I read somewhere that you're not supposed to let them brush their own teeth until they're at least seven. So as I do every morning, I brush his. He's got a Wall-E battery-powered toothbrush; the irony of it, of some waste-disposal robot finding this very toothbrush in a pile of garbage hundreds of years hence, is not lost on me.
"Are you going to work today, Dad?"
"Nope, I'm working from home. Actually, I'll be working from home from now on. I'm done with my other job."
"Oh. Why? You didn't like it?"
"Not really. Plus they ran out of money to pay me. That happens sometimes."
"So your new job is being a writer?"
"Yep. I get to write about all sorts of stuff. You, Zoe, books I read, movies I see, songs I hear. Surfing. Any place that we go visit, I'm going to write about. I might even write a book or two."
"Oh! Being a writer is a really cool job."
"Second best in the world, dude."
"Oh - what's the best?"
"Go grab your hoodie, dude. We gotta get you to school. Maybe we'll listen to the Boston CD on the way."
