Shenanigans

Do not be fooled by this photo...

My boys are crazy. I love them...but they are mischief makers through and through.
Yesterday, I walked outside to the backyard to see what they were doing. Note: if they haven't been inside to ask for a drink or a snack or help with something they are usually involved in some kind of naughtiness.
I found James with the shovel and Max standing by observing his work. He was, "building a house." He proceeded to dig up dirt, pile it on the patio, while grunting and telling me that, "building a house is a lot of work, Mom." I smiled, agreed with him, and walked back inside all the while thinking, "Gosh, what darling boys. Playing and working together so nicely in the backyard."
Another half an hour goes by and I proceed to check on the boys again. This time James is digging in a different location and yells out, "Mom! I've found a pipe!" I go over and check the sprinkler pipe to make sure he hasn't punctured it and say, "Good work digging your hole but can we dig over here so we don't break the pipe. If it breaks then the sprinklers won't work."
He responds with a frown, "Oh."
I return to folding load of laundry number four of the day and after a time, check on the boys, still reveling in my quiet, productive day. This time they are on the side of the house playing with a broken clay pot. "Uh-oh, buddy. How did that break?" I say (not really caring about the pot so much b/c it's small and not one I particularly liked). He responds, "I dropped it and it broke, Mom."
"So, it was an accident? Well, that's okay but you need to say you are sorry b/c pots cost money, Son."
"Oh. Sorry, Mom."
"It's fine. Just be careful," I tell him.
Five minutes go by and James barrels into the house crying, "It was an accident, Mom! I didn't mean to!" I can hear Max crying by the side of the house and run swiftly to find him standing in a pile of sharp pot debris with blood dripping down his face, onto his clothes, and on the ground.
I pick him up, race inside, plop him on the counter and reach for a clean rag to press against the gushing wound on his forehead...what kind of mother am I!? Who sees their kids playing with broken shards of glass and goes on her merry way thinking, "Oh, boys will be boys! Aren't they having fun!?"
What kind of idiot am I? I tend to boast about my laid backness (only with certain things, of course...others I'm quite the stickler)...and the minute I do the boys get hurt or get lost or some other precarious, often dangerous situation occurs.
So, Max has, "head wound, that could possibly need stitches but mom and dad decided against it and used super glue instead" number four in about four months. Please don't call CPS. We really are good, mindful parents. We just happen to have two rambunctious, shenanigan seeking boys. Heaven help us.