Well, that didn’t take long. If you’re just catching up, my family and I moved cross-country to be nearer to family while I finish my dissertation and look for work. We were quite lucky to end up in a nice duplex (one of the benefits of having family around who can ask around in advance of your arrival). One of the differences (a happy one) is that in Texas we didn’t have a basement. We really missed basements. While they are often the domain of monsters and boogeymen in films and cartoons, basements also provide much-needed space. In my case, the basement provides space for an office. We also have stairs going to the upper level. That’s two sets of stairs. Needless to say, our son isn’t used to stairs. We had one (count it with me) ONE single step in our old place. Something was bound to happen.
Thankfully, both of our families came out in full force to help us unpack the truck and place boxes and other ephemera into our new (probably temporary) home. Things were going upstairs and downstairs and everywhere. Traffic jams were mitigated by pushing things out-of-the-way. Those unable to lift heavy things began sorting them on the inside. It was a pretty organized affair, actually. After the truck had been emptied, just as everyone was resting, we heard it: thump, thump, thump-thump-thump!
I ran. My wife ran. Some uncles and aunts ran. Grandpa sat quietly. Our son had taken a spill down the stairs. He was fine. He was a little scared, but he was fine (all carpet!). Grandpa said something like “that’ll teach him. The more kids you have the less worried you get about all this stuff. They’re fine.” So he was. We all were. And guess what — he hasn’t taken a spill down a flight of stairs since. He’s very careful now. Very controlled. Very precise. A good lesson for all of us.