"Little help?"

I heard a little voice calling this out to me this morning as I sat upstairs eating breakfast.

And I knew by the volume (quiet) and tone (trying to remain calm) that I should check it out.

Because it was the exact same volume and tone I used the time I was sitting in a rocking chair in the back room and rocked too vigorously and managed to rock myself right back so the chair was flipped back and balanced against the wall.

I remember that feeling of perhaps being stuck there forever. Even though my parents were just in the kitchen.

And not wanting to yell for help too loudly, in case it caused further catastrrophe.

It was a terrible, panicky feeling that only lasted for a minute or two, until my parents finally heard me and came in to save me.

Anyhow, this must be exactly the same way K was feeling today, when I came downstairs and saw her two little feet sticking out of the dryer.