Dear Old Dad

It's morning, not even 7am yet. B has long since left for work. The first words from the boys? An angry, insistent demand: "Daddy IS here!" This is what they wake up saying (screaming) each morning. They refuse to believe he's not at home, shouting the words accusingly at me as if I've hidden him away, a captive in a closet somewhere. I'm glad they love their dad, but hey, what am I? They just don't want to believe that he's gone to work, even when I side with them saying, "I know, you miss daddy, you love him so much." That still doesn't win me points. They won't believe it's true until they see the empty bed with their own eyes.

Some mornings are better than others - yesterday J calmly replied to me (when I said that daddy had gone to work) "Actually, mommy, he is here." Stunned silence from me. Actually? Where did he come up with that one? Geesh. Perfect grammar from my three-year old.

Today is my 32nd birthday. Oh boy. The boys did slightly better this morning when I reminded them, in the midst of their screaming "Daddy IS here!", that today is my birthday. They immediately forgot silly old dad and took me to see the birthday cards they'd selected for me, each complete with beautiful scribbles that each had lovingly drawn. Oh how I love to see their handwriting. B had even traced each of their hands on the cards. My big boys! Sigh.