Choose Your Own Adventure

Let's say you decide to take your kids home from your child's afternoon class on the bus because daddy needs the car.

Let's say you unexpectedly have a chance to have daddy drive you home, but a certain 3.5 year old says he would prefer to take the bus.

Now imagine that that 3.5 year old reneges on his decision and wants to go with daddy.

But daddy's in a rush and driving away.

Get this, now that 3.5 year old starts crying. Wailing. At the bus stop. There's snow, there's cold, there's a crowd of people gaping at your child as he screams, "Daddy! I want Daddy!".

The bus comes. It's FULL. You are a 10 blocks from home. Again, it's cold. It's snowy. You only have the single stroller.

Care for a 10 block walk with your crying toddler...who would be walking? Oh, and it's getting dark. In Hyde Park. Think fast.

You board the bus. Easing your stroller through the crowd. You spot a friend's husband on the bus who seems understanding and willing to help. Now you fully understand tender mercies.

That 3.5 year old is still crying. Still. And every other word is daddy. You're feeling awesome.

Your friend's husband gets off at the stop before yours. You see a nice Asian couple across from you. They are getting off at your stop. You realize..."I have to get this stroller through all of these people!!!"

This couple makes their move half a block before the stop. You pop up and tell them you'll get off of the bus in their wake. You let the 3.5 year old down off of your lap and assume, assume that he's standing next to you. (Oh, you fool!)

You slowly start to poke the stroller a foot forward.

The bus stops.

The bus lurches.

The entire bus gasps.

Your 3.5 year old (while you were panicking about getting off of the bus) got onto your empty seat and kneeled on it.

When the bus lurches, guess who flies.

Gravity catches him right at the spot between the seat and the front of the bus.

You turn.

Oh. No.

You run to him.

EVERYONE on the bus holds their breath.

He is wedged in so tight you wonder if you'll even be able to get him out. The metal handle on the seat is in his mouth like a bridle.

You ease him out, anxious to get off of the bus.

Then, wait for it, the lady a few seats down gasps and loudly proclaims, "He's bleeding!"

Oh. No.

You assess. It's just a nick on his forehead. It's OK.

You look up. The Asian couple is getting the stroller containing the 1.5 year old off of the bus for you. You look at your fellow passengers. Disgust and shock are truly etched on their faces.

You know your child is fine. But you feel like they need to know. So you make a joke. Because you really are that cool. Something about how the drama's over because you're leaving. (Remember, the show's been going on since you boarded with the wailing 3.5 year old and a stroller.)

You expect someone's face to soften at your weak gesture (cry for help). Or to say, "Hope he feels better". Or to give you a look that they understand that these things happen.

You see no one move a muscle. And you see someone. A guy standing at the back. Who has the textbook definition of horror written on his face.

You will never forget his face.

You bolt. You assure the Asian people that it will be OK. Your 3.5 year old is crying. Screaming.

You're shaking.

Your apartment building is half a block away. The Asian couple insist on taking you home. You don't resist. The lady says, "I have the regret, I should have held him!". You let her know that she holds no blame. The blessed calling of "guilt bearer" rests with mother.

You carry your shaken 3.5 year old home. The lovely couple take you to the door of the building. Nay, into the building.

They bow multiple times as they leave you. Wishing you well. Being kind and understanding. Tender mercy.

You get upstairs. You look at your child. He has spread the blood all over his face. He looks like he's gone through a windshield. Or two.

You cry. You wipe him up. You call the nurse help-line to determine if stitches are needed (they're not). You call your friend to come look at it. You cry some more.

Now it's time to make dinner! Oh, and daddy won't be home until well after bedtime!

Are you wondering who the 3.5 year old is?

Here is the "after" picture (I have to show the "after" first because the "before" is horrific).

Taken 1 hour after the accident. Happy and well.














Now, brace yourselves.