Not For The Squeamish.

It began just like any other day.

5 boys awake before the sun had finished rising.

5 grumpy, sleepy boys heading downstairs. Some in their pj's, some dressed in clothes. Some sporting diapers that sagged to their knees.

5 hungry boys begging for 5 different things for breakfast.

One mom doing her best to please.

And the morning led it's way to early afternoon just like that. Then the boys asked for popcorn. Another daily ritual. One that ends with the usual popcorn fight or the brotherly battle of who can toss popcorn into the sky and catch it in their mouth. My floor proudly displays the truth...no one can! I pulled out the vacuum and began to clean the battlefield that was once known as my family room floor.

Then I heard it. The blood-curdling scream that unmistakably means a child is injured.

I leaped up the stairs and met Jack halfway.

Dangling from his finger was Robin, our pet gerbil. Robin had clamped so hard onto Jack's finger, that his teeth were actually stuck. That's right. Those yellowy, curvy, nasty, rodent teeth were embedded in my child's tiny, adorable, little digit.

Blood was dripping and Jack was screaming. No time to stop and asess. No time to think. I sprang into action and did what any adrenaline-charged mother would do. I squeezed and pulled and finally freed my son. After a call to the pediatrician, we were able to stop the bleeding. No shots and no stitches. All things considered, it ended nicely.

Robin would tell you differently. If only he could.