WHEN THE CHILDREN GET HURT

When your child is an infant, and bangs against something hard, there isn't much you can except hold them close and try to keep them away from the hard thing.

When they begin walking, you let them cry a little and try again.

At least until they begin school, you can kiss a boo-boo and the pain will go away.

Then large boxes of Johnson and Johnson band-aids begin to be stored, and certain bowls, towels, ice packs and Ace bandages, and suddenly the teenager athletic is taking care of their own injuries.

Except I now have animals instead.

Who can't communicate what hurts, where it hurts and/or how much it hurts.

But can still whimper, moan and cry because of the pain.

So you can't kiss it, you can't treat it, and they can't do much of anything on their own except lie on the ground and look miserable.

A SICK KID IS A SICK KID

There are some mommy-genes that snap into alert the instant you have/see/hear about a child who is ill.

My granddaughter was sick last week, and even through just my daughter's iPhone photos, my heart was wrenched and twisted into a little pretzel-shape.

And today, I had a horse with a bad tummy-ache.

The problem, however, with horses is that they can actually die from theirs.

Tonight Renegade seems fine, but all my mommy antennas are all alert.

Hey, these are my kids now, okay?