Papa Don't Take No Mess (part 2)

My plan was to post each night of my "home alone" stint, accompanying each of my pieces with a report card-style analysis of my performance. I even had nifty grading fields like "transitions" and "meals/nutrition" ready to roll. After two nights I now see how ridiculous this would've been. You can't grade parenting.

Good thing, 'cause I'd be running about a 1.85 right about now if you could. LJ's days have been pretty smooth around here, but his nights are about as predictable as a Fall concert. Took three separate 45-minute bedtime cycles to get the kid down last night, and tonight he simply passed out during his 6:15 dinner. Crossing my fingers he'll make it through the night (although he's already had one Jacob's Ladder-esque freak-out, which I promptly alleviated and extinguished)...

LJ's been a saint, really. Almost seems like he's listening to me when I tell him not to do shit, and occasionally not doing it. I busted him destroying one of his books today, and he just moved on to another selection. I told him not to hang on my crappy Ikea computer table, and he stopped. I made him stop smacking me in the face after about 20 times, and he didn't do it again. Amazing, really.

Anyway, I just rewarded myself (for what?) with a tasty ham/salami/swiss toasted sandwich. This is one of the first grown-up meals I've had-- most of my food's been LJ's leftovers. I like to think of every sandwich I make being a little better than the last one, and therefore the best sandwich I've ever eaten in my life. This one was just that.

Can we please just put Joba in the goddamn bullpen already??!! Make Hughes #5 and let Joba pitch the 7th/8th with Bruney. Don't argue, just do it.