Single Parenting

(Note: I am not saying I am actual single parent. I am not saying I work as hard as a single parent. Or as hard as people whose spouses travel all the time. Nobody get mad at me!)

Day 1:

Feeling good. Showered. Wearing real clothes. Everybody is fed and happy and doing school.

Realize husband is still home. You’re still essentially having a Saturday morning.

Crap.

Take husband to airport. Hugs, kisses, goodbyes, etc. Children commence wailing.

Children keep wailing.

For twenty miles. “We want Daddy!!!!” they scream. No kidding, I say, gripping the wheel with white hands.

Say rosary quietly to self to keep the voice telling you that if you just drive off the Marquette interchange all the screaming will stop from getting too loud.

Still. Manage to have lunch, dinner, and everybody remains mostly clothed for most of the day.

Bedtime is completed with a minimum of yelling (not no yelling, but just not as much as it could be.

Sit quietly by yourself, enjoying a glass of wine and six episodes of Criminal Minds. This isn’t bad.

Realize you’ve watched six episodes of Criminal Minds and you’re alone in a house. LIKE IN CRIMINAL MINDS.

Prepare for imminent doom.

Realize you really don’t like sleeping alone. Aww. Marriage is so wonderful.

Day 2:

Wake disoriented. These children, they are mine? And mine alone? Ugghhh.

Everybody is dressed. Mostly. Buddy is in pajamas but at least they’re not like footy pajamas. He looks mostly dressed.

Breakfast is two dozen pumpkin muffins that you baked for prayer group. Meh, don’t care. House is destroyed. Fine. Whatever. Don’t care.

Still! Manage to get the house put back together and a dress on and to a meeting. Order pizza for dinner for the kids. It’s okay. It’s like we’re having a fun camping experience.

Come home to children blessedly asleep (yay for my awesome sister) and enjoy another few episodes of Criminal minds before collapsing into bed. Funny, it doesn’t seem so big and lonely tonight. Rather, you have loads of room to move around. Hmm.

Day 3:

Breakfast is…I’m not sure. Frozen something I think. No need to shower since you did that yesterday. Probably no need to brush teeth either.

Kids are still bathed, though. I mean, we’re not animals.

Breakfast is…not sure. Something frozen probably. Lunch, drive through. Dinner? Unbuttered toast eaten in diapers.

Supposed to go to confession with other moms, but that would require brushing your teeth and leaving the house and WE ARE IN SURVIVAL MODE.

Fall asleep in the blessedly large bed, wondering why a queen size has always felt so small before.

Day 4:

Meh, don’t need to shower today either. Who is going to smell me? Nobody, that’s who. Teeth are feeling a little fuzzy. Oh well.

Dinner…leftover pizza.

Clothes: None that are appropriate.

School gets done, lessons are learned, prayers recited though. Mostly through clenched teeth.

Day 5:

Anarchy. The natives have taken over. Popcorn litters the house. I don’t know when we last ate popcorn. Can’t remember the last time I saw my son in real clothes. Cancelled school for a mental health day. Mine. And theirs. Starting to shy away from the sun as though it was bad for you. Referring to Penelope Garcia and Aaron Hotchner like they’re here in the room with me. Pretty sure the family down the road are serial killer gypsies and wonder if I should alert the police. They might be in on it though. Can’t be too careful.

Brush teeth. Don’t need to shower as am still (not yet?) fertile so nobody is getting close to me. NFP. Way fewer showers. No one puts that on the brochures. Pick up husband from airport and remember how much you love him.

But find that that bed is super uncomfy again now that there’s a large dude in it with you. Oh well. Marriage is still awesome.

And frankly it’s probably a good thing I have to cool it with the Criminal Minds for a little bit. I almost bought statement glasses.