Home Invasion

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:


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.”

She Sees You When You’re Sleeping

I have a stalker. Her name is Piper Mae.

She sleeps down the hallway behind a closed door. Yet she knows my every move.

If I get up in the middle of the night, she’s by my side. “I just happened to have to go, too, Mommy,” she says. “How about a quick hug since I’m here, you know?”

In the mornings I like to wake up early and write and blog. I’m careful not to make a sound. As soon as I lift the computer screen, though, Piper bursts through the door like she’s caught me. “I saw your light!”

“But it’s a laptop screen with just a tiny bit of light? How could you possibly see it?” I protest, throwing back the covers for the morning cuddle.

“I just know, Mommy. I always know where you are.”