6AM – The alarm goes off. The daughter child apparently didn’t require an alarm. She is dressed, smiling and wearing a backpack at the foot of the bed. I have exactly 30 minutes to dress, carry suitcases to the car and consider my life choices thus far. The wife and daughter are going to Disney. Of all the people living under this roof my wife determined they were the most deserving of some warm air and a monetary sacrifice at the alter of an evil rodent.
6:33AM – I didn’t get out of bed when I was supposed to. I got out of bed at 6:15AM because my daughter was threatening to remove me by force. I have exactly 15 minutes to do all of the above plus prep the baby for transit to the airport. I wrap the sleeping child in a blanket or towel and proceed to the exit. “Did you change his diaper?” My wife asks.
“Yes.” I lied. I make a mental note to do this when it is convenient.
7:42 – My wife made a face when she kissed me goodbye. It’s the same face a person about to bungee jump makes. It’s a face that says, “I’m doing this now. I hope everything works out.” The night before -as she handed me spreadsheets of daily schedules- she did the math and concluded that it had been 10 years since I’d been home alone -overnight- with a child. This is currently being fact checked. It’s not death or dismemberment that she’s concerned about. It’s the E-learning and extracurriculars she thinks I’m going to mess up along with hygiene. I make a mental note to be sure that the boys are not wearing their current outfits when we pick her up on Sunday.
7:43 – We listen to music on the drive home at a volume considered safe but annoying to mom.
9:00AM – The eldest boy submits a list of “approved dinners.” In all of my wife’s planning she failed to inform me that our 10 year old is on death row. “Sushi, steak, crab legs, Chick-fil-A, …smoke a brisket?” How many days do you think your mother is going to be gone?”
The convict shrugs his shoulders and walks away. Meanwhile the baby has found a box of coffee creamer packets and has spread them on the kitchen floor. Either that or a silent ticker tape parade has just ended. I immediately recognize this war has two fronts. Mental note: Do not focus on one for too long. “Up there you don’t have time to think. You think, you’re dead.” Lt. Pete “Maverick” Mitchel.
9:17AM – Breakthrough! Upon cleaning up the creamer packets I discovered that we posses enough cereal to not have to leave the house until it’s time to go back to the airport. Milk rationing is now in effect.
10:40AM – The baby has a nap time. Romantically I had envisioned 2-3 hours of reading, writing and general “me” time. The child has a precise circadian rhythm. His primal instinct warns him of the time. He runs and hides as my “me” time ticks away.
10:55AM – All quiet on the Western front. Me time… Who was I kidding. There is no “Me time” in war. This is a time for re-organizing. For inventory and strategy. At some point the peace will be over and survival will be the result of planning.
2:00PM – The little one -somehow, somewhere- found a flask. The flask could be a relic from happier times or a hint as to how my wife does this full time. Either way, he now refuses to drink from any other vessel. I retreat and make a mental note to correct this behavior before Sunday.
3:30PM – I hope the person who invented “Baby Shark” is in prison. Like real prison. Not like the ones Illinois governors seem to like to retire to.
5:00PM – My daughter has a pet named Fuzz Ball. As the name would suggest, Fuzz Ball is a lizard. My wife texted to inform me that leathery freak is also my responsibility and requires food.
5:22PM – The man behind me at the pet store has a bag of fancy dog food over his shoulder. I am holding 2 boxes of worms. I contemplate the irony of going to an animal store to buy animals to feed to another animal. I also contemplate what raw worms must taste like.
5:35PM – Sushi pick up.
6:32PM – I can hear “Baby Shark” however, all electronics are off. Note to self: google symptoms of insanity, read results then google symptoms of insanity, expect different results.
7:12PM – Home stretch. Baby goes down at 8. That’s a threat.
8:05PM – The eldest boy has the misconception that his mother is the only enforcer of bed time. In an effort to be the “cool parent” I allow this ideology to continue and oblige his request to watch Top Gun. The only version available is the unedited version. I spend the first 40 minutes attempting to cough over the swear words. The boy either finds this annoying or has cause to believe that we aren’t socially distant enough. He goes to bed. I wait until Goose dies and follow suit. I have to be ready for tomorrow. They know my tactics now.
in town 