This week has been a wildfire on the horizon since last fall. We all knew it was coming. We planned for it, taped up the windows, loaded up on canned, nonperishable food. And now, it's here.
Both sons are off school, my ex-wife is in India, and the Dad 2.0 Summit begins in 18 days.
Welcome to ArduWeek.
I won't sit here, in this chair I so seldom leave, and tell you this week will be as nuts as it could have been. Because it won't. I'll admit that, when Moxie told me she was going to Delhi during this week, this week of all weeks, the week when my kids would gleefully spend all their gloriously free time arguing who can make the loudest fart noise with the crook of his elbow, I indulged in a few Scooby-Dooble-takes. Every day I spend about four years on the phone. Verizon has called me twice and threatened: Upgrade or Die. And Niels Bohr once proved that conference calls and free-range children are an inherent physical paradox; I knew that a week on my own would be a Schrödinger's catastrophe.
Enter: Grandma Jellyspoon.
On Monday, she and Robert will train westward to see family, who, I hear, will take him ice-fishing. We also found a day camp for TwoBert that 1) involves lots of outdoor ruggedry, 2) is remarkably affordable, and 3) didn't sell out three years ago.
There's been a lot going on, as always. TwoBert is learning to skate. Robert is writing graphic novels. And both competed in the Pinewood Derby. I really need to write about all this soon, before the details fade from my overtaxed brain. The good news is I have a stockpile of stuff to write about once I get the chance to take it up again in earnest.
This week, we'll see what happens. I'll be a single dad wrangling a single child and thinking a lot about single malt.
