Mr. Mom

Today, Daddy is playing Mr. Mom (I am at work today). After speaking with him a couple of times, I had the sudden itch to describe Mr. Mom’s day….because, as you will read, how could I not?

He answers the phone, in control and extra chipper….which always makes me curious because I know he has two dogs and two kids running amuck and it is 107 degrees out and likely 108 degrees in the house. A recipe for disaster. Or at least a good story.

“So…” he says, “I went to go wake Charlie up from his morning nap and found that he had pooped in his diaper and then took it off and then fell asleep, so there was poop all over him and the blankets.” I am shaking trying not to laugh.

“So, I put Charlie in the bathtub. While he was napping he pulled a bunch of books down off of Henry’s bookcase (he is sleeping in 1 of 2 air-conditioned rooms that we have during this hell-like weather), but he mostly only got poop on himself and the blankets.”
And I’m not at all concerned with the word “mostly”.

“So, then…” and I’m thinking “there’s more??”

“So, then I was doing the dishes and sweating like a pig and Henry is playing with the dogs downstairs (the only thing Henry has wanted to do today is be like the dogs….as in like drinking from their water and walking on all fours) and Charlie is playing in Henry’s room. But he walks out of the room and has all of this “stuff” covering his tummy. I wiped it off – because I was pretty sure I got all of the poop, (again, I’m not at all concerned about the words “pretty sure”) but then found that Charlie opened up the fish food flakes and dumped them all on the floor and that is what was stuck to his tummy.”
And I’m not at all concerned about what a few tropical fish flakes will do to a 17-month olds digestive system. Actually, everything after "I was doing the dishes..." sounded like "wah, wa, wa, wah, waa wa wa". Because I was like "you did the dishes????"!

And that was only the FIRST phone call of the day.

The remaining calls were either Mr. Mom multi-tasking with a pooping toddler on the toilet or breaking up a squabble involving boy and dog, boy and boy or boy and boy and dog and dog or dog and dog. And each call ended with Mr. Mom frantically declaring “oh, oh boy, I gotta go.” Click.

I’m not sure I’ve ever loved you more Mr. Mom! And I’m actually happy to know that when I finally get home tonight, I’ll have one bathed kiddo and no dishes in the sink.

Love, B