Let’s get two things straight.

I haven’t cooked for myself in seven years. Sure, I’ve obviously cooked food in the last seven years, and some of it has actually been damn good, but I have not cooked for myself in seven god damn years.
I don’t actually know how to raise children. Let alone, MY children.

Let me drop some honesty on you. My wife is the cornerstone of this family. The longest I have ever been left alone with these kids was when she went on a girl’s weekend for 2 days. For that weekend, I’m fairly certain my 9 year daughter was here to help. So this is actually first time I’ve been left alone with two individuals who regularly shit their pants for any extended period of time.

This is my tale of survival.

Day 1: 7.5 days till Mad Wife’s return.

0430 hours: I wave goodbye to my wife and daughter as they slip into the darkness and into the backseat of their chauffeured ride to the airport. They’re classy as shit whereas I’m fairly certain I opened the door for the driver in my underwear. I stare as the taillights turn the corner and disappear. The red cherry of a cigarette glows in the distance as the drug dealer across the street no doubt waits for another client. How did he get out on bail so quickly?

0600 hours: Holy shit, why is this baby awake?! What does it want? Why is it smiling so much? The wife normally takes care of this. I think he wants to go downstairs and watch It’s Always Sunny in Philly.

1300 hours: Holy shit that was exhausting. The boy demanded waffles for lunch. He had waffles for breakfast. How many fucking waffles can somebody eat before they’re sick of god damn waffles? Both boys are now upstairs screaming at the injustice of naptime. I wade through a sea of sharp Legos and matchbox cars. I collapse on the couch. I think I fall asleep. Honestly, this time is pretty hazy. I may have had a drink. The wife should be hitting Phoenix soon.

1530 hours: They boys are awake. Let’s do this shit.

1730 hours: Mother of god… it’s dinner time. The boy will not eat dinner. I trick him by saying it’s big snack time. The baby eats everything we own; the boy demands waffles. No fucking way, dude. You’ve had waffles for breakfast AND lunch. You can have chicken nuggets.

I fucking win that shit. He eats everything.

1900 hours: “Alright kiddo’s, time for bed!”

So all in all, Day 1 was a piece of cake! It was tiring for sure, but this single parent thing is nothing. I odn’t know why people complain about it.

Day 2:

0030 hours: Somethings crying… what is that? It sounds human. It’s the baby. Why? Why is the baby crying at 30 past midnight?! I get the baby. We go downstairs and make a bottle because I haven’t prepared anything. He eats the bottle and goes back to sleep. Finally, I can get some rest.

0330 hours: The baby is crying again! Day 2 sucks so far.

0630 hours: That baby is up again, but that’s alright. Time to start the day. One bright side of being awake at 0630 in the morning is there is no way I can be late for work.

0900 hours: God damnit, I’m so effing late for work. How the hell are children so hard to get out the door? I finally get on the highway and see a miles long backup of cars. Fuck this shit, I’m going home. I work from home for the rest of the day.

Evening: The kids were awesome today. It’s weird. It’s almost as if they know I’m not even half as good at parenting as Mad Wife so they’re taking pity on me. Or maybe it’s the calm before the storm.

In any case, I won’t bore you with break downs of Day’s 3 & 4. Everything ran exactly as one with experience raising two kids would expect. If you want the highlights, go back and read the Facebook page, but the first half of my week as a single parent went really well. Unexpectedly well. I had a pretty good idea about how my week was going to go, but I was way off base. Instead I realized something I wasn’t expecting.

I guess we’ll talk about it tomorrow.