A Brooklyn dad and his kid performed a flat-out-awesome science experiment: They built a little foam capsule containing an HD video camera and an iPhone (for its GPS capabilities), tied it to a group of weather balloons, and sent it up into space. More here, with links, where I wrote about it on Friday.

Stayed home this morning for an extra hour or so, to wait for a repairman, and kept my son at home–mostly because I didn’t want to run out and back before 9 a.m., but also because I spent so little time with him in the past week, it seemed like a way to get in some daddy-and-baby time. And it was, in fact, hectic fun. Something interesting happened, though, which I haven’t really experienced before. As I got dressed, he sat and played with a few of his blocks and other toys, quietly, in a corner of the bedroom, for something like ten solid minutes. I didn’t have to do anything, other than talk to him when he made conversation.

This is, as I say, new. (My wife noticed it for the first time a couple of days ago, while they were out of town together.) Play, in the past, has always been squirmy, and has always required a parent to constantly be there, and be involved: keeping him from frustrated and teary, or just plain getting himself killed on some hazardous household implement. Since we’re a no-TV household (until he’s asleep, that is; after that, we start mainlining), I’ve literally never seen him sit and amuse himself till now. Suddenly we can…well, not ignore him, exactly, but actually get something done. Clean, cook, answer an e-mail or two, whatever.

Is this the flickery beginning of a (small) return to civilized adult life for me? Or am I fooling myself? Remember, he’s 19 months old; parents of 2-year-olds, please enlighten me, down in the comments.

Well, as you DadWagon loyalists may remember, this was my bachelor weekend. I’m living the life of Don Draper on Waverly Place, except (a) compared with Don, I have minimal disposable income, (b) I don’t have a mistress, and (c) I have no taste for brown liquor.

So, basically, not Don at all, and in fact, the brief thrill of temporary singlehood is gone. I’m two days in, and although I’ve rather enjoyed my weekend of researching and writing, with breaks for snacks and forays into the fine fall weather, I’m getting squirrelly. So I have started doing arcane bits of household maintenance to clear my head: replacing the mildewy caulk around the kitchen sink, calling in the super to deal with a slow drain and a balky lock. (I’ve been meaning to deal with that last one for, oh, two and a half years.) Washed the windows, even.

I vaguely remember that, when I was single and stressed about something, I used to do this–throw myself into chores, attempting to channel that jangly, dislocated energy. Theodore was just saying last week that little projects like this get him down; they have the opposite effect on me, because they are containable, accomplishable, definable. The stories I write and edit often feel as though they’re falling a little short of where I (and my bosses) want them to be, because you can always read them over, catch that last inconsistency, burnish and polish a little further. Whereas, if the tub needs regrouting, and you regrout it, well, it’s done, for a decade, during which you can peer down at it every morning as you shower and say “fixed.” I suppose I could be irritated if said grouting turns out sloppy, because I’d have to look at that every morning, too, but my DIY skills are fairly good, and I can usually do a job that satisfies my own standards

When you’re pondering the philosophy of grout, it’s probably time for your family to come back. Though I will say it’s nice to knock off a chunk of the to-do list.

With (deep) apologies to the great John McPhee for ripping off his title and slapping it on something far less ambitious, I am revisiting my earlier life for a few days. For the first time, my wife and son are out of town without me, and will be for nearly five days. They’re taking a brief vacation with my wife’s family; I’m using the long weekend to catch up on the book project. It’s a win-win, though I wish I could join them.

They left early this morning, and within moments, I found myself dropping into my old, well-trod, pre-fatherhood morning routine. I got dressed slowly, and read my e-mail in silence. Left the house nearly an hour later than usual, alone. Instead of taking the walk to day care, I used my old, pre-baby commuting route, across town by bus and then down. Paused for coffee at the place I used to go, by the bus stop. Got to work with everyone else, feeling like I was just getting warmed up, instead of arriving way early and already a little stressed. It occurred to me that I could meet an old friend for dinner on Monday.

Did I really live like this? I guess I did. It’s so much easier. Not better, mind you—I’ll miss my family by the end of the day, and we are planning nightly Skype sessions to keep up. Mostly I can’t believe how much time I used to waste on… oh, god, what’s it called again? Doing nothing. Yeah, I remember that.