cat named pig

A few thoughts, bearing no particular relation to each other, and joined by my favorite device for organizing unrelated thoughts: the list. Enjoy your Sunday.

1. We had a bat in our wall the other night. Matt calmly ignored this and peacefully fell asleep, despite the simmering heat of my fury warming the bed next to him. I hated that bat so much I’m surprised the walls did not catch fire from the white-hot intensity of my hatred. I fell asleep thinking that if I could have one superpower, it would be the power to melt a bat into a sizzling little puddle of bat-wings and bat-snout, just by thinking about how much I hated it.

Didn’t hear anything the next couple nights, so maybe it’s moved on. Or maybe it plans to return at intermittent intervals to torment us for the rest of our lives. It seems like the kind of despicable creature that would do that. Pretty sure that’s where the term “batshit crazy” comes from. From lying awake for hours next to a person who can sleep through all that scritching and all those sonar-y little bat noises.

2. We had a lovely day with Matt’s family yesterday and a lovely morning today of Easter eggs, Easter brunch, and a walk to the park. Then all the loveliness caught up with us and we had some epic meltdowns right before nap time. After nap, it will either be more loveliness or they can go live in the wall with the bat, eating insects and dodging burning hate-rays shooting out from my eyeballs. But they’re usually in a good mood after nap.

3. I’m pretty sure Siena is on to us about the Easter Bunny and Santa stuff. I think she just doesn’t want to hurt our feelings by telling us she knows. Evidence for this theory includes her recent detailed questioning about they get in and out of the house, a friend at school who apparently told her “Santa doesn’t come to his house — his parents just put presents in his stocking while he’s sleeping,” and a patient smile when I explained that we put all the Easter stuff away in a box every year, and the Easter Bunny gets it out and sets it up on the table while we’re sleeping — that’s why we have the same baskets and bunnies and whatnot. She did not look convinced. Also, she recently told me her American Girl doll “smells just like Grandma’s house,” which would be surprising if it came from Santa’s workshop. (But not that surprising if it came from my old closet, which, in fact, it did.)

So the jig might be up, holiday-wise. I think it’s pretty decent of her not to call us on it, or risk spoiling it for Elliot. She was a very good big sister during the Egg Hunt this morning, letting him “find” equal numbers of eggs and even letting him take the one hidden on WALL-E. Maybe I won’t send her to live with the bat.

4. A baseball is almost exactly the size of the cupholder in our stroller. And once it’s in there, only wee toddler fingers can get it out without having to turn the whole stroller upside-down.

5. And finally, this exchange that took place just after brunch this morning:

Laura [noticing the clear color of Matt's mimosa]: So what do you call a mimosa that doesn’t contain orange juice?

Matt: Bunny juice.