Heroes Aren't Born, They're Built. (And they come with ballgowns and anthropomorphic cats.)

Did you ever decide you needed a night off?

A night where you planned on indulging in a little red wine and Robert Downey Jr.?

And, by happy coincidence, did this night occur when both of your children had been invited on sleepovers?

And, did you ever settle down happily on your bed in your flannel PJs, with the pillows plumped up just right behind your head, a glass of Sangiovese in your hand, and Iron Man in the DVD player?

And just when you were sighing in relaxation and enjoyment, as the movie started and you took that first ruby sip of your wine, did you ever hear the front door opening?

And did you ever spring from the bed, wondering who was walking into your house?

And did you ever run to the front door, a heavy flashlight held in one hand and your wineglass in the other, because you didn't think to put it down?

And then, did you discover that it was your younger daughter, being returned by the sleepover mother due to a "stomach ache" (cough*homesickness*cough) and quickly hide the flashlight behind your back?

And then, instead of spending your evening watching an insanely hot arms manufacturer/superhero, did you ever spend the rest of the evening cuddling a weepy seven-year-old and watching Barbie: Princess and the Pauper?

If you're a mom, chances are that you have.

Sock mystery: solved!

I bought new socks a couple of months ago, in the winter. I got rid of my old worn out socks and bought a few packages of new crew length socks (longer than ankle socks, but shorter than knee socks) in various colours. I bought black ones, charcoal grey ones, white ones, pale blue ones, mid-blue ones, and navy blue ones. About 12 pairs in all. And now, in May, all I can find are the mid-blue ones. And I seem to have more pairs of the mid-blue ones now than when I purchased them.

WTH?

How could that be? Shouldn't the dryer just be eating one sock of each colour, leaving me with one black, one grey, one white, one pale blue, etc.? But no. There are about 4 or maybe 5 pairs of mid-blue socks in the clean laundry.

I've thought long and hard, and I think I've figured out what's going on.

Seasonal colour transition.

No, really. It all makes sense now. The socks are reacting to the lengthening days, and pigments in their skin are changing to camouflage them against the more colourful summer clothing palette.

It's just nature at her most resourceful. After all, I do live in the northern hemisphere, where wildlife has evolved seasonal colour variations in order to hide themselves from predators (e.g. hares) or prey (e.g. foxes):





There's a Nobel prize for biology, right?

Moonlight sonata

The spring night was magical.

Warm breezes, scented with a hint of the barely open lilac blossoms on the bush outside my open bedroom window, swayed the filmy pink curtains softly to and fro.

The just-past-full moon lit the yard and turned everything silver and black -- the lawn, the trees, and a raccoon hurrying by on some solitary errand.

Stars blazed and wheeled in the night sky, a Van Gogh canvas come to life.

Coyotes yipped and howled down along the river, the sound of their revelry carried up the ridge and through my window on the night wind.

And I was awake at 2 a.m, 3:17 a.m, and 4:03 a.m. to enjoy all this freaking nocturnal beauty because the freaking cat kept jumping up on the bed and standing up on his hind legs to look out the window, sniff the breeze, and growl at the passing fauna -- while using my head as a conveniently positioned standing platform.

And using his claws for balance, of course.