I was driving. Abbie was in the passenger seat. Emma was in her captain's chair in the back.

"Lilly and Olivia are going away on vacation, Emma. We can't go over and play with them today" Abbie rehashed a conversation from earlier in the day with her daughter. "Then, just like I am right now," she sobbed, "I couldn't help but cry, just thinking about when I have to tell her that she isn't going to stay at Gina's anymore."

Our fantastic babysitter got a job at the school across the street from her home, and after this summer, Emma will not be going there anymore. Lilly and Olivia are Gina's two little girls, and Emma's two best friends. They are practically sisters because of their love-hate relationships. Emma has missed them both immensely this summer.

"It just makes me so sad to have to tell her," Abbie squeaks with tears thundering down her pregnant cheeks.

"Mommy," Emma chimes in from the back, "Stop crying like a baby!"

I like to cook. Really, I do, but not solely for myself. Case and Point:

My family has been out of town since last Saturday night. (It is Friday morning now), and I have eaten a wide variety of processed meats and frozen foods. This includes at work too. Hot Pockets, chicken pot pies, and hot dogs, but mostly my diet has consisted of sandwiches. My buddy Rodney P. use to always say that the best things in life was sex and sandwiches. Just like George on Seinfeld. I got half of that equation covered Mr. P. I now you would be proud of me.

It may be a male instinct to be lazy around the house. I think of my bachelor days and I immediately slip right into those comfortable shoes from the past when my family is not around. For instance, I have used the same glass the entire week. I have had mostly water so this is not a big deal, but beer washes out of it just fine too. Of course my coffee cup had some cream floaters this morning, but a simple spooning out of the coagulation did the trick. I think it may enhance the flavor too, but haven't scientifically proved that one. Besides, the heat from the java should kill anything, right? -- RIGHT??

Another example of my single male lazy instincts is that I already have all of my laundry separated and ready for wash. Of course it is all just laying on the floor of the closet in two piles. They are beautifully prepared bundles of cloth just waiting for the opportune time for me to decide to wash.... which will be the day before the girls get back. Unless I run out of some type of clothing, like underwear or something. But the plan, as of now is to wait until the eleventh hour, which will also be the time that the dishwasher will be run and the mail separated and gone through.

I am very appreciative of my wife and my family, more beyond the love. They certainly force my inhibitions from ruling my lifestyle. Lucky for me.

Feeling kind of sentimental today. Turned on my music on my computer at work, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band came on. It isn't the name of the title track by the Beatles that brings a guy down when his ladies have been out of town for quite awhile. It is the instant memory of a conversation Emma and I had about the song.

About two weeks ago I was driving with just her in the car. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some music, and her usual response of "no" was given. I was really in a music mood, so then I asked her if I could sing to her, and she was more than willing to allow that.

I sang "I Saw Her Standing There", "Hotel California" and then "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band" mostly because they are some songs that I actually know 90% of all of the words. After each tune, Emma would remain quite for a couple of seconds almost as if she were making sure I was done, then she would scream for more.

This helps a man's ego out to say the least. So I continued until we reached home.

The best part of this song story is that about a week later it was just her and me again. We followed the same line of questioning about the music, but she told me that she wanted to hear me go at it again. I was pleased to oblige her.

"It's Sgt. Pepper's Lone....."
"YOU SANG THAT ONE LAST TIME, DADDY!" she blurted from the back.
"That's right, kiddo, good memory. Do you want me to sing something else?"
"NO SING THAT ONE!" she exclaimed.

And then she listened as we drove on.

My 6 month pregnant wife decided to move to the other bed for the night at 2 am. She was afraid that she was going to bruise her legs too badly from when she kept slapping them against me. Not really, but she has been getting pretty miserable here in our "heat wave" in Flagstaff. (Topped off at 94 degrees today according to the neighbor.)

I was starting to thoroughly enjoy the empty bed, since my poor wife has been beginning the restless night ordeal. Those men that have survived it know what I am talkin about. The rest of you will find out sooner or later.

At about 5 am, I hear the soft crunch of the carpet from Emma. "Yes, the sun is up, but no hunny, you need to go to sleep some more."

So my rotund spouse was replaced with a sticky foot 2 year old. SWEET! (BTW when I asked Abbie how to spell rotund, without even telling her why, she responded with, "A-S-S-H-O-L-E" which is all wrong. Men without children, make a note of that. Pregnant women always think you are talking about their weight or their temporary shape. Well, this time she was right, but most of the time she is waaaay wrong.)

Now by saying sweet, I AM being sarcastic. Emma may only weigh 30 pounds, but she takes up about three times as much three dimensional space than a creature typically that weight. Like a knocked over box of matches, she is everywhere. The one key element besides lack of room on the otherwise spacious bed is that at least one part of her body MUST be touching you the entire time. I skootch over to the edge of the bed, and her tiny foot is right there in the middle of my back. If I lift her over to the other half of the bed, the small palm of her hand is right there on my shoulder. ANYwho, somehow I get to sleep for about an hour more, give or take a few twenty minutes.

I really think the true reason for my daughter's "outreach" program when sleeping in our bed is soley for keeping track of when I am physically up and getting out of it. (Ironic use of political organization verbose, don't ya think??). For no sooner am I sneaking off to the toilet, she is right there with me, chatting away already.

I wonder if she lays there in bed thinking of things to chat about, or if the entire process of chatting really is spontaneous. Either way she is a natural.

"Daddy really pees alot."
"Yes, hunny."
"Daddy really pees AAAAHHH-LOT!"
"Thanks for noticing babe."

We perform our morning ritual and get juice and coffee brewing. I sit down with her and we have our "time".

"For me birfday I get to be a big sister." she informs me, which is true since the baby is due exactly one week before Emma's 3rd Birthday.

That one sentence has gotten me thinking all day. She "gets to be a big sister". Said just like she "gets" her hand stamped after a good job at gymnastics, or at 7 she "gets" to watch Dora the Explorer. Pretty funny. I will keep the optimistic viewpoint that the new one and her will be the best of friends 98% of the time, and not create a tainted mindset that she will change this excitement once Scoobie arrives.

This same very day, after working all day, I come home and we decide that we are going to take a walk. Emma gets her shoes for the journey and brings them to me along with some socks. I place her on my lap and proceed to put the clothing items on her.
"Daddy lets me sit on his lap."
"Yes hunny."
"Mommy has a baby in her tummy"
"That's right"
"So she no help me put my shoes on"
"Wha?"
"Mommy have no lap now."

I have a million of these, if anyone cares to listen.
But for tonight, that is all.