broken homes and broken bones - nihilism!

Never in a million years would I have expected to have a son with a broken wrist. And here I am with a son with a broken wrist. And it's not even Isaac*! Keven Jr. took off on his bike yesterday evening and went zooming down our steep as a mountain driveway and tipped over at the bottom. He was going too fast. He did what any normal person would do to soften the fall - he stuck out his hand to brace himself. When I got home from work he was crying. About an hour later he was still sort of fumbling around complaining that his wrist hurt. He wouldn't let me touch it. It wasn't really that swollen, but my gut told me that something was wrong. We decided to ice it and wait it out. He didn't sleep well through the night and the first thing out of his mouth this morning was how bad his wrist hurt. It was slightly swollen, bruised and still hurting and he still wouldn't let me touch it. So off to the doctor he went. The doctor took xrays and sure enough he's broken. Diagnosis: a buckle fracture in his right wrist. I swear there's never a dull moment in my house. *Isaac is so clumsy and falls down all the time to the point that his cousin nicknamed him 'spills'. I thought for sure Isaac was going to be the first inducted into the Jones Broken Bone Hall of Fame, but I guess I was wrong. Good thing I didn't bet on it.