Today, I got a voice mail message that consisted of Mama asking 3B what he wanted to say to daddy. After she asked several times, Mama got the reply that 3B had been chanting before my voice mail picked up, “Want to call daddy at work. Want to talk to daddy.”
There’s nothing quite so heartwarming or so heartbreaking as getting called at work by my son, who just wants to say that he misses me.
It makes me wonder where I made my serious vocational error.
Why is it that I can’t have a home office–although if you look at that setup the other way, I’m not sure that I’d like to live at the office.
Why am I not paid to play all day on children’s toys in beautiful European mountain ranges, after which I receive professional massages?
Why is it that we believe that men are naturally better at this constant departing? Is it because our genetic makeup allows us to recover faster from the heartache? Have we just learned by watching our fathers before us, who learned from their fathers? Or are we really that bad at housework?