Dadaholic?

This past Saturday we met the grandparents for breakfast. We like to go to our little (like 4 tables, sit with those guys, little) airport cafe. Ev loves the planes and Tam's Dad can talk flying all day. The nice thing was, at the end of breakfast, Ev went home with Grandpa and Grandma.

Our little guy talks about his grandparents every day. He has been wanting to spend the night at their place for some time now and, frankly, what young boy wouldn't?  They live in the country with a pond stocked with fish seemingly trained to bite the hook on a 4 year old's line. They have enough space to allow him to hit real golf balls as opposed to those soft foamy ones he hits towards ours and the neighbor's windows here at home. And there are deer and the chickens, rabbits, and girl next door. It's a near perfect world if you're a 4 year old boy.

And here at home? If you don't know it's hard to imagine just what it's like to have a whole day free to do nothing and everything without interruption. But then a strange thing happened again last night as has the last few nights we had Evan at his grandparents: As I get ready to go to bed I miss him and wish he were home. I start to think we should have picked him up at 7 and tucked him in here by 8. I start to think about not having him home for breakfast on a weekend morning. I start thinking about all the stuff that won't be happening tomorrow because he's not here, stuff that usually makes it damn near impossible to do the stuff I want to do-- like sleep in, write, work on some artwork, have coffee without watching cartoons-- and I miss him and all that disruption. He's becoming my little addiction.

I guess recognition is the first step toward treating an addiction. I'm willing to acknowledge this one, but I'm really not ready to treat it. I guess, for now, I choose to use when it comes to Ev.