So I'm in the kitchen, scraping the porridge out of the pot, and I can hear this heavy disembodied breathing, like Darth Vader. I can hear it, this is not my imagination. I actually stop scraping and listen - still there. I look over my shoulder with that "I know Darth Vader is not in my kitchen but I can still hear him" kind of look. (I know you know what that feels like - creepy) For about 2 eternal seconds I ponder the incongruity of the situation and it comes to me that the loud oxygen-mask breathing is mine. My head is so stuffed up it feels like I am under water. My ears are buffered by an inch or two of fluid, I haven't taken breath through my nostrils for so many hours that I've adapted to a Darth Vader style of breathing for the sake of survival.
My girls are playing pirates. As I finish styling my hair (wow!) and decide to apply makeup (unbelievable!!) I listen to their pirate-y type talk. Batten the hatches! Hoist the midsail! Ahoy, me hearties! I'm the flower pirate! And I'm the minty pirate! And I realize that yes, there are definite gender differences. These pirates have beaded necklaces and sequined shoes. And right now, on their pirate ship, in between commands of "Steer! Steer - away from the whales!" they are having detailed discussions of the finer nuances of color - pink, not red, green like a forest not like a frog, etc. If only I could find my camera I'd have a great scrapbook page out of this. In fact, I shall go seek it momentarily.
