I try to be the quietest person that ever lived when I get back home late from work and everyone is asleep.  My foot placed perfectly with every careful step, but the utensil drawer is a disaster.  The drag of a knife as I slide it out.  The metal tinkle of fork tines in the night. The fundamental vibration as I ease it closed.  I catch and pause my breath, listening.  Still asleep, still asleep.  But then the plate too hard, too hard! on the counter and the stove as I slip in the leftovers, it is the clanging crazy of a dumptruck or ancient elevator.  There’s no way I can pull this off.

He sleeps on, though, somehow.

Just like right now, with Phish on at a good volume, he swings in the swing with his beautiful little melon head tipped onto his shoulder and mouth slightly open in the bliss of sleep, he rocks and rolls.

Oh shit, abrupt stop to music!  Disaster is imminent!

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