I am setting up for a launch meeting at work (it's OK, I don't work for NASA but we're very excited about some Big Lottery funding we have recently been awarded) and my phone rings.

"Hello, it's Jake's school.  He's had a bit of an accident..."

I squeak, "Oh god, no!  What's happened?" Everyone turns to look at me, their panic-stricken faces mirroring mine.  Every single scenario runs through my head in about two seconds flat.

"He's OK but he was messing about in the corridor and a door has hit him in the head."

I do an eyeroll and all my colleagues heave a sigh of relief.  They realise that it's probably not as serious as I first imagined.

The school secretary continues.  "He says he is all right and wants to go back to class but with a head injury [emphasis on the words 'head injury'] we have to ring the parents."

I quickly assess the situation.  I am fifteen miles away, I know Kev is probably not at home and Michael will still be in bed.  I have to rally the troops and work out whether school is panicking unnecessarily or not.  It probably doesn't help because I am a bit lax when it comes to dealing with Jake injuring himself as he tends to throw himself  headlong into life.

"Can you make him sit down for a short while?  His ADHD will mean that he's hyped up and he will want to go back into class to brag to his mates!  I'll ring round and send someone down to pick him up."

The school secretary agrees to ring me back if the situation changes drastically at any point in the next half hour. She means well but she is always a little over-dramatic.

I ring Kev's phone; it's switched off.  Just as I am about to ring Michael's phone my own phone rings again.  It's the school secretary.

"Jake has a headache now," she says, with a worrying tone to her voice.  I ask to speak to Jake and he tells me a tale of boy pranks in the school corridor ending with his friend kicking the door just as he was walking towards it.  He sounds weary.

I ring Michael's phone; he answers and passes the phone to his Dad.

"School phoned.  Can you go and pick Jake up?  He's banged his head and it needs checking out."  Kev says he will go straight down to the school.  "Text me when you've picked him up.  I need to know how bad it is.  I'm going into the meeting now but I can come home if he needs to go to hospital."

I'm starting to panic a bit now.  This is the only part of being a full time working mum that I hate.  The not knowing what is going on and not being in control.

A short while later, my phone vibrates.  I look at the text.  RING ME  screams the text from Kev.  Oh shit!  What now? So, I ring home and listen to a story about some mail that has come today.  When Kev pauses I ask, "How's Jake...?" and I hold my breath.

When he got to school the school secretary had reiterated the information about a headache and handed him the obligatory "bump on head" letter.  Kev had asked, "Is it a FIFA12 headache or a C.O.D. headache?"

Jake giggled as he collected his coat and bag.

The bump is hardly noticeable.  Not even a proper bruise to show off.