Penny asks repetitive questions. So when, for instance, her dad was out of town last week, she persisted, "Where's Dad?"

"Pen, you know the answer to that."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Richmond."

"Right."

A few moments pass. "Mom, where's Dad?"

I finally figured out that she wasn't asking because she didn't know the answer. She was asking because she didn't like the answer. She wanted Dad to be in the next room over, not a plane ride away.

And over the course of the two days he was gone, I realized I didn't like the answer either.

Yes, I wished he was home because the 3 a.m. wakeup is always easier when I know he can take the next shift, and the tinkle accident on the bed wouldn't have been mine alone to clean up, and bedtime for three is less of a challenge with both parents around.

But I also wish he were home to see Penny make William laugh by extending her leg like a gumby doll and placing it firmly on his head. And to see William stand, entranced, gazing at the guitar player at the farmer's market. And because Marilee's little round face looks so cute under a sun hat and she's starting to try to roll over.

In missing him, I realize even more the life we have made together–the help he gives in the midst of chaos and stress but also the joy we share.

By the end of the weekend, whenever Penny asked, "Mom, where's Dad?" and I said, "You know the answer," she would look at me and nod.

And then she'd say, "Mom, I wish Dad was here."

She leapt to her feet and ran to greet him when he came back. Sometimes wishes do come true.