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That kids love.
And parents hate.
The kitchen ran right into the hallway,
which ran into the living room, which ran back into the kitchen.
Or, alternately, if one wanted to
change things up a little - from the kitchen into the living room
into the hallway, back into the kitchen.
It was a perfect setup.
For running laps.
Which we did.
Usually at mealtimes.
Because it kept us near the kitchen.
But not completely under Mom's feet.
Unfortunately, in an effort to keep us
safe, Mom would inevitably holler, “You kids stop that before
someone loses an eye!”
We would stop.
Oh, not because we were afraid of
losing something important.
But because Mom usually had a large
spoon or knife in one hand when she said it.
Okay, yes, we were afraid of losing
something important.
Moving on . . .
It was suppertime.
Mom was cooking.
My brother and I were running.
Mom said, “You kids stop running!
Someone's going . . .!”
That was as far as she got.
I skidded out on the corner.
Just going into the turn between the
living room and the hallway.
There was a chair there.
Large.
Heavy.
It, and my eye, had what could only be
called a 'close encounter'.
It won.
Remember what Mom said about 'losing an
eye'?
Well, she was close . . .
There was the sound of contact.
*thump*
Then the pause.
Then the shriek.
Mom came running.
I was writhing around on the floor,
screaming.
Both hands clamped over my right eye.
I'm sure Mom's heart probably stopped.
She pulled my hands away.
Probably expecting to see the
fulfilment of her prognostication (Oooh, good word!).
Fortunately for me, it hadn't happened.
The fulfilment, I mean.
My eyebrow had taken the brunt of the
blow.
It puffed up and out quickly and
remarkably.
I looked like a prize fighter.
Mom dragged me, still screaming, into
the kitchen.
Where she produced her largest and
deadliest-looking knife.
I stared at her, then clamped my hands
back over my injured and puffy eye and screamed, “No, Mom! Don't
cut it off!”
You see, when she picked up the knife,
she had been looking for 'cool'.
Something to lay against my wound to
take down the swelling.
I was looking at an instrument of a far
more radical method of 'swelling removal'.
Fortunately, her more humane treatment
was what we went with.
“Diane! I'm not going to cut it off!
The knife is cool. It'll help the swelling!”
Oh.
I finally dropped my hands and allowed
her to continue.
She pressed the cool surface against my
eyebrow.
Ahhh!
Moms know everything.
I'd like to say we stopped running.
Forever.
That we learned our lesson.
That one close call convinced us that
Mom knew whereof she spoke.
I'd be lying.
