The call came today during a production meeting at work. I saw the number and recognized it, albeit vaguely. I checked my address book during the meeting and excused myself: “That was the kids’ school.”

Picking up my messages: My son, calling to tell me he had thrown up at school. Ah, vomit. Hope he made it out of class first. Otherwise, he’s got a new nickname.

No response from his mom, so I made my apologies and headed out to collect my boy. A quick stop at the store for gathered, crackers, and bananas. And then home.

Sam in bed, listening to David Sedaris and drawing. I was trying to work. Sales calls and conference calls and trying to write good web copy and later wondering what being a lottery winner smells like. Does it mean you could hold a bucket for your kids, no matter what?

Hey, sign me up.

Thankful to work for people with kids, I’ll say that.

Later . . . I make a nice steak dinner and Keeley reads some comic books while I fire up the last green candle, light some incense, and talk with Persephone for a while.

And then, during a break, I write this.

Starting to get sleepy, but there’s more to write.