List

• Today has been a tired kind of day because last night was a rough night, Atticus-wise.  I made it through the morning, but when I really started dragging about an hour ago, I decided a cup of coffee should do the trick.  Plugged the coffee maker in, paced for a minute, did some high-knees running around the house (to wake myself up and because I can), then wondered why I hadn't heard any coffee gurgling its way into the pot yet.  As it turns out, you need to add water, a coffee filter, and coffee grounds to the coffee maker, not to mention turning it on, before it will perform its magic.  It took a full ten seconds of me staring stupidly at the empty coffee pot before I figured this out.  

• I've been meaning to write a "Books" post for a couple months now, but every time I've sat down to write one, I've thought Oh, but wait, I wanted to tell everyone about This book and That book and they're next on my reading list.  I'll wait just another week, then write the post so I can include them.  I have done this at least five times now.  It is finally occurring to me that there will always be another book I want everyone to know about and read rightthissecond, as my To Read list is never-ending.  I'm going to try and start the "Books" post tomorrow, but looking back over my Goodreads account and trying to pick which ones to review is a teensy bit excruciating; as such, I may end up doing a few book posts in a row.  Or I may get busy and forget about the whole thing until July.  Isn't this blog fun?

• Caedmon and I went to our local library yesterday morning.  At one point the lovely lady that leads story time said, "Wait... wait a minute.  Caedmon, are your pants on backward?"  Caedmon blithely replied, "Oh, yeah."  She looked at me, and I was forced to admit that yes, I knew his pants were on backward.  I just didn't care.  Not Caring is something I've become excellent at doing, particularly when it comes to backwards pants, backwards underwear (this looks so, so painful but Caedmon continually insists on wearing them that way), backwards shirts, wearing his sister's socks, etc, etc.  I'm so proficient at Not Caring I could put it on my resume, although for what job I have no idea.  Thankfully this library lady knows us well and is regularly confronted with the eccentricities unique to mothers of young children.  She laughed, and that was all.  I suppose it didn't seem all that strange, given that it was from the same child who, depending on the day, insists on being called Batman, Superman, the Head, and, rarely, Caedmon.  The library staff are always very good sports about it and ask as soon as he walks in what his name is that day.  Rolling with the name changes is one of many things they are very, very good at (although "the Head" threw us all a bit.  I still don't really know what that's supposed to mean).  

• Caedmon doesn't use the contraction "won't," instead, he uses "willn't," which I realize isn't a real word, but if you give it (too much) thought, you'll realize "willn't" as a contraction makes more sense for "will not" than "won't" does, anyway.  I may just start using it myself.  It would be a fun social experiment to see how many people I could convince that "willn't" is actually the proper contraction for "will not."  Kind of like the time Derek told a coworker at ESPN that the correct pronunciation of "Wichita" was "Wih-Ih-Ah."  The guy believed Derek, and went on to pronounce it that way.  Hilarity ensued.  For Derek, anyway.

Warning: This Post May Have No Point and Contain a Plethora of Made-Up Words

I'm used to weird stuff happening at night, both actual and my-brain-making-stuff-up-tual.  (It's almost 10 pm, which is late for me.  I can't promise this post will be anywhere near coherent.  In fact, I should probably wait and write this tomorrow, but I'm feeling gamble-some... or... something... and have decided that this needs to be posted TONIGHT.)

Anyway.  Weird stuff at night.  Right.

I grew up with a sister who would do things like sit straight up in bed in the middle of the night, glare at me and bellow, "WHERE'S MY SUNSCREEN?" before lying back down and going right back to sleep.  (P.S. I didn't know where her sunscreen was.  Still don't.)

Sunday night, I was washing up in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, when I heard Adelaide talking in her sleep.  That in and of itself is not at all unusual; most nights she's yelling something or other in her angry voice:  "Noooo, dooooon't, STOP IT!"  I don't know what her dreamscape looks like, but it's either inhabited by scary monsters or people telling her that cookies don't exist.  Either way, she's consistently angry about it.

Sunday, however, she decided to be a little more mysterious, and instead of the normal negativity issuing from her room, I heard, "JABAR-JABAR-JABAR-JABAR-JABAR..." before trailing off in a monologue even more incomprehensible than all the jabar-speak.

This all provided a lovely if unorthodox soundtrack for my teeth-brushing; the only problem was, my overly tired, slap-happy brain decided that this was simply the most hysterical thing it had ever heard, so I went into one of those silent, shaking laughter episodes we're all seized with now and again, which would have been fine except for the fact that I had a pointy plastic thing in my mouth and I somehow managed to stab myself in the throat a couple times, causing some painful gagging, which caused the foamy toothpaste to overflow out of my mouth.  A glance in the mirror proved that I did, in fact, appear to be rabid.  But happily so.  I was rabidly happy.  Which caused more laughter.

We have good times, me, myself, and I.

Derek capped off the night a few hours later with a little sleep talking himself.  I was climbing back into bed for the umpteenth time after calming Atticus down, when Derek said in a perfectly clear, I'm-wide-awake voice, "Did Jeff give you all the markers?"

I answered, "No."  Because he hadn't.  And who's Jeff?



Right about here is where I'd supply a witty little conclusionary... concludatory... conclusion-ey... sentence that wraps this whole little story up with a pretty purple- and silver-striped bow, but I just can't.  My brain slowly winds down when its tired, like one of those talking dolls who's batteries are dying, and we're just about at the point where the doll's voice is so slow that it's scary and masculine.

Good night.  I hope everyone has lots of fun conversations with your loved ones while at least one of you is asleep.  (Did you see that?  I tried.)