At 7am this morning, my wife and daughters boarded a United flight out of O'Hare to wing their way to the cozy, palm-lined beaches of Aventura, Florida to visit the grandparents. I should be jumping for joy, dancing on my keyboard, flip-flopping up and down the hallway, but after only four hours of sleep, I'm almost too tired to even write this entry.

In any case, I now have a week to work, to write, to read, to clean, and to sleep, without any monkeys hooting and hollering and swinging through my office. I plan to be productive. Unfortunately, yesterday's Ambition post was so wildly well received I don't know how I will top it, and so I shall devote some time tomorrow morning, after a restful night of slumber, concocting new stuff. Stay tuned.

I also wanted to mention that my house is haunted. Wherever I am, I hear the sounds of a baby crying, or the steady, incessant call of "Daddy" from Smartypants' bedroom. I hear those pesky Wiggles singing in the other room, while Dora and Boots explore Lazytown. C'mon! Vamanos! I see toys in the middle of the floor, but when I bend down to pick them up they vanish. I know with absolute uncertainty the baby's walker is six inches to the left of where I put it this morning. And right after I had a bowl of cereal and milk, I noticed that someone drank half the bottle of formula in the fridge. Poltergeists, I tell you! Little, monkey-sized poltergeists. They're everywhere. And you know what they're telling me?

That I miss my little monkeys. And, even though I'm all alone, I'll still check their rooms before I go to bed, and I'll whisper goodnight, and I'll probably wake up at every odd hour listening for their cries. After all, that's my job.

What's else is a daddy to do?


This post was originally shared on my at-home parenting blog, The Daily Writer, which has long since vanished. I’ve migrated many of the posts to this site for sentimental reasons.


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