Ouch. . .

It happened pretty quickly, and it didn't seem like a big deal. No ruckus, no fuss, no crying or cursing.

Lucy headed out of the house to go to the laundry room to check on things, and there was a thud. It was followed by a simple: "I think I broke my toe."

Nice and calm, like she had found a quarter on the sidewalk. No blood-curdling oaths, screams or promises of revenge on the piece of hardwood that had inflicted the pain.

Ha! I thought, an exaggeration, as Lucy stubs one of her toes about twice a month when she's heading to the laundry room and clips one of the rocking chairs.

I got up to investigate and got a look at her little toe.

Ugh.

At the angle it was sticking out, there was something definitely amiss with the littlest piggie on her right foot.

I got her sat down, and then we got her up to a clinic, where they confirmed what was obvious to everyone that saw it: it was broken.