It all started well enough, with a great visit to Sherman to see Mimi and Papaw. Max had all sorts of fun playing with all his toys while they tried to get him to talk. He eventually gave in and, as usual, we couldn't get him to stop.

This mouse tastes like fabric.

Max also had his first successful outing in a pool! We tried him out at the community pool about a month ago and he was not very happy with us (I think it was too cold). This time, he played around in his raft for a good half hour and even managed to get some floaty-free play going.

Big hats are very important for fair-skinned red-headed children.

The turtle isn't nearly as exciting as this tiny half-inch pool of water I've created for myself. BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB I'M A BOAT!

If dad would let me go, I'd be happy to tear this pool up.

This is mommy not being afraid at all of me being in the pool without a floatie. Very impressive.

Look, ma! No hat!

To see the rest of the photos from that set (including some doves that decided to hang out on our front porch), click here.

When Father's Day rolled around, we were all very tired from our trip up north.

No caption, too sleepy.

We soldiered on, though, and got ourselves ready for a trip to see Chris, Nora, and Mikey. With all the crazy stuff going on (and numerous betrayals by my wife during a round of Boom Blox) we completely forgot to take any photos. Hopefully next time we'll remember. After I entered the denial phase of the treachery that had befallen me, we decided it was time to head home. We stopped to get some groceries on the way and just barely missed the window of Max's happiness.

By the time we got home, he was wailing for his last feeding of the night, which Christy was glad to provide for him. I was left to handle the groceries. The first round was managed without incident. The second round, not so much. I grabbed the bags out of the back seat, which meant one hand was behind me holding the groceries as I stepped backwards to close the door.

I heard the familiar sound of a glass bottle (in this case, Organic Pace Picante) falling to the floor and shattering into a million pieces. Unfortunately, my foot was already headed downwards and landed right in the thick of it. Like any real man would, I turned all of my tears into a tidy stream of profanities. It was a little hard to tell how bad I was bleeding on account of the salsa, but it quickly became clear that we would need to take a trip to the ER (and interrupt Max's feeding). After leaving a CSI-worthy scene all over the garage floor and doing what we could with our first aid kit (thank you, Joann!), we were on our way.

One baby feeding, two lidocaine shots (with accompanying manly screaming), one double cheeseburger, and ten stitches later, and we were on our way home.

If anyone asks me why I'm on crutches for the next week, I have a very simple answer:

"Salsa."

For those with a particularly morbid curiosity, yes, we do have some pictures. If you're of a weak disposition, you're probably not going to want to click through to pictures of the crime scene and the end result.

If you just said, "Gross!" or "Eww!"...you were warned.

See you next week (or later this week, if I can get that video up soon).