So this morning, mere fragments of a minute after Jeff had driven out of the driveway, I heard a positively blood-curdling scream from the kitchen where Carter and Griffin were eating breakfast. I grabbed Peyton and flew down the stairs expecting the worst. I've heard a LOT of screams of pain in my short career as a parent, but this was somehow different. A sobbing Carter was standing in the middle of the kitchen with blood pouring down his face. The entire left side of his head was completely covered with blood and his pajamas were soaked as well. Apparently, and this information was incredibly difficult to ascertain because Carter was crying so hard I had to rely on 2-year old Griffin's telling of the tale, he had walked around the side of our round table to get his booster (as he does every morning so he can watch Curious George as he dines), and slipped. His head hit one of the "ladders" as Griffin calls it, of a kitchen chair in his path and the edge of the square rung cut his head just above his left eyebrow. When I discovered the source of the gushing, it was painfully obvious that the length and depth of the gash was far greater than the strength of the two butterfly bandages in my first aid kit were going to be able to handle, so I packed all three kids in the car and headed off to the emergency room...at 7:14am. Jeff, who had just arrived at work, turned around and came to the hospital to be with Carter (as suggested by the hospital staff when they realized what they were up against) while Griffin, Peyton and I prowled the ER lobby for an hour and a half. Carter now has 7 stitches on his head, as well as a mask, gloves, a coloring book about nurses, and crayons - all of which he thinks are a lot more interesting than the stitches.