I know that you're anxious, but we had a deal. Originally I was promised May 5th. You didn't want to miss cinco de mayo. Who would? So we kicked it around and agreed on April 21st.
Not a day sooner.
Last night, for the second time, we spent several hours in the hospital with you two threatening to jump the gun. As I was loading your mom and her little bag into the car I think we both realized how super not ready we are. I mean, we're ready. We have enough gadgetry to build a space station out of fisher price shit, but we're not ready ready. It's like having your execution scheduled and then having the guards show up weeks early with a priest and a last meal. I want the governor on the phone.
If you give me a couple weeks I think we can work wonders. I know our chit chats have gotten rared, but I've been slaving away and I managed to finish a draft and send it out. I got notes. You let me clean it up and get it off and you can poop and scream for the next three months and I won't say a word. But you screw me on this and you're grounded for at least a year. Both of you. I don't care whose idea it was. No TV. No phone. No sleepovers.
I'll do it too. Don't test me.
Novel - In revisions
Dunking - Who knows
French - Deux plus semains si vous plait.