I’ve been gone for the last few days. Have you noticed? Of course not. Why would the absence of my mindless ramblings cause you dismay? The presence of them should cause you dismay.

To put it bluntly, I haven’t had a sitter for the past few days, so I’ve been home with the baby having fun. We’ve done all sorts of things. We’ve played with new toys, watched the wiggles, growled at each other, wrestled and spun around until we were dizzy. A glorious time was had by all, I assure you.

I would then work at night, as late as I could and then actually not sleep due to the bulbous, painful tennis balls shoved in my nose. Some people might call them infected sinuses. Natures cruel revenge for nothing.

We celebrated Gertrude’s birthday on Wednesday with a nice dinner (which she devoured) and cupcakes (which she devoured). We think she may have been trying to blow out her candle but it appeared more like she was panting like a puppy. We gave her a variety of toys, one of which was a rocking baby piano with four settings. Annoying, Really Annoying, Pretty Damn Annoying and Supremely Annoying. But, the kid loves it. She played on it for hours on end yesterday. In the current setting, if she makes it rock the piano plays and lights up. She spent most of the day rocking like Elton John on Crystal Meth. It was really quite cute. Especially when she tried to play the piano with her butt. She’s really quite responsive to music, which makes me very happy since it is a rare occasion when music isn’t playing in our house.

This weekend is our big family party. I have no idea how Gertrude will react to this. We don’t go out much and we usually stay home and play as a family. So . . . my entire family in one house (especially our small house) may scare the living crap out of her for a few hours. And when I say living crap, I mean it. I don’t know what’s wrong with this kid’s digestive tract but it is heinous and vile.

I’m working again today, as best I can. My lovely wife is staying home with Gertrude and Matilda has the day off from school. Though, to be honest, she is going on a Brownie field trip to an adult contemporary radio station. I can see it now.

“You mean, it’s in this very studio that they play Dave Matthews over and over and over until all the adults become mollified and bland just like his music? Cool.”

It may just be me, but I can’t see how a group of seven-year-old girls can get excited about touring a radio station. It doesn’t mean anything to them. If they were to identify with any station it would be Radio Disney or some Top Forty station that plays the latest tuneless Brittney warbling.

But, who am I to argue with the brownie leader who sends out permission slips on the day they are due back? Or who calls at 9 o’clock the night before the field trip begging for drivers? Who actually failed to put the date of the field trip on the forms? Who am I to argue with such an intellectual power? I should be bowing down to her greatness.

This morning I awoke to a child running in the room and growling at me. I’m not quite sure why. She just ran into the room, looked at me and said, “Grrrrrr” and then ran out. Strange child.

At 4:45 young Matilda and I will be departing for the movie theater to take in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. It looks scary, but we’ve already read the book and I can’t imagine that what Chris Columbus has designed can be any worse than what we’ve imagined already. Unless, of course, the third reel of the film is replaced by Bicentennial Man. Then, maybe, we’ll have nightmares.