Ugh, 6:30 in the morning sucks, and doing it every day is worse. I literally roll off my bed onto my hands and knees and groan at the indecency of it all. I trudge to the bathroom, nearly tripping over my son who is passed out at the foot of the bed, and make it to the bathroom relatively unscathed. The shower heats up while I brush my teeth (I loathe brushing my teeth, but I know people appreciate it), then step into the spraying stench of well-water. I wash, I dry off, and quickly cover myself as my daughter traipses in to brush her teeth. Why she can't do this in her own bathroom is beyond me. And why she can't get it through her noggin that little girls aren't allowed to see their daddy naked is even more of a conundrum.
I comb Declan's hair, and then I brush my own. I figure more hair stays on the brush nowadays than remains on my head. I've made peace with it, though I'm not quite ready to buzz it. I'll leave it to my wife to tell me when I should make that leap.
My closet contains about twenty shirts, three of which I like, and two pairs of pants. It doesn't really matter which ones I grab because they all match. I only wear blue, grey, and black. I do, however, spend a second to decide on which belt and shoes to wear. Brown or black. Brown doesn't go with black, so if I'm wearing black I don't choose brown. Hey, that's a pretty good tongue twister...I bet Riley will like it.
I see my wife for 2.5 seconds while pouring coffee into my gigantic travel mug. Then I'm out the door with two of the three kids. I backtrack ten minutes to take Riley to school then drop Declan off at Preschool, which is a relief to my ears and head since he has yacked the entire way about God knows what. He reminds me of my brother. I remember taking a hunting trip to NC a few years back. He rambled incessantly for the first few hours until I fell asleep. When I woke up again my brother was still talking and I'm pretty sure it was about the same thing he was talking about before I passed out.
If you ask Riley what I do at work, she'll say, "Typie, typie." She's really not that far off, so I'll leave it at that. I also smoke a lot and check my email. Whadaya know, another agent rejecting my manuscript. Oh well, I have dozens more feelers out there, maybe the next one will be different.
My mom's at the house with the kids when I get home, and I attempt to spend some quality time with them while simultaneously throwing dinner together (the first thing Reagan says when I walk in the door is, "I eat now?"). Kristin works til 9:00, and I says to myself, "Self, you're not nearly as good at this as your wife is."
Both Riley and Declan are supposed to read a book before going to bed, which is nearly impossible with a two-year-old running around the house and a hyper dog yelping at her heels. Then they need a drink of water, then Reagan has to poop, then Riley can't find her beebee (blanket), then Declan is crying because he somehow bonked his head on the bed rail while he was alone in his room, and on and on for about half an hour.
Finally, I have a much needed cigarette. Tonight I have a beer or two or three as well, and play Call of Duty until my wife gets home. We have time to watch one TV show together before going to bed, too tired for sex mind you, and we prepare to do it all over again tomorrow.
Why do I tell you all this? If you notice, every paragraph includes my kids except the last one, and that's because they're supposed to be sleeping. My world revolves around them, and although I'm tired and frustrated more often than not, the fact remains that they are the reason I roll off the bed every morning. They're why I go to sleep exhausted every night. It's not always fun, but it is always necessary. It took me a little while to realize that. And after I did, even the hard stuff, the I-want-to-blow-my-brains-out-right-now stuff, became endurable.
