Did I mention that it is the fifth week of school and Colleen has already had three trips to the nurse’s office? (Two for head bumps that needed ice, once for tripping and landing on her cast. Yeah, that one worries me a little.)

Is it possible to duct tape her arm back into the cast when she plays outside? May be worth a try.

I was sorting laundry, waiting for them to finish, when I heard Mack call out, “Mommy, I cut myself. There’s blood.” I walked into the bathroom, assuming it would be something like a nick on the toe, only to find that he had somehow sliced the side of his wrist open. The cut was about an inch long and there was indeed blood – a lot of blood.

I had the reaction I generally have when one of my boys is bleeding. Was it a quick rush to action, with exceptional first aid accompanied by calming words, you ask? No, I panicked and screamed, “Byron! Byron! Help!”

Believe me, I don’t report this because I think it is a charming quirk. I hate how I panic when the boys are hurt; I worry that someday it might hamper my ability to help them when they really need it. But when I see blood on one of the boys, my brain goes all wonky.

This effect is especially pronounced when the injured son is Mack. In his eight short years, Mack has cultivated a certain mystique of invulnerability. He almost never gets sick, even so much as a sniffle. He laughs off cuts and bruises, gets dental work without anesthesia, and has been known to run (and win) two distance races on the same day, with a soccer game and a swim practice sandwiched between.

So when Mack gets hurt, it’s kind of like that part in Superman II, where Superman gives up his powers so he can be with Lois Lane. (Which, can we all just stop to agree – big mistake. She wasn’t into you for your nerdy glasses and knowledge of AP style, Clark.) Anyway, they come down from the Fortress of Solitude and go into that diner. The local bully starts up with Clark and eventually socks him in the nose. When blood actually comes out, we all freak because it is just so shocking and incongruous.

Luckily, last night Byron was just down the hall and came to the rescue. It took about 50 tissues, several pieces of gauze, medical tape, Neosporin, butterfly bandages and sports strips, but he got the bleeding stopped and the wound bandaged. We decided it didn’t even require stitches. (Again, the Mack Mystique. If it had been Aidan, the cut would have been just that little bit deeper and we would have been headed to the ER, no question.)

Once we were both recovered, I asked Mack how he cut himself. Turns out he got himself on something as he reached up to put the soap back in its dish. We couldn’t figure out what it was; it may have just been the plastic edge of my shampoo tube. I told him I was so sorry that such a weird accident happened to him and he replied, “You told me the bathroom is the most dangerous room in the house.”

Mommy said, “I’ll get you some ice and you can snuggle with me until you feel better.”

Daddy said, “I think she needs to go to the ER.”

Good thing Colleen has two parents. She broke the radial bone in her right arm. Motherly instinct my butt.

After three weeks in a full arm cast, two and a half more in a half cast, Colleen was free! For 12 days. When she tripped over her feet and fell in the grass. And hurt her arm. Neighbors brought her home crying. Sound familiar?

This time, Mommy skipped the ice and went to the ER. Broken again. Four more weeks in a full arm cast.

So I ask you, after all that has happened in the grass, is it so unreasonable to recommend Colleen play in the street?

A side note to Tommy: I apologize. Had I known Colleen would break her arm twice in two months, I would have bet big money you would have been involved. Maybe next time.

The bee gave him immediate, negative feedback.

Mack was very concerned with being numbed up. Last time, while numb, he chewed up the inside of his cheek, and hurt for days. So this time he asked the dentist whether he could skip the numbing agent. She told him she was dubious, but would ask me. I said it was okay by me if it was what he wanted. The dentist agreed to give it a try. But she warned him that if he moved around too much she would numb him up.

Apparently he held perfectly still. Even the dentist, a kind of taciturn person, was impressed when she told me that Mack had gotten two fillings with no numbing.

Nothing like a little pioneer dentistry.

Afterward, Mack competed in a track meet, taking 18 seconds off his previous best in the 1600 meters, and getting a personal record 7-6 in the long jump.

As I waited, I noticed that I had a voice mail message, which is very rare for me. I figured it was Byron, from earlier in the day. But no, it was my mom, calling right as my plane must have been taking off. Let me paraphrase – but closely paraphrase – the message: “Mack hit Aidan with a baseball bat! In the face! Oh my god, the blood! The blood! He might lose his eye! Have you taken off yet? We’re going to the ER!”

Needless to say, I completely lost my mind right there at O’Hare. I called Byron back and found out that he already knew, and had been waiting to tell me in person. I couldn’t believe that this would happen to my darling Aidan, who I leave so rarely, when I wasn’t there. My first instinct was to hop right on the next plane back home.

Well, after getting an update (he didn’t lose his eye) and talking to my mom, and talking to my sister, and talking to Aidan, I decided to continue with my long weekend. Aidan’s Grammy and Auntie Emily did a wonderful job taking care of him, waiting for a plastic surgeon to give him 23 stitches, and making sure he didn’t agitate the wound after it was stitched.

