So now I have about 45 minutes of quiet before I need to fork the other son out of bed. This one is less liable to be overflowing with sweetness and good cheer, despite the fact that I will be making him get up so that we can go shopping for baseball cleats that will fit his enormous feet, not so that he can participate in a career-path-controlling, college-admissions-manipulating, worried-teenager-tormenting scam. His day will come for all that, and he'll still be hard to wake up.
Tomorrow, though, everyone will get up easily. That's the morning we all go to Fenway to watch the Red Sox lose. What a horrible season. Good thing we're prepared for the worst. Paul plans to wear his Montreal Expos hat because the paraphernalia of an extinct ball club is a fan's best friend.