Could you just stop bleeding for a moment so I can think?

Last Monday starts out well enough. There's a trickle of excitement in the air as Bambi is about to start school for the very first time next Thursday, and the suspense is getting to us all. The boys are coping with this by repeatedly beating the living snot out of each other, in new and interesting ways. I'm regularly impressed by the ingenuity they bring to the ring, though I think I'd prefer I didnt have to be aware of it quite so much.

But you can only fight the fighting (ha ha) so long, and eventually you have to call it Healthy Rough and Tumble and let them know its ok as long as they bugger off outside. Turns out this was a terrible idea and leads to them dismantling the rockery in the hunt for new weaponry. So back inside with you two...


Thing is, the tackling wouldn't be as bad if they were running at full capacity to start with, but earlier in the day Boogie has stacked it backwards off a chair and busted open his head on the runner of a sliding door. Not only did I not notice he had a whopping great head injury for a good 5 minutes, but when the kids pointed out that I had blood all over me and asked how I'd hurt myself, I STILL couldnt find the injury on the small boy for another minute. Parent of the year.

So pull ourselves together, drag him up to the drs, and ask them to take a look, but all the medical staff are off at lunch. Fantabulous. They suggest popping up the hospital, but I know that will take even longer than waiting here, because the boy wonder is happy enough and doesnt look like he's going to die in a hospital waiting room. After a jolly good wait, bleeding all over the shop, having the nurse superglue herself to the boys head, having the nurse pull one way and me pull the boys head the other in order to unattach the two, and being fortified with a jelly bean, we're off home confident that we've had enough excitement for the day.

Who am I kidding?

Bambi soon realises that the way to win rough and tumble for a few minutes is to hold your brother by the hair and beat his head against the floor until it bleeds again. I realise now that this was the point at which I should have strapped them to the couch like some sort of future abuse victims on Oprah, but sitting in the corner and thinking about what he'd done was all that came to mind. He's weaponless and sitting on his hands then, when his brother beats him with a coathanger, blackening one eye and leading to future facial scabs. Bambi immediately retaliates with a fistfull of Jessie the yodelling cowboy, fattening K's lip and drawing blood yet again

All of which leading me to take a superglued, fat lipped, head injured toddler, and a kindy boy with a black eye and facial scabbing up to the school for our first day ever there. I suspect I'm on some sort of special list already. That'll save time.