so I decided to rise only to have Jack meet me downstairs. Working event later at winery and not sure when I’ll have time to write. Not going to worry about it. I can write what I do now. Should be focused on time with babies anyway, as I’ll be home late-late this evening. Glad I’m up now, but hate writing on phone. Why don’t I have laptop out? Too clunky and conspicuous. Just notes for now. Want to be more like son in how he completes stand-alone art projects, wakes early, and gets right to whatever he was working on last or beginning new projects. He has the wee hour ethic and habit and persistence of a winemaker.
And, will I get in a vineyard walk today at any point? Stressing about way too much. Why. Enjoy your morning with little Kerouac and Ms. Austen, whenever she wakes.
Put ice cubes in coffee in tumbler I left in fridge over night. In mood to have it extra cold. Jackie watches a different cartoon with little puppies that talk and band together— think they have super powers, or some level of otherworldly power. On missions of sorts.
“Dada,” Jack says, “do you have a butt promise?”
I laugh and say, “What? A butt promise?”
“Yeah, a butt promise, I have a butt promise and I throw my butt in the garbage.” He starts on his second waffle and stops the butt promise sagacity. Watches the gang of endlessly smiling mini dogs run around and accomplish things.