- Wake up late to two dueling iPhone alarms, both downstairs. There's a kid in our bed lying perpendicular between us, forming a perfect H.
- Digs circles. Olive slithers. Demanding food and love. The aroma of coffee wafts. Thank God.
- Breakfast battles > dressing drama > out-the-door dawdling.
- Dentist > deliberations > discussions.
- Kid pickup. Disturbing report. (All is fine but WTF?!?).
- Championship softball game; little "fans" snake through mounds of dust while I stand sentry waiting for a foul ball to knock someone off. It's not like I could catch it. (All the time others were developing hand-eye coordination, I was doing handsprings, aerials, plies. Dammit.)
- Herding humans > mud-room strip-down > naked parade/pet feeding > one-minute, assisted showers. PJs.
- Dinner making > dinner eating > dinner clearing.
- Dessert demanding. I succumb.
- Teeth tending. Kid TV. Books. Back-scratching.
- Him: "Tell me a story...." Me: "I can't. My brain doesn't work anymore. 'Night."
I imagine the inside of my head an iPhone with too many apps running at once. Battery's draining like an emptying tub. All to do is reboot.
My old-author self would tell me to go lace up those new minimalist shoes (half off, perhaps due to their John Deere hues) and get down to the basement for a workout. Common sense would send me to bed. Instead, I pour myself a glass of Cab and ready myself for a date with Cary Agos. Done.