Your desk, my dear…

[Update. Papa went home on Feb 20, and is doing better!]  

1907458_10153081155899110_5610438107692680935_nSo I built you a desk over President’s Day weekend. It took me two years to get around to it for you, mostly because I was so tired after building your boat bed that I needed a few years off, but partly because it didn’t seem like you really needed one yet. (And already, it’s mostly just a place where you pile things.)

A funny thing happened while I built it: you got angry with me a lot. I took a couple days off and you had no school so I was home. And you wanted my attention. And a desk. I can’t do both. This seemed to bother you a lot. I tried to explain myself but I eventually grew angry, too, because I felt like you didn’t appreciate the work I was doing.

But you’re only eight. And the fact is, you can only really wrap your mind around what’s in front of you. And I was home, but you couldn’t really play with me.

My favorite part of working on the desk was getting to carve a horse that you designed into one of the supports. I know it’s not the fanciest thing I’ve ever done, but it meant a lot to me. It’s a very male thing I’m told, to build things for our loved ones as a way of showing you that we love you…kind of like this blog.

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