Splat

What a dork I am. It's nearly unforgivable.

My son wanted to see Momma before she left this morning; my son, wearing only socks yet this day; Momma, who was four seconds from backing her truck out of the driveway to start her workday. I quickly gathered him up in my arms to protect his feet from getting dirty. His feet were two of the few things not about to get screwed.

Moving briskly out the garage door, my feet tangled up in a rug and both son and World's Biggest Dork went flying, both landing on opposing elbows. I tried my best to hold my "Brian side" off the ground, with pitifully meager results. Once he stopped bawling and I calmed down enough not to punch myself in the face for such foolishness, he was able to wiggle his fingers, one good sign. I distracted him with talk of toys later, and got him to highfive me with the offended appendage, so went continued on to preschool instead of the emergency room.

What a lousy start to the day. I'll try to stay upright for its remainder, but obviously such promises are only marginally subject to my control.