The Case of the Stuck Arm

Being the lover of books that he is, Isaac has recently discovered a fascination with detective novels (they have chapters, therefore I am considering them to be novels). These days everything has become a clue left to be discovered, a problem to be remedied, and a mystery to be solved.

Yesterday's mystery involved wooden slats and some butter.

The children and I were poking around in Isaac's room Monday morning, doing a bit of playing and a bit of straightening. I noticed that E. was simply standing next to Isaac's bed (his is a single, not a bunk) being unusually still. I asked the initial questions all mothers ask when a toddler is standing perfectly still, "Do you need to go to the restroom?". Such an inquiry was followed with a quiet "No."

I turned my attention back to the task at hand, chatting with Isaac in the process. About three minutes later, I hear a little girl's voice say, "My arm is stuck."

It was then that I noticed E.'s left arm was wedged between two of the narrow slats on Isaac's bed rail, thus being the reason she was standing perfectly still for such a long time. I went to free her and realized that the arm was seriously stuck.

Have I mentioned that I have a touch of the claustrophobia and tight places (or stuck limbs) can really freak me out? My dear husband has repeatedly told me should we ever find ourselves locked in some sort of restricted, tight confined space that it could result in the dissolvement of our marriage vows. Fortunately one never really finds themselves in restricted, tight spaces in the suburbs so I think our union is safe.

I attempted to gently pull out E.'s little arm while only hyperventalating slightly keeping a calm face. When I realized that it was STUCK I sent Isaac for some butter.

I may have never been a Brownie nor have ever earned one single patch for a sassy little sash, but I know one uses butter when stuck in a precarious situation. Perhaps I learned that on Food Network?

Isaac returned a painful five minutes later (Who knows what the boy stopped and did in that short walk from his room to the kitchen), holding a stick of butter and licking it. Nice.

I smeared a little butter on E.'s arm, a bit on the slats, and managed to free her in a matter of seconds. She and I hugged as if we had just come out on the winning end of some treacherous battle. Isaac simply asked if he could have another lick of the butter.

The Case of the Stuck Arm is officially closed.