In the Doghouse...

"It's like this, I said, "You messed with my baby. You hurt her. I know you didn't mean it, but it doesn't matter. I'm NOT happy with you. THAT'S my BABY." Sam just looked up at me with big sad brown eyes. I was much unaffected.

I was helping myself to all my favorite coping mechanisms. Well, not all...I saved the glass of wine for now. But hot chocolate, dark chocolate truffles and curling up under a warm blanket was all I had the energy for.

It started out as such a good day. Warm, sunny, and shopping. Matt is taking the girls (Grace and Em) to a ball next Saturday. It's a Daddy/Daughter dance and they get all dressed up and wear corsages and its held in the ballroom over at the Masonic Homes. So Sarah and I were going to look for frilly dresses for the girls. I was so excited, I thought I'd like to find a cobalt one for Grace, and a guilded orange one for Em. I decided to take Sam for a quick little run before putting him in the basement while we were gone. Well, Sam has this awful habit of wanting to play tug of war with the leash (I'm blaming Grandpa for this one). And Sarah followed me out, all happy with her popsicle, and Sam was so happy to be outside he was totally oblivious of her. I was trying to get the leash away from him, and pulled up and over on it. He jumped up really high to try and snatch it from me, and at that precise moment Sarah darted behind me and up under him. He landed right on top of her with all his weight (70 lbs) right on her back and jammed her face right into the pavement.

It was horrible. Sarah started screaming and blood was just gushing from her mouth. I couldn't let go of Sam, because the last thing I needed was to be running around the neighborhood after him when I might need to take Sarah to the ER. But he was so oblivious, he thought it was still time to play. So I'm balancing Sarah on my one arm and finally turned the end of the leash on Sam and whipped him on the nose with and and yelled, "Stop it." Well, he got my point.

He ushered himself down to the basement as soon as we got inside.

Well, I decided the dentist was closer, and they have emergency service there, so I made a quick call and they said they would see us right away. Sarah was crying for her Daddy--who has been in VA this week. I tried to call him 3 times and he didn't answer his phone. So now I'm mad at Sam (who was just being an idiot dog) and Matt wasn't too high up on the list either, (because he's supposed to KNOW that this is an emergency and answer his phone!)

Sarah quieted down when we went into the dentist and they let her sit on my lap in the big chair. Her face was all scraped up, her lip completely swollen, she had cut her tongue and had gravel chunks in her mouth. She was so good though and sat quietly while they examined her. Her front teeth were pushed a bit up and back into her gum and are all swollen and sore. She let them take X-rays, and look inside her mouth and under her lip.

Dr. White (Seriously, isn't that the greatest name for a dentist?) finally came in and asked her what happened and she said, "My Sammy jumped on my back and I got a boo boo." Dr. White looked at me when he was done and said, "It will heal fine, it looks a whole lot worse than it really is." And then he says, "I'm saying that to reassure you." I looked at him and nodded, "Oh, reassurance is good." And I started to get all misty. So then he laid it on nice and thick. I just ate it all up. I think I was more traumatized than Sarah.

So of course when we were done we had to go cope together. I bought her a slushy and Dora Band Aids, and Motrin, and french fries, and I probably would have gotten her a Mini Cooper if she had asked for it. I finally got a hold of Matt, and he felt so terrible for his baby and for not answering his phone I forgave him for not being in PA. Of course, when he came home tonight with a big heart balloon with a cow on it for Sarah (Its says give me a sMOOch) and flowers for me I forgot I was ever upset.

I went to the gym and poured all my stress into 4 miles of Evanescence. Now my tension's gone, and I'm just tired. So we're all recovering and coping, but I'm still mad at Sam.

No he's not still in the basement...at least not literally.

But I have two questions...Does God ever get as upset at people for hurting His babies as I do?

'Cause part of me kind of hopes He does.

And the second question is this.

Am I ever Sam?

'Cause the other part of me hopes He doesn't.

BTW: Matt just asked me if I wanted to know how much Sam weighs so I can put an add in the newspaper. Guess he's not over it either.