Sugar Bowl, Blackfish, animals, kids

After a good dinner which I will tell you about tomorrow, T and I settled in to watch Blackfish. Being that I am still scarred from having seen Dances With Wolves with my Dad when I was younger, I have to approach movies/documentaries about animal mistreatment (it matters not a ball that those buffalo weren't real; they seemed real and at one point in history surely were real) with steely nerves or wine; otherwise, I simply can't deal. Case in point: stone-cold sober and soft, I started watching Life of Pi last month. Not four minutes in I see the CGI tiger all thin and hungry and struggling, and I stomped out of the room, wild with anger and grief, even though I could hear T calling after me, "that tiger is not real AND this movie is good." I still refuse to watch it. In any case, having enjoyed a Frenchie red, we got through Blackfish, and I hate SeaWorld even more than I already did (bastard orca abusers) but I think you should all watch this doc. It's excellent and lets you be swayed by the facts of the matter rather than heavy-handed, one-sided guilt and stuff. Without meaning to, I then got sucked into watching the last two and half minutes of the first half of the Sugar Bowl and decided to root wildly for OSU. Really, that interception for a touchdown was outstanding. I don't care enough not to have then left for bed, however. Did y'all know my grandpa, Nanny's husband, played in the first Sugar Bowl? Cool huh! He rolled with the Green Wave.

On my way upstairs, I stopped by each boy's room for my nightly kiss-o-the-sweet-and-innocent-non-talking-sleepers, and as usual, Ol smiled beatifically in his sleep after a few nuzzles. He then said, with complete clarity, "Jack has a $100 that looks SO real but is fake."

"Oliver, what are you talking about, and why did you think to say that?"

Sweet slurring toddler, "because I just was and it's twue. I need to go to the bathroom."

Doting mommy, "Ok darling boy, I'll take you." To the pot... "Ol, hold you P down, I don't wanna get sprayed."

"Ok, Mom, I am in straight penis."

Good lord in the heavens above. It was at that point that I knew I simply must sleep in the basement tonight. And so here I am. Nutmeg curled up sweetly by my feet, and I felt guilty about moving because I might disturb him.

Can we have a reality check which will do me no good? This is a cat. I am a human with real responsibilities and the complete inability to sleep whenever I want throughout the day taking random pauses to purr, pounce or wash my bottom. It would literally (!) never occur to Tom to accommodate the cat in such a way. He wouldn't even let him on his bed! What is wrong with me? I suspect T would say this sort of behavior is the underlying "reason" for the boys' "serious desire" to be with me at all times. Hmm.

La granchia

As the boys descended the stairs this evening, I hid behind a corner and then jumped out with this guy and startled them. Hilarious. Jack said "thank you," and when I asked why, he said, "isn't it a crab sculpture for my room?" Ah, no. Oliver did a double take and said, "I am not scared but why is that here?" For dinner, small sirs! This gal is a Dungeoness, pre-steamed so I don't have to murder anything, and I just picked her clean in prep for dinner tonight. All I know thus far is that I'm going to put it on King salmon, peas will be involved and maybe avocado too. Keep ya posted!

Thoughts: why did seven hours at gymnastics camp not completely exhaust my children? And, why at my somewhat advanced age do I still believe picking a hangnail and/or zit will lead to good things?

The best laid plans...

Well, no one wandered into my bed last night, but I did end up sleeping with Jack in his. Besieged my growing pains in one of his ankles and lower leg, his cries woke me up around 11pm. After I gave him some medicine, he asked me to lay with him for a bit and the rest is history. 37 years old and I've just slept in a twin bed two nights in a row. My back was in revolt this morning though it was a sweet bit of slumber with Mr. J. Growing pains can really blow! Last night before dinner, T was folding laundry and Ol asked, "Daddy, why are you always doing the laundry?" Tom looked confused and said, "do you mean right now?" "No, Daddy, always!" replied Ol, and T proceeded to tell him that while he hates putting the tupperware away, he doesn't mind folding clean clothes. Meanwhile, I'm at the stove smiling to myself because let's hear it for modern men! And it's not like I was eating bon bons in repose.

The boys have been at gymnastics camp since 9, and the house is so eerily quiet and still. I exercised, went to the pet store, had to -literally- tear myself away from the cat adoption area after playing with them all and dying for another one, bought some pet toys and have since cleaned, written thank you notes and thrown out huge quantities of treasures, aka trash, that the boys have squirreled away since Monday afternoon. Tiny hoarders they both are!

Percy has been chewing on his new Kong for two hours and just left a mound of frothy yak all over my newly clean carpet. Thanks, Percy. It's always something.

If y'all have been concerned about Nutmeg's tipping the scales at nearly 16 pounds, he is a newly svelte feline. It takes months off (I say months because he's not even two and thus years would be ridiculously incorrect)- he looks so young. Presently, he's stalking my ankles because we've only played for about half of today. Jesus you pets. I love you but you're not my children. But I think they think they are.

I'm going to the market, still in disbelief that it's not yet time to pick up the boys. Is this is what school days are like? I don't remember!