What the...?

I swear...when I got up this morning...my son quacked. Yes, quacked. In his sleep. What was that all about??

Last night, I managed to get Bird into his room at a reasonable hour. I'm not saying he stayed there and went to sleep, but I got him in there by seven-o'clock. At one point, around nine, after I'd turned out the light and said goodnight three times, he came trotting into the living room to explain that he needed the light on so he could tell his cars a story, but first he wanted me to tell him a story.

I let him climb up into my lap and regaled him with my tale of how Santa Clause came to be (it sounds historically plausible, even if it's a total load), then he slid down and went on back to his room where he told his own stories to his cars until he fell asleep. With his head under the sleeping bag and his feet out in the open air. Heh.

I covered him up all the way, so there was nothing but a lumpy, sleeping-bag covered shape in the middle of the bed. He's still under there.

He insists on sleeping with all of his cars on the bed. There's no room for him! Every time he moved last night, there was a cascade effect, a chorus of thunks and crashes as they his the floor. It's a wonder he didn't wake up. I did.

And this morning he quacked in his sleep.
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There is something wonky about my heating/cooling system. In the summer, when it's hot and sticky and unpleasant to live without an arctic blast flowing from the vents, the coolest room in the house is the hall bathroom. The living room is a write off - too big for the A/C to be effectual, and too much window anyway. I try to nap in the afternoon to avoid the heat. Yeah, that's the reason. Downstairs, the A/C seems to have gone on hiatus.

In the winter, the master bedroom receives all the vent output. Relentlessly. Sometimes the heat pump doesn't turn off all day, just gobbles power and dumps a tropical heat wave into the bedroom. It can feel like the inside of a refrigerator downstairs, but in the master bedroom I could make soup on the vent.

Last night, my room was so hot I had to open the window. It was about fourteen degrees outside, and I didn't care. I slid that bad-boy up as far as I could and leaned on the upper glass. It felt cool and lovely against my face. I listened to the world outside the house...so quiet. In the spring and summer, we have crickets, peepers, all kinds of critters singing through the wee hours. Come winter, it's only us and the trees, and the trees don't tend to say much besides "Damn, it's cold...I thought this was supposed to be the SOUTH where it's always WARM!!" The very air was still, last night, and I stared out at my moonlit backyard and had the mad desire to go sit in the moonlight and soak it in. Yeah...umm...it was fourteen degrees out. I like the cold, but not that much. Also, I wasn't dressed for it, and didn't feel like getting dressed for it. I let leaning against the window and staring out at the lovely shadows suffice.
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Why did my son quack in his sleep? He quacked. In his sleep. Why??

I won't ever know...he doesn't really remember dreams very well, yet. So I will have to entertain myself with what he was dreaming that cause him to quack. My brain's going to hurt all day, isn't it?

Quack.