Band-Aid Moustache

I had an appointment at 9am this morning. It was pouring rain, so I waited until 8:55am to head out. My phone rang at 8:59am, just as I pulled into a parking spot. When I looked down at my phone and saw it was Tom, I thought it was the sweetest thing in the world that he was making sure I made it okay (we don't get much rain here and when we do, roads are a MESS).

Me: Hello?
Tom: Hey! You get there okay?
Me: Yep, just pulled in, thanks.
Tom: So... We're all okay...
Me: What is wrong?!?
Tom: Well, your son is gushing blood and may have a cleft lip.
Me: What?! Do I need to come home?!
Tom: I found him on the floor next to the train table. He's bleeding a lot but don't think you need to come home. Do you think he needs stitches?
Me: How would I know?
Tom: I'll send you a picture.

He sent me a text and Cole wasn't "gushing blood" and didn't appear to have a "cleft lip" as my husband so delicately put it, so I told him to do what he could and I'd be home soon.

Two minutes later I got this text:

All good.

After my appointment I hurried home, found out the real story (the three of them had been running around) and fixed my beloved child so he wouldn't be mocked endlessly at a birthday party starting in 5 minutes.

When Mommy handles things: