Weasel Of Doom

The setup:

Way back this summer, before ChairmanMao was born, BelovedSpouse and I went to IKEA and bought stuff, including an indoor swing and rope ladder for the kids. Fast-forward to January 1, when my Dad finally got the swing and ladder installed for us, attaching them to the beam already holding the ceiling fan in the room-before-the-great-room, the one that holds our expensive (but well worth it) fireplace. Mom tells us a weird dream she had, which involved being on a train with Nazis, and signing some kind of paperwork promising cooperation with them.

Ta-da-da-dum:

We (Mom, DemonChild, ChairmanMao, BelovedSpouse, and I) are sitting in the TV room, watching Wall-E. Dad and Squeektar are enjoying the swing. Squeektar wanders in. There is a muffled thud from the somewhere in the house. A minute later, my Dad walks into the TV room, his hand to his mouth. My first thought, “Oh my god, something terrible happened.” A quick look-around reveals that we are all present and accounted for, however. Dad is not saying anything, but motions me to the fireplace room. Once there, it takes a few seconds to sink in that one end of the beam holding ladder, fan, and swing is now on the floor. Dad finally takes his hand away from his mouth, revealing an upper lip that looks like it was used to catch the aforementioned beam.

The resolution:

Three hours and six stitches later (one on the inside of his lip, five on the outside), we are back home. Good thing we live two minutes away from a hospital!

[Dad, calling Mom from the ER]: Now we know what dreams about Nazis mean. Next time, don’t sign anything!

Lessons learned:

• Dad has one uber guardian angel.
• The beams in the fireplace room are fake.
• And nailed to the ceiling.
• Nailed, not screwed.
• To the actual ceiling. No studs were harmed in the installation of the beams of fakeness.
• Dad still cannot believe that somebody would do a thing like that, despite all evidence that somebody had indeed done it, and he (Dad) has stitches to prove it.

BelovedSpouse and Dad disassembled the beam after the kids went to bed, and Dad had re-engineered the way the beam is attached to the ceiling, so in theory it is a lot less likely to fall onto our heads now. Or at least if it does, it is going to take a significant chunk of ceiling with it.

Amusing language barrier episode:

[BelovedSpouse]: Your Dad wanted a blow torch. I told him we don’t have one. I am afraid to ask why he wanted it.
[My Dad]: I can’t believe you don’t have a flashlight!
[me]: Torch = flashlight in British English.
[BelovedSpouse]: *big sigh of relief*

The lip, explained:

[Me]: Dad, how exactly did the beam ended up hitting you on the lip?
[Dad]: I suspected something was not right, so I stood on the swing. And looked up.

Yes, we are lucky Dad has a face left.