Day Six is when I lose it. Six days of single parenting is when everything breaks down for me. I can handle days one through five. For some reason, Day Six is when I let them eat Cheezits for breakfast and I don’t care. At all.
It’s not that I don’t love taking care of Sissy and the Piper. Come on. You know better than that. It’s that I’m better with a parenting partner. Parenting is easier when you pretend it’s a big game of tag. You’re it. I’m out. Whew.
So when the Dad came home on Sunday I was more than ready to hand over the reigns. I wasn’t actually that interested in hearing about all of his fancy meals out in Chicago. I’m not that sorry that the weather was horrible. I’m a little sad that he came home sick, but even this remorse has a selfish motive. He has another trip in a few days. Can you imagine how funny it would be if he came home between trips just to get us all sick? Yeah. Me neither.
On Day Six all I want is a few minutes alone. My partner gets that. He swooped in and did double parenting duty. I hid behind a closed door. But still. Piper and Sissy kept busting in with urgent questions and messages that had to be delivered. I think I got three whole minutes alone. Finally, because it was Day Six, I yelled:
“WHY IS IT THAT WHATEVER SPACE I’M IN IS ALWAYS INVADED? IT’S A CONSTANT HOME INVASION. THERE’S PLENTY OF ROOM IN THIS HOUSE!”
Piper blinked her eyes at me. I’d let them eat Cheezits for breakfast. It’s true. But I hadn’t yelled in six days. “Because,” she said, “the best part of this space is that you’re in it.”