Can You Even Say You're a Mother Before You've Done the Broken Bone Thing?

So here was my day yesterday:

Probably the most notable thing about this little fiasco is that I have been a mother for almost nine and a half years, have three boys, and this is our first broken bone.

Well, BONES:  she broke her arm below the elbow in two spots.  She was lucky she didn't need surgery.  Will had a girlfriend over, and Colette was showing off and leapt of the roof of our little playhouse in the game room.  Because I am such an awesome mother, at first I blew her off since she has a bit of an overdramatic diva streatk.  And I admittedly was a bit pissed, and chided her for jumping off, because we have told them not to jump off, of course.  But she wouldn't let me touch her arm; wouldn't get up; didn't even respond to gifts of Zandy Bandz from Will's darling friend.  So that's when I knew something was up.  And I morphed from annoyed mama to caring saintly let's get some medical help mama.

Luckily PVT came home to man the front, because I had already brought all five of them to the doctor that morning for Rory's mystery virus.

Two doctors, two x-rays and three hours later, we were back home.

Hopefully there will be no more broken bones during our wild and crazy Mardi Gras celebration here today. 

Ahem.