ethoughts weekly- Issue 151

March 3, 2007

Rocket Sled

The minute I saw my daughter rocket down the hill, I realized, I had made a mistake. As a parent, you make so many judgment calls in a day. You go on educated guesses, experiences, hunches, and advice. This time, in my exuberance, I sort of winged it. A warm winter day is rare, especially when you can sled ride in 47 degrees. Honestly, I thought, how fast can 31 pounds go on a flimsy plastic sled? Apparently, about 20 miles an hour.

After a number of very successful runs, both solo and mother assisted, Gabrielle positioned herself comfortably on the thin, florescent orange "luge 'o peril" for a new trail.

“She’ll hit the tree,” my husband warned, seeing a bulky pine just off the path of descent.

“The grass will stop her,” I said, noticing the large patch of light green downhill. Countless hours of sled riding experience made me a virtual expert on the ways of snow sledding. This was a no-brainer. Grass stops a sled, it's quite simple. My husband shrugged.

I carefully aligned her, and gently sent her off. She took off like a bullet out of a gun. She briskly and barely missed the ominous Evergreen. The sled seemed to levitate on the grass patch. It skimmed it in the blink of a eye, but she cleared the obvious danger. I breathed a great sigh of relief, seeing how far port she had gone. But promptly that breath lodged in my throat like an icicle. The cute sled-turned-deadly-projectile swerved a devilish left. Shooting directly for the line of conifer shrubs, my daughter was in a kind of snow and ice crapshoot. Her odds were no better than 50/50 of missing the menacing hedges. Tree versus little kid. It wasn't going to be pretty. In a split second, she crashed swiftly, and her pink snow hat flew off her head. It popped off really, like someone squeezed off the cap on a tube of toothpaste. She rolled to the side. Then the screaming started.

We made speed to comfort her as she wailed about her foot. After the initial shock was abated, she informed us of her need of ice, small crutches in her size, and snacks. She also requested a viewing of Bear in the Big Blue House episode where the mouse breaks his tail, sees the doctor, and needs a tiny blue cast. It was imperative to have creature comforts so she could rest on the couch properly. She had zero desire to visit a doctor herself, but was sure the video would help her adjust emotionally to the trauma.

As of now, there is some minor pain, but no obvious swelling. She is hesitant to put weight on it, and has swinging moods that range from whinny to pleasant. We are listing the condition as “guarded, but hopeful". A bruise is possible.

I am thankful for tough, little pink boots, children’s Tylenol, and a winter memory that will soon be quite a funny and sweet one. Little girls don’t stay 31 pounds for long. It ended well, and I’ll know better next time. When there’s ice outside, at all, even 31 pounds flies like a rocket, and packs a wallop. You'd be shocked.

Lisa DeLay

©2007