So, from that point forward we knew that he would be checking out drains wherever we went. He's not picky, he even loves the bathtub drain. He also considers his heat vent in his room to be a drain. Ever since we moved to this house, over two years ago, he has used his floor heat vent as a form of communication to the downstairs. It started with wailing down the "drain" at bedtime then transformed to him saying harmless, yet unintentionally creepy, things like, "I can hear you eating Mommy." when I snacked on popcorn while watching some TV. His "drain" is situated right about our TV.
We knew he was fascinated but didn't know HOW fascinated he was. Apparently he was fascinated enough to not only climb in his "drain" but put both feet in and proceed to get stuck. Really stuck. Really stuck on Mother's Day. Really stuck on Mother's Day while Brett was on shift at the station 45 minutes away. Stuck, in his drain. Let me walk you through it.
Mother's Day was exhausting. We started the day with a visit to the fire station with some friends and ended it with crazy sprinkler time in the backyard. I thought I was in for a peaceful bedtime. How could they not be exhausted?!? So, I tuck in the little cuties and curl up on the couch with some mindless TV. About an hour later Jameson starts screaming. Really yelling. I immediately think it is a night terror so I run up there but don't turn on his light because we aren't supposed to wake him from night terrors. I crouch by his bed...he is not there. Weird. Then he says, "Hi Mommy." I flip the light on and there he is, in his drain. I think it is funny at first and go over to pull him out thinking he just can't get leverage. Not only does he not budge, he screams out in pain. Brooklyn comes in and starts to panic (not sure where she gets that from?!?) so I tell her to go grab some soap. I try to rub his legs with soap to free him and realize that his shins and ankles are stuck in two different joints in the heat vent tubes. Not sure what the technical terms is, pipes? Anyway, soap doesn't work. I decide it is time to call Brett. I preface what am I about to tell him with, no this is not a joke. After he walks me through all the things I have already tried we decide I am going to need some assistance. We brainstorm and finally decide there is really no choice but to call in the big guns, as in, call 911. Ugh. So embarrassing! I should probably insert the video I took here of Jameson to point out that he was not panicked AT ALL. So, it was a little less unnerving. I know, I took a video. What a horrible parent I am. I actually just wanted to take a picture but my camera was in the car and wasn't comfortable rummaging through the car trying to find it while he was in his drain. Imagine that.
Anyhoo, the call went a little like this, "Hi, this isn't really an emergency but I am not sure what to do, my child is stuck in his heat vent, feet first. No, he doesn't appear to be injured. Yes, he is conscious. Yes, the vent is on the floor. No, I don't need to stay on the phone with you. Thank you."
Low and behold, a few minutes later Brooklyn belts from the window, "The police are here!" Say what? Sure enough, there is a police car in the driveway. I let the very nice policeman in and he takes a look at Jameson and tries to get him out, to no avail. In fact he says, "Whew, he is really in there isn't he?!?" The three firefighters arrive and also give it a try. No budging. After trying several directions and ways, one firefighter decides they need tools. He somewhat whispers this to one of the others and Jameson's eyes light up like it is Christmas and he says, "tools." in complete and utter awe. He should be scared the little booger! They use a crowbar and some spreader tool (not sure on the accurate name) and eventually get his right leg out and then his hip dips down further. It takes a bit more work but eventually the left leg also comes out. They give him a quick once over and determine that he only has a few scrapes and will most likely bruise where his legs and ankles were wedged. Otherwise he looks fine. They tell him to hop on his bed and they give him a "ride" back to where his bed belongs and invite the kids to come and check out their firetruck. The kids climb around for a bit and then we wave good-bye after what felt like a million thank-you's. I tuck Brooklyn back in and sit with Jameson while he calms down. I think the adrenaline wore off and he is a shaky mess. Still no crying but a lot of shaking. He eventually falls asleep and starts snoring, exhausted.
So, that is how I ended Mother's Day 2012. It wasn't boring, that's for sure! I was/am so thankful that he wasn't more injured and am just a teeny bit glad that it took some serious effort to get him out...it helped erase any embarrassment I initially had. I am obviously thankful for all firefighters but was really thankful that they took such care to get him out and didn't once make me feel like the crazy person I felt like. Thank you Monroe Fire Dept!
I would like to end this lovely post by recognizing how bull-headed this boy is. Even after the policeman, fire crew, grandparents, Brett and me lectured him on the dangers of getting in the drain...you guessed it...we caught him trying to go back in the next night! Brett immediately found a way to stop that by rigging up some way of Jameson proofing it. He hasn't been back in since. Are you wondering why he was in there and why he tried to go back in? Well, we are too. When we ask him he responds, "I was trying to get out." After much thought I am convinced that he thinks his drain is a portal to either the downstairs or somewhere WAY more exciting than his room. If I could only be in his brain for a mili-second to find out. Boys. That's all I have to say about that. Boys.
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