Sometimes my pictures have nothing to do with the blog topic, I just like them. Seeing as how it's my blog, I reckon it's allowed. *grin*
I'm all tucked up in bed with the laptop, fresh from the bath in which I finally dunked Kit to the waist due to her pain-in-the-butt tendency to stand on my knees like they're islands in the bubbles. She and Sophie have deigned to settle on the end of the bed, having migrated back and forth between the bedroom (where I'm typing away listening to Ingrid Michaelson) and the sitting room (where Himself's watching "Ice Road Truckers" on his laptop) for the last hour. I say "settle", they're actually getting a little violent with each other as Kit fights against Sophie's tender ministrations.
Please forgive my tedious stream of consciousness, I feel crap. The younger of the two hoodlums I keep has had a fever and a nasty cough for the last week, and has the unfortunate tendency to cough without covering his mouth. This tendency isn't moderated by any situation, including the scenario where his face is three inches from yours. I was the unfortunate recipient of said face-cough, and now have a head full of congestion and a body full of weariness. That's right, BFG, weariness. I feel weary. I may just put the back of my hand against my forehead and swoon. So there.
The combination of the little'un's time off school and my insistence that fresh air is good for you if it's not rainy and cold out has resulted in a few truly amusing moments. Tonight's comment about how he might go out to play football with his brother was met by "you're ill, there will be no football." This was rejoined by "oh yeah, I forgot I was ill." This is only topped by the limited horticultural knowledge of a six year old boy. Poor kid, I feel for him having a mother AND a nanny that are green-thumbed, but as I am didactic at base level he's the unwitting pupil to a constant streaming lecture about every plant or tree we walk past. This afternoon saw us sitting outside the nine year old's school waiting for him to finish classes, and I pointed out a prettily blooming cyclamen. He says, and I quote, "do they throw up on lemons?"... Colour me confused. It took me a good thirty seconds to see it phonetically in my head. *sigh*
I feel like I should mention the concert the BFG took me to for my birthday. I was going to write a dedicated post, and the right words/motivation kept escaping me. I like to chalk that up to the fact that it was simply the most perfect gig and I could never verbally do it justice, so I let it be. I will say this, though. We like Dave Matthews Band. Hell, we like Dave Matthews, but due to the fact that my grandmother reads this blog we'll keep it clean. *grin* DMB is an experience. This is proven by the following: the BFG had never listened to DMB and bought me the tickets strictly because he knows I lurve them. He accompanied me simply because that was the nature of the gift, it was an activity for us to undertake together. By the time the concert was drawing to a close, he was on his feet with the rest of us lunatics, clapping and jamming out, and has since determined to beg, borrow or steal the band's entire back catalogue. This is the magic of Dave. So, BFG, this one's for you. *raising imaginary glass of whiskey* Thanks for a perfect night, they're few and far between and should be seized. Feel that? That's me seizing. *grin*
Is it just me, or has the word "seize" ceased to look like a real word? Seize. Seize. Seize. Yeah, it's lost all meaning.
My sickie body is flagging, I'm going to close the laptop and read myself to sleep. Terry Pratchett, here we come. Strange dreams due to Rincewind (the person, not the cheese) and his Luggage will undoubtedly follow shortly after. Bring it on.
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