So, my boy's doing bad. What to do. He needs a break. Something's gotta give, right? What to do.
So, I'm thinking, babysitter one day a week. Massages at least twice a month. Les Paul. Marshell. Music room. Reading chair and "end tablet." Curtains and nice afternoon light. Two hours of peace once a week. Why is there no time for rest? Always just hury, hury; busy busy. He needs more rest.
Maybe it's me. I'm a little stressy. Too restless, too ancy, too bored. (Huh, and I wonder why my kid's a kinetic wonder.) Hmmmmm. Yeah. And everybody knows it's the ladies who set the tone. It's like a dog whistle and we're all dogs. Maybe. Maybe not so bad. But I've been a little edgy and nervous since the babe showed up...she's a doll, but I think I may have an unwarrented, irrational fear of sudden death. Not sudden infant death, sudden anytime death. SAD.
So, the scoop. The game plan. The low down. More R&R. More Bill Withers. More cigars. More Dogfish Head. More camamile, chocolate, adult fun. And presentness. That's the clinker. How to be here. With my boy. With my girl. And at peace.
