Mordred’s Lullaby

My current songworm is posted below– it’s called Mordred’s Lullaby and it’s by Heather Dale, and I used the Prince Nuada clip just because it’s really frickin’ creepy.

Anyway, the song is about how Morgause shaped her son (and pretty much ruined him) from birth by whispering terrible, insidious things to him as he slept. And I thought, Jeez, I wish I’d thought of that!

Because seriously–take a look at that picture up above. Imagine how much easier my life would have been if I’d, at sometime, planted the notion in Squish’s head that Princess dresses were NOT suitable grocery store attire. Note, by the way, the big bruise on her forehead from playing outside with her brother, the mosquito bite on her tender pink cheek, the glittery glowing tennis shoes and (you can’t see it in the picture) the monkey tail affixed to the back of the dress with the bow.

Easier, yes–it is true. But not nearly so interesting.

So, today’s post is all about family harmony… to wit:

* Squish, last night, saw the end of Footloose and wanted us all to dance. (You–over there–STOP PICTURING MATE AS KEVIN BACON! *shakes head* SO not dignified…) Anyway, she had us stand up and dance like at the end. (*chokesnort*) and then she started giving directions to have Mate and I dance together. “Put your hands on your shoulders. Now move your hips. Now hold hands. Yeah. Like that!”

So there we were. Dancing according to specs. I was so relieved. Then Mate started to giggle and said, “You’re leading again.”

Well shit.

* Zoomboy came out of the bathtub last night with this observation: “Mom, when I was in the bathtub, I farted. Six times. Wait. No. EIGHT times! And then as I got up, I realized that the farts were telling me to poop! So I did!”

And right there, I have no words. Seriously. None. Isn’t it funny how things that seem simple really frickin’ aren’t when you’re seven years old.

* And speaking of Zoomboy, the Little Brown Pill (heretofore known as the LBP) seems to be doing precisely what it’s meant to. He has NOT become Zombieboy, he is still my odd little duckling (witness the farting conversation above) but he DOES take a moment to prioritize things. It’s funny– we don’t really notice the inner dynamics of the LBP until about six o’clock, when the damned thing wears off and the psychological warfare between Zoomboy and Squish resumes. I need to talk to his teachers, but I’m going to assume that means the LBP is a gooooooood thing. Goddess bless the LBP and all odd little ducklings who need theirs.

* I reported on Facebook the following convo with the dumbshit cat: Attention, dumbshit cat. We want you to live. GET OUT OF THE FUCKING DRIER! The end.

The cat responded appropriately after I dragged her out by the scruff of the neck, but she ain’t getting any smarter. Last night I went for a walk–it had been raining, so the ground was pretty wet, and she followed me out the door all excited because she was pulling one over on the big stupid human and sneaking out of the house. Then suddenly, I hear, “Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow!!!!” Which I roughly translate into, “Holy shit! What the hell is this on the ground! Get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off!!!! FUCK! IT’S EVERYWHERE! LET ME BACK IIIIIIIIIIINNNNN MOM, oh, oh please… let me back in… let me in let me in let me in let me in let me in… Oh shit. In there? No. Not in there… hey! What are you doing? Put me down! I don’t want to go in there I just got away from those people let me go let me go… well fuck you too!”

And that’s when I slammed the door closed, left the dumbshit cat in the house, and resumed my walk. *grumbles* Brain damage. All cats are brain DAMAGED!”

*Chicken and Big T are both planning a future. I’m torn between, “My babies! Don’t grow up too soon!” and “Get the hell out of the house, dammit, we need your room!” I’m pretty sure that option A is winning out, but don’t underestimate the exquisite lure of Option B, either…

And here’s your creepy bad elf video with that really seductive songworm. Listen now, hate me later!