Daddy up, or trying

to be awake.  Jackie and I downstairs, for what we call “cartoons and coffee morning”.  Or, Saturday morning.  How we say “Saturday morning” in our speak.  Waffles in toaster, the blueberry kind he likes, and me on the floor typing this while he watches.  No surprise, I failed to wake at 4.  And I’m tired now, yawning here and there.  How does my mother-in-law do it?  4 miles “under her belt” as she said yesterday morning, before even getting ready to come to our house.  Again, how does she do that?  I know one trick— go to bed earlier.  Huh, what a revelation.

Had to go up and take Emma from her little den, or ‘pack-n-play’, whatever, and play with her for a little before handing her to Alice for another feeding.  Angry at self for not waking at 4 to write— wait, did I even set my alarm?  No?  Well, that’s a problem.

Thinking about what I wrote yesterday, about the smaller more pamphlet-esque releases/publications.  Yeah, not part of the plan anymore or EVER again.  Only books…  Sizable, formidable, aggressive books.  Goddamnit, I cannot spell this morning, having to backtrack and repair the red underlined sentences.  Jackie not eating his waffles after I just reheated them, me saying “Eat your waffles or bye-bye Monsters [,Inc.].” So he eats, then stops about 30-seconds following.  Thinking maybe I’ll forget about the warning I just gave him.  Are you serious?  You little bugger…  “Jackie.  EAT.  YOUR.  WAFFLES.  NOW…” He takes one bite, stretches, laughs at me.  “Okay, that’s it…”

Rain projected for today but I don’t care.  Has no impact on my writing or what I do at the winery today.  When they predict rain, or a certain amount, it either doesn’t happen at all or is 80% less than what they foreshadowed, I’ve found.  Random daddy thought, never mind.  Still trying to be my usual energetic morning writer self.  Tired of writing.  I want cartoons.