You know, it’s so great when you are able to problem solve something…  make it so the same troublesome event doesn’t happen again tomorrow.  And well, I felt it my responsibility to share with other parents what I learned. 

 

We have a furnished home, as many citizens of the world do.  Yesterday morning, my 4 year old comes screaming bloody murder into the bathroom, while I am preening for the day’s activities.  My, that sounds so feminine, doesn’t’ it—if I was a bird, anyway. 

 

So my 4 year old comes in screaming and proceeds to show me his left ear, which is red to the point that I might have guessed he had been hit with the side of a barn (isn’t that how the old saying goes?).  BUT I knew that would be tough since he was alone in the other room when he was attacked.  So my confusion wasn’t the biggest surprise in front of us. 

 

Turns out my little wonder had come careening around the corner from our family room into the living room, from what I do not know, but he slipped on the two piles of paper I have on the floor in there.  (Of course I haven’t admitted that to him yet.)  He then slid two feet into the side of the glass table.  Wow.  Annnnnddddddd deep breath.  Really?  You slid into the side of the glass table, running through the house by yourself and hit yourself so hard that today there is a scab and a red area that rivals a Sharpie?  I stop and hold him because he’s so damn cute…  and I wonder to myself if I had considered that our furniture disappears periodically?  How is it that my two boys hit furniture and walls throughout our house—all the time?

 

Have I not been asking the right questions?  Instead of “how easy is this material to clean?”  Or “how durable is that leg configuration?”…  perhaps I should have asked, “Is this table visible if I have am terribly short, under the age of ten, have a penis, and run about with no thought or purpose in my head, causing my vision, hearing and any sensory tools to be negated?”  And if so, do you have any type of freaking insurance plan to cover the millions of brain cells that will be damaged, causing my mother to have to take care of me until my old age because I am drooling on myself and can’t do anything but run in circles?  HUH, IS THERE?!  Whew.  That felt good.  

 

And this isn’t my clumsy child!!!  So before I go off on another rant—because I am certain there will be more to write on this very soon—I shall go and finish moving my damn piles of paper off the floor.  I guess that’s not a good place to keep the assloads of paperwork they bring home from school every day.  Who knew.  And just so you’re not unclear as to the helpful hint I began the rant with…  “Don’t leave paperwork on the floor next to disappearing furniture.”  It just isn’t prudent.