I Suppose Someone Else Can Be Right Every Now and Then...

So my sis Sylvia ruined most of my blog fodder this time around... As my husband even admits (even though he'd get laid without agreeing to this), I'm right 99.9% of the time.

But when I'm wrong, I'm wrong... I suppose...

My poor niece now has a bright pink cast as a small token to how wrong I was.

Sylvia, feel free to gloat... (Or, is that what you were doing with the multiple emails? :D)

Oh, that's right. You need back story.

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It was a hot summer day, the kind that causes your sweat to sweat. Olivia was innocently playing on the swing set her grandfather had built under the shade of the (semi-)tall oaks when suddenly, disaster struck!

One of the thick ropes holding up the swing snapped like Hillary defending herself against Obama. Olivia tumbled to the ground, landing on her ankle.

Unaware of the events unfolding outdoors, my mother and sister were taking a leisurely breakfast when Olivia bursts through the door, ankle swelled like Bush's ego (except for a reason).

Sylvia, being the overbearing, overprotective mother that she tends to be, went onto full-on red-alert, except...

Back-to-school shopping still needed accomplished.

Enter Jason, Lord of the Temple of Dragons.

Jason, a mere 15 miles to the southwest, had just gotten into his sweltering Mustang for a trip to Wal-Mart for, among other things, a skimmer, weed killer, a T-shirt or two, and some furniture polish.

Because that's how he rolls.

Sylvia, still in full-on red-alert mode rings Jason's cell just as he starts the rumbling engine. Jason is quickly updated on the Emergency 911 situation and says, naively now it seems, "So she sprained her ankle. So? Yes, I'll wait for you guys to arrive to go to Wal-Mart."

The Wal-Mart experience is fraught with disagreement and tears. Olivia is placed in a wheelchair. Mom is egging on the full-on red-alert by downplaying Sylvia's fears of breakage, which only serves to make the full-on red-alert graduate into EMERGENCY UNPARALLELED BY ANYTHING ELSE IN THE UNIVERSE.

Jason is quickly, yet very unceremoniously, dumped back at his cape cod, sans weed killer, and three generations of stubborn Hughes women race off down the road.

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She had broken her... Lemme see, how did Guilt-Trip E-mail Extraordinaire phrase it? Oh, yes, "fractured a growth plate in her ankle over the weekend."

Sigh. So here on this public forum, I admit that, in agreeing with Mom, it wasn't just a sprain. I have fulfilled my yearly obligation of .1% wrongness, and duly ask for my sister's forgiveness.

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In other news, after placing the greater Douglassville area's 6 year old population in mortal peril, we traveled to Maryland to witness the birth of Gavin Benjamin, officially making me an uncle for the 8th time. And although he looks nothing like his brother, he is just as adorable, and thus fears of having a cute kid followed by a child beaten with the ugly stick have been laid to rest without fear of being resurrected.

Of course, at 7 lbs 11 ounces, he was nothing to sneeze at! His poor mother had to undergo an emergency C-section, but both are doing swimmingly well (as that is how they tend to roll...), and on Thursday the whole nuclear family will be reunited at home ("As it is written, so it shall be in the birthing times." --Jasoniticus 12:45a), doubling my mother-in-laws workload in a happy way.

Catch ya's later...