I’m sooooo tired. Stupid tired.
I had my cousin’s kids

Ok, I’m going to have

Ok, I’m going to have to make this quick. The push to get Max sleeping in his own bed is going well. He only came to my room once last night. Pretty good, no? But having Max there in his room in the morning is causing Raphael to wake up far earlier than usual. Max always starts the day with a good twenty minutes or so of stretch and yawn. This is before he even opens his eyes. He rolls over, reaches arms up and legs down, and sighs at the simple joy of it. Then he goes back to sleep for another five minutes. Then another stretch…and so on. Well, I was used to it, but Raphi isn’t and he’s been jumping up at the first movement and announcing in a sleep- croaky voice, “Iss mornin’ time! Hey Mats! Iss mornin’ time! Git me out!” Max, always up for an early morning adventure, promptly hops out of bed and liberates Raphael from his crib.
So all that to say that my nights have been fractured and my mornings have been early, and I’m not firing on all cylinders.
Do you think it’s a bad thing that Max told me tonight he didn’t want to be called Max anymore? He wants to change his name to Luke, and wanted to know how to spell it. At first he said he wanted to be called Carl, but I think my look of horror steered him away. No offense if your kid’s name is Carl. It’s just not a name that fits Max. I mean, Carl. Where does he get this stuff? The other morning he was twirling around in the kitchen, doing his best to make my breakfast preparations impossible, and he announced dreamily, “Last night I dreamed I was in the land of Chicken-Bird.” Then he went on to tell the most outrageous tale of his dream of the land of Chicken-Bird. Somewhere between the horse that could fly and the magic cup that could pour out whatever you wanted, I looked at the sly smile on his face and realized something. He’s making most of this up.
Damn. The kid’s a writer. And he does fiction.
Well, at least he’s got a pen name already.


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