When I arrived to pick Eliot up at daycare on Monday, one of the other kids came running up to me blabbering faster than I could decipher, pulling on my pantsleg, and from what I could tell, the main thrust of the story was "ELIOT IS CRYING BECAUSE A BARN FELL ON HIS HEAD!" Once I disentangled myself from the kid ambush and reached Eliot, I could see that he was indeed sitting on the floor with tears and snot streaming down his face, furiously sucking on someone else's pacifier. (That part isn't as bad as it sounds. I'd been distracted trying to leave that morning because Eli drove off with Eliot's carseat in his truck and I had to dig out and use the old pumpkin seat from the nook above the stairs. In all of the commotion, we left the house without our nuk and had to borrow an extra one from our daycare lady.) Eliot looked up at me with his big blue eyes and an expression on his sad little face that said, "Momma, A BARN FELL ON MY HEAD."
So daycare lady explains, that, yes, Eliot was lying in the floor playing and pulled the Little People barn down on top of himself by accident.
My first reaction was an overwhelming urge to grab the barn, yank open the door, and do a wind-up and fling it across the road old-school Karil-style, but while screaming, "You'll never hit my baby in the head again, Little People barn motherfucker!!!" But I thought that might not be a good example for the kids, so I restrained myself.
Eliot was alright. After we got home and he had time to calm down, I could see that the bump on his head was very small (the rest of the redness was just from the crying). And then today it wasn't even noticeable unless you knew just where to look for it.
So I guess I won't have to sneak over in the dark of night and stomp the barn to smithereens.
But if it ever comes upon me in a dark alley, it sure enough better run the other way. That cute little mooing door won't be enough to save it from my momma wrath.