File Under "Parenting Lessons Learned"

"Where is your library book?" I asked impatiently.  If we didn't walk out the door in the next 2 minutes we would definitely miss the school bus.  

"I don't know! Ask Dad! He knows!"

"Dad is on his way to work already, and why would he have any idea where your book is?"

"He had it in his hand this morning. NO! Last night! He had it last night!"

"Get downstairs and get your shoes. I'll call dad."

...

"HURRY!"

And that is how I watched, in slow-motion, as my 5-year-old went tumbling down the stairs, ass-over-tea-kettle.  I flew down the stairs, calculated the likelihood that anything had been broken in the fall and - deeming it safe - scooped him up in my arms and carried him to the sofa.

I surveyed the fat lip and the stream of plump teardrops running over his rosy cheeks as he sobbed into my shirt.

"I'm so sorry, baby. Are you okay? That was scary, wasn't it? Does anything hurt?"

He continued to sniffle into the fabric of my pajamas while I stroked his hair.  Finally, with a deep sigh, he asked in a tiny, trembling voice.. "Mama? Are my teeth loose?"

I carefully checked each one, then reassured him that, no, his teeth were fine. Oh, and that little bit of blood? No, that was just from his lip where his tooth had caught it as his face hit the floor. (*shudder*)  His teeth were fine.

This brought on a fresh wave of sobs, which brought me fresh panic as I rechecked his body for some injury I had missed.  Was there a torn rotator? Maybe a cracked rib I had jostled as I hugged him?

"What is it, buddy?  Does something hurt? What's the matter??"

A hiccup.  Then, as he lifted his big, wet, brown, doe-eyes to mine, through trembling lips he whimpered...

"I really want a loose tooth!"

...

So, yeah. He's fine. The library book was summarily located and he and his brother were each deposited at their respective schools.

Me, on the other hand?  I think I need a vacation.