Six Year Old 911

I'm happily at home and Banana Boy and Little Hey are playing next door. Actually, they were having a picnic, but they must have finished eating.

Pepper comes running to me saying, "BB is bleeding!" I start calling for him and she says, "He's not here."

"Well, how do you know he's bleeding?"

"Little Hey is here." Sure enough, Little Hey is playing on our deck, now that his message has been delivered.

"Little Hey, where is BB? Is he bleeding?"

Little Hey nonchalantly responds, "He's at my house. He's bleeding."

I run for shoes and dash out the door, sure he must be hemorraging in Dog's (she's Little Hey's mom and gained this lovely nickname thanks to Sunshine) arms.

Little Hey jogs behind me. Panting, I ask him, "Is he with your mom?"

Calmly, "No. He's on the patio."

So my kid is bleeding to death and rather than run for help to the house 6 feet from the accident site, you walked over to my house?

I take off, speed trails behind me like a cartoon and sprint to my poor Banana Boy.

He's sitting on the patio with a skinned knee, whimpering softly to himself.

As soon as he sees me, he breaks into wails of pain.

Well, we get him all cleaned up and Dog offers us a bandaid. Just as I am snuggling the still wailing ("IT STINGS!!!!!" BB) I look out her back window to see a red wagon hurtling down her (steep!) lawn. The wagon tips and two boys FLY out across the yard.

Pepper was sweetly taking Sunshine and Little Hey for a wagon ride.

Now LH is whimpering. Sunshine is laughing.

LH limps to the house, tired of playing. BB, who has stopped wailing to watch the wagon action, now limps over to me like a 98 year old man.

Dog thoughtfully invites both boys inside to watch a movie. "Don't touch anything! Don't go near anything!" she hollers. "No more injuries!"