First, I'd like to thank my awesome friend, Tara Tyler, for the shout out on her blog. You rock, Tara!
Now for the story:
My fourteen-year-old son thought it was a good idea to climb the maple tree in the front yard. He wasn't happy getting to the middle of the tree. Oh, no. He had to go as high as possible.
"You know, cats get stuck doing things like that," I shouted up.
He laughed it off. "Yeah. But I'm not a cat."
After he had spent about five minutes swaying in the breeze up there, he decided it was time to come down. Except he had a little trouble.
"I'm stuck," he admitted after several attempts to find a descent route.
I analyzed the situation. "If you shimmy down like a fireman's pole, you can probably get your foot into the next fork."
Apparently, that suggestion was too terrifying. "You need to get the ladder, Mom,"
I sighed then fetched the step ladder and brought it out. It wasn't nearly tall enough.
"Get the painter's ladder."
Let me tell you how heavy the painter's ladder is. I can barely lift the thing. And I'm pretty strong for a middle-aged woman. Anyway, I dragged the darn thing out, and then spent the next five minutes trying to figure out how to open it up and brace it against the tree. I got it opened, but bracing it safely against the tree for him to get down was not possible.
"Dude, I don't know what to say. You're either going to have to figure this out, or we're going to call the fire department."
He tried the shimmy thing. But his foot got caught on a smaller branch. He put his weight on it and promptly snapped it off. It was a terrifying slide down to the before-mentioned fork.
Somehow, he managed to get out of that tree. But not without some scratches, bumps, and pain to his man-parts.
I think he learned his lesson.