Saturday morning (moving day) started out smoothly. I dropped off the dogs at the groomers, picked up the truck, and we (Jeremiah) started to load that baby up with all of our homestuffs. I packed up things that were odds and ends. Those odds and ends sure add up, don't they? Holy smokes, I have boxes and boxes of things that absolutely do not have any sort of category. When the truck was filled, we went to the new house. I helped with a couple of things, and then I was informed (very nicely) that the rest could be done without my help (translation - get out of the way, pretty please). So I went in the kitchen and had breakfast (cold leftovers out of the tupperware and using my fingers). Shortly after I started my delicious breakfast, I heard Jer outside yelling. I stopped and listened. Nope, he wasn't calling for me, so I kept eating. And he kept yelling. So I stopped and listened again, thinking that he must have stubbed his toe or something and would stop yelling soon. Nope. I set down the dish and headed outside where I found Jeremiah on the concrete. He had fallen from the truck (lost his footing?) and was hurt. Long story a bit shorter - three hours in the ER later we were told he had fractured rib 6 and it would take 6 to 8 weeks to heal. By that time it was mid afternoon. We picked up the dogs, got lunch, and hired some suspicious looking movers to move the rest of the stuff. It was a long day. No pictures this time.