After spending all day working to finish up a shed he was building for some friends, and successfully not injuring himself on the circular saw or any other tools, hubby decided to end the day by digging up the dead tree in our backyard. The next thing I know, Nicholas comes running into the house exclaiming excitedly, "Daddy cut his hand!"
And yes, indeed, Daddy did. It was a freakish sort of accident involving the freshly dug-up maple, our wooden fence, and my husband's hand getting trapped between the two. He now has a lascerated palm, which I think is going to need at least ten, possibly fifteen, stitches. It looks horrible, but it didn't bleed that much and hubby is being stoical about the whole thing, which makes it difficult to know how bad it really is.
Anyway, I came home after we'd sat in the (not at all crowded) Emergency room for two hours, and my husband is going to call me whenever they finally get around to seeing him...
Like I said, not a good month.
ETA: He's back now. Eight stitches.