I was paying for my groceries when Dennis called to tell me that we'd likely have to take Stella to the emergency room, because Sam might have broken her arm. She couldn't move it when I got home and called the nurse line. I was hoping to avoid a trip to the hospital, but we had to go. Thankfully, the visit went smoothly. It turned out that Sam had dislocated Stella's elbow when he was dancing with her, but by the time we talked the doctor, the problem had resolved itself. (It's called nursemaid's elbow, and Luke experienced it at six months — he was standing in my lap while I held his hands; when his knees buckled, his elbow came undone, so to speak.) When the doctor asked for the back story, Stella explained (pointing to me): "Her ten-year-old son was dancing on the rug. Then he pulled my arm and hurt it." If nothing else, Stella got a bracelet she likes, even though it doesn't really match her nail polish.
I'd like to say something about the sacrifices made by American soldiers, but I can't always find words that don't sound trite or insincere. Thankfully, New Hampshire poet Paul F. Lenzi has created a moving tribute that likely expresses what many of us feel. Please read it here.
It was a busy day. Bridget finished the second flat for the prom (with help from friends, siblings, and mom), then spent the afternoon and evening decorating the venue. When Stella, Luke, and I picked up Bridget this evening, Stella got enthralled by the twinkly lights, tried on my glasses, made a new friend, and got a dancing lesson from Luke.