First things first: I’m a Monday morning stay-at-home Dad, which, I assure you, is a “thing.” The bulk of this story happened over a few months ago. Either it has taken me this long to get over it or I used my powers of procrastination to their fullest extent. Regardless, the story is here now.
Let’s start by painting a figurative picture. It’s a typical Monday morning. The sun is effortlessly sliding through the crack in the living room curtains, ever-so-slightly illuminating the toys that are scattered about the floor. It’s a subtle nod to the next four hours of life; no work and all play. Q is awake, which means he’s been ready to grab anything within reach (toy or not) and make sure it gets my undivided attention. If I’m being honest, it’s just as fun for me as it is for him. When else can you steer a laundry basket spaceship around the house? (Maybe Friday night. Maybe.) For the next two hours, life is grand. The following hour felt a little more like answering a question incorrectly on Nickelodeon’s Double Dare. Continue reading