Mr. Mom With Sari away for a weekend of frozen beach fun with her group of mommy girlfriends, I had the chance to play Mr. Mom. Separation was difficult, but Zoe soon got the hang of it Saturday morning as I took her to gymnastics class, jumping along beside her. She reveled at the miracle of watching Krispy Kreme donuts being manufactured right before our very eyes, taking a single lick off of three different varieties. She cooperated all weekend, held my hand in parking lots and allowed me to help her into her carseat. And, with no female alternatives available from the group of deserted husbands who went out to dinner with their kids Saturday night, she even requested that I hold her, as captured by the miracle known as the low-resolution camera phone.

Frequent phone calls to/from Sari were requested; each promising a special present for being a good listener upon her return Sunday. Zoe could speak of nothing else but the present all weekend, seeking affirmation that she was, in fact, a good listener. Nothing, that is, except for repeated on-demand listenings of the songs "Bananaphone" and "5 Little Monkeys" in the car. My understanding is that the CIA was using these tactics in Abu Ghraib to extract confessions until the prisoners began begging for bamboo shoots under the fingernails instead.

Zoe's persistence proved to be a blessing as well over the weekend. Whereas Zoe will get herself dressed without prompting or oversight, Jesse is now discovering the joys of sleeping in and isn't always entirely cooperative in the mornings. So, faced with the task of getting him ready for Sunday school, I simply deputized Zoe to wake him and ensure he got dressed.

Zoe locked onto the assignment like a pitbull onto a mailman's left calf, and within five minutes Jesse emerged yawning, but attired. Zoe is sincere when she says "I want to help" when she witnesses us doing mundane chores like setting the table or loading and emptying the dishwasher, all of which involves handling glassware and cutlery with which we're not entirely comfortable. So we've finally found the perfect assignment to keep both of them in check--sic her on Jesse. In short--she don't take no cah-keys from her big brother and is beginning to express herself when she feels an instance of juvenile injustice has been committed.

Mommy finally arrived home Sunday evening with Zoe's present: a "Daddy's Little Girl" cap. Immediately, Zoe was anything but Daddy's Little Girl, but wore the cap out of ignorance. I couldn't hold her hand or put her in her car seat once Mommy was around. But for 36 magical hours, she was--by default--all mine.  ¶ 1:39 PM