When my son goes to bed, he's generally so adorable, but he wakes up a monster.

When one of my children is being annoying, the other one must honestly believe that it is her job to be even more annoying.

After my mom's third divorce when I was fourteen, she would often wake up between three and four in the morning to drink coffee and write, much like I do now. She definitely wrote letters, but I suppose she also wrote just to get he thoughts out, and it's a shame that those stacks of yellow notepads are long gone, probably ripped apart and hurried in a landfill somewhere. Maybe that is a fitting metaphor for her state of being back then. Sometimes I would wake up and sit with her, which I am sure she enjoyed; but what she really wanted was to sit alone with her thoughts in silence. Early morning is the only time we often have to be awake in quiet before the chaotic clanging of the day overtakes our senses and drowns out the small noises we forget or are unable to hear. Sometimes, like this morning, I will lay awake in bed just listening to the sounds of my dogs rustling in their sleep, the binary crunch of the cable box, and the sound of early commuters zooming down H Street toward the 805. Still, what I enjoy listening to the most is the sound of Denise's breathing while she slumbers under the warm blankets. There is no sound more beautiful than my wife drifting between states of sleep, right next to me but off in some other universe, some other plane of consciousness that she will soon return from. That is the sound of peace. That is the feeling of comfort that most people wish they had. It is just one more reminder of how luck I am.

Regardless of how many time I try to teach the kids that Sunday morning is the perfect time to hibernate, they just don't get it. Maybe one day they will.

There are few things in this world as precious as sleep; just ask any parent. And if, by chance you get a couple consecutive nights of drop dead sleep, then it's like winning the lottery or being invited to join a special club where the world is just a happier, more fulfilling place.

I was just in a conversation about younger days where I jumped up and greeted the memory of cocaine like a close friend I hadn't see in 20 years. In one way I can say, "boy, I'm lucky to have survived those days when so many others didn't." and then I remember that I am a father and all I can think is that I hope my own children never do the stupid things I did.

Why is it that almost every single morning starts off in chaos. The five year old is antagonizing her older brother. Julian is running through the house screaming and playing with door handles. They both chase the cat. And the common denominator is the SCREAMING. Anyone who says that hearing children running an screaming is just so joyful obviously has not had the pleasure of hearing it every morning for the past few years.