Our beach weekend started off in the Children's Hospital ER on Wednesday night after La Luz caught a pop fly way up over home plate, arching at about an 85 degree angle, with her foot. She caught it with her foot either because I did a great job of moving her or a terrible job. I am not sure because it all happened so fast but every second of it broke my heart. Aunt Margot, still in scrubs from work earlier, helped us cut through some of the red tape so we were in and out and home with a contusion diagnosis in a matter of hours, which, for an ER trip, is incredible. La Luz detested the x-ray machine and I am sure her foot ached and she was a little scared by all of the attention but, for the most part, she remained in good spirits for the duration of the night:
We left for the beach after a long and stressful day of work on Thursday and it was perfect because I felt like I couldn't get out of town fast enough and wanted to put as much distance as was realistically possible between me and the office. It worked, for the past three days, this is what life has been like for me:
In addition to being the last day of my beach vacation, which is terrible and something I don't want to think about, it is also an incredibly special day because it is Father's Day. On Father's Day in 2005, La Luz broke my water at 8 a.m. and gave Christian a Father's Day present that I will never top. The Charles Grant jersey came close, but not really. So, Happy Father's Day to Pop and Christian and Papa-T. Thanks for being the wonderful fathers that you are.