it’s amazing what’s going on in there

In the pre-dawn light coming in from the dome, and me not really awake, Luc, beside me, had a busy little head this morning.  So many thoughts, so little time!  It started with, “Mommy, how high can an orca jump?”

I sort of jerked a little with the sound, although he was talking softly.  I want to grumble, because I mean, I really have no idea, and shouldn’t he be sleeping?  But then I dimly recall that maybe orca whales are sometimes in those Seaworld-type shows, maybe jumping up high to get a fish?  “High,” I mumble.  “Higher than the yurt.”

“Oh.”

I drift back into some dream about talking to Michael Caine (??) and me wearing a blue skirt.  (Wtf, right?)

“Who do you think would win in a fight, Han Solo, or Elliot?” Luc’s little voice comes in to my ears like a bell, and it takes me a moment to figure out that he is talking about Elliot Spencer from Leverage.  Han, of course, needs no explanation.  The who do you think would win question is asked dozens of times a day, with various parings.  Luc is endlessly interested in this.

“Um,” I say, bleary, face hidden by my sleep hat, “Are there guns?”  Sophie is snoring beside me.

“Han Solo doesn’t have a gun,” says Luc, confident.  “He has a blaster.  And Elliot doesn’t like guns.  So I don’t think he would have one.”

“Okay.  I’m going to go with Elliot for hand-to-hand, and Han for superior weaponry.”  I say this into my pillow.

He thinks about it.  “So, if Han Solo doesn’t have his blaster, you think Elliot would win?”

“Yes.  But I think they shouldn’t fight.  I think they would probably make good friends.”

“Oh.”

Ten, twenty, thirty minutes later, the light from the dome is still bluish, but a crow is cawing outside, and I feel him touching my chin, touch, touch, touch.  “Yes?”

“In a show once,” he says, “Wolverine was cooking sausages on the ends of his finger blade thingies, and then he ate them, the sausages, and then he sucked the blades back in.  But I don’t think he wiped them off first.  I mean, don’t you think that means he sucked sausage stuff back into his arm?  That’s gross.”

It occurs to me that I’m not going to get more sleep this morning.  “Maybe his healing powers mean that he doesn’t have to worry about germs or sausage grease.  Maybe his body just pushes the foreign stuff out of him.  Like that bullet when he got shot in the forehead.”  A cool scene.  Hugh Jackman was awesome in that movie, which one was it, X-Men 2?

“Oh.”

I snuggle Luc in tight.  He’s so warm!  I can practically feel the vibration coming off his brain as he works through all these important issues.

But just as I’m starting to drift again he says, “Do you think if you lay down in the bath, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything because your ears would be stuffed with bubbles?”

I laugh.

Sophie says, “No, and be quiet.” She’s always grumpy when she first wakes up.

But it is time to get up.  The light is yellow now.  Breakfasts, smoothies, milk the goats, walk the dog, yoga, play date at the park, go, go, go!

So much busyness makes these quiet pre-day conversations all the sweeter.

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