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.