Sometimes on any given weekday The Boss will tell me that she "wants to go home." It doesn't matter if we are home. It only matters that she, for whatever reason, is not completely within her comfort zone.
Yesterday I was taking her out of a bathtub from which she did not want to disengage. When I finally got her standing still on the mat so that I could towel her dry, she looked up at me with the puffed lower lip of a toddler pout. "I want to go home," she whimpered.
"You are home. So what do you mean? Where's home to you?"
She looked at me with the full red defiance of her lip still protruding.
"Where's home?" I prodded.
"Daddy," she said.