No Trip, Bad Trip

We aren't going anywhere for any funeral because there isn't going to be one, just a scattering of ashes. Which is good, considering that T. fell down the basement stairs at five this morning (he had an early flight to catch) and ripped up his left shoulder.

Peanut had just woken up wanting to eat when I heard a horrible crash, and T. shouting curse words at the top of his voice. When I found him, he was crumpled on the landing, his shoulder deformed under his robe. I called 911, and told him not to move. He lay there, groaning, and I was so afraid there was something even worse wrong with him. The paramedics arrived, and asked him if he could get up. He popped right up, and started moving his arm around. "It popped back in. And you told me not to move". They ended up taking him in anyway, because he was feeling light-headed, and the last thing I needed was him passing out in the car with me and the baby. His x-rays were funky because he separated his shoulder playing rugby fifteen years ago (yes, my husband played rugby in college), so it took a while to get the doctor to clear him to go. But he's home now, and doesn't need a painkiller unless he starts to use that arm. He is, of course, left-handed. It's been a very, very long day.