My head fell off.

I awoke this morning (it was indeed morning- 4:27, to be exact) to my wife's poking fingers jabbing my kneecap. This was a new one, I thought; she must be really tired if she can't move her hands to pound my shoulders.

She muttered something about Jay and an ow-ee, then said, "It's too early. WAY too early." I wasn't sure what to make of any of that, but Jay was fussing and maybe crying. I got up and used the bathroom -once I get into his room, there is no telling how long it will be before I can get back out. And, who among us gets up at 4:30 and doesn't need to go? I mean, really. I used the bathroom right outside his door, and I expected him to hear me and start calling for me. Daaaaaaaaaaaddeeeee...

To my amazement, the fussing stopped almost instantly. Was he up and waiting for me? No, his fussing stayed stopped, and his room remained silent. Almost too silent. Almost.

I expected to hear from him soon, so I walked into the living room and half-dozed in the rocking chair. As much as I tried to sleep, my mind kept wanting to process the sudden stop of his pleadings, and Laura's half-asleep comment about an ow-ee. Was he okay? I knew he was, my intuition told me so, uncommon things happen uncommonly. And my mind kept replaying a story I had heard a few years back about a couple whose son died overnight of something mysterious. No explanation was ever found. 

I'm good enough at recognizing irrational fears that I can work my way through them, for the most part. My years in mountaineering helped me to develop a cool and objective approach to most things. That life experience is part of why I stayed in the rocker. That, and the mileage those experiences put upon my body. I was pooped, he was very likely just fine, and the father in me wrestled with the risk-managing climber for nearly two hours. The sun was rising, dawn was breaking, even at 4:30 am this time of the year, so to go into his room would mean he would be up and the day would start for everyone in the house.

At nearly 6:30 he woke up, and I went in to greet him. He smiled. "Hi Daddy!" It's the best way to start a day, period.

Then he reached for the back of his head and gave a bit of a grimace. 

"Daddy, my head fell off."

Ummmmm, okay, you have my complete attention.You already did, but now I'd LOVE to hear more.
"Your head fell off?"

"Yeah, Daddy, my head fell off."

Did it hurt?

"YEAH!" 

How did you do it?

"I don't know!"

I'm sure glad you got it back on! That would be quite a mess! Are you okay now?

"Yeah Daddy!"

"My eyes are burning!!!!!"

Wow, this little dude is off to a rough start. The sun had peaked over the horizon and was now streaming into this room. I shielded him from the sun with my body, and moved him over to the changing table.

Let's change your diaper and go say hi to mom. 

"Okay! Yeah!"

We got dressed and went out to greet the day.

He screeched like a scorched vampire as we entered the main living area of the house. We doused hid pain with a cup of cold milk and some hugs. Laura held him, and he reached for the back of his head again. "OUCH Mommy!"

She looked, and found a good-sized knot at the base of his skull along with a slightly bloody scab. Damn.  

His head really DID fall off. Or at least, it probably felt like it.

It's likely that he woke up, tried to stand up while he was still groggy, and fell back and hit his head. I slept through all of that, since my deaf right ear was up and the good ear was happily buried in a soft pillow.

Laura cleaned him up, and we looked him over to make sure he had no signs of trouble- walking straight, talking well, giving us shit for bad parenting:

Check, check, and double check.

As the day went on, Laura and Jay went about play dates and their own happy social calendar while I finished up the second day leading an equine photography workshop. 

That evening we had dinner, gave Jay a bath, and stayed up a bit after dressing him in his jammies for bed. He was busy enjoying some of his new toys from the town-wide yard sale on Saturday. After a bit he looked up and said, 

"My toes fell off."

Indeed his toes had fallen off. Or, more accurately, his feet came out of the footies in his pajamas. You know, fell off.

Neither Laura nor I rushed to reattach his toes; like this morning it's best, I think, to let him sort these things out. Having amassed many years as an experiential educator, I know that rushing in to fix fallen-off heads and toes would deaden his learning process. I'm proud that my two-and-a-half-year-old can now re-affix both his head AND his toes, when necessary. 

I'm struggling to turn off the incessant thwack-thwack-thwack of my helicopter parenting. He's got this stuff. I just need to stay out of the way.

And with that it seemed time to end a slightly anxiety-filled but perfectly-balanced day at our house. We finished as we finish every day: milk, books, music, heads and toes firmly attached (or reattached, as necessary).

Paw Patrol!!!!!

Jay got an extra-long nap yesterday, and the sun is climbing into our mornings at ever-earlier hours. So, it wasn't a too-big surprise when Jay woke up a 5am ready to start his day. I took him a glass of milk and laid down on his bedroom floor with him in an attempt to get him to sleep a while longer. 

No dice.

So, when his bouncing on my mid-section accelerated my need to get to the bathroom, well, it was over. We got up. He went into the living room and I raced for the bathroom.

