Late last week, as Two lay in the hospital in Cleveland suffering with mysterious, *horrible* symptoms, a GIANT semitruck plowed into our little car and pushed me, Tiny and the Princess through 20 or 30 feet of heavy traffic on one of the busiest streets in downtown D.C. (without even realizing we were there). Drama indeed.
But here's where I realize this is a scene from my incredibly blessed life and not some made-for-TV tearjerker on Oxygen: the kiddies and I walked away with nary a scrape, and today Two is doing well, feeling great and -- get this -- performing a big gig in California.
One of my favorite Hungarianisms is "micsoda?*" It is a not-particularly-elegant turn of phrase that translates practically as "what the heck?" But what I love is the literal translation, which is "what miracle?"
The bizarreness and severity of both Two's illness and my accident really deserve a loud and indignant "micsoda?!" And the wondrously un-dramatic resolution of both situations truly demands a quieter, but equally fervent "micsoda!"
Many, many thanks to all who have been so kind and caring and concerned about everything. We're all happy, well and feeling terribly blessed. Miracle indeed.
*Pronounced "me-choda" (rhymes with "free soda")