So this morning I'm at the track just beginning my somewhat daily walk/run/walk when I get a call from Luke:

"Where are you???!!"

"Umm..at the track?"

"Get to the school. Coach just called and Eldest got hit in the head with a football pylon and needs stitches."

Thankfully, the track is only 4.7 seconds from the high school so I jumped in the car not having any idea if the gash was as bad as hubby made it sound.

You see, Luke is a little high-strung when it comes to the kids being injured. There was a time a few years ago when our then three-year-old youngest son shot a finishing nail through his hand with the air nailer. (That's totally a story for a different day.) As soon as it happened, Luke picked boy Three up under his armpits, held him straight out from his body, and ran the length of our hallway 37 times screaming, "He's shot with a nail! He's shot with a nail!" I finally convinced him to stop it with the sprinting and use some of that energy to get him to the hospital. We raced to the car and Luke proceeded to pull out of the driveway with the child in his lap IN THE DRIVER'S SEAT.

No Britney, I will not allow you to drive down the street with my child in your lap, nail in hand or not.

Y'all remind me to tell you the rest of that story sometime. It really is a good one. For now, I think you get the point that Luke, well, he's a little excitable.

Moving on, I went to the school office and signed out Eldest. Amber, (the most awesome office aid ever) called the infirmary and couldn't find him. About that time, Luke busted through the office door and said, "I HAVE HIM! LET'S GO!!!!!"

And y'all, I'm not trying to minimize the fact my child got hurt but it really wasn't that bad. I'm thinking glue and maybe stitches; Luke's thinking concussion and maybe brain surgery.

I had to take my car home and while there, Luke asked me to run in and get his cell phone. I was in the house for a nanosecond and the dern horn starts blowing "HONK HONK HONK HONK".

There is nothing worse than an alarmist with an alarm.

So we finally get on the road to the Emergency Room. We get there, it's not very crowded thank goodness, and go back to Triage. The nurse asked Eldest, "On a scale of 1-10, how is the pain?" Do you know what he said?

"About a 6."

Clearly, he inherited his father's tendency to exagerrate.

After I explained the pain scale a little more carefully, Eldest agreed that maybe he was only a 0-1. "Umm, nurse. You can cancel the transport to the Morphine Clinic."

Oh it gets better.

Remember I told y'all Eldest got hit in the head with a pylon? (It was just the result of some horseplay during first period athletics. The 7th Grade football team was helping the coach set out the markers for the game tonight and things got a little crazy.)

Okay, this is good. A nurse came into our room, read the chart and said, "So, I see you got hit in the head with a python?"

A stinkin' Python. Are you kidding me?

Lady, to what kind of school do you think we send our kid? The Seigfried and Roy Center of Performing Arts?

After we explained that HECK NO HE DIDN'T GET HIT IN THE HEAD WITH A PYTHON, Eldest was able to lie back and relax until he got his three baby stitches in the forehead. Thankfully, our dear friend Tammy was at work and came down to rescue us from Terri Irwin.

On our way back to school (yes, he wanted to go back to school because today was Crazy Spirit Day) a weird thought hit me. When I had signed Eldest out I was required to put a reason. My brain was going in every kind of direction and all I could think of was "Accident".

So I signed out my kid with a note beside his name that said he had an accident.

I told him what I had written and he said, "GREAT MOM. Now everyone's going to think I peed in my pants." So for those of you who go to school with my boy, just know he was only gushing blood - nothing else.

My How-Not-To-Embarass-Your-High-School-Child-Skillz need some perfecting.

Now, even though Luke can get a little crazed when the kids are hurt, he totally has his priorities in check. Would you like to know the first question he asked after my boy was stitched up?

"Doc, when can he put a football helmet back on?"

And then a phone call from Coach, "How is that head? We have a big game Tuesday!"

And then a call from a Deacon, "Is this going to affect his football?"

Men. I may tell the whole high school my son has had an 'accident' but he knows his mommy could care less if he puts on a football uniform. Even a grown boy needs that kind of secret security - don't y'all think?

This whole thing has got me thinking though. Since football is the instigator and motivator behind the accident and recovery, I'm sending the ER bill to the Quarterback Club.

And if the Cow Plop didn't raise enough to cover it, well, I'll just take one of those darlin' t-shirts y'all are selling at the game tonight.

(Just messing with you, President Mary and Entourage. Just messin'. I like the pullovers much better.)

Good grief...this post was as exhausting as the day.

Have an Awesome Friday night, interpeeps!