Here are a few things I’ve learned while staying home to take care of The Daughters so Mrs. Wife could go away for a long weekend with The Mommy Mafia:

● My house gets an astonishing amount of midday light.

● At home, you are never more than an arm’s length away from food. If I weren’t in the city all week, I’d weigh 300 pounds.

● The music in High School Musical 2 is simply awful. But I’m not their target audience, so perhaps that’s unfair.

● 6-Year Old Daughter is in school until 3:00 o’clock, so when 2-Year Old is napping, that’s a block of free time. It could lead to all sorts of internet shenanigans. (I’m not saying it did; I’m just saying it could.) Also, I’ve discovered that I am a much shittier guitar player than I remember being. My fingers felt like stone, although I could still rattle off a passable version of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song.

● I thought I was too urban and sophisticated to be moved by something as bucolic as walking my daughter to school in the morning. Wrong again. Apparently, there’s something beating inside that block of concrete in my chest.

● A lot of suburban moms have let themselves go to seed.

● Dazed and Confused is a much better movie than I remember it being.

Mrs. Wife is leaving tomorrow morning for a 3-day weekend. The Mommy Mafia are taking over a beach house on the Jersey shore. They’re having a bachelorette party. I asked her who was getting married and she said, “No one.” I’m taking a vacation day so I can watch The Daughters. Yup. For three solid days it’s just me, 6-Year Old Daughter and 2-Year Old Daughter. It should be interesting. It’ll be like calling a plumber to fix your toothache. Is it wrong to medicate a 2-Year Old for 72 hours? If you have any survival tips, please post.

* * *

I had another one of *those* moments again. This morning, I exited Penn Station on the 34th Street side. I looked down the street and the sun was just about to break over the horizon. The sky spanned from bright orange up to deep cobalt. On the right, against this backdrop, was the unmistakable dark silhouette of the Empire State Building. On the left, the light was just starting to spill onto the façade of Macy’s. My iPod shuffle had selected Time by Pink Floyd and just as my foot came off the curb and touched 7th Avenue, David Gilmour sang:

Happy birthday, Mrs. Wife! It’s hard to believe that an old stag like me was able to turn the head of a young gazelle like you.

Fun fact: The age difference between Mrs. Wife and me is EXACTLY THE SAME as the age difference between me and Mrs. Mother-in-Law.

Eww. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even go there.

Mrs. Wife had a doctor appointment last Saturday morning at 10:00 o’clock. She claims she told me what the appointment was for but I don’t recall that being the case. I was watching the daughters and received the following text message from her:

Dijkated tajing kjnmmg
hope to be kome soon

Oh, my God! Are they dissecting her brain?! Did she ingest a powerful opiate? It gave me a genuine fright. Later I found out the text should have read:

Dilated. Taking long.
Hope to be home soon.

She was at the optometrist. Her eyes were dilated. Her brain was, and is, fully intact.