The following is an account of one of the worst evenings in memory through the eyes of my wife Heather.
The names and locations have not been changed to protect us, as we are not worthy of such protections.
I had great plans for this week. Had Monday and Tuesday off, leaving a blissfully short week at work. A working dinner Wednesday night, paid for by my manager (with Booze), off site meeting on Thursday with free breakfast and lunch (I like food and free is my favorite) leaving only Friday as a boring normal work day. Unfortunately, The girls and Jimmy's stomach had other plans. I start getting text messages as soon as I arrive at dinner. They go as follows, J's are Jimmy and H's are me:
J 5:00 - Can you pick up some powdered Miralax on your way home? I'm getting sick of Sloane constantly smelling like shit.
J 5:01 - Oh, when you get the Miralax, get a Powerball ticket too
H - OK
J 5:05 - Still nauseous
J 5:15 - I'm actually sick
H - Want me to bring home some soup or something, or leave the meal now?
J 5:17 - No
J 6:02 - How far are you from home?
H - Maybe 45 min to an hour
J 6:03 - Forget the laxative and the Powerball, just get home as soon as you can!
H - Food hasn't come but I will leave as soon as I get it.
J 6:04 - Seriously?
H - Yes, I'm sorry, I'll leave really soon, the girls OK?
J 6:05 - Quinn is crabby, Sloane is being obnoxious, smells like shit and refuses to clean herself and I'm throwing up.
H - So sorry, be home as soon as I can.
J 6:42 - Your daughter wiped her shit all over the side of the bed. I'm not referring to Quinn.
J 6:50 - I'm done. Fucking done. The girls are no longer in my care for the night. And they are no longer allowed in our room. Period.
Made excuses to my Boss and coworkers. I grabbed the steak I ordered and ate it in the car (with my hands) on the way home, leaving a barely touched glass of wine and dreams of a nice dessert. I got home around 7:20 (after driving the fastest I've ever driven on windy dark back roads) and actually stopped outside the front door. I really didn't want to walk into what was sure to be a war zone, but I sucked it up and opened the door. Surprisingly, it was quiet. That scared me more than noise and yelling would have. Don't turn around and run away, Don't turn around and run away, Please let them be alive ...
Living room - no people, Play-doh everywhere
Kitchen - no people, pickles everywhere
Hallway - finally see Jimmy, white as a ghost. He looks like he is either going to kill me or pass out from exhaustion.
Bedroom - Quinn, in her usual way, comes running up chipper and happy, yelling Mommy and gives me a hug as if nothing happened. I note that she is not clothed.
Bathroom - Sloane, I find out, has locked herself in to avoid Daddy.
What followed is a blur. Keep children away from Daddy, Clean up poop with kid's help (must teach lesson), clean up child, talk to child about why poop should only be in the potty, start load of laundry with child to clean sheets, feed children, keep children away from Daddy, clean children again, dress in PJ's, have children apologize to Daddy, attempt to put them down to bed, run out to buy Miralax, ginger ale and a Powerball ticket, console Daddy with a cold glass of ginger ale with a straw, get ready for bed, have child wake me up at midnight because of nightmare, put them back to bed, Child up again at 2:30, screw bed and put child on recliner in bedroom with blanket to sleep, other child wakes up at 4:00 calling for her sister, change diaper, convince both kids it's still night time, put them back in bed. Alarm goes off at 6:00, try to wake up Jimmy, 6:30, try to wake up Jimmy, have to leave by 7 am at the latest to make 9AM meeting south of Boston, 6:50, try to wake up Jimmy, Give up and call in sick for work.
I honestly have no idea what I did with my time before I had children.
The previous story is true, to the best of my recollection, I couldn't make that up.
Thank God I get to go to work every day!!!
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