The girls are gone, and I’m home alone. 
I was going to hangout with a friend this week, while they’re gone, but they got sick. Jack’s travelling, my brother too, so no video games for us. I’ve borrow a car, so I can go to town, but I don’t want to. I’d rather be stranded, really. Being stranded is a good thing for a man, especially during lent. 

But I’m not stranded. 

I’m writing the blog early, and I’m planning to stay up a bit working on a red corner, that’s how Russians refer to the place in their home where they put icons. We’ve cleared away the area and I’ve got a plan. I’d like to spend as much of this time away cleaning as I can, and I’v egot to do this project before I do any serious cleaning, since it’ll make a bit of a mess. 

I’ve not spent a night away from the girls yet, just the prospect of one. It doesn’t seem like much fun, to be perfectly honest. We’ll see how it measures up against travelling. My expectation is: not very well. At least with travelling you’re exposed to enough newness and unfamiliarity that you’re distracted from the fact that you aren’t kissing your daughter on the top of the head, or the cheek. At home, as a friend put it, the silence is deafening. No shouts, no laughter, no falls, no bumps no surprise visit, it’s been awful so far. And I’ve got three more nights of this?

That can’t be right.