Here’s how it goes in the barn. I get up far earlier than I want to, usually between 5:00 and 5:30, because it’s the only time I get to my damn self all day.
On a good day, I get at least an hour of writing in before the tiny herd of tiny boy feet thunders its way from the bedroom to the studio, demanding love, affirmation, and breakfast.
Usually, we eat breakfast at the table, because it is the civilized thing to do.
When all else fails, we at least attempt to be civilized.
Today, even civilization failed. I was working on a writing project that was due to my colleagues at the start of the business day.
I gave the boys the option of eating at the dining room table (I swear!), but they claimed to prefer to dine with me. And so we thumbed our nose at culinary rectitude and set up a makeshift mess hall on the floor of the studio.
Kato was game. August was not.
Sensing that his grasp on humanity was quickly slipping away, August smoldered in silent protest while I hammered away at my keyboard, attempting to say Great Things in a Transparent and Meaningful way.
The next time I turned my head, the herd mentality had taken over. Or maybe it was just his rumbling stomach.
Alden, who usually sleeps in until the last possible moment, is still civilized, so far as I know.
