Dear Evan:

It’s been two weeks since I wrote to you, and that pains me. My goal has been to write a letter each week, not to mention quite a bit of other content in this space, and I’ve (if temporarily) failed at both. I want to say there’s a good reason, some great upheaval that kept me from the keyboard for so long. There was not. Instead, as always happens, a multitude of minor problems bumped me along, had me thinking about what next to tell you but too tired to do it.

That happens, and seems to happen to me on a regular basis, and I hope you’ll be better at dealing with those situations. I approach problems like to-do lists and often don’t rest until they’re done. I step away from the rest of life, from writing to you or catching up on sleep or planning my next novel or… You get the idea. I was brought up by my parents to push aside leisure time when there’s work to be done. And there’s always work to be done.

I got less time with you over these past two weeks, because you made your first trip to Houston to spend time with your mommy’s family. I’ll be schmoopy here and tell you that while your fur-brothers are good and constant companions, spending five days away from you and your mommy was not the bachelor-fest I hoped for. I managed to spend a few hours playing video games, and then got bored and tackled what I could on the to-do list. The house was too empty, and too quiet, and it put me in a bad mood until you both returned.

I’m happy to say your night-time crying fits ended almost as quickly as they arrived. You sometimes still fight sleep, but that’s to be expected. There’s so much going on! You are also developing a keen interest in the television, so your mommy and I take care to make sure something educational is on during the times you look in that direction.

You’re still behind on tummy time, which worries me a little, but are holding your head up and proud otherwise. Heck, you hate being carried cradle-style any more, preferring to be held vertical so you can better look around. Your hand-eye coordination is better every day, though your mommy isn’t as thrilled that you can now grab and hold tight to her hair. She’s talking about cutting it, but it’s so beautiful, long and strawberry blonde, that I hope she doesn’t. Maybe she’ll do so and have grown it back by the time you read this.

And that’s it, a letter so mild I feel like it’s a dispatch from Lake Wobegon. (Look it up.) Bumps in the road: No great trials or tribulations in our lives, but enough disruption to throw off my own schedule. Someday, we’ll look back and not even laugh, because what’s throwing me off won’t have been worth remembering.

I’ll write more often,

Love,

Daddy