Never a dull moment. And I could use a dull moment.

It was around 5 p.m. The girls were over at a friend's house. Baby J. was sleeping peacefully in his crib. D. was running around, reveling in the fact that he had not napped today, though not for lack of trying.

Mr. WG was babbling about dinner, what are we doing for dinner, should we go to the grocery store? I was trying to work. Mr. WG did not GET that I was trying to work. He sat on the exercise bike in my office, pedaling just enough to make it beep every few seconds, and pretended to make a shopping list.

"Do you need milk?"

"Yes."

"Milk. Deli. Hot dogs? I wonder if we have hot dogs?"

(WG ignores him and TRIES TO WORK.)

"Maybe I'll go check if we have hot dogs. Because maybe we need hot dogs."

This might have gone on for hours, had not D. suddenly crashed onto the tile (I HATE HATE HATE HATE TILE AND I WANT HARDWOOD) and began to cry. I got up to check on him. Mr. WG stayed where he was, babbling about the hot dogs. And then I yelled for him, because there was MUCH BLOOD, and as I have said before, I SUCK in a crisis.

And Mr. WG came and took D. to the bathroom to wash the blood out of his mouth, and then he said, "Oh, it's deep."

Whereupon I raced to the computer to get the number for our friend and neighbor who is an ER doc and who I was reasonably certain would be home because he returned from Israel TODAY, THIS MORNING, and I called him and barely managed to get out words that may or may not have been coherent, and a few minutes later we were at his house and he was saying something about ER and stitches, but I couldn't hear because I was busy hyperventilating.

And then we drove over to the hospital. I sat in the back in between D. and Baby J., who was remarkably well-behaved for having been snatched from his crib. And I think this was the only car ride in my life (well, except for the ride back home afterwards) where I did not where a seat belt. (Hey, you try to buckle up in the middle of the backseat of an Accord when there's a car seat on either side of you.)

We got to the ER and parked in a Doctors Only spot, thanks to a tip from our friend that it wouldn't be a problem on a Sunday. And they checked my boy and determined that he was (1) bleeding, (2) in need of stitches, and (3) rather large for 2, no?

So then, they stuffed his arms into a pillowcase (I am so not joking) and laid him down with his arms trapped underneath his body and then pulled a sheet tightly over his chest, and Mr. WG held his head and three or four other people held his shoulders and legs and I held Baby J. and the doctor stitched and D. screamed bloody freaking murder, and I do mean BLOODY, and it was just awful. But it ended quickly.

THREE stitches, and I swear to you that I felt each one of them go in from across the room and THANK GOD it is the INSIDE of his mouth. But his mouth! It is swollen like you have NEVER seen. Like, I don't know how he will be able to speak tomorrow. And there is going to be some soreness if you ask me. And OF COURSE my housekeeper's 2-week vacation starts tomorrow, so I will get to deal with this WHILE I am also dealing with the other three of them and pretending to work.

And we never did the grocery shopping. And no, we don't need any damn hot dogs.