Day-Storms Studio

The Sound of (Too Much) Silence

There’s a strange kind of silence that follows you when you’re away from your family. It’s not peaceful. Oh no, it’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like the calm before a storm or, worse, the calm after A-bomb* has pulled the plug on the TV because his brothers aren’t paying attention to him… that split second before Spider-Man or Bonecrusher starts yelling, “DAAAAAAD!”

The Conference Room Chronicles

Right now, I’m sitting in a hotel conference room away at a conference for my work. I’m in the “quiet room,” surrounded by neatly aligned tables with pressed tablecloths and chairs perfectly spaced, and the room has the suspicious smell of industrial-strength ambition of medical writers (and stale coffee).

My bed is made every morning, no one has spilled drinks on the furniture, and no one has shouted “Daaaad!” in the last 48 hours. You’d think I’d be reveling in it. But honestly? I’d trade the mini shampoo bottles and quiet breakfasts for one night of my kids arguing about whose turn it is to pick the music before bedtime.

Perks of the Job (and Tiny Hors d’Oeuvres)

Don’t get me wrong—conferences have their perks. I’ve learned a lot, networked with some great people, and eaten more tiny something-or-others than I’d care to admit. But something about being here feels… incomplete.

The Ghosts of Home

There’s no one tugging on my sleeve to ask for an “Mbaku” (A-bomb for popsicle), and no one is asking if it’s their turn on the tablet. No one is sneaking into my bedroom at 2 a.m. to let me know that they need to potty.

Missing the Beautiful Chaos

I miss the mess. I miss the noise. I miss the chaos that somehow makes everything make sense in a weird, upside-down kind of way. (I, however, don’t miss the puppy pads.)

The Dads on the Road Salute

So here’s to all the dads on the road: the ones FaceTiming through bedtime, smiling through the screen while pretending not to tear up. We may be away, but home travels with us in the form of tiny handprints on our hearts and the faint memory of a kitchen filled with laughter, love, and a bit of smoke from the bacon that’s starting to burn on the stovetop while I’m trying to answer three different questions simultaneously.