I am sitting on my very very comfortable couch, laptop in lap, jammies on listening to my house.
The boys are upstairs playing. Nicely I can only assume by the occasional scream of excitement that escapes Harrison from time to time. Don't hear anything from Jake, but he's likely doing something to squeeze those screams out of Harrison.
When I started this, Jason was asleep and the house was otherwise quiet. Now, he's in the kitchen, running water for coffee, banging cups together while his barefeet slap slap slap on the wood floors. He clears his throat. Puts the unused coffee grounds back in the fridge and takes a long swig straight from the opened gatorade bottle he started yesterday. He is in his "sexy" blue satin boxer shorts that at some point had light silver hula girls on it, but through many washings they are simply blue boxer shorts. The hula girls have gone. Closer inspection from the couch reveals that they are also, in fact, inside out. He calls them "sexy". There's nothing sexy about his junk swaying unrestricted all over the kitchen. More clothes please. Please! On he goes to get in the shower.
(Harrison is laughing a deep throaty laugh that make you want to check on him to make sure he's breathing ok.)
Behind me, outside I can hear hammering of nails to wood on a house that is being built behind me.
The coffee maker gurgles. Steam. More gurgles. I smell my morning cup in production.
"Dad-dy," Harrison comes down the stairs and whines. Back to laughing.
The world is right again.