SO I GOT UP ON SUNDAY AND FELT PRETTY GOOD. Very good, in fact. Great, actually. It was the first Sunday in a few weeks–or a few years–where I hadn’t had too much to drink the night before. Well, weeks, years, why quibble, right? The point is, I’d had a good night’s sleep, made everyone breakfast, let my wife sleep in, and the whole morning was so relaxed, I even read a little of the paper. Hey, I think I’m really getting the hang of this marriage/parenting thing.
Then Mr. Grossman, the piano teacher, arrived, and the kids spent only 20 or 30 seconds writhing in agony at having to take lessons in the first place, and then did very well. Very, very well, matter of fact. They even thanked me later for making breakfast without being thumb-screwed into it. Hey, I think they’re really getting the hang of this family/childhood/don’t-tap-into-daddy’s-dark-side thing.
