Day 555: The Mule Returns
My dearest little Earth Goat,
Your father was a mule today.
Not for your mother, not this time (though it would have been a solid guess) but instead, for the yard.
Yes, for the greater good of my dear family's homestead I went out into the wilds with a whipper snipper, axe, lawn mower and wheel barrow, and laid waste to a rather significant amount of mess. After looking at what I accomplished as I stumbled inside to take a shower in the tub your mother just scrubbed clean.. I can actually say with confidence that you could -had you the depth perception- actually see what I got done despite the "shovelling snow" aspect of what I'm doing.
Mostly because it's hard to miss a newly mowed lawn...
Nevertheless! Take victories where you can Binty!
The sun was right above me the whole time, starting as I did around noon. That's always a good time to start doing yard work I find, just as the sun hits its zenith in the sky. That gives the greatest possible angle to allow the molten ball of energy to slowly vaporize your body one atom at a time, as you stubbornly stomp around the yard unwilling to go put any protection on because "the house is too far away." ... just me?
But really, who needs protection anyway? Well, perhaps most people do, but your father happens to be a Fire Dragon according to the Chinese, who themselves are the most powerful country in the world.. according to everyone except a few politicians in America. What could a Fire Dragon possibly have to fear from what can only be the source of all his powers? I ask you??!!!
Having said that, I'm pretty sure I got burnt. I can feel it on my face.
Thankfully the length of my hair -which I have yet to alter in any way shape or form since your mother took me into the bathroom that day and took the scissors to me in highly unskilled fashion- likely kept the back of my neck from getting blasted but that remains to be seen.
I was exhausted when I woke up to Blaze today.
That's how I start every morning now, and likely will for a very long time; waking up to Blaze, or you, I suppose, when the time comes that you're no longer so dependant on your mothers boobs.
It was somewhere around 7am or so, if my internal clock as I stumbled into his room can be trusted, and it most certainly can NOT. Anyway, I pulled him into the guest bed with me to see if I could squeeze another hour or so out of him, and managed to get him to sleep again, though it didn't last the hour I was pushing for. It didn't matter, an hour, two, it would have done little to help what is an increasingly undaunted state of tired.
I say undaunted because no matter what I do I can't seem to get the consistent slumber required to function at normal levels. My head hits the pillow at around midnight or 1am every night (yes, I instantly reveal the biggest problem!! GO TO BED EARLIER!!) and it's there for maybe an hour before the fun with Blaze begins. It was a little better last night because I'm now letting him cry it out a little more. No more rocking him back to sleep late in the night, unless he's SUPER upset, or perhaps had a nightmare. But even then, I'll likely ask him to recite the nightmare for me and if I should find it lacking in terror or fright, well.. no rocking chair for Blaze!
That goes for you too.. once you've seen enough actual objects in the world to even form a nightmare. That should be a little while I would think, given the soft, warm, inviting nature of your environment... which consists of about two feet in front of your face... which is mostly boob.
I can think of no better environments!
Nightmares are impossible when that's the material you have to draw from!!
As to going to bed earlier, I'm afraid that's just not going to happen. The nights are too quiet, too precious, for me to consider abandoning them merely because I think I need a bit more sleep. Peshaw!!! I'm on a mission dear daughter of mine, to organize the contents of my brain and train it to think clearly and efficiently. That requires a good bit of work out in the ol' garage, as I'm sure you can't imagine... on account of your tiny, infant brain.
I am however, getting this blog entry written up much earlier in the day knowing damn well that by the time the evening hours roll around I will be in a zombified state that might not allow for communication of any kind. Thankfully we have the Master Chef finale to watch. My boy Stephen got kicked off the show in the semi-finals so I have less interest in seeing who wins, but by the time we watch it my brain will be in little shape to be interested in anything so it should all come out in the wash.
Have a good night my little minion! Way to take the boob!!