There. I believe I’ve over-explained enough.

It all started with a little bribing promise. If he went potty on the big potty we would go to the gas station and get a pink sucker. He was successful {woot, woot}, and so the kids and I put on jackets, hats and gloves and prepped ourselves for an afternoon walk in quest of the pink sucker. Jace insisted on wearing his Spiderman snow boots, and although there was no snow to be walked upon, who am I to deny anyone a Spiderman boot wearing opportunity. Plus, he'd just gone potty on the big potty. I would've let him make the trek barefoot if only he'd suggested it. We walked to the gas station, and I chuckled as I eyed Jace trying to master the art of walking in snow boots. It really is an art, you know. One that takes practice. And determination.

Which has absolutely nothing to do with the broken arm story; except for, I hold the Spiderman Snow Boots partially responsible.

Jace gave up on the boots and rode in the stroller on the way home. He was exhausted. Plus, he had his prized pink sucker. Everyone knows that a novice snow boot-er can't thoroughly enjoy a sucker and walk in snow boots at the same time.

While we were at the gas station, Brynlee had purchased a Barbie, some Dora bubbles for Jace, and a plastic recorder with her $10.00 coloring contest prize money. And when we returned home she immediately ran inside to learn to squeak play the recorder. I decided to sweep the last of the orphaned leaves out of the garage. And Jace asked if he could go jump on the tramp.

Again. . . empty details, people. Things that don't really need to be shared except for to say that Jace Buddy {and the Spiderman Snow Boots} were now jumping on the trampoline. Alone.

I heard screaming. I dropped the broom and ran to rescue Jace, who was {somehow} lying on the grass, behind the trampoline, next to the fence. Curses to the neighborhood kids who had ruined our trampolines safety net earlier this summer. I hold them even more responsible than the blasted Spiderman Boots. And I put A LOT of blame on those boots. {For the record, a novice snow boot-er also can't jump on the trampoline and wear snow boots at the same time. And also for the record, a new safety net is a heck of a lot cheaper, and less painful, than a broken arm.}

I brought a frazzled Jace in, rocked him, and he fell asleep for his nap.

When he awoke, I didn't think anything more about the trampoline incident. He seemed like he wasn't feeling well, though. A bit whiney, irritable, not very active. At one time he rolled over onto his arm and started crying. Big tears, real tears, painful tears. But I didn't put two and two together. Remember, I thought he was getting sick. His body probably aches, I told myself. And I gave his a dosage of Tylenol.

It wasn't until bedtime that it finally came to me. I tugged on his little arm while trying to pull it into a fitted pair of slipper-nighties. He jerked his arm back, "Hurt, hurt" he cried. I started doing the test. Moving his arm forward. Backwards. Trying to lift it above his head. Touching his fingers. Moving his wrist. It was obvious his arm was bothering him, but I wasn't sure where. I pinpointed the wrist area.  I was hoping it was just a bit sprained. Maybe jammed from trying to catch himself when he hit the ground.

The next morning we awoke to a winter wonderland. After breakfast we bundled up to make our first snowman of the season. Snowsuits, hats, coats, boots and gloves. When I tried to force Jace's tiny hand into his glove he interjected. Loudly and painfully. I knew then that something was wrong. It had been an entire day and his arm was still bothering him and it's not like Jace to let a little 'owie' slow him down.

Twenty minutes later we were at the doctor's office. Buddy was a trooper. He let the doctor examine, x-ray, and eventually cast his arm without much complaining. We told him that the doctor was going to make his arm all better, and I think he was willing to give it a try.

Spencer nicknamed his broken arm his robot arm and within seconds had taught Jace to shoot his laser cannon by holding the blue cast forward and "Pshoo! Pshoo-ing!" at Brynlee and me. Oh, daddy's are so funny.

He's only asked us to take the cast off a few times and is actually learning to cope quite well with a "robot arm". It seems so unfair to be a two-year-old with a broken arm. It breaks my heart. Yet, at the same time there is nothing as adorable as a teeny tiny blue cast on a teeny tiny arm. Watching him eat, play dinosaurs, push the play shopping cart, color, climb the stairs. It's all so new and so perfectly adorable.

The broken arm details:

        He has a buckle fracture.

        Two actually.

        In both the Ulna and the Radius.

Buckle fractures are common breaks in young children.

Because there bones aren't brittle enough to snap like adults.

Right, Mike?

He should heal quickly and without problem.

He has to wear the cast for three weeks.

It will be a nice Christmas present to get it off.

It's his right hand.

He's right handed.

Although he has adjusted to his left hand well.

Did I mention how adorable he is?

Because seriously you guys.

A-dor-able!

We love you, Buddy!

And your Robot Arm.