Spring is in the air. Injury season is upon us, Fern is apparently allergic to injury season. Yesterday, while on a jaunt around the house, chasing her big sister, she got her finger slammed in the door. It rose up big and purple. I was not here at the time, the children were with their (unnamed) babysitter. Finger is not broken….And today, something that was likely bound to happen, happened due to the impossible positioning of the ceiling fan in the girls room. There is no way to position their bunk bed in the room so that the top bunk is far enough away from the ceiling fan. Neither of them sleep on the top bunk, I’ve kept Fern in her crib because of this accursed wind blower. However, the girls do take delight with wrestling and coloring the wall, playing on the top bunk. Certainly, why hell, of course I’ve warned them hundreds of times about the dangers of the top bunk bed. They could fall. They could get chopped in the head by the ceiling fan. They could come crashing through the frame and get shards of busted wood shoved into their kneecaps. Nothing seems to stop them. Fern actually pushed Ollie off the top bunk this week. Luckily the brilliantly close positioning of the door frame (the damn room as 4 doors, 3 of which are exit points) broke her fall and she only screamed about her hit head and her mean little sister for a little bit. But anyways. Today the inevitable happened. While choosing a path of not valuing sage advice, she was on the top bunk this morning, playing with the speed chain dangling temptingly from the ceiling fan and CHOP. Big LOUD horrified yell. The ambulance warning thump of Ollie’s feet running to my room. I was on it already. I walked in to see Fern, arms outstretched, bleeding from her forehead. “Oh, Lord,” I thought as I reached up and cradled her, then grabbing a towel to stop the blood. The cut doesn’t appear to need stitches. It’s half a pinky fingernail long, and will come together with a butterfly bandage. She didn’t cry long. I’m watching her for signs of a concussion. Guessing we will likely have to skip the AMPFEST at the bookstore. I imagine her head is hurting and loud noises won’t do much to soothe the brain. Poor Poopie-Pants.
One thought on “The Room Ripe for Injury”
Oh no! Poor little Fernie! Poor little Ollie! Poor Mom!