Every Monday is the same routine: I have to re-explain to Maeve that Daddy is at work. She usually wants to check his bed to make sure I'm not fibbing about this, she's sure he's here, somewhere.
It doesn't take too long, and there are no tears, but it's an adjustment, every week. And that's no surprise, because the best thing about the weekend is that Dad is here, obviously. It's pretty good for me, too. But then Monday comes slip-slidin' along and we've gotta readjust for another five days of just seeing Dad at dinnertime.
I worked this weekend, and my choral ensemble sang both services at church yesterday, so I was out a lot. But Maeve and Dad had so much fun, I don't think I was missed at all, which is perfectly fine with me!