Do As I Say...Not As I Do

Do you know what's not such a great idea? Trying to carry a one-year-old, while talking on the phone with your tax accountant who is looking for additional deductions (never a good thing), with eyes that are still slightly unfocused from that same morning's appointment with the eye doctor, down the very steep steps in your house to unlock the door for your husband.

Don't do this. Trust me. It doesn't end well. Though, it could be much worse.

Here's the good news: Charlotte is fine. Landed in my lap with nary a scratch. Looked up at me and started laughing.

And more in the good column: The tax bill isn't nearly as bad as we expected.

One more: Four year old boys think crutches are cool, so my son, bless his heart, is looking at his old mother like she's a rockstar, at least for now.

Here's the skinny: My ankle isn't broken, as I suspected when I heard the crack and felt the searing pain upon falling. Only badly sprained. And turning a really lovely shade of purple. And thrice its normal size.

But it could have been oh so very much worse.

So really. End your phone call before going up and down stairs. Be a pal. Do it for me.