It was a nice summer evening. The time, 5:30 on a Thursday, when my story takes place. It all started when I was chasing after Logan down the sidewalk. You see he needed to come home and wouldn't listen when I told him no, in fact he just went faster like what most kids do. I crossed the street and went from the grass to the sidewalk but instead of making it all the way to the sidewalk, my foot tacoed into a hole that was separating the two, then I heard a crack -- oh great. I hobbled home letting the two year continue down the sidewalk. I made it to the front door just in time for the real pain to kick in. Now I am crying on the couch, Nick comes and wonders what happened. I told him my story. I decided to rest for the night and if it wasn't better the next day then I would go get an x-ray. Well, the next day came, and I wasn't doing any better. My foot was constantly throbbing and I couldn't put any weight on it. Finally went to get an x-ray done and here is the result...

Yep, it's broken!!! What am I going to do with a new baby, a crazy two year old, two kids in school, and a broken foot? Not to mention all the stairs in my home. I guess its time to call in reinforcement, double duty for my husband (again) and my boys helping when they can.