I'm an overprotective mother with an overactive imagination to match. As time marches on, I've also become an overprotective grandma with little to no change in the activity level of my imagination.

I've always worried about the typical hazards of childhood: SIDS, falling down stairs, falling off bikes, choking on hot dogs or grapes that haven't been cut into appropriately sized pieces. In fact, one of my first posts here on Grandma's Briefs was about recent stats on televisions falling on kids.

But I worry even more about the uncommon, bizarre things that could befall little ones. Things like being trampled by elephants at the circus. Or scarves getting caught in bicycle, motorcycle or automobile wheels a la Isadora Duncan. Or meteors or airplanes falling out of the sky directly onto one's house. Or diseases that are the stuff of Stephen King novels and afflict only 1 in 3 trillion people. Yeah, chances are your child won't be afflicted. But what if your baby is that unlucky one?

A friend of mine used to think I was nuts. I'd ask if she'd heard about this scary statistic or that bizarre news story and she'd "tsk, tsk" and shake her head at her crazy older friend obsessed with danger. Then she had kids. And now she understands my obsession with all the possibilities lurking out there, possibilities just waiting to maim or do worse to loved ones.

I truly thought I knew of all those possibilities ... or at least knew to worry about the possibilities I didn't know of. But Megan recently shared a new one that never even crossed my mind. One that has me on edge and freaking out a little concerned about the safety of my Bubby. It's one of those that falls under the heading of Scary Stuff That Happens To Only One in Three Trillion People -- and it happened to Megan and Bubby.

The other night, Megan was innocently enough grilling chicken on the patio. Bubby and Roxy were playing in the yard, doing typical boy-and-his-best-friend stuff. Until Roxy heard something that piqued her interest and she dashed off to bark at whomever or whatever it was on the trail. She dashed off so fast and furious that she shot rocks across the rock-landscaped backyard. Shot them so hard that one whizzed into the sliding glass door and busted it. The outer pane of the double-paned door totally, completely and instantly became the most beautifully rendered crackle-glass door ever. A now crazy-paned door right in the area my grandson -- and my daughter -- had stood just moments before.

Scary and dangerous and bizarre and all those other things, wouldn't you say?

What's even scarier is that the glass repair guy is booked for several days and unable to repair the door anytime soon. Which leaves just off Bubby's kitchen a broken glass door with the potential to, at any moment, shatter and send life-endangering pieces of glass everywhere.

And leaving -- despite Megan's adamant proclamations that Bubby can't get to it -- Bubby in danger.

Which leaves me in a tizzy.

It also leaves me wondering if Bubby needs to say goodbye to his little friend. A dog able to spin out so quickly that its paws shoot out deadly bullet-like rocks creates a whole 'nother set of dangerous possibilities.

Possibilities I'd really rather not have to worry about.

Today's question:

What's one of your more irrational fears/worries/concerns?

My answer: I worry that I'll finally win Publishers Clearing House and the Prize Patrol will show up at my door at a time I've not yet taken a shower, forcing me to decide if I want the money badly enough to be seen on national television in my jammies, with wild hair and no makeup. What? It could happen!

This post linked to Grandparent's Say It Saturday.