Well, I tried. After friends and family left last night, I took my laptop to bed and at 11:48pm I started typing my Day 18 blog post. Then I promptly fell asleep.

I woke up after midnight to a screen that looked a lot like this:

Hadddddddddddd a sssssssssssssssssssudodr tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Which, clearly, says, “Had a super time…”

Which, clearly, was to be completed with, “…tonight.”

Because, good friends, family, Christmas music, margaritas, wine and beer will tend to make you have a good time. Nothing says “early Christmas open house” quite like tequila.

And, though the margaritas may be the reason I stuttered through a post draft, I prefer to think I was exhausted from all the laughter.

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Although we live in the city, there isn’t a whole lot of diversity in my neighborhood. The Ohio State University isn’t far away and there is an array of color and culture there, but I don’t make a habit of letting my kids walk around Big Ten campuses. Maybe MAC, but not Big Ten.

So yesterday afternoon I carted the kids off to the International Festival. We ate Chinese food (but, only because I didn’t see the Mediterranean booth, no offense to the fried-rice), we watched Irish, Indian, African and Russian dancers and looked at art and crafts from around the world.

Then my daughter and I got henna tattoos.

I have always wanted a little, teeny-tiny tattoo and I’m pretty sure that henna is the gateway drug of body art. I love this design on the inside of my wrist.

Even if it does closely resemble my living room rug.

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Here are a few things to remember when you go to a “Dynamic Duos” costume party as Amy Winehouse and her 10,000 ML bottle of vodka.

1. If you dye your blond hair, black, it will come out gray.

2. A borrowed Snookie wig will help.

3. Not everyone knows that Amy Winehouse died from alcohol poisoning. Actually, pretty much, NO ONE knows that. You may have a lot of explaining to do.

4. If you wrap your husband in posterboard, don’t forget a flap for bathroom breaks, as you may get odd looks at the party when you take a steak knife to his groin.

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The first time it happened I was cutting the grass.

I made a sharp turn with our completely, non-self-propelled lawn mower, my foot slipped off of the curb, rolled under itself and just like that, I had a broken foot. Not sprained, broken. Because, if I’m going to go for it, I go for it all.

The second time I broke it was the most glamorous incident. I was skiing. You know, with those boots that don’t even let you BEND your ankle? Yeah, those. But, it was on a mountain! Okay, not really. It was a hill. In Ohio. Did I mention the boots?

The third time? It was when my daughter was a toddler and I was using an ottoman to block a doorway. If anyone knows ANYTHING about toddlers, it’s that they can’t climb over ottomans! Apparently, some adults can’t either.

The phone rang one day and instead of stepping over my barricade I decided to go all HURDLER on it. My enormous foot didn’t quite clear it and as I fell to the tile floor, I heard a snap. Then there were noises that sounded very much like someone was actually sticking a knife into my foot…via my ears.

The fourth time may have been tonight when I…wait for it…walked out of my back door. See incident #1 again. Roll, snap, elevate, repeat.

I am nothing, if not graceful.

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