Did I really write a piece about wanting, needing, liking a morning commute? Six steps.  That’s how long it takes to walk from my side of the bed to the baby monitor.  No alarm clocks, roosters, or cell phone ringers – just the sounds of a baby boy waking up to a brand new day.  It takes less than 3 seconds to clock in.  I turn off the monitor, hit the bathroom, and free my son from the confines of his crib.  I change his diaper, put him in a new outfit, feed him breakfast (which sometimes entails another outfit change), and get him his milk.  By the time this is done I’ve already logged over an hour on the job.  No shit. I’ve had horrible commutes in my life, especially in Los Angeles.  Try to get from Los Feliz to Westwood in less than an hour during peak traffic times if you don’t believe me. I’ve seen road rage, car accidents, motorcycle crashes, bikers hit, crazy people standing in the middle of the road, lanes closed, roads closed, flat tires, rain, hail, fog, photo shoots, tv shoots, film shoots, celebrity sightings, paparazzi, tourists, old drivers, young drivers, new drivers.  You name it, I’ve seen it on the streets of LA and so have you. The difference is that I miss it.  Unlike other jobs being a stay-at-home parent is a seemingly never-ending endeavor.  I’m my own boss, I guess, but I don’t set my own hours.  I get breaks.  I don’t take breaks.  And even if I’m not “working”, I’m always on call. What I miss most about commuting is that it was my time.  I’m driving my car to my job with my thoughts running through my head.  My most productive writing...