Thursday, July 14, 2011

The Greatest Escape

Morning Readers,

     I'm of the opinion babies shouldn't fly, base jump, bungee, or operate a hang glider of any sort. Not only do they have extremely short arms - which prohibit proper mechanic responses like pulling rip cords or breaking properly - but tiny fingers do a poor job of signaling innocent bystanders to move aside, when they're coming in for a landing. Unfortunately, babies tend to do what they want, engaging in risky behaviors without prior approval. Even if one thinks the fat offender is locked safely away in his prison cage crate crib, ready for a good night's sleep, the young one is, no doubt, putting the finishing touches on the sheet-rope which will lower him to freedom.

     "Well, he...um...sort of fell out."

     "What do you mean he "fell out"?"

     My brother paused before he answered. "I put him down for a nap, closed the door and then I heard him fall out....you know....kind of a "Plop" sound?"

     "Plop?"

     "....Plop."

     After instructing him to play with his nephew until I got home, I hung up with my brother and tried not to panic. Women with their heads covered in foils, reading "Who Wore It Best?" articles, while trying to decide what length to cut their bangs, shouldn't panic. It's unsightly and (I'm convinced) led to a closer cropping of my forehead's fringe, than I would've liked. I'd been trying to enjoy my once-every-six-months hair cut and color, when I got the call. And, truth be told, I didn't believe it until I saw it.
     Later that evening, my newly-sheared onion bangs and I were deeply invested in the making of a much-needed burrito number two, when Husband shot out of his seat. "What is it?", I called over my re-fried beans. Sigh.... Grudgingly, I dropped the burrito, gave it a little pat to let it know I'd be back and headed upstairs.

     "He did it again. Jumped out." Husband looked amused. "He was just standing at the top of the stairs, staring at me. Getting ready to hurl himself down, I suppose."

     "Well, while the Children of the Corn image is pleasant, I think 'getting himself killed' is more like it. We need to do something."

     Butch, looking quite pleased with himself, utilized all six teeth to smile at me. "Ma."

     "Listen kid, no more of this. Lay down and go to sleep." I put him down, shut the door,and walked away. Just as I'd reached the stairs, a war cry of indignation and the sounds of someone chubby trying to break out of Shawshank made me turn and fly back to the room. I threw open the door just in time to see Butch perched on the edge of the crib, more than ready to sacrifice himself for the good of the cause.

     "Stop, stop, stop!" I vaulted across the room faster than Keri Strug at the 96' Olympics, catching Butch in mid-air and executing a ten point landing. The judges were overwhelmed. Someone shouted something about keeping my toes pointed.

*Fill in a lot of crying because of thwarted plans*

     At the sound of my screaming and beautiful execution, Husband had come flying back up the stairs. "I brought a baby gate." He held up our only defense. "If he gets out, we'll just coral him in here."

     "Is that what we're gonna do, John Wayne? He's not a pony. Why don't we just do the humane thing and release him into the wild? No no...we need a screwdriver."

     Although he'd looked forward to a calm evening and a cool beer, Husband went to the garage, retrieved a screwdriver, and, together, we lowered the crib to the final notch...the lowest point.

     "You know this only buys us a little time, right?" Husband frowned at me.

     "Yeah, I know."

     And with that, I took a bite out of my cold burrito and tried not to think about it.

Until Next Time Readers!