Trying to change the classroom puppet's usual joke because one of the kids told me exactly what he was going to say before I'd got my hand inside. Thirty-six years of an act, finally exposed by a seven-year-old with very good timing. I could invent a new punchline, but I'm more interested in letting them decide what the puppet gets wrong and having him try to explain himself. They love catching him out. Might be a better conversation than me supplying the question and both answers, which is easier than I'd like to admit. Wrote down three prompts and already want to perform all three at once. He can survive not getting the last word for a morning.

Played bass sitting down for the first half of practice and found I could actually feel the notes through the body of the instrument instead of mostly noticing the strap digging into my shoulder. My fingers took a while to stop being clumsy, then settled into a part I know well enough to talk over, which the singer says is not an invitation. Fair! When I stood up for the last song my feet were prickly, the same feeling I've been brushing off at school, and I couldn't honestly blame the gym floor from this chair. I wrote that down for the next appointment. The music still felt good, low and steady against my stomach, even with no audience except the drummer's coat.

My son came over without asking for the truck and I managed not to mention that fact for almost the entire visit. He wanted to play me a song he thought I'd like. I was ridiculously pleased, sitting there trying to look like a man who is regularly consulted about music rather than a dad who's been handed a special occasion. Didn't love the song, actually. Liked the bass part. He laughed at that and we listened again, then talked about nothing much until he had to go. The house felt awfully quiet afterwards, even with the dog snoring. I was happy he'd come and a bit sad he'd left, no puppet required to explain either one.