While Others May Cherish Baseball Trophies...

Guest Column by LAUREN OAKES

Last week’s column about the blood drop on the wall got me thinking about repainting that stairwell after all.

Maybe I could just paint all those walls and skip a little square around Zoe’s blood-drop? Ohh! I could even put a little frame around it.

While congratulating myself on the BRILLIANCE of this idea, I was completely deflated by our son Connor who overheard the plan and then asked, “But what are you going to do about my head-hole?”

That stumped me. How many framed “damages” can one have in one’s stairwell before one crosses the line into “overdecorated”?

And we couldn’t possibly fill in that perfectly circular, 2” deep depression in the 1940 plaster wall at the second to the top landing.

Last year, Con and Arthur were roughhousing (why do they call it that?) at the top of the stairs. (Another example of how boys are weird and silly. You wouldn’t catch girls pushing each other and laughing like maniacs atop a flight of stairs, they KNOW you could break a nail.)

Anyway, Connor overbalanced (why do they call it that too?) and fell backward down those stairs and hit the next landing down back of his head first, just as I pulled into the driveway.

Faye came screaming out of the house and I flew up the stairs to find Arthur kneeling by Con and Con pretty spacey. I know how hard 1940 plaster is so I called the pediatrician-neighbor who came over and was amazed there was no concussion, no bruise, his skin was barely pink under his hair where he’d hit. George Nakashima explained that it was like breaking boards with your hand in karate-if the blow is distributed evenly enough, there’s no damage. He’d know, he’s a black belt in judo. So he gave the doctor pat on the shoulder and told the boys to cut it out, and left.

Well the kids paraded all their friends up the stairs over the next few weeks to see the head-hole in the wall (Zoe’s blood spot was an extra, unexpected bonus on that E-ticket experience). Now it’s old-hat. But I couldn’t possibly let the painter remove it. With Arthur back in France, and Connor 4” taller, I cling to these mementos of their time together. Let other moms cherish baseball trophies. I have the various dents and gauges that remind me what a great ride it’s been.

And if we ever move, we’re cutting those sections out and taking them with us.