It's the number I MOST do not want to see on my Caller ID between the hours of 8am and 2pm Monday through Friday...
"Deanna, it's the school. Gabe...(insert current catastrophe here)..."
(ok, Deanna - it's the school, not the hospital. And close your mouth, your heart's escaping.)
Today the entertainment was Gabe and his aide taking a tumble down the stairs at the Y. Why? (ha!) Well, because Gabe and his aide were working on stair-climbing skills, and the genius who placed the fire alarm near the stairway wasn't aware that someday little Gabe would decide he needed to use that fire alarm for support. Down goes the handle. Up goes the noise level. Up goes Gabe's startle reflexes. Down goes Gabe and the aide.
He'll be home shortly, and I'll have to examine him thoroughly. The report was "No lacerations, but he is bruised on his shin, and he's favoring his leg. He doesn't want ice on it. It's hurting him, though. I don't imagine anything is broken. Fire trucks didn't come."
Apparently, the entire building evacuated. Not knowing the story, the rest of the school staff members were wondering, "Hmmm. Did one of our kids do that?"
Yes, thank you. That would be the Juvenile Delinquent Gabe.
Hey, Mr. Fire Inspector:
Just a thought - maybe you should meet Gabe - Stretch Armstrong ain't got nuttin' on him!! Gauge where you THINK he can't reach, then move it 10 paces to the right. It might be out of reach then.