Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go

This is my last week as a Stay Home Dad.

The judges have made their final decision. I am returning to work on Monday…as a Social Worker on a team with some very terrific people who seem eager to have me join them. Good eager, not desperate eager. I think.

It has been an interesting 7 months here at home. Anyone I spoke to before taking over the parental leave knows that I did not – even for one second – believe that this would be easy. What I didn’t expect was that it would really be downright difficult. I love them both, even when they grind Cheerios into the carpet, or scream their lungs out, or spit applesauce at me. But there have been days when I just wish I could get them to take a nap at the same time so I could join them; or at least that it wasn’t -20C outside so we could go for a walk.

Now the girls will go to home care with a family friend. Finally, they will be with someone more responsible. Someone who always remembers that Evelyn needs a bib before you hand her a chopped up banana, or that you have to actually keep track of how many cups of juice a kid has in one day or there may be… some trouble.

Yes it is my last week. And this is my last Wednesday. Wednesdays are a bit special. For a while now the girls have been spending Wednesdays with their Grandparents in town. It works out fairly well. They get to run and play somewhere with no rules at all; my in-laws get to spend time with the kiddies, and I get to take a shower without anyone asking me “hey, what are you doing Daddy? Are you having a shower? Daaaa-deee? Can you hear me?”

I try to keep Wednesdays productive. I vacuum; clean the kitchen; balance the bank accounts; look for a job; shovel the driveway; nap. I hardly ever accomplish the whole list every Wednesday. The day IS only so long.

As we finished loading the kids into the van early this morning my wife hopped into the driver’s seat smiling and said “enjoy your last Leisurely Wednesday!” Then she laughed. No, howled. Actually, it was really more of a cackle. In fact, she cackled like a maniac, and it looked as if she was unable to stop.

I’ve only heard her cackle like that once before. It was just before we moved. We were talking about how I would manage the house as a novice Home Dad. She was...well...we'll, let's say that she was supporting me to set more realistic expectations. I had said something ridiculous about my goal to achieve one perfect day. I defined this perfect day as a day where my tired spouse would arrive home to see a clean house; dishes done; kids happy, clean and dressed and making some affectionate craft for Mommy! The laundry would be done and put away; dinner ready; table set; and a homemade pecan pie waiting in the oven. I’m pretty sure it was the pecan pie that did it, but it could have been the bit about the crafts. She cackled that same maniacal laugh. It was the laugh of The Knowing, before they educate the dim; the laugh of one who foresees impending doom, or at least pending humility.

Plus, also, I think she foresaw quite a few days where the dishes were piled up, the kids were still in their pyjamas and Bridget and Daddy “made” pizza for dinner. We follow a set recipe: I make the phone call, and Bridget waits at the door for the man to bring the pizza.

Yes, that day my supportive wife thusly assisted me to arrive at more realistic expectations of myself and the kids--which can be hard to do mid-cackle.

This morning’s cackle was even heartier though.

I know she couldn’t hear me, but as the van backed out of the drive, and I retreated toward the garbage cans, but my body language definitely said: “THIS is getting blogged…”