Mr. Mom Misses Mom

Yeah, I know this post is long, but I’m not one for short little blippity blogs. I’m a man of substance. Plus I have a lot to share tonight!

Let me start by making something really super clear.

Wonder Woman is real.

I know this because I’m married to her. Even though I have the luxury of working from home and can see the amount of effort she puts forth to make sure our kids don’t run the asylum, I hadn’t a clue just how commendable this feat was until she went out of town.

Late last week, Heather came to Dallas with the kids to visit my parents so that I could work without interruption. Between freelancing and preparing for Womb to Bloom’s official launch, I knew it was going to be a marathon week.

After the tragic events that occurred Monday morning, those plans were scrapped, and I made an immediate trip to Dallas to be with her and the kids.

She flew out Wednesday morning to be with her family and attend the services, and I opted to stay here with the kids at my parents’ home. In theory, this idea rocked, because I figured my parents could watch the kids and I could focus on work. In reality, it’s a lesson in futility.

Here’s just a small taste of what I’ve enjoyed the last few days.

Lunchtime
Andrew, at 14, is easy. He feeds himself with some heavy prodding and manages to be somewhat self-sufficient. Michael, at 7, is capable of feeding himself but simply chooses not to. Kamryn, at 1, is only capable of feeding herself things that she finds on the floor, so she needs to be constantly monitored.

Lunchtime is greeted by the same tired routine. I toss some scraps onto Kamryn’s trough tray and she’s content. Then the other two begin their act.

Them: “What are we eating?”
Me: “Whatever you want to make.”
Andrew: “What is there?”
Me: “A fridge. And some cupboards.”
Michael: “I want scrambled eggs that are like clouds with white in them. No flats.”
Andrew: “I don’t see anything.” (Translation: I can’t be pleased.)
Me: “What the heck are flats?”
Andrew: “Can I just have chips?”
Michael: “I don’t like flat eggs. I want cloud eggs.” (Translation: I can’t be pleased.)
Me: “How about Papa John’s?”
Papa John’s: “The usual, sir?”

Work Station
I brought my behemoth of a desktop with me because I knew I’d need to work here. Uprooted from the comfort of my office I now sit at my parents’ dining room table. Right in the middle of all the action. Kamryn doesn’t understand why I stare at this screen and bang on these keys all day long so she does everything she can to prevent it.

The pretty little cables that protrude from my CPU are a delight to yank. Oh, and that glowing orange button on the power strip? What fun to press! Let’s watch the last 90 minutes of daddy’s life disappear with a flicker. Fun! Then there is the demand for lap time. This would be fine if she’d sit and watch mastery in action. But that’s not nearly as fun as spasticly slapping my keyboard or tugging on the mouse.

The Garage Sale
My parents have decided that it’s time to “clear this place out” and “minimalize” and “get rid of all this clutter”. They were in a frenzy…pointing from wall to wall…everything had to go! But when it came time to actually follow through, I got nothing done as I had to listen to these two squabble over what should be sold and what shouldn’t.

“Oh, honey, you don’t sell a woman’s purses.”
“But that’s a family heirloom.”
“Not that. It’s an antique.” (show me one thing in this house that isn’t)
“Your mother made that 30 years ago and now you want to sell it?”
“That used to belong to [insert child's name here].”

By the time they’re done this garage sale will be comprised of 4,200 books and about 30 knickknacks that my mom picked up at Hobby Lobby. Their ad is proof positive that they can’t even begin to describe this crap. It simply says:

Garage Sale Saturday Only.
Lots of neat stuff.
::Address::

I rewrote it.

Selling items our children won’t take.
Books you won’t read. Stuff you won’t
want. Things you don’t need.
Humiliation Saturday Only.

She kept hers.

Children
I used to poke fun at Wonder Woman’s level of organization and obsession about keeping our kids on a schedule. Never again. Let me tell you something about children. They have absolutely no concept of time.

I have to constantly remind these kids to eat. To go to the bathroom. To shower. To brush their teeth. To go to bed. It never ends! They just sit there in some self-induced stupor waiting for their next command. Like robots. Like little malfunctioning robots. And even when you DO give them a command, it’s as though they are pre-programmed to contest it.

Needs
Our children haven’t yet developed the ability to distinguish between a want and a need. Everything is a full-blown crisis. When I’m coding or designing I need complete silence and a stretch of time to stay focused. I’m lucky if I get three minutes in a row here. Today’s NEEDS have included chocolate milk, scotch tape, sidewalk chalk, the cat, Doritos, a Blackberry (fat chance), two dollars (hopefully not to buy something from Nana), and a cheat code lookup.

Broken Air Conditioning
My first two days here were met with a broken air conditioner. In Dallas, Texas! We sat and watched the thermostat go from “74″ to “78″ to “82″ to “Get Out”. It was a sweatshop. In fact, if our children were handed tools we probably would have violated a few international laws.

Apparently they have some Homeowner’s Plan where they get a discount if they agree to use the association’s professionals. Snail’s Pace Heating & Air managed to squeeze them in for an appointment but we’d have to sweat it out for a few days. Literally.

Potential Poisoning
I love my parents but they need to know that it’s okay to throw things away. I took a shower today and washed my hair in normal fashion. Checking out the bottle I see that it had an expiration date of September 2001. I hope I still have hair in the morning. I asked about it and my mom says, “Oh, shampoo, that lasts forever.” No mom, it doesn’t. If it did, they’d stamp it with something like, “Lasts Forever!” or “Bequeath it to your children!”.

Then my dad decides to try and make some room in the fridge because you can’t jam so much as a strawberry in that thing. He rummages around for a bit and then pulls out a sandwich bag with a bagel inside. “I have a bagel here. It only has one bite out of it but it’s hard as a rock.” I thought it was just a commentary. “Do you want it?” Yikes.

Their refrigerator is like the Smithsonian. Mustard that’s three years past it’s date. Tupperware and Cool Whip containers filled with something resembling something that probably used to be edible. And countless baggies of leftovers that they must be saving for an upcoming party game.

“Guess What We Ate!”

In 1987.

Kamryn
I love her. And she is a total daddy’s girl. As much as I adore being her everything right now, it makes it impossible to work. Her minions do their best to entertain her but it’s only effective in short little bursts. I can’t really complain about this one too much as I’m guilty of giving in to her big brown eyes and her outstretched arms.

Love.
It’s hard to be away from Heather for this long. We aren’t used to it. Since we’re both stay-at-home parents we’re with each other 24 hours a day. I miss that. Not just because she does a million things I’m not doing and another four that I am, but because we just plain fit together.

We text and call each other when we can but it’s not the same. She’s the glue that bonds us and I haven’t a clue how she can get up as early as she does, do as much as she does, and go to bed as late as she does, day in and day out.

She’s a machine. She’s my soul mate. She’s my Wonder Woman.

And I must say. She looks fantastic in star-spangled skivvies.