It is Day Four in San FrancIsco without Scarlett. In many ways, I’m doing better than I thought I would be. I’ve been sleeping in, which never happens when the small human is present. And Rob and I have been having very mellow evenings, with no one popping out of bed 17 times because they “have to pee/get water/hug Otto/learn how the BiPAP works/look in the refrigerator and consider the following day’s breakfast.”

We’ve even been able to watch HBO’s The Defiant Ones at a volume loud enough to hear, without worrying about a little voice calling from bed, “What are you watching? Did that person just say fuck? Why did he say fuck?” And you know the answer “Because he’s Dr. Dre.” probably won’t suffice.

Parents who are smarter than me, and there are many of you out there, probably already knew that having your kid away for a week can be relaxing. I have intense moments of missing Scarlett, and a couple of nights I’ve had dreams that she is a toddler and we are dancing together, buzzing like bees inside a preschool room that I have never seen in real life. I wake up desperate to hold her. But there is stress relief in knowing that your child is well taken care of, and that the responsibility for her resides entirely with someone else, if just for a few days. I have, for example, not even considered grocery shopping.

This does not mean that I haven’t called three times a day, every day. Scarlett left notes for me to find, one for each day that she would be gone. Every day, she tells me where to find them. Although today’s was addressed to me and Rob, the first three were just for me. “Thank you mom for letting me go,” one of them said. “I will miss you. Love Scarlett.” It’s possible that finding that note completely makes up for her being gone for five nights.

She has been swimming and fishing every day. “Did you touch the worms?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Noooooo,” comes the response, and I can hear her shuddering through the phone. But she did catch frogs with her cousins, and help with dinner–which was not frogs. Each night she sleeps in a bed snuggled next to my mom, who is probably in heaven. She tells us that she is the third to last person to wake up every morning. For me and for Rob, this information is shocking. “Who is the last person to wake up?” he asks her.

“Uncle Paul.”

This makes sense. My beloved 32-year-old brother works in the restaurant industry, drinks like a champion, and may still be part teenager. We’re not sure.

I’ve also had more time this week to focus on the #whatwouldyougive campaign, which has been great. One of our priorities this year was getting well-known people in various industries to hold our sign and share it on social media. We’ve had NFL Pro Bowler Justin Forsett, New Orleans Saints defensive end Cameron Jordan, Kansas City Chiefs running back Spencer Ware, the band OAR, Boston Mayor Marty Walsh, Lieutenant Governor of California Gavin Newsom, the Denver Broncos cheerleaders, the Arizona State University football team, and the writing staff of the hilarious show Family Guy, among others. The idea is to increase our reach and introduce the campaign to new people who may or may not be impacted by ALS, but who will — we hope — be compelled to get involved in some way.

Even if this strategy doesn’t work, I’m personally enjoying becoming friends with famous football players. Although it must be said that I would give up all of it just to be able to dance around with my daughter, buzzing like a couple of bees.

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