Dreams and butter

I have a really active dream life. When I'm pregnant, it goes into overdrive.

Last night I dreamed that my father-in-law (quite the character I might add) was dressed in revolutionary war garb, and running around with an old musket. He decided to show us how the musket worked and fired into the air, setting fire to the neighbor's house. The rest of the dream was a comical version of putting out the fire with garden hoses while he told us that if we wanted to, we could grind our own flour from wheat using the huge grind stone he had, which was pulled by a mule.

2nd part: Butter.

My son Eliot is awesome. 10. Sweet. Concerned. Autistic.
Like most people with Autism, he gets singularly focused on certain things and won't budge.
He just came in to the office with some toast he had made and the butter dish.
"Mom, I can't make it flat"
"You can't make what flat?"
"the butter. It's bumpy"
"That's ok, buddy. You can have bumpy butter."
"No, it's too much butter and it will stop my heart!"
I laugh.
"Eliot. You're not going to stop your heart with bumpy butter. I promise! Go eat."