Do you hear that? I think I hear time itself stop….
… Oops. My bad. It’s the front door.
D A D D Y’ S H O M E ! ! ! !
Here he is – the man of the hour – swanning in through the front door with his non-chalant swagger (and rugged good-looks), full of pride and joy watching his little mini-me’s race each other up the hallway to see who can get a hug from him first.
Hey guys, don’t mind me.
Yes I’m talking about you, Daddy. Daddy wearing the tired but contented look of a man who has worked the day away in a safe little office. Perfectly protected from biting babies and defiant Threenagers. Deaf to the incessant questions of the curious kindergartener. Superbly shielded from the snotty smears, the tearful tantrums, the mind-bending negotiations [and brain explosions] that have taken place in our home for the past ummm… let me see… T E N H O U R S.
But Daddy’s home. Three cheers for him.