Diary of a (temporarily) single dad

The Wife returns late Wednesday from Vegas, where she attended a "conference" for "work." I'm happy to say that both I and The Boy managed to survive these five days on our own. I cannot, however, say that my psychological state survived in tact, as you are about to see with the diary I, uh ... religiously filled in throughout my experiment with single parenthood. Enjoy!

Day 1: Saturday
We dropped The Wife off at the airport at 5:30 a.m. I got three hours of sleep. The Boy, instead of going back to sleep like a good child when we returned home so his sleep-deprived dad could get some rest, instead decided to stay awake and make loud noises. He did this despite my repeated attempts at bribery -- not even a big bag of M&Ms, chewing gum, several new cars, a baseball bat and the keys to my Honda would get him to go to bed. (Apparently, he was holding out for a new pickup.) Dang, this is going to be a loooong week.

Holy Mackerel did the house get dirty fast. How does that happen? BAH! I'll clean tomorrow. She ain't coming home for days.

Day 2: Sunday
I discovered this neat cabinet in the kitchen. Apparently, you put dirty dishes in it. Then, when it's full, you press some buttons and an hour or two later they come out clean! Isn't that neat? When did they invent that? Oh, and I've discovered that the goal is to try and shove as many dishes into the cabinet as humanly possible before starting. (Household hint: Break a few big dishes; the smaller pieces are easier to fit between important dishes like beer mugs and shot glasses.)

Unfortunately, our Toilet Paper Fairy must be out sick, because the toilet paper roll was still empty when I went to use the can this morning. Usually, the TP Fairy magically replaces the paper whenever the old roll is finished. But that didn't happen this time. Gee, I sure hope the fairy is OK. I'm tired of using the gas station.

I appear to have misplaced my reclining chair. It was in the corner just yesterday, but now all that's there is a big pile of newspapers and cat hair.

Day 3: Monday
I woke up this morning with a note beside my bed. It read:

Dear Bonehead:

You suck. This house is gross. And if we think it's gross, then it's gross. Because we're CATS. We're naturally disgusting creatures who willingly put up with exceedingly unsanitary conditions. But this was just entirely too much. So we scratched a hole through the wall and moved out.

But don't worry. We left you some nice, uh ... parting gifts ... in random spots on the floor. And in your laundry. And in that big pile of junk where your recliner used to be.

Sincerely: Ike and Mamie (your former cats)

P.S.: Remember all those times when we were purring when you rubbed us? WE FAKED IT!

Well, at least we can get new furniture now.

Incidentally, I'm afraid that I'm inadvertently raising a redneck. Why? He's developed a love of Cheetos. That would be fine, but he also likes NASCAR. That's two strikes in the Redneck Guide and he's only 3 years old. If he grows a mullet or rips the sleeves off his t-shirts we're going to start him on an intense diet of granola and violin lessons.

Day 4: Tuesday
Dangit. Where is that toilet paper fairy?

The doorbell rang this morning, but by the time I got to the door the only thing that was there was this big case of Febreeze and detailed instructions for its use. Then, this afternoon, FedEx stopped by with a shipment of bleach.

And a neighbor of mine kindly provided me with helpful hints on how to sell a home in a declining real estate market. She then handed me a brochure that started "We buy ugly houses."

I still can't find my recliner. And now my couch is missing. I'm guessing gremlins.

I ran out of dishes today but I still have room in my dish washing device so I just said "To heck with this, we're getting pizza." So today The Boy learned how to use a napkin as a plate. It's an important lesson in a man's life, and I'm proud of that.

This evening I planned to clean the house and to look for my living room furniture but I discovered this online typing game called Typeracer. I'm desperately trying to get to 100 words per minute and keep coming up one word short. AAARGH!

BAH! I'll clean tomorrow. Before she gets back. And I got this great tip from this blogger here, and thus plan on setting a countdown timer so I can wait until the absolutely last possible minute.

Oh, and I'm not really alarmed, but I can't seem to locate the fish, either. They'll turn up somewhere.

Day 5 Wednesday
Technically, this day hasn't happened yet. But this is how it should go. At least in the perfect world ...

I arrived home from work to find the house magically clean -- HEY! There's the furniture! And the cats have returned! So have the fish! With all that extra time I went to the flower shop, bought five dozen roses -- one dozen for each day she was gone -- and put them on the counter so The Wife would see them when she got home. With still more time I remodeled the bathroom, ordered new kitchen cabinets, painted the windows outside, mowed the lawn, bathed The Boy and taught him how to play Beethoven's 9th on the viola.

Or at least I'm pretty sure that's how Wednesday will go. So cancel your plans to come to Minneapolis to rescue me. I'm doing fine.

I think.

UPDATE: WHEW! After all that cleaning I'm pooped! No new post today. You'll have to just read the old one again and pretend it's the first time you read it. Or you could try going here. Or here. Or here. Or here. Or you could go to this blog here. Yeah, that one's good. He's funny. And he's from Minnesota.



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