Little Leslie's Fingers

She was the tiniest, the cutest and the youngest.  But her fingers and door jambs were like magnets to steel. Her little fingers were always getting crushed. 

“Crack!” 

“Owww!”

“What happened, now?”  mom said walking steadily towards the action.  She wasn’t running, and she wasn’t going slowly, just a steady pace that evoked the normalcy of the situation, or to help de escalate the wail of a cry that was sure to follow. You see my little sister's fingers seem to find their way wedged in between cabinet doors, car doors, hallway doors, front doors, back doors, garage doors, refrigerator doors . . . . doors of any kind.  It’s a wonder she still has fingers.  So this little fictional tale is dedicated to my little sister Leslie and her little fingers. It started with a crack and then  . . . 

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Little Leslie’s Fingers

“Mommy!  Leslie smashed her finger!” Lyssa was quick to report.  Lyssa made it her family duty to make sure the adult units were aware of the activities going on in the house. As the eldest of Irish triplets, Lyssa didn’t feel much like the oldest, though. Her middle brother Larry was adventuresome and always seemed to find new ways to have fun.  Leslie was nimble, always jumping, climbing, running and getting her fingers smashed. Daddy was Mr. Catchem-in-the-act, because it didn't matter what part of town you were in he would always catch you in the act of doing something you weren't suppose to be doing. In the early days, though when the family first moved to Carson, it was all hands on deck to prevent the next smashing of Little Leslie’s fingers. Sometimes they weren’t fast enough and sometimes they were.

One day 4-year old Little Leslie climbed up on the kitchen cabinet to get a bowl for her Corn Flakes.  She loved when mommy would cut up bananas, plop them in the bowl and load it with sugar and milk.  Little Leslie could just about taste the crunchy goodness. 

Meanwhile, in the girl’s room, Lyssa woke up and saw her little sister was not in the bed and suddenly she got a tingle, a Spidey tingle about a finger smashing.  Lyssa trotted to the hallway and walked north towards the bathroom.  No Leslie there.  Then out of the hallway and into the family room. She headed northeast of the bathroom making an "L" shaped path across the family room and peering through the space between the counter and cabinet, Lyssa could see Leslie kneeling on the opposite counter.  Lyssa could also see Leslie’s back as she was perched on the formica with her fluffy pink jammies. Lyssa smiled at the sight, that was until she saw Leslie’s fingers were inside the cabinet door, in the jamb, while the other hand was grabbing for the cereal bowl. 

“Leslie,” Lyssa sang out, trying to mimic mommy's cool demeanor. “Watch your fingers.”

“I am,” Leslie’s 4-year-old muffled voice shot back. “I getting a bowl.”

“I see, but wait,”  Lyssa tried to distract Leslie from the impending doom of the cabinet door and her little sister's fingers. 

“It just a bowl,” Leslie replied with innocent wonder and agitation.

Lyssa walked a little faster and got there just in time.  Leslie was about to close the cabinet and the chartreuse wood was already starting to tighten on the plump meat of Leslie’s fingers.  Lyssa’s heart skipped a beat as she sprang into action grabbing the door.

“Hey!” Leslie squealed.  “I can do it!”

“Fine!” Lyssa shot back while she held the cabinet door.  Lyssa was about two inches taller and just barely able to grab the cabinet door. Leslie jumped down, bowl clasped to her chest and none the wiser to the appendage eating cabinet that just missed having Leslie’s little fingers for breakfast.

But, Lyssa was too proud of herself that morning and didn’t notice how close the open box of Corn Flakes on the counter was in relation to her outstretched arms. So, as she swung her arms in pride, happy about her good deed, the kitchen was raining golden brown flakes as the box twirled and tumbled through the air and onto the ground.  Of course, that was the exact time mommy and daddy (aka Mr. Catchem-in-the-Act) were walking into the kitchen.

“Lyssa!” mom yelled.

“What the  . . .!” daddy scowled.

“Haha!” Larry pointed and giggled from out of nowhere, just happy it wasn't him this time.

“Get a broom. You are going to clean up every last flake,” mommy directed.

“But . . .” Lyssa tried to explain.

Leslie looked back with a sly smirk on her face, or so it appeared, then turned to mommy, “Can I have some cereal?”

“Yes, if Lyssa didn’t spill them all.”

Lyssa walked toward the broom closet shaking her head and thinking, because she could never get away with saying it out loud,  “So this is my reward for saving another finger from smashing. Oh-boy.”

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According to the American Academy of Pediatrics website HealthyChildren.org, a child’s fingertip is

smashed more often than not when a door is being closed. “The child is either unable to recognize the potential danger, or she fails to remove her hand quickly enough before the door is shut. Fingers also sometimes get crushed when youngsters play with a hammer or other heavy object, or when they’re around a car door.” I think my little Leslie was a victim of all of these, not so sure about the hammer.  So families, be on the lookout for little fingers in doors, etc.  But know that this happens frequently, some little fingers are more prone to the smashing than others. My 18-month old nephew suffered a smashed finger a few weeks ago at the behest of a bicycle spoke which was worse than any door Leslie ever faced and now he’s in a cast.  His little accident just made me think of my little sister and how often she hurt her fingers. So, Carlee and Michael, be kind to yourselves and just know little kids smash their fingers a lot and it can happen so very quickly. Give baby Carson a hug from us let him know we love him.