I'm not a blogger, but I play one when my wife leaves town to go on church women's retreats. That's right. This is not Kit. Not even close. This is her husband...or what's left of him. You see - while a regular day for Kit involves corralling kids to games and playdates, making meals, drying tears, applying band aids, resolving disputes, folding laundry, maintaining order in this ever-swirling hurricane we call our family (all while maintaining her smoking hotness) - for me, taking all this on for a couple of days while she's out of town has left me a shell of my former self, beaten, bedraggled, counting the minutes until her glorious return.
When Kit left, we were supposed to be only a couple of hours away from the return of our oldest son Walter from his 6th grade trip to Washington, D.C. The only problem is, no one told Air Tran that. So, what was to be an 8pm arrival time turned into an 11:30pm arrival time. Thankfully, our incredibly loving and generous friends, whose son is in Walter's class offered to pick him up and bring him home. I figured 12:30am was a reasonable time to expect him home. I could handle that. I put on some Letterman. I thought, "why not stretch out on the sofa?"...so I did. Being the responsible father that I am, I thought, "I'll put my cell phone next to me with the ringer on full blast, just in case I happen to nod off." The next thing I know, I am being roused awake by our 11-year old, who managed to get in the house by finding our hide-a-key. It turns out that my friend had been trying to call me, and while the phone was right next to my head with the ringer on full blast, I was impervious. Sleepy time had set in, and sleeping through ANYTHING is one of my spiritual gifts (I even slept through a major earthquake as a kid in California while the rest of my family was huddled in terror in my parents' room...true story.).
What's the moral of this story? Everything goes to heck when Kit leaves. And when I say "heck," I mean "hell." Seriously, as I write this, I'm not paying that much attention to what I'm writing...I'm mostly just thinking..."when will Kit be home?" Fifteen hours and 45 minutes, that's when.
O.K. So, I haven't even gotten to today - a day which began with my son Clay rousing me from my slumber (notice a pattern?) by announcing "I have a baseball game in 10 minutes." I think I grunted something back, but managed to get out of bed, get in the Sienna, and have him there only 10 minutes late (thankfully, the game had yet to begin). I hit Trader Joe's to get some cream for the coffee, and came in with Walter announcing that Theo had a game too and that we needed to go. What's up with the 9am Saturday baseball games? When I was a kid, the only obligation I had on Saturday morning before noon was Scooby-Doo, Schoolhouse Rock and a bowl of Grape Nuts. So, back in the Sienna and off to another field. Theo was late, but not overly.
Only 15 hours and 25 minutes now...