Morning Had Broken
So this morning I’m being One Dad To Rule Them All, right? I’m kicking around the house fussing after Alpha Male to get a move on, checking in on The Mistress of Light and Splendor (who came shuffling and crying downstairs last night at midnight with the same fever Alpha Male was enjoying not twelve hours earlier), and all the while I’m in a fine mood. A fine mood.
I’ve seen Cute Redhead off to her Very High Powered job (I still don’t know exactly what she does and I’m not lying), I’ve cranked out bacon and pancakes, orange juice and packed a lunch somewhere in all this.
Bailey The Golden Retarded needed to go out and suddenly forgot that he already knows how to (not making this up) open the back sliding door with his nose. So I let him out.
Back to kicking around the house with all the precision of a short-order cook: ziplock that sandwich (bam), turn (bam) hand Mistress of Light and Splendor orange juice “get back in bed, baby girl” (bam) kick open dishwasher closed WITHOUT LOOKING (bam) answer phone…solicitor *click* (bam) remember the drink Beta Male likes in his lunch is in the fridge in the garage—
—so. Out to the garage.
Okay, you know old song (we’re not defining old, by the way) “Morning Has Broken” by Cat Stevens? Remember that one? Well, I was singing it to myself. Not because it had snuck its way into my head because I heard it on the radio. No. I was singing it to myself because it was Morning and it had broken and it was sort of one those Hallmarky kind of mornings, in spite of the freneticism we all know and love. So the folder in my brain drive containing all the Todd.mp3 files randomly selected “Morning Has Broken” by Cat Stevens to accompany the crazy and yet altogether fine Hallmarky morning.
Morning has broken, like the first mo-OR-OR-ning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the mo-OR-OR-ning
Praise for them springing fresh from the wo—
—and right here is where I jumped thirty feet straight up and yelled something about a female dog and her son Because Beta Male was sitting in the garage. With a microphone. Hooked into an amplifier. And right when I walked in and headed to the fridge, singing my happy morning song, Beta Male decided to greet me with, “Hello dad.”
Except it was Beta Male with Reverb and enough decibels backing it up to…well, let me just put it this way: if your living room window suddenly shattered and you heard [Female Dog and Her Son!] immediately after that, I think I can explain everything and I promise to pay for the repair.
Morning, buddy. Please don’t do that to daddy ever again, okay?
I like Beta Male. A LOT.
the golden retarded?! My dog Whitey, well I was reading him your blog and he left the room, without wagging his tail I might add. I thought it was funny..haaa / that your kid did that…get me on the phone with him and I can give him some new surprising ideas. HA.
onward lil one…onward
Well…he is. Bailey, that is. Tell Whitey it’s nothing personal.