Morning
The sun is coming up through the picture windows facing the bay. My wife and I are stirring, getting coffee, checking the newspaper, waiting for the little one to rise. Mornings are well-scripted around the house. Mommy crawls in bed with my daughter while Daddy gets ready for work. Then Daddy is called in to "find" them hiding underneath the covers.

"Where did everybody go?" Giggles.

"Poppa Bear smells his little Sugary Bear," more giggles.

Later, while she's eating her blueberry muffin at the table, Daddy makes one last pass through the kitchen to the breakfast nook, gathering his glasses, Blackberry, laptop, keys and all other armament for the day's battle.

"Okay sweetheart, Daddy's gotta go to work; gimme some lovin'."

"Daddy going to work?" she asks.

"Yes, Daddy's gotta go to work to make the money to feed the babies." I answer, kissing her neck and check as she munches her breakfast.

"Daddy go feed babies?"

My daughter thinks my job is feeding babies.

I guess it kind of is...