So there I am.

830am. The sun is up, the snow is out, and Mommy and Daddy are doing absolutely nothing of value—just sitting there with their coffees like background characters.

Meanwhile, I have work to do.

I round the corner in my Luigi socks—my power socks—and nothing else, because clothes are for people without vision. Mommy immediately starts in with the questions:

“Where are your clothes?”

Ma’am.

Please.

I am playing.

Playing WHAT?

Playing LIFE, obviously.

But she doesn’t get it, so I sprint—full toddler speed—into my bathroom. MY bathroom. The one where I conduct my operations. I climb onto my stool (strategically placed by me, a professional) and begin my morning shift: Lego engineering, Monster Jam hydraulics testing, and matchbox car aquatic simulations.

Mom asks what I’m doing.

I’m busy.

I’m focused.

I’m elbow-deep in sink water and destiny.

But she’s filming, so I give her what the fans want:

A quick over-the-shoulder “cheeeeeeeeese”

Then back to the grind.

Also, yes, I need my bandaid removed immediately even though I demanded it earlier. That was then. This is now. I’m a man of evolving needs.