Big bed made small by so many, so many big little children sprawled out with their children stench.
Water, granola, coffee.
Down to dungeon to work.
Whatta commute. Seventeen stairs.
Duke Ellington, Dizzy going upstairs.
I retouch, erase Nike logos, make text invisible, curse the branded apparel of triathletes and runners and cyclists and...why can’t they just wear plain old clothes?
I work, and then a child needs help getting the sewing machine going. Thirty minutes helping him; he finishes his project five minutes after I leave and is done.
Shortly, there is commotion, arguing, anger,
I head up to mediate disagreement over who should bake what, and there are tears and I make one lie down, he does, angrily, and shows me his rage by falling asleep in his closet fort.
Another cop of coffee, thanks Becca.
I listen to bits on Socrates, Plato, Goethe.
Goethe is especially good. One of our son’s namesakes.
I didn’t know he was no fan of Isaac Newton.
The kids bake.
I work, break for some watermelon and cashews and delicacies - cake, peanut butter oatmeal bars.
Kings of Leon, the Antlers, the Kills, Ash, Bob Dylan.
Salad for supper, a good one. At the table. We head outside; Ejvindr and I mosey to neighbors to chit chat and inspect their new roof in process.
Grandma and a cousin wander over. Football, chasing, Becca squirts water on one of them.
Brush, sing, worship, 20 minutes of hilarious Steve Martin Pink Panther remake that makes me laugh, kids to bed.
Twenty minutes of workout for us, along with the premier episode of Sacha Baron Cohen’s This Is America.
Then back to the Dungeon to work. I am 41.
I am going to bed.
6am comes fast.