An Unfortunate Chain of Events

As a piece of background to my current story: on Friday, I wrenched my back picking up a moderately heavy box at work. I have been hunching around the house all weekend referring to myself as Igor (or "Sophie" - for those who have seen Howl's Moving Castle).

But Sunday, T.'s accident karma kicked in with a vengeance. It all started at dinner at my mother-in-law's house. T. was sitting in a recliner, quietly tossing a frisbee back and forth with A. The wind-up! The pitch! T. managed to cover his face as A. nailed the frisbee at him - which meant, of course, that A. scored a perfect groin shot.

The game abruptly changed from frisbee to "hunt and tickle." A. hid in a kid-sized tent, and T. stuck his hands beneath the tent fabric trying to catch a squealing A. Unfortunately, A. located a small plastic mallet - which he wielded with devastating (and unanticipated) force against T.'s temple.

We finally finished dinner and cards and returned home, but the gods were apparently still displeased. A. wanted a midnight snack, so we poured him a glass of milk, and set out a few graham crackers. Then we went upstairs for a few minutes - and on the way back down . . .

A. was at the base of the stairs - closely followed by T. - when Ms. Tika suddenly began nipping at my ankles (I think she was "herding" my skirt). Since I don't have the greatest balance at the moment (see painful back injury), I panicked, and in an effort to get Ms. Tika out from behind me and down the stairs, I nudged her, hard, with my foot. I take full responsibility for what happened next, because, in essence, I booted by dog down the stairs. (As an avid animal lover, I can't tell you how horrified I am - even though she suffered no injury at all. The only justification I have (which still does not excuse the action) is the honest fear that Ms. Tika was going to cause me to fall - and I was desperate to get her away from my feet.)

However, my tumbling gray fuzzy rolled right into T. and, instead of fetching up against his leg, she hit his ankle at high speed and knocked T.'s legs out from under him. Luckily T. was only three steps from the bottom, and he managed to fall backwards. Now, while some of you may think this was an awful creative way to try and collect on T.'s insurance policy - I assure you that death due to airborne dog was NOT on my agenda. T. managed to heave himself upright - but he was unable to put weight on the ankle Ms. Tika had rebounded off. He gingerly hobbled over to the couch.

While T. figured out the extent of his injury, I looked at A.'s glass of milk and noticed there was a dead fruit-fly floating in it. I started to take the glass of milk to the kitchen. As I turned around, I saw (too late to stop it) A. smack T.'s ankle with a two-foot long toy (similar to a flute with a giraffe head attached to one end). This wasn't your normal two-year old smack. A. had the giraffe over his head in a sturdy two-handed grip (much like a broadsword), and brought the giraffe head down as hard as he could on his dad's freshly injured ankle. (Apparently testing if daddy's pain nerves were still working.)

Insert T. cussing, me taking the giraffe away, and A. throwing a screaming fit. T. hopped his way to the bathroom for some pain medication - and when he turned around, both cats had positioned themselves so that he could easily trip over them. "That's it," T. said. "I'm going to bed."

Once T. was safely up the stairs, I started to take A. to his room, but A. sniffled and asked for milk. Since I had thrown out the dead-fruit-fly milk, I went and poured him a fresh glass, which we took upstairs. I found T. stretched out on our bed. "I'm sorry," I said, while handing the glass of milk to A. "It's okay," T. said, "but you owe me a hug." I went over and gave him a hug, noting that A. was behind me. I turned around intending to take the glass from A. . . . too late.

A. spilled his entire glass of milk on the bed - which was followed by a lot of rushing around for towels, stripping the sheets, running to get stain cleaner, and a creative use of towels and pillows designed to keep the cleaner from staining the new sheets.

And just for the gamers out there: "Cthulu is a little @itch," T. said. "You're blaming Cthulu for your injury?" I asked. "No," T. said. "But if I've angered the gods, I may as well anger ALL of them."

By then, my back was throbbing. I'll be amazed if I can walk tomorrow.

"If we go grocery shopping tomorrow," T. joked, "maybe we can both get those motorized carts."

"I guess I can't ask you to walk the dog for me," I replied. We both laughed. I must admit, I have no idea how T. can survive being crushed by a forklift - and yet be severely injured by a 15 pound dog tumbling down the stairs. T. and Ms. Tika already forgave me - so now I need to work on forgiving myself.

We always need to laugh or cry. This blog is my attempt to laugh. Good night all.