I have a confession to make. A secret.
Shhhh, don't tell.
After all the kicking and screaming and trying to get the pirate to bed and sneaking out of rooms and trying to sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Arch (How I wonder, are you parched?) over and over without the squeaky voice-crack-puberty thing happening, after he finally dozes off and the house is quiet and I have the "time" I so whine about not having ALL DAY LONG to write, I kind of miss him. Like right now. Miles Davis and ceiling fans and no "cooca-cooca-cooca-eh"s to distract me and I kind of want to be distracted. Dude. Not cool. It's contrary to my whole plan.