I thought I was dreaming, but it turns out Chicago had an earthquake this morning.  Here I was, getting all super pissed because I thought a snowplow was right outside my window at 3:45am.  I was really dazed; it seemed like the house was on vibrate.  Then I was really awake, and I blamed it on the damned plow.  Nathan just called to tell me that there was an honest-to-god freakin’ earthquake.  Shit.  We need to move.  What next?  Man-eating spiders?

I think it was one of these fellas' fault.

My sabattical is due to lazyness mostly, but also to extreme illness.  We has it bad enough that we quarentined our puking selves for three days and I spent one of the nights in the ER getting pumped full of three bags of fluids.  Not good.  I am so happy that Finny didn’t get it as bad as Nae and I.  We had just all gotten over two rounds of colds, and then the flu.  I need to get outta here.

The most intersting thing about the last three weeks was the flu, followed by the impending crash of our ancient DVD player.  We were fifteen minutes into Surrogates, the new Bruce Willis snoozefest, and all of a sudden, it seemed like we were at the (anti)climax of the movie.  Although I’m not sure how, the DVD player decided to shuffle the scenes.  Here I thought it was just bad character development (oh, wait, it was).  I guess that speaks volumes about your filmmaking skills when it takes fifteen minutes for your audience to realize that somethin’ ain’t right.  All this reminds me of the time when Nathan and I rented Momento; the movie abruptly ended after forty minutes.  Unbenounced to us, we had skipped the first half of it and just kept waiting for it to make sense.  We knew it was one of those twisty, wierd movies so we just kept watching.

Also, Finn has decided to start all sorts of new tricks.  He waves, claps, nods, kisses and to my eternal irritation, shakes his head “no.”  He needs a haircut, but I just can’t bear to take him.  I love his little shaggy ‘do.  I am totally over thinking it, but am I trying to be too cool by letting him have long hair?  I don’t want to be one of those moms with a baby who has a mohawk.  You know, the kind that think they are still seventeen and can get away with wearing a little black hat decked out with a Bedazzled skull and crossbones on it?  They usually drive stupid little cars with Tinkerbell seat covers.  And I am generalizing, but they usually could stand to loose a few.  But seriously, how do they get him to sit still for a haircut, anyway?  He’s such a little peach, I am sure he will blow my mind by perching atop the little chair and telling the lady, “Just a little off the top, ma’am.”