It’s 0600 on a Saturday and I’m not up early, I’m up again. Or still up. I'm not sure which.
The 3-year-old fell out of bed in soaking wet pajamas. I changed him and tucked him back in. He never woke up. I can't tell you how unjust that feels to me.
The 1-year-old has stirred just once tonight, which is down from four times a couple of nights ago. He’s probably wet, too, but I guess it will keep.
The brown dog has let me know he needs to go outside to pee or look at the stars or get some fresh air or something three times tonight. That’s about average.
Two nights ago I figured I had that beat when I just left him in the back yard (with his food and water of course), but it turns out he's scared of the dark and barks nervously ... all night long.
Well-played, brown dog.
It’s 0600 and I’ve worn-out Wikipedia (I started-out trying to figure-out the relationship between the Norwegian, Danish Swedish languages and ended-up reading about Visigoths. How’d I get to Visigoths?)
The spousal unit gave up on me long ago, and I’m down to my last cold beer.
I hesitate to say it, but … well, I don’t want to … oh, hell: I kinda miss the boat right now.
Don’t get me wrong; I haven’t put on a pair of socks (or underwear, for that matter) in almost two weeks now. I’ve had Vanilla Porter for breakfast. I got to hear the little guy utter his first complete sentence. I baked bread. Shit is getting DONE around this house, know what I mean?
But I miss 12(ish) straight hours of downtime. The purr of those big Cats. The hiss of water along the hull. That gentle rocking motion ….
I’m sure I’ll get over it.
Just as soon as I get some sleep.