Late at night, near eleven, I’m writing in the living room. A cold, hard rain has fallen all day, the kind of rain that clears out the last of the dead snow clinging to the grass in shaded areas. Good riddance. Were the temperatures a little colder this downpour would be snow. Thank God for spring.

Tonight I felt as if I wasn’t mentally present for the kids. T wanted to talk through a diorama, and the other boys wanted attention pretty much constantly, and I just wanted to go in a dark room and sit by myself. I’ll try to make it up to them in the morning. Normally I think I’m a pretty good but my head hasn’t been in the game lately. I’m not sure why.

Last night T from work, a couple of his friends and I took in the Reds/Brewers game. The Reds kicked the Brewers’ asses, unfortunately, but we had a good time anyway. Our tickets (snagged free from a friend) placed us about ten rows behind the home dugout. I liked hanging out with the older guys. They had a peace, a contentment with whom they are that I’d love to embody when I hit their age. When I walked the stadium on my own I noticed that Miller Park has become a major pick-up market for Milwaukee teenagers. Boys wearing baseball caps backwards and girls with painted-on jeans flirted on the concourses. I watch teenagers closely these days. Soon my boys will wear baseball caps and hit on girls with painted-jeans.

By the way, yesterday, when I picked up the boys from school, a teacher on the playground informed me T and S teamed up against some kid who was picking on Skylar. T punched the kid in the face. I suppose I should give them a stern lecture but I think I’ll let their transgression slide this time in honor of their collaboration. Oh, who am I kidding, I’m proud of the fact they backed up each other. I want the town to know if you fuck with one of them you fuck with all of them.

Tomorrow Dan is driving up for The Hold Steady. Should be fun. I need some sleep. Good night.