For Joy, That Her Spirit May Be Cheered

Ross loves a thrill. Last year, he rode as many roller coasters as Disney World would let a mother sneak her not yet 48" thrill-seeking kid onto. Ahhh...but I'm not here to talk about our trip to Disney World (aka the trip that severely depleted my WME points). I'm here to tell you a story about the baby days of Ross.


Cute, wasn't he? He loved a thrill then, too. He would giggle wildly when we swung him around. If it had been a while (three minutes) since we'd given him a playful toss, he'd wave his little feet around or stick his arms up so we'd grab on and swing him. He didn't weigh very much, so it wasn't at all taxing and he loved it so much that he got swung around on the Mama Coaster quite often.

One fateful day, while visiting Chris' parents, as I swung Ross around by his ankles, I suddenly found myself holding nothing but pants. Ross, who'd been squealing with delight at the site of his upside-down self in the bathroom mirror a moment before, was squalling the surprised and angry cry of someone who'd just been dropped on his head on the tiled bathroom floor. Worse, my mother-in-law watched the whole thing.

In the brief second (eternity) it took for her to cross the room to us, I wondered if I'd ever be able to look her in the face again. I'd dropped her grandson on a tile floor! When she reached us, she gathered me into a strong hug. "Oh, honey," she said, "Are you ok?" Me? Am I ok? Baffled (and wondering if *she* was ok...) I told her I was fine (embarrassment aside) and pointed out that Ross was the one screaming on the floor. "Oh, he'll be fine - he'll never remember this, but YOU certainly will!" In the days after, Ross was often found in overalls.