It's 3:55 (EDT), and here's the scene: I'm on the family room couch. The room is basically clean and not getting messed up. From the living room, there's piano music: not kids practicing, but the likes of David Syme. In front of me: the laptop, a pile of books, and twelve feet away, the ND/Penn State game . . . volume off. Perfect setting, and no little hands will come in and knock over my drink and no little voices will inquire about some question that scarcely makes sense.
The family is gone.
Unexpectedly.
Abbie (12-year-old) has a soccer game about an hour away at 5:00. My wife said she'd take the three little kids, and leave me with the three older boys. But then, a miracle: Alex (13) said he wanted to see Abbie play. We told him that the whole trip--car ride, game, eating afterwards--would take over five hours. No matter. He wanted to go. And then Jack (10) and Michael (8--who never wants to go anywhere), said they were going. That left me . . . alone.
I considered going, but Marie said I deserved some quiet time after my brutal week at the office (which followed two earlier brutal weeks). And I thought to myself, "Yeah, I do deserve it."
Of course, I don't deserve it, if I look at myself as a miserable individual who sins against his loving God every hour of the day. For that, I deserve suffering. But that kinda takes the fun out of it. Looked at from the earthly human stance, I deserve it, and I'm enjoying it. The bottle of Pinot is coming out at 6:00.
