Goose Is Down

So the wife, being an eyeball specialist, has these gigs occasionally where she must travel from one teaching institution to another. And on these occasions it's me vs. the kids. So I thought about liveblogging the whole thing when I realized...there's no way I'm gonna be able to free myself up in the midst of the madness to liveblog. So here's a brief review of my day as a single parent.

Day starts up well enough. With two parents around you have the resources to wrangle two kids while still make a nice breakfast. In our case a Swiss chard and goat cheese frittata with thick center cut bacon served on Walmart Wheat Penny Bread (50 cents a loaf).

The wife didn't have to leave until 4:00pm so we got to run around and do a few errands and fence-build for a bit. I run out and buy dinner.

Then she leaves. Both kids are napping.

Dad time. Here we go.

Step one: Popeyes. My wife seems to have some type of aversion to fried chicken. She is doomed to a life of suffering after marrying a Korean man. Fried chicken will forever be the third and strongest wheel of our marriage. Every other day I come up with the wonderful suggestion of having some nice fried chicken for dinner. She resists. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. So with her hopping on a plane, I can have some Popeyes and red beans and Rice and Cajun Rice and biscuits without the usual battle.

The kids are awakened by the smell of fried chicken. Half of their genes are happy, the other half are angry.

The boy takes his place beside his father, and states that he does not like chicken. The girl, the kind and beautiful daughter, takes her place in the bouncy seat on the floor and states nothing because she cannot speak.

BabyJ gets 2 bowls of Rice Cereal and pretends it's Popeyes. Conman eats Red Beans and Rice and Cajun Rice and biscuits but only a bit of chicken because he insists it's too spicy. He then invents the biscuit sandwich.

We finish dinner. I get the kids cleaned up. I set them both on the ground and assume the emergency preparedness position. I wait a few seconds. Nothing happens. I bravely open one eye. BabyJ is just lying there smiling on the rug. Conman is playing with his trains.

I stand up. Hmmm not so bad.

Everything stays ok.

OK still no one freaking out.

All is good.

OK a few hours go by, everyone is cool. I get BabyJ to bed in the nursery/bar. Um yeah, my baby sleeps in the bar [Remind self to film nursery bar] I get the Conman started next.

Brush teeth.
Use potty.
Give up on the use potty battle.
Change diapie.
Wear jammies.
Make up stories. Ok so I've been too lazy to read actual children's books. Now we make up stories together. Conman gives me a subject and I freestyle my wonderful tales of lazy storytelling.

Conman: Choo CHoo
Lazy Me: Ok once upon a time there lived a mighty choo choo named....
Conman: Dennis.
Lazy Me: ...Dennis. And he was a gigantic train. Largest in the land. He was so unbelievably big that wherever he went he followed his own caboose. The End.
Conman: Yay!

In my defense I do tell about twenty-seven of these mini-tales a night. I even repeat a few favorites like the tale of the Monkey Family Huguenots that rob convenience stores in their never ending quest for lotto scratchers. My son will grow up into a strong strange man. And my daughter will grow up in a bar.

So we end the night singing songs. Winkle Winkle little star and ABCs and BOTH verses of Danny Boy. And it's kisses and goodnights.

And I step out of his bedroom into a silent house. No wife in sight. Wow, I think I'll have some more Popeyes. Maybe a wee dram of scotch. Watch all the shows my wife hates. Like anything involving tattoos or Los Angeles.

Wife calls a bit later....

Wife: Watcha doing?
Me: Eating Popeyes, watching pronz, drinking whisky.
Wife: [goes on about all kinds of crazy stuff that happened on her flight involving TSA and breast pumps and little doo-dad pump pieces missing and a taxi race to Target before they closed and like ninjas and all kinds of crazy stuff that I tune out automatically because I'm too full of delicious fried chicken to even keep my eyes straight]
Me: I think I'm gonna get a tattoo.
Wife: Are you listening to me?
Me: It's hard to hear you over the large internal head volume of delicious Fried Chicken crunching in my mouth.

So she lets me go and I fall asleep with a belly full of warm chicken and whisky.



...and awake to level 11 sheer absolute madness. There's like a baby screaming in my bar. A two and a half year old banging down his door upstairs. And it's three hours before I have to go to work. Well at least I woke up with with enough time to quell this madness before leaving the house. Baby gets picked up from the bar and footballed upstairs. Conman gets released and immediately gathers his trains. Baby gets changed, bottles get warmed. Feed the football. Put on Thomas for the Conman, buys me enough time to go downstairs put the baby in the bouncy, shower and get dressed, go back upstairs and admire my Fried Chicken before the nanny arrives.

And off to work.

Where I can finally relax. Until tonight and I go through this all again. The wife gets home late tonight. Wish me luck.