My wife and I went to see Elvis Costello last night at the Greek Theatre in Hollywood. We left the dog in charge of the babies. In case of an emergency, I put my gun in Wyatt’s crib. That way, he could stave off a home invasion.

None of that is true, of course, except the part about us seeing Elvis Costello. My mother-in-law came to babysit, the only gun I own is my genuine Han Solo blaster (with real laser blast sounds!) and, because of his vigorous workout yesterday, our dog spent the evening doing a little quiet relaxation in the back bedroom.

My mother-in-law is staying for another night, so I’m taking advantage of the situation and heading back to the dog park. No dog, just me. Okay, maybe I’ll bring the dog.

I feel confident that the boys will be all right because:

1. The nanny and my mother-in-law are quite capable;
2. The boys know the nap and eating routine no matter who leads it; and
3. I’m completely drunk right now.

Again, not true. That last one is not going to happen for at least another two cocktails. See what I did there? Seriously though, please don’t call child services.