scream about when he hit the door face first. Abbie just stood and screamed like she was in pain. I double-checked the door joints. No fingers in the doorway. No feet under the door.
Uh oh, her finger’s in the hinge.
I opened the door, and she yanked her hand back. I the brief flash before she pulled her hand to chest, I saw her left pinky looked suspiciously crooked. She was screaming, but not a pained scream. She screamed a staccato scream, as if to say, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
I comforted her for several minutes until she calmed to the point I could examine it. It didn’t look broken, but it was badly bruised. I gave her ibuprofen, but couldn’t get her to stop screaming, though. The pain must have been intense, but other factors were at work to make her cranky. Naptime had officially arrived. My head cold was invading her sinuses. Her brothers had been screaming next to her the entire time.
We went through the naptime routine while she continued whimpering. By the time I put her brothers down to sleep, it was a half-hour past the incident, yet she was still crying. I debated taking her to the hospital, but decided to try coaxing her to sleep. After much gentle singing and encouragement, she fell asleep with little more complaining.
I told mama about the incident when she came home. Before I could say “slammed shut,” Abbie woke screaming from an hour nap. Mama looked at her finger, and immediately took her to the hospital. It didn’t look any worse, but the door had broken the skin over the bone, and that’s very dangerous if there’s a break.
They returned with ice cream, soda pop, and good news. There were no broken bones, just a cranky toddler who could only be calmed with sweets. Now we just have to watch for an infection.
posted by Matt at
11:25 PM
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