So, I taught myself how to so the Scottish Sword Dance. And I practiced it for 2 days straight, even though my poor little foot was hurting a bit. And then I took the kids to see Bridge to Terebithia. And then I ran around in my snow boots, ignoring the pain in my foot. Then I came home, took off my boots, told Delta my foot felt a little funny, took off my sock and noticed an odd bone poking up through the top of my foot. So, I had a nervous breakdown went to sleep, woke up in agony seventy times and then went to the Emergency Room this morning. "So, you fell down the stairs three days ago, and you're just coming in?" all the nurses and the (very hot) doctor asked me. "Why yes," I answered ("And, I'm having pain a little higher," to the doctor) (Just kidding) (No I'm not) "And you walked around on this for those three days?" they asked, and I nodded, then they all gathered around the xray of my foot on the big computer. My foot, incidentally, looks like a pterodactyl. Turns out, I have sprained my foot, fractured it AND chipped a little bit of bone out, which is the piece that had floated to the top and poked out. Delta said I am much tougher than he thought.

Delta brought me home some chocolate covered potato chips today. If you said "Ew," then you have never had PMS. Or you are a cardiologist. The chips came in a very pretty leopard print Chinese takeout box and are my new favorite thing. And I've discovered the root of my run of misfortune: Our bed is inauspiciously placed. In re-doing our bedroom, we moved the bed so our feet face the door, we're in full (porno) view of the huge mirrored doors, right across from the bathroom and over the garage. Any more anti-shui and we'd probably spontaneously combust in the night. If my back weren't broken from falling down the stairs, I'd move the bed. I guess I'll have to keep my fingers crossed till the bruises heal. Incidentally, if anyone has any holy water they'd like to donate or maybe a necklace of garlic or a silver bullet...wait...am I mixing superstitions?

The last seven days or so have truly been a comedy of errors for me. Aside from squirrel tail trophies, desperately ill children, paper-shredder carpeting, minor vacuum fires, now I have fallen down the stairs and crashed through the wall. My dear friend EmEl took one look at the hole and said, "I just can't believe a female did that."

But Delta sent me flowers. There's something so exhilerating about having flowers delivered to the door. Ten years and four kids later, that and never saying "Why yes, as a matter of fact you are fat," is the glue of marriage.

So, now the kids are home. Ya-Ya has a raging fever and an ear infection. Must go shovel out and bring her to the doctor. It's a good thing there's no school. Today was supposed to be her first violin concert. She's have been crushed to miss that.

What's Grosser than Gross?

Your dog eating a squirrel.

What's even grosser than that?

Your dog getting carsick and vomiting furry squirrel chunks all over the rug of the passenger side floorboard.

And the cruel irony of it all? Said dog had just left the groomer where she was meticulously de-squirreled, inside and out. Excepting, of course, the contents of her stomach.

Yuck. FYI, squirrel meat smells like turkey. Sorry again, Squirrel Lady.

It's a Sad Night in Newton.

On the one hand, LOST IS BACK!!!! Hooray! sixteen beautiful Wednesday nights, no repeats. Aaah.

But, just to maintain the balance, there's some bad news too. I came home from jujitsu tonight to find my darling dog, Bambi, sweetfaced little angel, in the side yard eating a squirrel. I don't know what else to say about that. Delta was happy because they finally have something in common. Sorry squirrellady.

Dreams

My mom gave me a huge, gigantic dream dictionary. Normally, I'm a bit of a cynic about dream symbolism. Well, maybe cynic isn't the right word. I believe so many different theories that I don't really believe any of them. But the other morning, after 48 hours of Oskar being terribly ill, I stayed in bed and analyzed a particularly strange dream. And guess what? It was all on the money. By the time I'd finished reading, it made perfect sense for a two headed woman to be driving my car while I sat in the back seat. I totally understood going to stay at a Black Forest inn with my brother-in-law, said two headed woman and this guy Delta works with. The fact that I left the phone in the car and couldn't call Delta to ask him why I was in a German inn with the aforementioned smorgasbord of characters was explained. The innkeeper's phone call - insisting I get rid of my snake-stick - revealed something so profound that I've actually been relieved since learning it. But I can't explain any of it to you. That would be excess information. Over-share, if you catch my drift.

Finding out your husband loves IKEA is like finding out your 1970 Bronco comes with a built in GPS, heated seats and self-park feature after you bought it.

Finding out your husband does not like to assemble all the things he buys you at IKEA is a little less exciting. But fun in a rolling snowball sort of way. (kitchen snowball leads to playroom leads to office leads to bedroom leads to bathroom, you get the idea)

Building things - things someone else cut out and measured and counted screws for - is a wonderful way to cope with grief. That and running. When I got out of the Corps, I vowed never to run again. There could be a field of burning Napalm around me, and still my feet would not move faster than a leisurely shuffle. But now I've discovered this passion for running I never had before. I'm out three or four times a week, two or three miles at a time, dog or no dog, kids or no kids...

and speaking of dogs my poor beautiful Cassius had to go to that great big "farm in Montana". Our vet said he was "deranged" a "victim of bad breeding". I think my father's death was the catalyst for his psychosis. He went nuts. Very sad. I guess now that he's gone I can show you a picture of him....

So a lot has changed here. I wrote an essay about grief being like an earthquake. Everything in my life is different. I'm starting all over, a different person.

We got the kids a new dog, her name is Bambi and she's the sweetest thing that ever lived. Her name, first and last combined, make her sound a bit like a streetwalker. She comes from VA and is the 5 month old illegitimate daughter of a couple of hunting hounds. I love her.