Good In A Crisis

Today, I was wandering out of the kitchen with a couple of 'Nilla Wafers in my hand. The 49ers game had just started, and I was vaguely thinking about the food prep I needed to do for the week so that I don't go around eating 'Nilla Wafers instead of healthier options, when I heard Mom call out, "What happened out there?"

Dad was working in the yard. I glanced out the back door and saw him, face-down on the ground. "He's fallen!" I called out, and raced out the door, leaving the sliding screen wide open as Mom followed hot on my heels...and Millie (my indoor-only-but-not-by-her-choice cat) right behind her.

Mom set about checking Dad for vital injuries while I fluttered around wondering what to do. Millie, delighted to get some time outside, ran off to the side yard while I fluttered some more, saying inane things like, "What hurts? Millie, get back here! Are you okay? Millie!!! Do you want me to call for help? Stupid cat!!!" Dad, meanwhile, had blood dripping from a nasty cut on the bridge of his nose.

Finally, I fluttered back into the house and into Mom and Dad's bathroom, where I grabbed a handful of gauze. Then I realized how ineffectual this guaze would be without first cleaning Dad's wounds, so I set them down and fluttered back outside, where Mom had helped Dad into a sitting position (still on the ground) and sternly ordered him to sit and assess for injuries before getting up.

"Get a couple of cold, wet rags," Mom ordered in that unflappable way moms have of taking over a situation while someone who has twice had ambulances visit her classroom in her teaching career flutters around wondering if Dad will be offended by her running off to find the cat. So into the house I fluttered once more, where I slipped a pair of ballet flats on my feet and grabbed the rags, stopping to get one wet in the sink. I took them out to Dad, then fluttered off to chase my now-missing hellspawn cat. I found her by the shed, chased her down the side yard, and finally tackled her in the bark. She yowled in protest, but I had her. I fluttered back into the house, locked her in the bathroom so she could wash the bark off her fur, then fluttered back outside to help Mom get Dad up so he could sit in a chair.

By now, we had determined that he was fine, aside from being scraped up on his arms and nose. So of course, my next reaction after "endless fluttering" stepped in: laughter.

The more I tried not to laugh, the more I couldn't stop. Fortunately, Dad was able to see the humor by now, and after one comment about his nose, we were both giggling. Mom came back out to the patio with a handful of first aid stuff, muttering, "It's not funny..."

"I know!!" I chortled back at her. "It's not! It's not funny at all!" And still I laughed.

I offered Dad an extra-large band-aid for his nose, making him laugh and say, "That's not nice."

Finally, we got Dad in the house, where he changed out of the clothes he'd dripped blood on, and sat on the bed to watch some TV and rest. "I'll go finish my yard work in a few minutes," he said, to which Mom and I both snapped, "No, you won't!" We both then fluttered around, offering him tea, coffee, whatever. He accepted some coffee and settled in, surrounded by cats. Mom and I got back to watching the game.

A few minutes later, I looked down at the couch as I passed through the living room, and noticed two sad 'Nilla Wafers sitting there, where I'd left them. For some reason, this struck me as incredibly hilarious, and I'm still giggling about it several hours later.

All's well that ends well. Dad feels a little stiff, and his road rash isn't all that pleasant, but he's in good spirits. He gave Mom and I a good scare, for sure...and, being Dad, an hour later he was back outside, putting things away. But he came back in and had a nap, so it's all good.