It Happened So Fast

It was a typical evening on the Smith homefront. In the living room, Ava and Hudson were playing together on the floor, Daddy was “on duty” in the recliner, and Mommy was finishing up a few tasks. One minute all was quiet, all was calm.

Until a hysterical little voice suddenly shouted, CHAPSTICK!

Now, in some homes this unexpected word—screeched at a high level of volume—might be confusing, misplaced, or even downright odd. Nope, not in the Smith family. We all immediately snapped to attention. We knew what it meant, and it wasn't good. Little Hudson had somehow gotten ahold of a tube of Chapstick, and his vigilant big sister was alerting the troops.

Ava: CHAPSTICK! CHAPSTICK!

Erik and I were in motion immediately. Being only a few feet away, he had the advantage. But being across the room, I had the better view of what was to come.

In slow motion, my desperate husband ejected from the warmth of his recliner. His mouth assumed the shape of a perfect O. As our eldest child continued to shriek, and our youngest gnawed unknowingly on a small stick of danger, Erik catapulted his body across the expanse of the living room. In fact, his lunge was so powerful that he failed to properly assess the speed and bulk of his body in proportion to the distance he would need to cover. I watched—helpless—as he hurtled toward our children.

Within mere seconds, his sock-clad feet were flailing, trying to find purchase on our slick wood floor. Ava's scream seemed to mute itself as she watched, wide-eyed, as her father slid across the floor in a tailspin, as his body lost balance and began to fall backward. My hands flew to my mouth, capturing my own scream before it could further incite the situation. Little Hudson obliviously enjoyed the Chapstick.

Until his father's body slammed against the floor and skidded right at him. His little fist clutched the Chapstick as his face contorted into what can only be described as innocent surprise. Two tiny eyebrows lifted as two-hundred-pounds of out-of-control manflesh slammed into him and knocked him backward across the rug. Ava, being almost four and much more worldly, was able to put her arms up in instinctual defense as Erik's elbow snapped out and executed an effective forearm shiver, knocking her sideways. Thick emotion welled up inside of me as I witnessed my husband fall to the ground in a tumble of children.

Then all was silent.

So, I know what everyone's wondering: Did our baby choke on the Chapstick? Was either of our offspring injured by their father's desperate attempt at heroism? Did Erik survive his house-thumping trip to the floor? Thankfully, all parties involved emerged unscathed. Hudson, although surprised to find himself a few feet away from his original spot on the rug, never even fell over or cried. He was simply redeposited in a new spot. And although Ava ended up in tears, it wasn't because she was hurt, but instead because Erik tackled her artful arrangement of Barbies. Once Erik realized what had happened, he was simply relieved that it all worked out so well.

And me? Torn between terror, relief, and deep gratefulness, I wordlessly traipsed among the carnage, scooped up the offending Chapstick, and tucked it safely in a drawer.

Then LAUGHED MY A** OFF. Can you see why I married this man? My hero!