I got the call at 6:20 this morning from Dalia’s teacher. Snow day.

It’s not hard to tell why. The backyard looks like a Coors light commercial. That lump in the middle? That’s Nico’s big plastic car.

What is bumming me out is that I still have to crawl off to some hole and write all day. No sledding, no snowmen, no snowball fights.

I like what I do for a living. But there’s something particularly incalculable about the time it takes to write: do you need to read that one other book? Make the 29th phone call for a story? So much of the reporting and research ends up cut from the finished product anyhow. And with kids, there’s such a tangible trade-off: you make that phone call, you miss another moment you could have had with your daughter. That’s all the more reason why I keep such regular hours, so that I don’t have to weigh each decision as a referendum of work vs. family.

So, yes, dads are heading out into the snow to go to work (does that make you happy, Dr. Laura?). But that doesn’t mean we have to like it.