The Days Run Away like Soccer Moms in Mini-Vans

These days here, they are like butter, slippery and tasty and forever melting away, slipping through my grasp as i shuttle the boyos to and fro and wonder what the world does when it doesn't have to work, not that i wonder all that hard because if there is one thing i'm a champion at it's the art of being idle, of course i don't know how idle you'd call me with two young maniacs running around but if you happen to push play and read this you'll have a vague idea of what my morning is like... making coffee, maybe a lunch for the I-mac, scrambling eggs and making pancakes, pouring cereal and milk as i gauge the wind and weather and watch the leaves turn a bright yellow and then a crispy brown, it's quite fucking beautiful as i sip my cup and watch the boyos eat and harass each other, cat purring and rubbing his head on my leg and me wondering if i should have a piece of toast with my coffee or a shot of whiskey in it...

and five days a week i shuffle the boyos into the car and drive slowly up the street towards the school and watch the oldest boyo walk up that walk like he's the cat's ass, a confidence and swagger i never had at that tender age, his shaggy hair blowing in the cold wind, backpack slung over his shoulder like he's 16 and not 6 and i stand leaning on my idling car and watch and smile in my green Celtic FC hat, foreign legion boots and quilted flannel shirt, of course it's always fun to catch the glimpses of the yoga pants set, all staring at the unshaven man who seems to never change his clothes... and then some hours later i come back and park the car and me and my green Celtic hat and flannel shirt and boots walk up the walk and wait for the I-mac to come out at the end of the day, sometimes Nick Disaster in tow, sometimes alone, and it's then that i realize that i am a stranger in a strange land, i stand alone in the middle of conversations about Pilate's and practices and professions and possessions, i stand stoned face and stoic and watch the steps and of course every now and then some parent from the I-macs fitba team smiles and waves and quickly moves on and of course i grin a bit when i see the hens discussing the heathen but i pay it no mind cuz soon i see that shaggy hair come bounding down the steps and towards the hill and not a day has gone by when that boy hasn't broken into the biggest smile when he sees his old man standing there and his old man just smiles right back, the happiest heathen alive...

Of course most days i speak to no one but Nick Disaster, all 3 plus years of him and i find that nothing is more refreshing than hanging out with Nick D., he's at that no bullshit kind of age and has no qualms about telling me exactly what he feels, wants, needs, etc., it'a a beautifully direct way of living, "i want chips or i want to play hockey or i want an apple, i'm hungry, i need to poop, i farted, i love you dad", it's really fucking brilliant, we laugh and play and nap and watch footie and horse races and cartoons, we go hang out at bookstores and split chocolate chip cookies and coffee and chocolate milk, we build shit and tear shit apart and make faces at each other, i'm quite fond of this way of living...

and yes there are days when i pour myself a pint nice and early, like a few hours before noon early or maybe i sneak off to the garage for a special smoke but when one has to clean a bathroom or two it's best to loosen the limbs and focus the mind and yes there is a part of me that would like to go on a tear but then Nick Disaster wants to read Dr. Seuss or something and i understand that a certain bit of moderation and discipline isn't such a horrible thing, there is always the night when it is just me and my thoughts and the opportunity but that is a story for another time, for now i'll just keep floating along and enjoying, chances like this don't come round to often, might as well make the most of it right kids?