"Is that your blood?" "Some of it, yeah."

Today Miss A stayed home from school because of a cough she effectively faked yesterday and overnight. Well played, Miss A. Well played.

She clearly has the idea that, while she's at school, the rest of us enjoy a party replete with snacks on demand, board games, dress up, and hot chocolate. Because that is what she expected today. While I worked this morning, she tapped on my office door and blew me kisses every time I turned around. I know: "Awwwwww, so sweet!" Yes. But I did have a deadline. And she did keep this up for hours.

The boys were manic and raced through the house, up and down stairs, like extras in movies featuring unruly boys. You totally know what I mean. Anyway, I eventually tired of their screaming and running, and I scooted them downstairs and locked the door behind them.

Miss A and I sat down to do her homework. Two to three minutes later I heard the intense cry that 1) sends me running for the basement door, 2) steels my stomach for gore and broken bones, 3) makes me roll my eyes and swear under my breath because they are SO ANNOYING!!

It was Phe. He bawled his way up the stairs and Griffin followed with a guilty grin on his face. Griffin is a terrible liar. From what I could understand, Griffin either pushed or punched him, and he fell backward and landed on a Darth Vader mask. Phe garnered exactly no sympathy with that story, since they were wild and stupid all day long. I said so in more child-friendly terms, and suggested they go back downstairs. That's when I saw that some asshole had smeared -- was that ketchup?? -- all over my freaking door frame. What the hell!?!


Oh. Not ketchup.

The mask of Darth Vader had punctured Phe's scalp in the back of his head, and thus unleashed a torrent of questions. How do you bandage a small wound on the scalp? How do you decide whether a scalp wound needs stitches? Had it been on his face, I would have gotten stitches. Had it been on his leg, I would have slapped a band-aid on and called it a day. This was a conundrum.

The pediatrician's office thought he needed stitches. The ER said that as long as we don't mind it bleeding on his pillow at night, we don't need to stitch it. I felt rugged walking out of that ER, fully planning to ruin a handful of pillowcases this week. I am a bad ass. Hell yeah, that's a bloodstain on my pillowcase. Of course it is. I'm a mother of twin freaking boys. These are my sons.