A rather uneventful evening, however, upon waking, Grumpy Pants and I mutually decide “better to be safe than sorry”.
In no real emergency dash, we muddle through breakfast and showers, determine which children are going where, mostly in relation to the younger two, as the biggest one is coming with me to the Children’s Hospital and, more specifically, the Emergency Department.
Determining who was going with whom goes something like “You’ll have to take them with you.”
“No, I’m not taking them.”
“They can’t come with me.”
“They can’t come with