I got up to an alarm. I took a shower. I got dressed. I poured coffee into a commuter mug (that I would actually commute with), and grabbed a bag that did not contain diapers, wipes, or sippy cups. I put NPR on the radio and drove by myself.
|Why, yes, Lynn. This is exactly what I look like.|
When I cam home, the kids were sill in their pajamas. There was crayon on the walls. The dishwasher had not been emptied and dishes were piling up around the kitchen. The dog had not had her pill.
None of this, by the way, was Jeff's fault. Other than the crayon, things were just as I had left them. I realized again that my going back to work would not make these tasks go away.
Nor would it make Moe's therapy schedule go away, nor my need to be involved in those therapies. It would just make things more complicated, schedules more difficult to arrange, and add a lot more stress.
But for one morning, it was really fun having a house husband.
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