Mark fell down the stairs last night while he was holding Eli.
His feet slipped out from under him at the top of the steps. He’d tried a coat on lil bud and was coming down the steps to show me. Eli rode him like a sled.
From the garage, where I was rooting around for my winter coat, I heard a terrible boom and ran back into the house.
Potential for hilarious physical comedy not met. I reached the bottom of the stairs and thought: Mark, broken back; Eli, closed head injury. Dad writhed in pain and Eli screamed in fear.
I felt certain we were heading to the ER. Again.
Anyway, Mark was pretty well banged up but OK. Eli was scared but fine. I can’t believe no one broke anything.
I bring this all up solely to share what my 4 year old said.
The first thing that popped into Laila’s mind and out of her mouth was:
“Our trip is ruined!”
(We were packing for a getaway).
But, as daddy lay on the couch moaning, she set to work.
“I’ll help you, Daddy. It is my destiny to be a doctor.”
She placed my coat (I found it!) on Mark, then wrapped one of my scarves around his neck. Next, she laid an open Christmas book pages down on his stomach.
She proceeded to cover him with wet wipes.
Mark said to her, “It would really help me if you scratched my back.”
Laila replied: “No. I’m the doctor, ” and finished her wet wipe coverage procedure.
Mark blames this ordeal on slippery socks.
He requests socks with grips for Christmas.