He found some new toys on the coffee table, and was pretty excited. His 5-year-old friend Zachary had visited from Connecticut over the weekend, and left behind some of the toys he had outgrown. He went right to what he does best- staging disasters. Soon the train was teetering precariously at the edge of the cliff (coffee table) while TowMater drawled soothing, calming words to keep the train from panicking. TowMater delicately hooked the train and pulled it back to safety. "Ta Dahhhhh!!!"

Within seconds the train was in trouble again.This scene played out over and over. I picked up the remote control and moved the train. Silly me.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

A train at the edge of a cliff is ever so much more intriguing than one that moves by remote control.

Eventually he got over the novelty, and asked Laura to turn on the TV so he could watch Paw Patrol.

A few days ago we switched from Dish Network to DirecTV for our satellite service (we can only get satellite services out here, so those are our options). We have three months of free premium channels, so last night I watched a movie on one of them until I fell asleep. I shut off the TV and went to bed.

So, when Jay wanted Paw Patrol this morning at 6:20am, Laura turned on the TV and cable box. As luck would have it, Cinemax was earning its nickname, Skin-emax. The 47-inch screen was filled, corner-to-corner, with an unclothed couple wildly enjoying each other's company.

Jay giggled.

I stepped between him and the TV while Laura scrambled to figure out the new remote.

Jay leaned around me. "PAW PATROL!!!!!" 

Um, yeah, I guess that could be a good title for this... guy-in-uniform fantasy and all...

Instead of changing the channel to ANYTHING ELSE, Laura fumbled trying to find the selections of our recorded materials. The center of the screen was filled with text. The upper left corner still writhed in ecstasy while the upper right corner showed thumbnails of the choices. Sex on the left, Dora the Explorer on the right. Then Dinosaur Train. Now Super Why. Oh dear god, Team Umizoomi? Really? The couple rolled over, trading places.

Jay strained to see around me, Laura's thumbs worked furiously at the remote. "PAW PATROL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Finally, the screen was filled with six cute trouble-solving puppies. 

Phew. It's 6:22 am. I need a nap.

May Day.

As in distress call.

Wait- what?

It's May 1st? Oh, THAT May Day. No. But if it's May 1st, then why did I put on a heavy coat and gloves to feed the horses this morning? Oh wait. That was Laura. Why did Laura put on a ...

Never mind.

We have bigger problems.

We did everything right. We waited until Laura was far enough down the road that she wouldn't turn around if she forgot something. We picked out  Paw Patrol episode NOT entitled "Pups Save the Easter Egg Hunt", which Jay recites the lines before the characters do. We ate cereal.

Good cereal.

Still, the fog rolled in, and along with it some Bradburian circus. While I tried to delete some 6-month-old episodes of Ink Master to make room for tonight's Red Sox game, an invisible force blocked my attempts to do anything. After a bit everything froze on the screen.

Outside, the mountains disappeared. Vermont was gone. Then the ridge on the other side of Liebig Road, then our woods, then our horses...

A thick white mist moved up and over the house. I scrambled to replace the batteries in the remote. There had to be a way to turn this all off. Suddenly Jay shrieked.

The screens were black. No computer, no television. It was a two-year-old's craziest nightmare. Okay, it was this two-year-old's craziest nightmare.

I hurriedly replaced the batteries, clicked the back of the remote into place (almost breaking off the tabs that hold it in), and pointed.

I take pride in my aim, but I was shooting blanks. Nothing happened. The black maw of the 42-inch LCD screen gaped at Jay, begging him forth.

I fired again, and again. I opened the remote, and turned the batteries around so they were pointing the same way as the friggin' diagram (who has time for diagrams when something wicked this way came?). In the window, grackles and starlings danced and taunted.

I snapped the cover in place and took my best shot.

The opening screen warmed into place. Jay went from "Daddy daddy!!!!" to "Paw Patrol!"

I turned on the cable box. The only Paw Patrol episode left was the one we had been watching when the circus came to town. Nineteen other episodes: gone. Paw Patrol Easter Egg Hunt: Gone.

Wild Kratts: Gone.

Thomas the Tank Engine: gone.

Super Why, Wally Kazaam, Wonder Pets. All gone.

98% (I actually did the math) of our recordings were gone.

The circus was in town for less than five minutes, and left with our Dinosaur Train, Third and Bird, and Dora the Explorer.

Wait. Was that it?

Had they come for Dora, and all else was collateral damage? Last night, Big Red Chicken had a cake on his head. Was that a sign? Had Jay reached a magic number of re-watchings of Dora's Easter Egg Hunt?  Oh, it had to be Swiper. That nasty old fox is always trying to swipe our stuff.

We were left with four Peter Rabbits, seven Curious Georges, three Walking Deads, twenty Team Umizoomis, and one No Country For Old Men.

And NO Ink Masters.

Mission Accomplished.

Time to work on those mighty math powers. Bring it on, Team Umizoomi.