Memories can be so vivid. Writing can be so therapeutic. Catch up on how our Friday morning coloring got us to this place HERE, HERE, and HERE.

"Benjamin" Oh...that's my kids name. We rarely call him by his real/full name. I guess I'd forgotten what name I should be listening for and even the name I'd just scribbled on numerous line in all that paper work. Either that or I'd calmed down so much since my prince charming had arrived that fact that my lil prince's skull was cracked didn't matter any more.

Whichever way it may be, I finally snap out of it and snatch up my purse and the bleeder. I look at Matt and we both know someone has to stay in the waiting room with the girls. They did NOT need to see what was about to go down and though they are Very well-behaved, they didn't need to be left alone. {Someone might recognize their awesomeness and want to 'borrow' them...} Any how, I say, "I'll take him." As if I were doing Matt a favor. Really, I just want to be able to say, "I can be a boy mom! I started this crazy day, I can finish it!"

He stands as we head back with the nurse and offers to take my place but was a team player! He stays and locats the "on" button for the TV. #winning

After more silly shenanigans having to do with typing junk into a computer, we make it back to the exam room. This joker is hard-core and sterile. I mean, all doctor's offices feel clean but this smells of ER with tool chests full of equipment. I gently lay Jamin on the exam table, trying not to make his brains fall out of his new crevice. He has made a marvelous...stinky right before we walked back. As soon as I pull out the wipes, J decides he's going to go spelunking off the side of the table. "NO! I don't think so!" I yelled as I pull my tiny dare-devil onto his back. "You are NOT allowed to climb, roll, jump, or have fun...at least for the rest of the day!" I'd never been one of those moms. I'm pretty relaxed in letting my kids be adventurous and such but Not Today! Today, I want to twist him up in bubble wrap and rock him; forever.

Just as I begin cleaning up the filth in dude's pants the doctor, whom we'd never met and my buddy, Lacey walk in. That man's eyes round out, as big as a cartoon being smacked over the head with a frying pan. I can't help but laugh while apologizing. He dismisses himself and said they would return. Lacey follows out the door behind him chuckling and suggest I put the nasty diaper in the red-lined, "toxic" trashcan behind me.

All cleaned up and ready to get checked, we let them know "all is clear". It was amazing how un-phased the bug-eyed doctor is at the sight of Jamin's gaping wound verses his horrific diaper. He assesses the gash quickly and states, "We'll do some staples." Wow. That made my entire morning feel so...not a big deal. In a good way. They send in a "hazmat" team/guy to clean up my sad little man's hair as well as around the "scene of the accident". He is so good with J, even giving Jamin 5 stickers after letting him mash on his head to prep the area for the staples.

The doctor and Lacey return with itsy bitsy staple gun in hand. Mr Hazmat swaddles Jamin and lays him on his tummy. Jamin thinks this is a funny game as the guy talks to him silly for a moment. Then, realizing he can't move his arms and his new-foun-friend is not going to help unbundled him, Jamin frantically begins asking, "Mamma?!? Mamma?!?"

Tears. That's the only thing that want to come out as I watch that man in the white coat press a tiny stapler into my son's skin on the back of his head and giggle to make sure it was attached. The chick-chunck sound is almost more than I can bear. I just want to hold him in my lap like I did for the doctor to listen to his chest the Friday before when we discovered he had croup. I couldn't. I just had to watch him lye on that crunchy paper and I want to hold his hand like I did the Monday a few days before, as he got an ultrasound to check for a hernia. But I couldn't. I  watch. I just lean over near his face {probably Way too close to Hazmat-man} and said, "I love you baby. Mamma's right here!!!"

After the third set of chick-chuncks, I nearly knock Jamin's new friend turned foe over as I try to grab up my tiny baby boy. Making the doctor wipe the tiny new blood he has created with the 3 staples as if it were all his fault. I snuggle my crying boy and sway, not even caring what the doctor was telling me about watching for possible infection or follow-up appointments. I perk up when I hear something about when to come back and get those evil things taken out! I wanted it to all be done. A distant memory. I sucked it up. I was a good boy-mom. I even have an entire photo album of pictures I took for him as if this was a dance recital for the girls. I wanted him to be able to see the memory the rest of us would have burned into our brains. I want him to be able to laugh at how he got this scar on the back of his head when we chooses to inevitably buzz his head as a teen. I want to not be a chicken-mom but an all-or-nothing-mom!

