BitterSweetLife

Aidan never rises any later than 6 a.m., but his room has a door. Unfortunately, it is not soundproof. And since we live in a loft, the walls don't reach the ceiling, so hermetically sealing him in his room to muffle the wrathful screams is not an option. However, there are other uses for doors.

When Lindsay left Asher asleep this morning and came to check on us around 7, she found me curled up under a blanket on the floor of Aidan's room, dozing as Aidan sat by my head, reading to me loudly from The Big Book of Trucks. "SHOW DADDY CAR-CAR? SHOW DADDY CAR-CAR?" And I was drinking it in, from behind my two-ton eyelids. The door, of course, was shut (containment), the lighting low.

I have one final exam left, and I'm hoping some kind of repressed survival instinct kicks in, because I have realized, in a foggy, hallucinatory way, that I need to study for it. Alternatively, you could all pray that a winter storm will select Kansas City as its epicenter and descend in swirling, freezing clouds of serendipity RIGHT NOW, or at least before my test at 8 a.m. tomorrow.

Geez.