Self-Strangulation-The Espen Method

One of our souvenirs from Family Road Trip 2016 was a kite. Espen returned home believing that this kite was born to fly with or without wind (since it was always windy at the beach.)

On any given day when a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves on our backyard shrubberies, Espen was hightailing it towards the garage yelling, "Get the kite! Get the kite!"

This particular day, I agreed not only to fetching and assembling the kite, but also to running around with it in my hands trying to throw it into the air when Espen got far enough away to keep the line taut. Trouble was, every time the kite went down, Espen made a beeline to investigate despite my advice to just "Keep running away from me!"

After several failed launches and quotes from Frog and Toad about "Run down the hill, wave the kite over your head and yell 'Up kite, up!", I was ready for a cup of tea and a little silence.

I went inside.

5 minutes later I hear a blood-curdling shriek rend the air in twain.

It's rare that Espen truly screams, usually he defaults to a bellowing roar or holler, so at the very least, I was curious.

I trotted over to the back door and peered out. He stood by his swing looking towards the house.

I opened the door and asked for an explanation. He did not move.

That's when I knew something was gravely amiss. The only time Espen holds still is when he is sleeping or totally engrossed in a new toy or story.

I walked towards him and began to make out thin depressions in his arm and leg skin. The swing looked slightly constricted around its ropes.

And then I saw his hand and neck.

Grasped tightly in his little paw was the kite spool.
Grasped tighter still was the string around his neck. Several times.
He pulled the spool, trying to free himself and succeeded in pulling the neck cords tighter.

Calm Mom made her appearance with true Clark Kent panache.

"Espen. Hold very still."
"Get it off meeeee!!!"
"I will, just hold still."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

For several agonizing minutes, I untangled the string from around his neck until at least his airway was unobstructed. Then I began on his arms, legs and the swing, all of which were knotted into a mandala that Shibari artists would weep at.

As I worked, I investigated.

"Espen, why did you do this?"
"The tree man did it."
"What? Who?"
"The tree man had strings that made him go up and down."

And then I remembered several weeks ago when the tree trimmer had come to lop our trees to regulation height for power lines. He had seen Espen staring at him in his crane bucket, 30 feet up in the air. Had yelled, "Hey buddy!" and brought Espen a pine cone he picked from the highest height. Had been wearing a harness. Had completely mesmerized Wesp.

"Were you trying to make a harness like the tree man, Espen?"
"Yes! Make me one now, mama!"
"I have to untie you now so you don't strangle yourself."
"Make me a harness with a sewing machine, mama!"
"We'll see. Hold still."

In more minutes than it took him to ensnare himself, I had freed the child and his kite. The kite was retired until he is 13 or gets a harness.