Speed work

I was inside minding my own business, peeling potatoes and such, when I heard the most horrible scream, followed by more screams:

'Alarm, Alarm! Otsmom, alarm!' 

(The neigbourhood kids call me Otsmom, Pietsmom depending on which one of my children they're playing with.)

What's happening?!

I nearly jumped out of my skin and ran with the speed of light outside, towards the screams. Speedy Gonzales couldn't have gone any faster! Ots little friend, Oliver, met me outside, repeating with a voice ringing with sensation: 'Alarm, alarm Otsmom! Ots whóle head is bleeding.'

Indeed, there Ot came, crying loudly, pointing to his forehead. I took a deep breath and lifted his bangs, preparing myself for a grisly sight worthy of a Stephen King novel. But instead of a big wound, just a little graze met me.

'Thank God! That's not so bad!' I declared in my best doctor's voice. 'You gave me a real fright Oliver!'

'You can run really fast Otsmom!'

'You can run really fast, can't you, Otsmom!' Ot's little friend said in impressed tones.
'Why, thank you, Oliver!' I replied.

And then I went inside, my legs still a little wobbly, and checked off on my To-Do-List:

'Doing Speedwork.'