Ants, uncles, and nighttime conversation

Such a relaxing Sunday!  My homework is finished, the dishes are done, and a fresh pineapple from the public market is dehydrating as we speak

Or is supposed to be dehydrating.  I bought the food dehydrator at a flea market (new!) and it came with plenty of warnings in Spanish, but no instructions for use.

Not a lot going on lately.  Let's see.  There was The Great Ant in the Bed of Friday, June 3.  I wake up at midnight to Michael screeching about a "book" being in the bed.  In my half-sleep confusion I started laughing hysterically while Michael turned on the light and started looking under his pillow.  Things got markedly less hilarious once I realized he had said "bug."

It turned out to be one of those giant ants.  You know, the boy ants that wander around in the spring.  When I was a kid my grandfather told me those were "uncles."  (The counterpart to the "aunts."  Ha!)  Thanks to him I am a 27-year-old woman who still blurts out "Uncle Ant!!" every time I see one in public.  Anyway, it was crawling on Mike's forehead in the dark, and woke him up.  If this is god's idea of what's funny, I am not impressed.  I now sleep with a nightlight and one eye open. 

Lately I've been having dreams about shopping at a candy store and the clerk selling me strawberry-chocolate covered raw chicken.  I wake up at random times in the night and vomit.  Stupid hormones.

At a recent wedding we were talking with other couples about how much we used to get from the tooth fairy, and what the going rate is these days.

Mike:  I can’t believe parents give that much for teeth now!
Me: I know.  You’re in charge of tooth fairy stuff, I’m not dealing with that.  Convince the kid that the going rate for teeth is fifty cents.

Mike: He’ll know that’s not true because his friends will tell him what they got.

Me: We don’t necessarily have to worry about that.  If it’s a redheaded boy he won’t have friends.

Mike: I want a boy instead of a girl.  I changed my mind.

Me: I want a boy, too.

Mike: But that means you won’t get to play Barbies.

Me: What?  No it doesn’t.  We’ll still play Barbies.

Mike: Well, ok, but that means our boy is going to get beat up at school.

Me: Nah.  I’ll just tell him that playing Barbies with mommy is our little secret. 

Mike: Because that won’t cause psychological damage later on.