Emergency Parent

I'm the go-to parent for a lot of things. If someone is hungry, I'm the woman to see. Want to read a story, need laundry done, have a bathroom issue? I'm your girl. There's one area though (OK, OK, more thane one) where my husband surpasses me in parenting...emergencies.

I hate the sight of my kids bleeding or in pain. I can usually hide my feelings until they are patched up, and then I sink weak-kneed to the bathroom floor until my shaking stops. If BadDad is home though, I'm more than happy to allow him the glory of being first on the scene.

Luckily he was home last year when M-girl leaped off a toy box and broke her foot. He was on the scene when K-boy fell into a door-knob and cut his head. Oh, and that awful, sleety night when M-girl started turning blue because she had the croup and couldn't breathe. He wasn't home when two year old D-boy fell off a kitchen chair and split his lip, but to his credit he rushed home from work and took him to the emergency room. Twelve stitches later, BadDad cemented his title of Go-To Emergency Parent.

So today, when the silence of a weekend morning was broken by M-girl rushing inside to announce that K-boy had crashed into a tree on his sled and was hurt, I thanked my lucky stars that BadDad was home. He threw a coat and boots on over his pajamas and rushed outside, while I was still gearing myself up to face the gore. Fortunately this time it was no more than a bruised knee. I'm thinking of implementing some new safety rules for the kids for times when BadDad isn't home. It involves massive quantities of bubble wrap and cotton batting.