Now, what kind of mother would I be?


Yesterday morning-ish, after I decided that it would be a good day for a 'jammie day', I told the Girl to take a shower. She smelled a bit ripe. As I dozed in the La-Z-Boy by the window letting the sunbeam warm me up, I heard a series of crashes, the last one being very loud, coming from the upstairs bathroom.

"Now what!?", I mumbled to myself as I started to shuffle upstairs. I moved a little faster when I heard the high pitched "Mommmmeeeeeee!!!" coming from the bathroom. I didn't move that fast though, because, well, the Girl is a bit of a drama queen.

I found the Girl standing in the bathroom, nekkid, holding a towel to her butt. "I'm bleeding!", she yelled. She evidently had fallen in the tub, and had broken that little ceramic soap dish that sticks out of the tile and cut herself on it.

I saw a little tiny cut on her calf. "Oh, ferchrissakes, that's it?!", I said disgustedly.

"No, I think I'm bleeding from my butt!"

"Move the towel, let me see." As she looked over her shoulder, I thankfully kept my face calm as I saw a 3 inch long zig-zag gash about 1.5" deep right next to her crack.

How was I going to get a girl dressed with that canyon of a cut on her bottom and to the hospital? Add to this the fact that the Husband was out on one his very rare 'boys outings', and the other 3 kidlets could not be left alone. There was no way around it, I had to call 911. The husband got home with in minutes of the deputy, squad, and ladder truck showing up. Ladder truck? She has a cut heiney! Well, we gave the neighbors something to discuss for the afternoon. Y'all can thank me later - with cookies.

So, as we are riding in the back of the squad with the PD following in her car (we would need a ride home - at least I wasn't at home with the other 3 kidlets, one of whom was hysterical because he thought his sister was going to die), the Girl looks over at me and sees that I have a bag with me that I use to carry knitting projects and says very accusitorily, mind you, "Mom, you brought your knitting?!"

"Of course not, what kind of mother would I be? These are clothes for you to wear home!" I failed to tell her that I did briefly consider which project would be best suited to a wait in the emergency room. I am so ashamed, let's keep this between us, shall we?