Sunday, June 04, 2006
"Where's Dad?" our three-year-old exclaimed as she tromped through the house. She then saw me on the couch putting on my running shoes in our living room. "Oh, Daddy."
"Hi," I said.
She looked at my shoes. "Are you going to the van?"
"No, Baby," I said, lacing up my shoes.
She looked at the TV for a second then turned back to me. "Are you going to work?"
There was a longer pause this time. Looking down at the floor she asked her question with a tinge of sarcasm mixed with sadness.
"Are you going home?"
I looked in her eyes and wanted to laugh and cry. "Baby, I am home."
"Oh," she replied.
Before I could remind her for the umpteenth time that we are home and that our house is our home, my eight-month-old squawked in the front room on Glory's lap.
On to the next subject.
"Oh! It's Baby," my toddler said.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"In the front room," was her quick reply.
With my shoes tightly laced, I started heading out to the garage to use the Nordic Track. Little girl quickly followed behind and strapped in to a rope she uses to swing.
Glide, glide, push, swing, Daddy-push-me, went on for a half hour to the beat of 1980-ish Bryan Duncan.
No more questions needed. Just time with Daddy in the garage. And that was fine by me.
Posted by Bill & Glory at 7:13 PM