Sorry, Vlad. It wasn't me, I promise.

I had this dream last night.

Vladimir Putin died.  And we were in Russia at the time.

Being American, we were afraid that we were going to be blamed, so we thought we'd probably better leave.  We had this huge van-type camper that had *two* trailers.  And of course I couldn't really drive it myself.  But Jared went off to do something--I've no idea what--and I couldn't remember if he told me that I had to go, or if he asked me to stay.  Not being able to drive the monstrosity, I stayed for a while, but it made me very nervous and I ultimately decided that I had better get going.  But I was somehow parked in this huge Greek-style amphitheater (um, yes, we did start a unit on ancient Greece this week...why do you ask?) and I could not get the damn thing turned around.  I could possibly continue forward, but that would have put me in this insanely busy rush hour highway traffic.

Things were a little disconnected, but I think I ended up abandoning the monstrosity and I went to hide out in a hospital and I hid in an occupied room (why yes, I did just watch the Fugitive on St. Patrick's Day...why do you ask?).  At first, the occupant of the room was asleep, but then she woke up and I had to pretend that I was there for a purpose.  Luckily, she was fairly oblivious, though she really liked to talk.  She was talking all the while I had to scrub these really really nastily dirty pants (you don't want to know how they got dirty...I'm a mother of young children, after all).  Clean pants were essential to our get-away, even though the dirt had nothing to do with Putin's death.  (It was definitely from my children...)  Unfortunately, though the woman in the room had a husband, she didn't have any of his pants with her, so we were out of luck in finding other clean pants.

I do think we managed to get away in the end, though the sight and smell of the pants I was scrubbing woke up me up too early to really tell....