All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams.
And once again, Potter is hacked off for a completely idiotic reason, and is presently giving his frustration an outlet through corned beef.
It all started, you see, when I woke up from yet another ridiculous night terror (which I endure as quietly as possible around this time of year, courtesy of past incidents. It may have been the one involving Potter morphing permanently into a turtle that started all this, wherein The King refused to be parted from him for even a second due to the amphibianness of it all, and eventually Potter informed me that we would simply have to enjoy very slow interspecies sex with our son present. Is it any wonder I woke up disturbed and unable to go back to sleep? I say). Determining that my sleep was, as usual, shot despite the pre-dawn hour, I dragged my delirious carcass out of bed to spy on My Angels.
I didn't stagger down the hall with the intent to do anything other than hold a few unconscious toddlers in order to lull myself back to sleep, but it was the beginning of a new trend. The general theme of most of the dreams (as well as those pesky past events) got me to thinking, which eventually turned into how can I give My Babies a boost to make sure nothing disgraceful ever happens to them, like being, say, deprived of their magic? Potter and I have both been on the receiving end of that sort of pleasantry, and with our commingled magic, sharing a bit of mine would really be just as good as both of us having a go.
Nothing like having an edge if things go pear shaped, which seems to happen absurdly often in this family.
So from this point, whenever I'd find myself suddenly awake in the middle of the night, I would cuddle up to each of the kids in turn and, in Potter's opinion, torture them with this heinous, selfish act as they slept. He finally caught me last night in the rocking chair in the boys' nursery, with one hand plastered on each of their backs. I might have got away with it, too, save for the subtle glow.
Aside from the deliberate omission, I don't see why Potter is being such a crabby arse. Perhaps the next time one of us manages to be abducted in public and has their magic molested or stolen, my bright idea will finally be given the credence I feel it deserves.
In addition to this, today I was forced to endure the dubious pleasure of Weasley and Granger (and Lucy, who is tolerable). Lambchop spent nearly the entire visit clinging to my leg and glaring at everyone. At one point, he managed to climb me like a winged monkey and bite me on the shoulder. Once they were gone, he was perfectly fine. If this is his version of the terrible twos, I've half a mind to put him in a magical coma until November. And then some.
It all started, you see, when I woke up from yet another ridiculous night terror (which I endure as quietly as possible around this time of year, courtesy of past incidents. It may have been the one involving Potter morphing permanently into a turtle that started all this, wherein The King refused to be parted from him for even a second due to the amphibianness of it all, and eventually Potter informed me that we would simply have to enjoy very slow interspecies sex with our son present. Is it any wonder I woke up disturbed and unable to go back to sleep? I say). Determining that my sleep was, as usual, shot despite the pre-dawn hour, I dragged my delirious carcass out of bed to spy on My Angels.
I didn't stagger down the hall with the intent to do anything other than hold a few unconscious toddlers in order to lull myself back to sleep, but it was the beginning of a new trend. The general theme of most of the dreams (as well as those pesky past events) got me to thinking, which eventually turned into how can I give My Babies a boost to make sure nothing disgraceful ever happens to them, like being, say, deprived of their magic? Potter and I have both been on the receiving end of that sort of pleasantry, and with our commingled magic, sharing a bit of mine would really be just as good as both of us having a go.
Nothing like having an edge if things go pear shaped, which seems to happen absurdly often in this family.
So from this point, whenever I'd find myself suddenly awake in the middle of the night, I would cuddle up to each of the kids in turn and, in Potter's opinion, torture them with this heinous, selfish act as they slept. He finally caught me last night in the rocking chair in the boys' nursery, with one hand plastered on each of their backs. I might have got away with it, too, save for the subtle glow.
Aside from the deliberate omission, I don't see why Potter is being such a crabby arse. Perhaps the next time one of us manages to be abducted in public and has their magic molested or stolen, my bright idea will finally be given the credence I feel it deserves.
In addition to this, today I was forced to endure the dubious pleasure of Weasley and Granger (and Lucy, who is tolerable). Lambchop spent nearly the entire visit clinging to my leg and glaring at everyone. At one point, he managed to climb me like a winged monkey and bite me on the shoulder. Once they were gone, he was perfectly fine. If this is his version of the terrible twos, I've half a mind to put him in a magical coma until November. And then some.