I really, really do.
The little kids are still sick, so no morning gym time for me. This evening, I cooked dinner for the family, then went to a kickboxing class.
About halfway through, one of the ladies at the front desk pulls me out of class. While this would not be totally unheard of if I had my kids with me, they were all home. She tells me that my husband called, and wants me to call him immediately. Oh great.
I grab my cell phone, and sure enough, I missed a phone call, and there's a text. The text says, "911". This is not good.
I call him, and find out that I need to come home and take M to get stitches. In the head. Again.
Apparently, M and K started having a sleeping bag fight. (Sister M, cover your eyes here) I bought a couple sleeping bags for my sister for Christmas, and they were in the front room. Long story short, they were throwing them at each other, and being heavy, high quality bags, one knocked M into my cedar chest.
My husband was downstairs with the younger two, and M comes downstairs, blood pouring off his head, soaking his shirt, and leaving a blood trail along the way (thank goodness for tile and wood floors throughout the house). After a minor freakout, J gets him cleaned up and is calling me at the same time.
I take M to the IHC Kidscare in Layton (LOVE LOVE LOVE that place!). In the car on the way over, M remarks that he's "getting bored with getting hit in the head". The nurse remembers us from the eye incident back in August. That's somewhat touching, but somewhat disturbing. She agrees that it definitely needs stitches. Not staples, not glue, but stitches.
She gets him nicely cleaned up and numb, and the doctor put in 5 little stitches. We are supposed to go back on Friday to have them removed. That seems awfully soon, but that would work out better for us. This way, I can take him back on the way to the airport, and my mom or grandma won't have to deal with it while we're out of town.
We get home, and K is still a mess. She's feeling horribly guilty that she was responsible for hurting her brother. She told J that she wished it'd been her. He retorted that no, SHE breaks her wrists. It's up to M to do the head wound thing. She did not see the humor in it.
Then, she was in bed, and somehow, a snow globe toppled off the shelf above her bed, shattered all over her. Glass, glitter, and water all over her and her bed.
I changed her sheets while she showered.
I'm ready for bed.