The Baby came home at 4:00 a.m. from church camp, only to leave at 5:00 a.m. from school for a choir trip to Boston. I wonder if traveling from rural Oklahoma to urban Boston will cause a culture shock. As we stood around in the dark, watching the bus pull away, I heard parents say they would enjoy the peace and quiet. I'm not finding the quiet all that peaceful. I prefer the peace of watching her walk around in her camo pants and flip flops and t-shirt that says "half pint". Or practicing her drums. Or pleading with me to take her to Starbucks as if she doesn't really know I will. Or watching her read her prison Bible with the camo cover. Or playing piano. Or talking my ears off.

I watched Everwood last night. The kid, Ephraim, told his father he hated him. The father yelled "I hate you back". Of course, neither one really does. But still, what a hurt. In contrast, the Baby pressed her cheek to mine and said "I love you, Dad" and scampered onto the bus. I need a new monitor. This one is blurry.