While I was in the shower this morning, I heard TB holler, “MOM!”
This wasn’t a garden variety holler asking me to check out his latest Lego village. No, it was a blood-curdling, terror-inducing scream. The kind of yell that had me picturing TG lying broken at the bottom of the stairs.
Just a few days ago TG wiped out at the top of the stairs, as she had been running on the hardwood floor in her socks. She was just fine. I wasn’t, however. My heart stopped when I saw the wipeout a few days ago, and that moment made it easy enough to envision her having a spill with a less fortunate outcome.
So I turned off the water and hopped out of the shower. While I was trying to cover myself enough to go investigate, not worried about how much water I would be dripping all over the house, I hollered back, “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Then TB said, “Nothing’s wrong. I just want to know if we can wear our regular shoes instead of our boots since the sidewalk is clear.”
Um, yeah. Shoes not boots. Whatever.
As it turns out, TB had ratcheted up his screaming game because apparently I hadn’t heard him the first few times.
My bad, wanting to be clean and all. What was I thinking?