8:56PM to Boston

June 14, 2016

Dearest Solomon,

I’m writing you from 30K feet at the moment. It’s been a long day already, filled with lots of discussions and still a couple more hours work as I make my way back to the East Coast. But before I dive deeper on that, I figured I would write to you and tell you about my day.

6:00 am — I’ve been in Santa Cruz overnight for a company off-site. We headed down yesterday to bring the team together and plan all the things we need to get done in the next few months. I woke up early as we planned to try and Polar Bear into the ocean, but come 6am I thought I would try and sleep a little bit more instead :)

7:00 am — A quick workout before heading into the day. Things start at 8.

8:00 am — Breakfast.

9:00 am — The day begins in earnest and we pile through a bunch of things. Don’t be fooled, cooperation is a hard thing to get right, especially when surrounded by a set of really smart, competitive people who all care without bounds and all have designs on the best things to do next. It sounds hard, because it is. But that’s what makes it good.

3:45pm — I’ve been staying engaged with everyone, but also keeping an eye on the clock as I had promised your mom to be home by 5:30pm so she could make a meeting she had. I’m honestly just as happy to get back to you.

3:50pm — Driving back as fast as I can while having a deep conversation with Uncles Gogo and Martin — the time passes fast, but not fast enough.

5:48pm — I arrive home to the house, I hear a peculiar tapping noise. Your’re busy under the table tapping on the aluminum dining room chairs as I enter. I don’t see your little face but my heart warms instantly. I ask your mom if we’re in a mine of some sort.

5:52pm — I wash my hands as my little soldier comes to the gate, face pressed to the bars (naturally in your mouth). You wait patiently for me to come pick you up.

5:53pm — Yes! Got you.

5:55pm — We play on your big play mat. One of your new favorite games is the hat game. Basically, mom or I put something on our head (the hat) and you then attempt to crawl and snatch it off our heads. Once off, then you attempt to resettle it on our heads. The best part of the hat game, of course, is when the hat is on your head and you give us that empty “WTF is going on right now?” look.

6:05pm — After removing my hat several times, you are standing behind me and stand behind me. I’m laying on the mat so you can more easily adjust my hat. But instead of putting the hat back on, you hug my head. You don’t hug often so it’s extra special. You do it several times. I wonder if you missed me. I wonder if you can tell I have to go again, almost immediately. I feel sad.

6:10pm — We go upstairs to our bedroom because, well, I have to empy my small suitcase to re-pack it before heading to the airport. I unzip the bag and turn if you so you won’t eat the wheels (why do you refuse to eat food, but not anything else still?)

6:15 — You are highly entertained removing items one by one from my suitcase. Running off with some, handing me others. It’s just too cute.

6:20 — I’ve now taken all the things I need and packed them. I’m leaving in about an hour and we have a lot to do. You’re so entertained packing and unpacking a single pair of socks over and over. We cheer you on and clap as you successfully place them in the bag — quite happy with your accomplishment. You high five us several times on demand — I’ve never seen you do this before. My boy.

6:30 — Bath time. The water is drawn. I let you play in the tub for 15 minutes. You continuously try to stand in the tub and it scares the living crap out of me. But you’re at home in there, so what are we to do. I’m mindful of the clock — I too need to take a shower before I go.

6:45 — Bathed, lotioned, dressed. Time for our ritual stories. We start with the dinosaur book. I love that you know to press the buttons to make them roar, even though you’re not strong enough yet to do it on your own. I help you press it.

6:50pm — I take “Guess How Much I Love You” from the shelf — mostly because I need to read it to you just as much as I want you to hear it. You touch the pages, tracing things on the page (this is new). You turn the pages on queue as I ask (this is not new). As we near the middle, you do turn up to me to look me straight in the eyes (this is new). You touch my face. Then look back to the page. I read another. You repeat. Another. Repeat. I wonder to myself, are you checking I’m still here. Do you know I’m leaving? Maybe you’re just tired and hungry, hoping it’s your mom. I prefer the prior. I melt inside.

7:01pm — Blinds drawn, sleep sack on, turtle lit. One long hug, too many kisses. I leave for the door and catch you glancing towards me, not eating. I was right — you’re so smart, I’m so sad. Some firsts are the worst. Sorry Papa.

7:21pm — Uber away.

8:56pm — Take off. Counting down till Saturday.

Love always,
Dad