Grand Forks, heat, rivers, way too much ice cream. Another brilliant trip to visit Oma and Opa where you were well taken care of. Calling this entry day thirty-eight is a bit of a misnomer. I haven’t been taking care of you this past week. You gorgeous mom has been the one to get out of bed during the night. She has changed your diapers, fed you, played with you. What about Papa? Well, I’ve gone for early morning runs, early morning swims, early morning return-to-beds. I feel guilty, sure. But when Mom is home, you gravitate towards her like an unruly comet. It’s easy for me to slip away unnoticed.

Notables: Uncle Bob making you wooden blocks to play with from some scrap pieces of birch. Carrying you around in a duffel bag with just your head sticking out; you squealing the entire time. Watering Opa and Oma’s back garden

Love to forget: You waking up every hour last night so poor Mom had to sleep with you in your room, on a tiny bed. Your evident disinterest for any and all Olympic events. No cousins here for you to play with this time.

Now we are back home in Surrey, where heat pummels the top floor of our townhouse. The kiddie pool has been filled. The nozzle on the garden hose set to mist. Cold Warsteiner has been poured into tall sleeves. Afterwards, you go to bed and cry yourself into a fit of sweat and flailing limbs. Mom gets to stay downstairs. Papa returns to his duties.