He survived. I survived. We survived!

If we had any doubt before, he is all boy! And I'm going to have buns of steel by the time he's grown. This after noon, he woke up from nap and playing like normal. Every time he gets up to chase his sister I clench my butt. Every time he climbs in the window seal to get a better view of the cows, I clinch my toosh and take deeeeeep. Long breaths. He is already sporting his battle scar, taking his hat off to show our valley friends who ask, "How are you?"

I am officially a BOY MOM!

{does that mean he never has to do anything like this again???? ONE good stories enough, right!?!}

The morning was unfolding a lot differently than I'd imagined. Simple coloring turned tragic has lead to this:

I hung up the phone and barked at the girl in my most I-mean-business voice, "GIRLS. Go get real clothes on. NOW. Shirt. Pants. Now."

The bleeding had stopped squirting but all his white blonde hair on the rear of Jamin's head was now red. Forcing myself to move calmly to insure no more injuries were caused in my panic, I grabbed the washcloth and wiped us down again. I paused. Okay, check, I thought to myself. "Don't MOVE" I told Jamin who was sitting on the counter, feet propped in the towel drawer, as he pushed away the tears that were covering his adorable, tiny, sad, cheeks.

I burned holes through him as I stared him down while I moved a few feet away to grab some gauze and tape. We Had no gauze. I quickly reevaluated and snagged a bundle of tissue right there and the small 1st aid tape in the drawer. I ripped off a long piece of white tape and folded the tissue into a pallet as I quick-stepped back toward Jamin. I located the gash and pressed the large square on top only to strap the tape around it and the entire circumstance of his head. Yep, ghetto engineering at it's finest. I stepped back to admire my handy work and snickered when Jamin gave me a smile as if to say, "How's it look Mamma?!?" {sigh of relief} His wailing had stopped.

By this time, the girls rounded the corner from their room, naked. Both holding arm-fulls of clothing. "GREAT! Put them on" I said. I was so proud of how quickly they responded under such pressure. Any other time we were trying to head out the door there would be meltdowns over who got to wear what panties or at least major lolly-gagging in the I-don't-know-how-to-put-on-a-shirt-anymore department. Mags threw on her clothes so I added to her directions, "Grab socks and shoes. Now. Put them on." but to Izzie I redirected, "Sorry, you can't wear leggings. Its too cold. Go get real pants and put it all on." Holding Jamin and his new head gear I paused; "crap, what now." I thought. "Oh yeah, some pants, rather than PJ shorts, for the injured one and a bra and shoes would be nice for the mamma/EMT!"

We all collided in my bedroom, grabbing shoes, jackets and a hat to cover my sweet boy's red hair...so we didn't freakout the others in the waiting room. In the distance I hear my phone going off. Sternly giving more orders, we rushed to the front door; dressed and ready in less than 10 minutes- family record! They grabbed morning cups, I grabbed the keys and diapers and we rushed to the van. Another new record was made as each child hollered bye to the dog rather than stopping for stinky hugs and hopped into the van. Those who could buckled...at least the parts they could, did so speedily!

Whipping down the driveway I called Matt back to let him know where we were headed. He had turned around and was now only minutes away from our exit. I explained there was still blood dripped across the kitchen but I think I had the bleeding stopped or at minimum slowed. We raced over tickle hill with no warning and over to the main road. Finally off the phone, I realized I wasn't sure if I remembered where exactly the clinic was located in reference to the street we been dumped out. Pulling a giant U-ie, we made it to the parking lot. Unloading like circus clowns, the kids filed onto the sidewalk and we all rushed inside as I quickly reminded them of "manors in public".

When we approached the front desk, the clerk seemed dazed. Again, I regained composure, "Yes, this little guy has busted his head open and may need stitches."

{blank Stare} "Well, ummm. We are gonna have to send you to the emergency room. We only have two providers here today and they're both booked."

{Hhhuuuuh???} "Um, Lacey sent me here and said they could do it?"

"Sorry, we can't."

We finished up a seemly long small talk after the awkward "no" and we all filed back into the van and I text my friend to let her know we'd been sent away. She responded quickly with, "What? Are you still here?" When I told her yes she responded, "Where"... She checked her parking lot and called immediately me only for us to both realize...I'd gone to the wrong clinic. She works two different places. Well snap! We rushed down the same street in search of the proper "Urgent Care" center and called Matt to reroute him.

to be continued...