Intermission: The Sacrifical Furniture

I know that some people have already seen this, but I thought I would share it again for the benefit of everyone who wasn't on my original email list. This happened in the early part of December. Also, I do appreciate reading comments, if you have the time to leave a quick one. Without them, I have no idea if anyone is actually reading this stuff. Enjoy!

Sacrificial Furniture

That subject line isn’t ENTIRELY true. Really, it was just a partial sacrifice that I had to make. Gabe’s reckless behavior claimed its first piece of furniture today. Interestingly enough, it was a rocking chair that managed to survive BOTH James and John Love growing up (which is saying something, either about the durability of this chair or the determination of my child, I’m not sure which).

The story was pretty simple. I was sitting on the floor in the living room, idly smacking Crotchy (his toy sasquatch) against my leg—just because he was close at hand, not because I have any particular fondness for playing with that particular toy, usually I stack blocks for the better part of a day—while watching television, as I am wont to do in between the times he’s screeching at me for one thing or another. And he started screeching at me, so I looked away from the TV to find him in the dining room, stuck in his rocking chair. I reacted quickly, as I always do, because I’m a sweetheart, but I really just figured it was yet another case of him working his way into a slightly tight spot before he lost the leverage to remove himself. He does this—and I’m not exaggerating here for embellishing effect—at least three times a day. Usually he’s tipped himself head first into his toy box, but he regularly works his way between the legs of his highchair, between the end tables and the couch, or twists himself into some amusing configuration in the dining room chair legs. Anyway, I wasn’t TOO worried, initially, at least.

But then I spent about three minutes trying to get him out of his rocking chair, and, I swear to god, there is no physical way that he could have squeezed into the space he squeezed into. It just wasn’t possible. His head was at least two inches too wide to slide back out again (and his diapered butt was far too thick to slide through the other way, believe me, I tried), AND he was quickly building steam to a major panic attack, despite my reassurances that he was really going to be OK unless he started to panic and did something stupid—which he seemed bound and determined to do.

Fortunately, I just bought a fancy little hacksaw at the hardware store a few weeks ago. The blade extends out beyond its braces (accurately describing this tool is tough without me spending far too much brain juice on, which I’m about out of right now, so you’ll just have to imagine whatever you want to), allowing it to squeeze into a space that is, well, only as wide as the blade itself. It’s really quite handy, and it got its first real workout this evening. In less than thirty seconds, I’d cut through one side of one of the braces and tore the other side out (because I’m not only a sweetheart, I’m a sort of mini-Hercules), freeing my hysterical child from his stupidity-induced bonds.

Now, sadly, it was just me here, so I didn’t have anyone to take video of the whole ordeal, which would have been priceless, I assure you. I briefly considered trying to find a spot on one of the dining room chairs to set the camera to get video, but figured I probably shouldn’t waste THAT much time. But I DID have the wherewithal (or was it just the negligence?) to snap one quick picture of him while trapped. This was just as he was beginning to lose his mind. Enjoy. I know his future spouse will.