How many fingers am I holding up?

I'm not really sure why I'm writing tonight, except for the fact that I'm bored and I have a bad sore throat, which I'd rather not think about. Moms aren't allowed to get sick. It's one of the rules. They don't tell you until later, though.

My sons are teaching me alot about injuries. Hannah hasn't gotten hurt that much. She's always very cautious and attentive. She reminds me alot of myself as a kid. For some reason I was always aware of the injury possibilities with every given activity and would therefore assess the risk vs. reward of participating. Yeah, I was a bit of a ninny. Hannah, is just quietly careful. She still does somersaults off the couch onto the air mattress with Carter, and jumps down from the 5th stair onto the floor. I like to cheer my kids on when they do this stuff, even though I know as their mother I should discourage it, because it's good to let your kids be better at stuff than you are.

Carter and Ethan, though. Oh, they each give me a heart attack at least 6 times a day. Hannah likes to freak out right along with me when her brothers do something reckless like hang off the monkey bars at the park or walk too closely to the edge of the pool. She does this little anxiety dance where she prances around on her toes, fluttering around them and saying, "oh, you're making me so nervous!" It's quite funny, actually.

Today, oh today.

We were stir crazy. And when Carter gets stir crazy he starts getting into the food. That kid, I tell you. He will eat until there is literally NOTHING left to eat in the house. The other day, Hannah looks up at me and goes, "Carter NEVER stops eating!" I know honey, I buy the groceries. It doesn't matter what I do or say, what brilliant activity I come up with, what amazing hiding space for the cookies. He will inevitably find his way back to the kitchen, and begin shoving whatever he can get his sneaky little fingers on right into his hoover mouth. The problem with this, besides my rapidly increasing grocery budget, is that climbing up on counters can often be a bit, hazardous. Today, while trying to get down, he slipped off and kind of smacked his face on the floor. Okay, not kind of. Full on.

I was across the room. Eyesight. Saw it all. Way too far to stop it from happening.

So I ran over and scooped him up into my arms. It was a bad one. When Carter gets hurt he usually cries for about 10 seconds and then gets up and starts being a terror again. Today was different, he probably cried for 10 minutes, and kept grabbing at his head, and his little cheek was all red and bruisy looking. I snuggled him and he buried his face in my chest. It was kind of a little heaven, well it would have been if I hadn't been wondering if I should take him to the ER. Whenever he cries for more than a minute I start to wonder that. But none of my kids have ever been and I'd like to keep it that way. Knock on wood.

So I sat on the couch soothing my three year old and asking him questions to try and see if he had a concussion. I would run out pretty quick and then ask him all the same ones again. How many fingers am I holding up? Two. Now how many? three. What's your favorite thing to do? Play. What your favorite food to eat? Bread. What's your favorite animal? horses. Who's your favorite person (running out of good questions)? Horses.

Hm.

How many fingers am I holding up?