...well, not the doghouse, exactly, although that might be a good name for my new digs.

I've set up a new office in my "coach house," as someone referred to it the other day-- though the term conjures up notions of elegance that really don't apply out here.

It's more of a garage, though it does have two large picture windows.

Anyway, I'm out here while Ms. Daddy gets the kids ready to go to Virginia with their "Nana" (my mother), as I mentioned in last week's post about kidless parenting.

Why am I not in there, helping out? Because I was just upsetting everyone and causing the tears to flow.

I'm better off out here, in the Doghouse.

First, I made the mistake of suggesting to my youngest, Adam, that he bring along a couple from his collection of "stuffies" (stuffed animals).

But he can't bring them all. He's got something like 25.

"Well, just bring a few."

"But that wouldn't be fair to the others!"

"Well, you know, they're not...real. They don't have feelings, really, to get hurt."

Big mistake. Tears.

Ms. Daddy: "What were you thinking? Those stuffies are as real to him as anything."

Mistake #2: there's a hold-up collecting the oldest. He hadn't finished his school work. And Ms. Daddy is a television news reporter and had to do something for her noon show, and at 10:57 I was all like: "You've got to go! I'll say goodbye to Nick for you."

"I am not letting Nick leave without saying goodbye to him," she said, eyes filling with tears. "Don't try to make me."

So I'm exiling myself out here before I cause any more tears...

(Brief interlude.)

They're gone. Until next Thursday. All packed into nana's convertible, hair ruffling in the wind as they cruise down the street. Cute kids. I'm gonna miss them. I'm gonna be sick with missing them.

But at the same time I hope it doesn't sound callous if I say...

Yee-ha.