|Minute four on dad's shoulder. Crying subsided and sleep|
was within sight.
But while he stops crying he starts talking, singing and contorting his body in ways that ensure neither Mrs. Blackwell nor myself will return to sleep anytime soon.
|Minute ten on my shoulder. His eyes were still open,|
but I swear he was snoring at this point.
|The well-deserved thanks I get from the boy.|