Tammi left last night for a trip to Vegas. I can think of no one worse to go to Vegas
with than Tammi (she’s a bit straight-laced, too cheap to gamble and always
wants to be asleep by 10:30). Well,
except that time we got married. That was fun.
It’s a work trip, and she will mostly be in class all day,
in a hot tub during the evenings, and going to bed early. I am very envious, but it’s not the trip I
would take, you know, if I got to take work trips.
Now, I am home with the boys for four days. All. By. Myself.
This is a grand opportunity. I was thinking, “If I can’t go
to Vegas, why not bring Vegas to me?”
That sounds like a plot to a bad sitcom.
I once had a theory that it would take “Old Craig”
approximately two hours after Tammi’s departure, to revert back to a single
cell amoeba. Previously, it has, on occasions, taken mere seconds after she
leaves for me to be in my boxers, beer bottles everywhere, smoking inside, and
with a sink instantaneously full of dishes.
The return to form took about 12 hours.
The night before her return, I would stop smoking inside, pick up the
trash, start the dishes, and go to bed early.
In the morning, I’d clean the floors, add some Febreze, and I was good
to go.
Now, it’s different.
I tried really, really, hard but I wasn't able to de-evolve
all the way. The farthest I have been
able to revert back to is a one-kid dad.
It’s already been 12 hours, and I think that amoeba is out of the
question.
Sure, I had the guys over.
We didn't pick up after ourselves, we all took care of our heroin addiction (i.e. cigarettes) inside, I stayed up late, and we didn't recycle. I made it all the way to 10 a.m. before
plopping the kids in front of cartoons, something I’d generally avoid.
Yet, stuff still has to get done. There is a four and a two year old in the
other room. If I sit them in front of cartoons all day today, then it’s just
going to make tomorrow more horrible.
Plus, eventually, they are going to demand I feed them. Or, worse yet, not say anything at all until
the sugar imbalance becomes so overwhelming that my day of peace is shot.
It’s more than that though.
Prior to Tammi leaving, she had worked, what felt like much
more than just, six days in a row. I
feel like I haven’t seen her in two weeks for more than 30 minutes. Additionally, people who would normally come
over and visit have had other things going on.
One of them had the nerve to get a girlfriend. While my own sister seems
to think it is important to have her child sleep in his OWN crib.
After about day four of her working, I started to get
depressed, but I didn't finally realized it until around day six. When you’re depressed, there is a vicious
cycle of doing less and less, only to have that make you more depressed. I could devolve to as close to a single cell
as the boys will allow. It’s only going
to make me more lonesome and more bored and more depressed.
You know, we are not so different than those little
creatures we try so hard to raise well. I’d
be outraged if someone suggested I plant my kids in front of cartoons day and
night for weeks and years at a time.
Yet for some reason, as soon as I put them to bed, I turn
the TV on and stare blankly for hours until bedtime. We have a sugar balance, we need to eat our own
vegetables, and we need some outside
time.
With all that said, I don’t plan on dressing the boys today,
but no one stops the dishes monster. God
forbid, I ignore the laundry for a day.
It’s time to stop writing and get to work, my hangover is gone and cloth
diapers do not fold themselves.
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