He wakes up at least an hour before his body is ready to the sounds of children squawking through tiny speakers on nightstands. He stumbles droopy-eyed to the bathroom to relieve the water he drank during the restless night of excessive jaw-clinching. He says good morning to all with affection and humor. He unloads the dishwasher. He makes breakfast, which typically consists of biscuits, waffles, cereal, eggs, oatmeal, or pancakes. He eats. He considers running. He is tired. He has a stomach ache. He needs to run errands. He needs to come up with any excuse to continue letting his physical health and appearance melt into gooey softness. He loads the dishwasher. He watches Toy Story 3. He draws pictures. He plays cars. He plays doll house. He makes the beds and picks up toys. He wrestles. He tootles around outside on various projects. He shaves. He applies copious amounts of deodorant to his underarms. He puts on all black clothes. He eats lunch. Sometimes he forgets. He packs his dinner into an insulated bag, which is frequently a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, a ziplock filled with carrots, an apple, and the homemade treat of the day. He puts on several more layers of black despite the temperature. He goes to work. He works. He drives home. He cannot sleep. He watches something not worth the time or money on Netflix. He reads. He sleeps. He wakes up at least an hour before his body is ready...
He is happy, but he is blah.
Thanks to some pretty consistent rain the garden is getting heavy with goods. We have already enjoyed some harvested cucumbers, peppers and onions. This is shaping up to be the most successful year I have ever had growing grub. I want to grow so much that I have to give away bags filled with fresh produce to friends. 
He wakes up at least an hour before his body is ready to the sounds of children squawking through tiny speakers on nightstands. He stumbles droopy-eyed to the bathroom to relieve the water he drank during the restless night of excessive jaw-clinching. He says good morning to all with affection and humor. He unloads the dishwasher. He makes breakfast, which typically consists of biscuits, waffles, cereal, eggs, oatmeal, or pancakes. He eats. He considers running. He is tired. He has a stomach ache. He needs to run errands. He needs to come up with any excuse to continue letting his physical health and appearance melt into gooey softness. He loads the dishwasher. He watches Toy Story 3. He draws pictures. He plays cars. He plays doll house. He makes the beds and picks up toys. He wrestles. He tootles around outside on various projects. He shaves. He applies copious amounts of deodorant to his underarms. He puts on all black clothes. He eats lunch. Sometimes he forgets. He packs his dinner into an insulated bag, which is frequently a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, a ziplock filled with carrots, an apple, and the homemade treat of the day. He puts on several more layers of black despite the temperature. He goes to work. He works. He drives home. He cannot sleep. He watches something not worth the time or money on Netflix. He reads. He sleeps. He wakes up at least an hour before his body is ready...
