As Ang, Ciera, and Rakes all left the house around 7:15 this morning, I figured I had it made. Trot was in the living room, eating an Eggo waffle and watching Sponge Bob and we didn't have to pick Ciera up for her Dentist's appointment until around 10:15.
So, like any other Dad looking good fortune in the face, I rolled over and fell back asleep until about 8:45. Mind you, every time I woke up I listened for the tell tale signs of chaos, but heard nothing but the soothing tones of that demented yellow sponge and Trot's deranged laughter.
You can imagine my surprise upon entering the living room and finding 2 empty Ice Cream Sandwich wrappers alongside 5, yes FIVE empty Ice Pop sleeves laying on my couch to go along with the chocolate hand prints in the down stairs bathroom.
Of course Ciera's appointment that was set for 10:45 didn't begin until 11:45 and ended around 12:15 with all the time in between consisting of Trot laying waste to the Dentist office while I tried to at least keep anything from breaking beyond repair.
After we dropped Ciera back off at school, I spent the next 2 hours cleaning the house while Trot spent that same time apparently trying to drive me to an early grave. 5 minutes after I get him down for a nap, Rakes arrives home and in direct contrast to my fervent prayers all day, has no home work.
I honestly have no idea how Ang did this EVERY day for 6 years; one day in and I'm a basket case.
Maybe everything I've ever heard about Dad's not being cut out for this stuff is true.
Or maybe I'm just the exception to the rule and need to read the "How to Sack Up and Be a Stay at Home Parent" book that I'm sure some nimrod with no kids and no clue wrote that Oprah has featured in her flipping Book Club thingamjig.
Me personally? I'm blaming it all on the fact the Red Sox were off today, travelling to the dump know as "The Trop" to face the Rays for 3 games starting tomorrow.
Speaking of tomorrow, it'll be September 1st. The Yankees lead the division and the Red Sox are out front in the Wild Card, with Texas and Tampa Bay in the rear view mirror.
The sun is setting sooner and the shadows are growing longer; Summer is almost over and the post season is just around the corner. Meanwhile I grow grayer by the day and wonder how in the name of all that is holy does Terry Francona deal with this stuff on a daily basis.
That long, slow push to the post season begins tomorrow with Papi, V Mart and The Munchkin leading the way.
I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than where I am right now.
Surrender the Farmhouse Sink
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