I got the cut while reading a book with unusually heavyweight pages, and while it didn't hurt much, by the time Cade and I left to get the kids from school I'd been bleeding for close to an hour; I just couldn't get it to stop. Upon disembarking from the bus, Adelaide and Atticus took immediate notice of the blood-soaked kleenex wrapped around my hand, and on the short walk home, Adelaide took what I think was rather perverse enjoyment from musing about whether I had lost enough blood to lose consciousness (I hadn't. Not even close.). That, of course, reminded me that we hadn't done any Mom's-Unconscious-What-Now? Drills lately- incredibly irresponsible of me; I fall and accidentally start small fires in our home too often for me to shirk these kinds of duties.
Adelaide and Atticus only needed a brief refresher course on how to use my phone and how to dial 911 and how to call anyone else on my phone, plus what to do if my phone is missing (I can't find my phone half my waking hours. I used to keep it in my pocket but it kept falling out and into water and under the wheels of my van. Really, it's safer this way.), which is basically just going from neighbor to neighbor until someone answers the door.
Caedmon, however, decided to obsess about which house he was going to first, what technique he was going to use to bang on their door, and whether or not there might be any cookies in each house that could possibly be shared with him. When receiving a tutorial on how to call 911 on my cell phone, he wouldn't stop gazing fondly at the photo of himself that is my phone's wallpaper to listen to his sister's impatient instructions. I'd like to think she would have eventually gotten through to him, but Atticus started crying, apparently getting freaked out because I'd been lying unresponsive on the floor a bit too long for his comfort, especially when blood started to pool under my outstretched, limp hand. (Hey- when you're doing Mom's-Unconscious-What-Now? Drills you go big or home. And by "go big" I mean collapse as realistically as possible and answer zero questions from your useless offspring, because how else will they learn?)
I did eventually stop bleeding, but haven't made much headway in the days since while trying to educate our youngest in the ways of Saving Mommy's Life. He does well with the practice EpiPen (aside from that one little incident of pretending to stab it in my temple- but we agreed not to bring that one up), and I know I can count on him to at least save himself by running to a neighbor's before getting distracted by toys or dust motes, but he's never going to be on one of those recorded 911 calls where the plucky preschooler calls in, saving their guardian's life.
And just a little side note: If you're having trouble teaching your kids to care enough about you to dial 911, do yourself a favor and DO NOT google "dog calls 911" because apparently ALL DOGS love their owners more than Caedmon loves me.