It's weekend and I was hoping to be able to get in an extra half-hour sleep this morning. It wasn't in the cards, though, because B was up, bright and early and wanted to "snuggle" under the covers. I use the term loosely because half the time that means that he wants to squeeze me in a python-like choke hold, and the rest of the time he just wants to wriggle aimlessly around under the covers.
As you know we've had our fair share of heating woes lately. Some nights our bedroom temperatures hover just above arctic tundra levels. So being the responsible father that he is, M has taught his offspring an interesting survival technique: if your bed is cold you can burrow down deeper under the blankets and warm it up with your breath.
Which is fine if you're doing this in your own bed on your lonesome. It's a different matter entirely when you do this at 6:30 am. as an act of love. to warm up your mother. who would have been content to survive the wee hours unassisted.
On top of it all B has a really sticky, gloppy cold at the moment. So that even if I could have ignored the rain-forest effect that was steadily growing under the sheets there's no way I could ignore the coughing and sneezing that was accompanying his efforts. In that closed off area he was creating his own hot zone that any terrorist would have given his right eye to bottle up and use to achieve world domination!
The cogs in his head were obviously producing more than just phlegm, though, because when he finally did pop out he made the following two observations:
1. No one has ever made a sweater that is so big that it reaches up to the clouds
2. Have you ever noticed that you can't see your own head?
I don't think I have anything to add to those two profound thoughts so I'm going to leave you with that and go drink another cup of coffee...
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