I think the only thing worse than seeing your child hurt must be having him get hurt when you aren’t there.

Oh, and lest you think we should be sending Mack for serious counseling – the incident was an accident that happened when Aidan bent over behind Mack as he took a swing.

He’s had many of the simpler tests and nothing showed up. So now we’re on to the big stuff. He had an upper GI this morning, which is a test to try to locate problems in the stomach and diaphragm. He had to drink a lot of barium (which the tech flavored with Hershey’s syrup for him, but which still was pretty gross), then stand and lie in a variety of positions on an x-ray table, sipping the barium the whole time, as they photographed him.

He did a very good job. The doctor told me that he didn’t see any obvious ulcers or tumors, which is good news. Apparently, ulcers in four years olds are more common than you’d think.

After that we went across the street and he had four vials of blood drawn. That was far more traumatic for Aidan, but we had a lab technician there who was quick, no nonsense, and got the stick the first time despite Aidan thrashing as hard as he could, screaming, and having difficult veins because he’d fasted 12 hours for the upper GI. I could have kissed her. This is the same lab where I brought Reid when he was nine months old, and took my time explaining to the tech that he had difficult veins, and that we’d had many problems in the past, and we’d had to tie him down and go into his head, and it took many tries, yadda yadda, and she nodded at me, turned around, and had the needle in his vein in about three seconds. I am never going anywhere else.

Next we have to collect some stool and turn that in. That we get to collect at home, Yay. Apparently, we use saran wrap.

Anyway, maybe something will turn up in these tests to explain his stomach, and maybe it won’t. We have to wait until mid-August to see a pediatric gastroenterologist, believe it or not. But we got a new Zantac prescription, so at least we can make him feel better while we wait to see if they can diagnose him.

I had promised him that if he did a good job at the upper GI, we could go to Safeway and get him a doughnut and a soda. As he’s in the middle of the test, I hear his little voice from the machine, “Mommy, remember, after this I get a doughnut, soda, and candy.” I replied, “I don’t remember saying anything about candy!” The doctor and the tech laughed and the doctor said, “He’s kind of running the show right now, mom.”

Later the tech told me to make sure Aidan got a lot to drink today, “…and things without caffeine.” Feeling like Champion White Trash Mom, I replied, “So, no Mountain Dew, then?” Aidan piped up, “No, I want diet Coke.” And we left, to the sound of dueling banjos in the distance.

I’ve never had poison ivy before and my god, it is so horrible. It kept getting worse every twelve hours, so after a week I finally went to the doctor.

She put me on a steroid to help clear up the rash. She said that the medicine would make me irritable and nervous, make it difficult to sleep, and give me an increased appetite.

So…business as usual, I guess.

I chose to go to Reston Hospital, instead of the hospital nearest us, because the one time I’d been to ours I’d gotten a bad impression. What a huge mistake. We sat for hours without them even looking at Reid, something that is hard to fathom when you are dealing with a tiny infant like him.

In all, we were there for more than eight hours. It turns out that Reid had a bacterial infection in his chest, a development that is not uncommon in infants, but still a major concern, obviously.

Reid handled it very well. I handled it slightly less well, but did my best. The ER doctors had a hard time getting blood from him. It kept congealing before they could test it. They had to stick him repeatedly, and of course we had to wait every time.

Then they tried to place an IV, to start antibiotics (five hours after we arrived). They had an extremely difficult time trying to get the IV in place, and actually tried about seven or eight times. It was torture for both Reid and me. I don’t know who cried harder. After the umpteenth failure, over several hours, I actually picked Reid up off the table, as they were looking for another place to stick, and told them that we were done. The two doctors became extremely fussy with me, and one even stomped away in a huff. But I wouldn’t put him down.

At the time it was an emotional response more than anything else, because I felt I literally could not stand to see Reid get hurt one more time. I was actually somewhat embarrassed by my outburst. But looking back, I’m so glad I did it. Doctors can be so intimidating, even when they aren’t actively trying to patronize you. We hate to question them, and they hate it too. But I think sometimes they need to be reminded that they are treating people — in this case a little teeny people — not just solving puzzles.

Finally, they gave Reid oral antibiotics and transferred us, by ambulance, to Prince William Hospital — the hospital I should have gone to in the first place. It was about 5:00am when we left, a quick 30-minute trip with no traffic on the road. I was in the back of the ambulance, dizzy from no sleep, worried, and holding the tiny hand of my son, who was strapped — in his car seat — to a gurney. I think I will remember the sensations of that journey — the gray morning light, the sound of the wind in the back of the ambulance, the feel of Reid’s soft hand in mine — forever.

Prince William Children’s Hospital brought in a neonatalogist, who put in the IV the very first time. I wept with relief. And exhaustion. And guilt.

After a couple of days of wonderful care in the hospital, Reid is fine and we are both home. It was no fun spending my birthday in the hospital, but…the things you do for love.