-Turn back on son, allowing him to stand up on the storage ottoman, fall backwards onto his head with a terrifying THWACK! and then turn pale from screaming so hard.
-Call husband, hospital and best friend whose own son has a penchant for hitting his head. Be comforted by the nurse on the phone that, "Brain injuries often take several days to show up. It's great that he seems fine now, but you know, Natasha Richardson seemed fine for a few days, too..."
-Give up plans to go to the gym in favor of hovering over injured child watching for signs of head trauma such as slurred speech, staggering, and unusual behavior (you know, as opposed to your average year and a half old behavior, which is entirely reliable and never involves slurring or staggering.)
-While paying careful attention to son, neglect older daughter. Find her fifteen minutes later playing gleefully on bed, surrounded by piles of lingerie dug from your bedside table drawer.
-Stand outside on deck for ten minutes in the wind and cold while dog pretends to need a bowel movement when in fact he is merely looking for an escape. Finally drag him in after two failed attempts to dart through the neighbor's yard, only to realize that your daughter was having her own bathroom break alone while you were outside, and now has to be taken back to the bathroom for a more thorough clean up job.
-Emerge from the bathroom to see that son has thrown his lunch all over the floor, including about fifty eight peas. Try and fail to coax dog that he should be a normal frickin dog and clean up the food mess for you.
-Painstakingly pick up the peas on your hands and knees while children stand around watching you intently.
-Stand up to find that dog has eaten daughter's sandwich and tater tots right off her plate while you were on the floor with the peas.
-Give up on your day entirely and allow Steve and Blue to entertain your children while you whine online.