Just Asking For It

Some accidents there are in life that a little folly is necessary to help us out of.
Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Random conversations over dinner…I don’t know if this anecdote counts as an accident, but it definitely has the signs that someone’s not home upstairs. The wife shares with me a Facebook comment from her News Feed about a woman leaving her 5-year-old asleep in the stroller at Disneyland on New Year’s Eve, while she went on a ride. Meanwhile, on my own Facebook News Feed, another friend is searching through her daughter’s stools for signs of a small Lego piece from the Olivia’s House Friend’s set that her girl swallowed yesterday.

It brought this to mind:

Given my inherent fear of living, I’m obviously trying to avoid any of the above circumstances warned about in the song. Still, it’s the stuff you can’t prepare for, that’s got me worried. With my Kate, there’s always new ways to consider.

Take tonight. The housekeeper is coming tomorrow, and we’re busily trying to clean up the house so that the house get cleaned up. (?) Meanwhile, I can hear Katelyn at work trying to undo in her room what we’re doing elsewhere. I then hear her announcing to the wife about the “new” toy chest she’s finally opened up and wants to use. The wife is placating her by feigning interest, while she, herself, is doing battle with random items we’ve managed to leave out in the kitchen.

In the meantime, my rounds finally put me back in Katelyn’s room, where I spy this, a Disney Princess Collapsible Storage Trunk:


It is opened up. Katelyn is stuffing all manner of her collection of animals from her bedroom set, and then she’s climbing in and climbing out. Then she’s zipping the item shut. Either way, it’s near her bed time, and we need to get stuff put away before she goes down for the evening. I ask her if I can put it away. She insists upon doing it herself, which last for only a few moments before she hands it to me when the wife comes into the child’s bedroom wondering what’s taking so long.

When I grab the trunk, along with its plastic case, it’s one of those spring-loaded contraptions, not unlike the sun shade I use for my SUV. I just have to figure out how to twist it just right to get it to close. I then spy this note on the trunk’s case’s cover:


Ok. Let’s see what’s gone on here:

1. Child allowed to fold/unfold hamper? Check.

2. Used as a toy? Check.

3. Child playing inside hamper? Check.

4. Dragging hamper on the floor? Yup. Did that.

5. Kept away from a child? Um, that would be a “no”.

Maybe the biggest miracle of me being a father is not Katelyn herself, but having the privilege (and burden) of getting to worry about stuff like this…


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