Like Mama, like Madam.

My kid is weird.

Kid Mach 1, that is. Kid Mach 2 is too young to show his true colours. He might still be "normal" like Himself... you know, my ninja accountant husband.

Exhibit One. I present for your appraisal the following picture.

That hat? Her choice, both as a purchase last winter (hence the jauntily perched angle on her melon, it's too small now) and as a wardrobe choice today (when it was really too warm to need a hat, but her stubbornness knows no bounds).

Exhibit Two. This morning while I was sorting her breakfast in the kitchen, New Kid started kicking off on the sofa. I asked Madam to go see if she could make him happy as I was up to my elbows in jammy toast. She said "okay" in her piping little voice and hied herself to the front room to cheer him up. How did she do this, you ask? She got about six inches away from his face and shouted "HAPPY!!!"... When that didn't work (insert shocked disbelief here) she came back into the kitchen and said "cry!" with a confused look on her calculatedly innocent visage.

Exhibit Three. This afternoon on our way into town to pick up some lunch, I asked her if she'd like sushi. As a response, she shrieked so loudly as to startle several dogs and their humans and took off at a run towards town.

I rest my case. Freakchild. But then, normal is boring, right? RIGHT? Right.

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The real deal.

So, I thought I'd been having cravings for the last couple of weeks because I've been eating loads of tuna and pasta, seemed like that was all I wanted to eat. Tuna sandwiches with a cup of tomato soup to dip them in, and egg noodle pasta for some reason. That is, until Monday night. Monday night, Himself called me on his way home from work as usual and asked if we needed anything (again, as usual). I said no, that I'd already been to the store but I wasn't really hungry anyway, and that I'd see him when he got home. I settled in with the cats on the couch and started flicking channels, getting the girlie TV out of the way so that Himself wouldn't have to suffer through it when he got home... Half an hour later, it struck. All of a sudden, out of the blue, I was starving. It wasn't the usual "go rifle through the kitchen until I happen upon something that looks edible" hunger. It was specific, overpowering, CRAVING hunger. What did I want,

Lazy weekend.

Bliss. Sun, moglets, sun, loads of good food, sun, and Himself. Good combo, let me tell you. We let the moggies out sans leads for the first time on Thursday (sporting their new collars and tags, and freshly dosed with flea drops), just for about an hour to see how they handled it. Both of them tore headlong into the flowerbeds in search of new smells and the occasional bug to eat. On Friday I left the back doors of the conservatory flung open to let the seriously amazing weather in and the felines out. This turned into me sitting in the conservatory for longer than I'd care to admit, book discarded to one side because watching them chase bees, butterflies and each other was more amusing. Saturday morning dawned clear and sunny, so I hied myself down to the conservatory (as I woke up around half six and thought Himself might rather sleep a LITTLE longer...) for a bowl of muesli, a cup of peppermint tea, some reading and yet more book neglecting as I watched the lunatics conti

Dreams and other nocturnal habits.

I've always been a dreamer, in the literal sense. From a very young age I've been able to remember my dreams, and once I started a dream one night and finished it the next. This sounds great, and I've had some seriously fabulous nocturnal journeys through time and space, but on the flip side, not all dreams are good ones. I've had some proper toe-curling nightmares, and some of the worst ones have been in my adult years. The reason this is on my mind particularly right now is that I had a pretty gnarly one night before last, and during yesterday's aforementioned pestering phone call to my sister I told her about it. She told me that her boyfriend had been doing a little reading about dreams in general, and had researched (and actually put into practice) a tactic of dreaming deliberately. The research he found described the way to consciously go to sleep with a certain event or setting in mind, which basically ensures where your dreams will go. Apparently this

Random ramblings from the Texan in London.

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