I must be getting calmer in my old age. Either that or highly insensitive. I vote for both.

I got a call from the school this morning. Apparently Gutsy's forehead hooked up with a rock and created a large, purple egg. The secretary wanted me to come have a look at it and decide what, if anything, the follow-up should be.

Being a concerned parent, my first thought was that I was going to be late for Spawnling's dentist appointment at this rate. So I asked the secretary if she thought it was something I would have to take him home for because, you know, I'd reschedule with the dentist before coming by if that was the case.

Look, it's not my fault. Intrepid took the shock and awe out of childhood injury for me. Between my formidable impact with a car at the age of thirteen and his femur snapping, tree falling experience last year, things like rocks to heads aren't as terrifying as they maybe should be.

I should have been freaking out.

I should have been worried sick.

I should have dropped the phone and run to the van in a panic.

Instead I asked if he was speaking, if he was dizzy, if he was vomiting and whether or not his pupils were the same size. The answers given were satisfactory, so I dressed Spawnling in matching clothes, put on some mascara and lip gloss, and then went to the school.

What a terrible mother. I bet there are people all over the interweb that are dying to see me get my just deserts for that. I would tell them not to worry because the story isn't even halfway over yet.

So, my Higher Power, who has the best sense of humour of any deity I've come across, decided this would be a good time to learn me some lesson.

I brought Gutsy home not because he was dying of a head wound but because I know I wouldn't want to walk around school with what looked like a conjoined twin on my forehead. It's called empathy and I surprisingly have a bit of it lying around for special occasions. But seriously: The poor kid looks like he has a third eye just above his nose. It's a little mutant-ish. There's no question he would have made the other kindergartners cry and earned a less-than-flattering nickname. So, being the nice mom I am, I put on Ghostbusters and made him some popcorn in the name of sheltering my little Hunchback of Notre Dame from the townspeople.

We were home for about an hour when the phone rang again. This time it was Intrepid. He wanted to come home because he was *cough* *sniffle* sick *cough*. He sounded pitiful on the phone. Not quite real sick, but more like a runny-nosed kid who didn't want to give his oral presentation in the afternoon. I couldn't very well say no after bringing Goose Egg Gutsy home, could I? Of course not. That involves follow-through and tough love that I'm way too lazy for. I packed the wee gremlins into the van and took them to the school. Again.

But wait. There's more!

They say things come in threes. Who are they? The weird superstitious people that I laugh at, that's who. They're so crazy, those people. They figure if they toss some salt over their shoulders and knock on Ikea press board furniture that life will be kinder to them. I pay them no attention. I just smile and nod and make the finger circle around my temple when they're not looking.

That's pretty judgmental of me, isn't it? It most certainly is. And do you know what happens when you're a horribly judgmental individual without a leg to stand on? Your littlest son - the one who was happy and carefree while his sickly and injured cohorts were making their way out of the school for the second time - runs into a post and hits his face so hard that he falls down.

Then he cries... And he cries... and there's nothing really wrong with him, exactly, but he's tired and has a bit of a cold and your Higher Power is smiting you for your smugness. It's payback time, Maven. That's what you get for being an insensitive mother and nasty human being.

But I did make a pit stop at the Tim Hortons and picked myself up an extra large coffee to make up for all the horribleness that happened to me today. My sons were sick. My sons were injured. My day was sidetracked.

Oh, did I mention I'm self-centered? Want to know what self-centered gets me? Just as I was putting the finishing touches on this blog, Spawnling - who woke up a little while ago for seemingly no apparent reason - pooped out the side of his diaper and down his leg. I now have that lingering fecal smell on my hands.

Good thing I spoke at my AA homegroup meeting tonight or he probably would have barfed on me, too.