“Getting a drink is okay. The fact that you are walking up the stairs wearing roller blades is what’s scaring me”

T

he clunk didn’t register at first.

I heard it, but I was too busy trying to figure out if the three-day old meatballs should be tossed or saved to give it any real thought. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard it again, clank, clunk, clink.

A quick sniff confirmed that the suspect meatballs smelled okay, and armed with the knowledge that most of us Needlemans possess rock solid stomachs, I decided they were worth saving, at least for another day. Good. Decision made. Now, what was that clunking sound anyway?

I turned and gasped, hands to my heart in the old-style, highly dramatic way that I’ve perfected after 27 years of mommying. I started honing this with Kid #3, and by Kid #5 my performance was flawless. A quick inward breath, a pause, eyes opened wide with shock, the hands to the heart.

“Pinny. Needleman. What do you think you are doing?”

“Getting a drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Getting a drink is okay. The fact that you are walking up the stairs wearing roller blades is what’s scaring me.”

“Oh, Maaa. It’s only eight steps from the garage to the kitchen. Nothing’s gonna happen. I’m careful. I walked up to my bedroom on the top floor, too; that’s probably 22 steps and I was fine.”