What really actually happened.

Over Easter weekend my Darling Husband and I were having a Facebook war regarding an accident that happened on Good Friday.

Since my Husband has eleven billion friends on Facebook and everyone (with the exception of my mother, bless her) seems to be on his side, and this is my forum, I choose to present My Side of the Story.

The week previous to Easter was Spring Break week. We usually take a family vacation during Spring Break week, so I had scheduled my vacation for that week. For whatever reason, DH had to work for part of Spring Break, so we didn’t plan a holiday. I had decided it would be a great time to get caught up on some much needed house cleaning and maybe perhaps paint a bathroom or something.

Each morning I would get up, let the dog out and feed him, drink my water, and get caught up on some relaxing television watching – something I do not get to do during the week or on the weekend or ever. Every morning, my DH would arise three hours later* and make the comment “Is this what you’re doing today?” I was on VACATION. I was trying to take a break and get caught up with housework. I work hard, I desperately needed a break, and who is he to judge me, I don’t work for him! Let me tell you, internet, if DH was my boss, I wouldn’t work for him. He is a tyrant. I would quit so fast and file a harassment lawsuit. He is the worst boss.

So Friday rolled around and the depression set in because I didn’t get nearly enough accomplished, my to-do list seemed just as long as it was at the beginning of the week and my vacation was basically over. DH was on vacation too, and he kept nagging me to do something with the family. I had wanted to participate in family activities, but justified my not participating in I had hung out with the boys all week in addition to my cleaning during the week and DH needed to do things with the boys alone too and give me a break.

Badass Doc Martens

It had been snowing/raining all day so poor Orso had been cooped up inside. Being an outside dog, he was going nutty, and I had wanted to take him on a long walk every day of my vacation and had not done so yet, so I took him out for a 2 mile walk. I had left my Sorrels at work, so I wore my mostly new 14-hole oxblood Doc Marten boots to walk him in as it was still pretty cold. On the way home, I saw my friend Ashley and she commented on how huge Orso had become and I crossed the street to have a chat with her. Feeding off my excitement, Orso jumped up and barked in Ashley’s face and scratched her arm in the process. I felt TERRIBLE, as Orso’s bark is not a friendly one and he appeared to be attempting to eat her face (he was just really saying ‘hi’ but it did not appear friendly at ALL). I apologized profusely and made him say he was sorry, which he did and let her pet him and he licked her and our other neighbour and her little daughter to whom he was a perfect gentleman.

In the process of walking the dog forever and a day in relatively non-broken in boots, I had developed a rather nasty blister on my heel. DH had concocted this plan to go to Temple Square and the new City Creek Center in downtown Salt Lake City to spend some quality family time. I had wanted to go and see it as they have been working on this for years, I had heard it was beautiful, and I was dying to see some cherry blossoms and other spring flowers. Temple Square is the perfect place to see the things I desired.

I was exhausted from my walk, my heel hurt, and I was still reeling from the mortification Orso’s rudeness had caused, but I let DH guilt me in to joining in on the Quality Family Time. I should have just stayed home, as Karma was not quite done with me yet.

We were walking along (me limping) South Temple street, right in front of the Salt Lake Temple, when Huey kicked me in the butt. “What was that for?” I questioned. “Daddy told me to pass it on” was the reply. DH and Dewey had been playing this game of kick each other in the butt and somehow Huey got involved, who in turn, involved me. Since DH was the instigator of the butt kicking, and I was still wearing my badass Doc Marten boots, I decided to join in and kick DH from behind. As I raised my foot and kicked DH in the rear, DH had taken his right foot to kick Dewey in the behind. As I brought my foot down, it got tangled in DH’s leg and foot and he tripped and fell, hurting his wrist.

Correction: BROKE his wrist.

The rest of the evening consisted of me rolling my eyes, DH whining about the pain in his hand, the one spot of blood on the heel of his hand, and his skinned shins and my legs and heel hurting like a son of a gun.

City Creek Center is beautiful and amazing, but I don’t think any of us had an enjoyable evening. DH and I were in pain and at war, Huey was bored, and Dewey was tired.

DH wouldn’t even drive home. He was being so dramatic. I had fallen off my shoes weeks earlier and tweaked my ankle and my wrist, it hurt for a day, but I put ice on it and I was fine. I was thinking his situation was much like that.

If I had paused the eye-rolling and actually took the time to look at his wrist, I would have know it was broken, having broken several fingers, toes, an arm and the occasional collarbone; but I didn’t - shame on me.

The next day, after a night of pissing and moaning and not feeling comfortable, DH took himself to InstaCare. The doctor took one look at him and ordered x-rays only to come back four seconds later to confirm that it was indeed broken, put him in a brace, and gave him the number to an orthopedic specialist to call on Monday.

DH and his cast

He is now in a cast for three weeks. They will take a look after that and determine whether or not he will need surgery.

In my defense, DH told me he too felt like he was wussing out by going to the doctor, but he couldn’t take the pain anymore, Advil wasn’t touching it, and icing wasn’t working; so my assuming he was acting like a wuss was mutual.

Since that time, DH has been milking it for all it’s worth. He has never broken a bone and I have ruined his perfect body.

Folks from all over are accusing me of spousal abuse in jest. I am not loving it. I feel terrible, AND it was an ACCIDENT for crying out loud.

For the record, DH is 6’2” and around 200 lbs. I am 5’ 7” and 160.

So if you see me coming, look out; I can take you down: with or without my attack dog.

*he works late, I rise early, it's no big.