Really? Really.

I was enjoying a snack of pistachio nuts a short while ago and, as is my wont, decided to read the nutrition information on the back of the bag. I like to know how I'm killing myself slowly, don't you??

There was the usual - serving size (not enough nuts to make a mouthful)(OK, am I the only one who thinks that sounds a little...funny?), calories (an astonishing number, considering the Lilliputian serving size), fat grams and types (Umm...don't read that on a pistachio bag if you want to keep enjoying your nuts)(Again, does that sound funny?), and grams of carbs (Nuts have carbs?? D'oh!!). The ingredients were even included, because someone might not know what's in pistachios: Pistachios and salt. Hey, wait - they didn't mention pistachio shells! Think I can make a case??

Also on the back of the bag, prominently displayed where anyone with a partially functioning eyeball can read it was a warning. The warning? "Allergen Alert: Contains Pistachios." Really.

Because someone buying a bag of salted, in-shell pistachios might not realize there are actual pistachios in the bag.

Y'all, what is the world coming to when we have to warn people that there might actually be pistachios in their bag of pistachios??

The Breakfast Of...uhhh...Weirdoes?

Is it odd that, for breakfast, Bird is having pancakes but I'm having whole-clove-Garlic bread dipped in a combination of olive oil, rosemary, salt, and pepper?

And that, eating things like that, I've still managed to lose ten pounds in the last month?

I was just wondering...

Even if I had something to say...

...I couldn't, because I have what feels like a throat full of barbed wire. I'm posting a picture and going to make tea. Happy Saturday.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Catbit, the latest pet from GenSplice labs "Cute 'n' Fluffy" line.
Two heads, one litter box - everyone's a winner!

A quick thought.

I am about to go take a nap - I once again did not sleep well, because there's no comfortable position with a pulled neck muscle. Whine, whine, whine.

Also, I had strange dreams. They defy description, truly, but I can say this - reading two year's worth of Kevin and Kell comics back-to-back and then half a book that takes place at a Renaissance Faire right before bed can lead to some interesting nocturnal mental activities.

Yep.

G'night. Or afternoon. Or...whatever.

See-Saw

Bird just wandered into the living room and lost his mind over...I have no idea what. Something to do with his cup. We told him he can't have an open cup in his room, it has to be a straw or sippy cup - they don't spill. He wasn't pleased about that...

He came into the living room and told me he never wanted to drink from that kind of cup again, then burst into tears and didn't want me to look at him. Huh. Kids are an enigma. I coaxed him onto my lap - he didn't want to climb up while there were tears in his eyes, but they wouldn't stop coming, wouldn't leave him alone. I told him he could wipe them on my shoulder - no, that wouldn't work because he was wiping them on his own should and they were still coming. His words. He didn't want his mum to see him crying. Good grief, he's only FIVE!! Can't he be allowed free emotional release for a few more years before he has to man up?? I don't know who told him big boys don't cry, but I will knock them into next week if I find out they did it again. I will hunt them down and knock them into next week. Let my kid be a kid, for cryin' out loud!!

Like I said, I managed to get him onto my lap, and I asked him why he was crying...was he sad? Angry? I explained that I cry when I'm angry or sad, or even happy, which is completely unreasonable. He smiled. I told him it was OK to cry when he felt strongly about something - it helps to get the sad and mad out of him. I also told him that I found it helpful to talk about what made me sad or mad. He thought about that, then explained about how he wanted big-boy cups in his room, but he was bad at night and he couldn't have them. Wha...? I told him he's not bad at night...I know sometimes (OK, most of the time) he plays even after the lights have gone out, but he DOES eventually sleep. Poor little guy. I think it's easy for the mind of a child to blow things out of proportion. I think he was crying because he talked himself into believing that his straw cups would go away forever, and it broke his heart. And everything else followed.

I held him close and told him a mommy story (one I made up, he likes them even if they are about as interesting as watching tar harden) and sent him to bed. One little outburst later, he snuggled on down clutching his straw cup. Oh my goddess, I love him so much, it makes my heart stutter. I can't keep him from hurting, even if it's only over a cup...but I can still make it better. Mommy power still in full effect. Whew.

Up, down, up, down...

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.
~~~~~
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.
~~~~~
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.