There is an unfortunate stereotype that exists about the incompetence of the working father when he is forced to fend for himself and his offspring while the much more domestically competent mother is away for whatever reason. He is annoyed by small creatures unable to fend for themselves, and the frustration at his inability to cope with this inconvenience coalesces in his apparent lack of empathy for such wee things. I assure you I won't live up to that this weekend.
Amy's going away on a Girls' Weekend Friday night to Sylvan Lake, a small resort town two hours south of us, and she won't be back until Sunday. (I know! you don't normally think "Alberta" and "resort town" in the same sentence, but I assure you it's real. The sort of place where 80 percent of the residents live within 15 minutes walking distance of the lake, and most of those spend the summer months brandishing rakes and screaming like shrewish fish-wives at the flocks of goddamn tourists that infest the beaches and trample shortcuts across a myriad of manicured lawns.)
So anyway, my wife's back on Sunday.
Friday
I anticipate Amy will have herself packed and ready to go by about the time I get home from work. She has to pick up one other gal on the drive out, so she'll want to leave before I have a chance to take my pants off. (Something I look forward to at the end of each business day, especially in the summer. So I can put on shorts.) Then it'll be just me and three other little life forms, each with a limited capacity for reason or a predilection to use the toilet. (Dex is the most advanced on both counts, but still falls short of my ultimate expectations.) Some of my methods may involve incoherent rantings and wild arm flailings. (I'm kidding; see first paragraph.)
Our evening routine mostly involves the boys and me anyway, so it should be little different than most nights, except we won't hear my wife's fingers clattering away on the keyboard as she abandons her family for her Facebook fix. (Ha! We love each other dearly, and one of the ways we show this is by incessant teasing. If that were the sole benchmark, she would love me more. By a lot.)
After the boys' bedtime: this Simian is going to catch up a little with Harry Potter. (Is anybody NOT posting about that book these days?)
Saturday
Our neighbour kids are aged nine and seven, so are in daycare during the week days and don't normally pop their faces around our front screen door until at least 15 or 20 minutes after I get home, leaving my wife in relative peace during the day. However, they operate pretty much under their own auspices on the weekends, so I can probably count on them showing up shortly after breakfast. They're good kids, and play well with both Declan and Tavish, occupying them a lot of the time so that we responsible adults can get other work done around them with a minimum of supervision. We've told the older girl that we're training her to be our babysitter in a few years' time. She's stoked about that.
Work in the backyard sounds good for Saturday. I need to get the rock ring a little closer to completion. The one intended to go around the massive twin pines by the garden shed. The one my brother and I started last summer when we scavenged discarded boulders from around the new housing development where he bought his own abode. He placed a few of the bigger ones, but the rest are still in a jumble, having sat undisturbed through the winter, overgrown now with tall weeds and coated in an unhealthy patina of apathy. Given how much time I sit on my ass each day, I have an unusual fondness for hard labour that makes the sweat pour off me. Man-handling large rocks will accomplish a couple goals.
Plus, Saturday, I need to go get one part of the anniversary present for my wife. The other part has nothing to do with the first part, but that's my way of saying there are two parts.
Sunday
Pancakes and bacon. It'll be weird without Amy there, but I think it would be weirder to have a Sunday without pancakes and bacon. (There have been some, and they feel strange until about noon or so when that feeling passes.) I get to use the new cookware we just invested in (and believe me it was an investment), so there may be some experimentation with temperatures and timing. The electric griddle should be great for the bacon though.
I plan to have Granny and Grumpy over for dinner, or earlier in the afternoon for a stroll along the riverside. Or something. Maybe we can all go downtown to partake in the gastronomic delights on display at the annual Taste of Edmonton. Many of the city's restaurants trot out a booth to be staffed by their junior employees, selling only sample portions of a few signature dishes. There are dozens of these booths set up around a downtown square. If you buy a whole sheet of meal tickets, with most items costing between two and four tickets, a family of four can circulate, share, and leave stuffed for about 40 bucks. I always get the green onion cakes, and always slather on too much malt vinegar and hot sauce. The last couple bites are an exercise in pain tolerance and the tears streaming down my cheeks, at the end, are tears of hard-won victory.
The weekend will be full and the forecast looks like decent weather will play a pleasant accompaniment. And now that we have our cleaned and scotch-guarded furniture back in the living room (WOW! what a difference!), we no longer have to squat on Declan's Spider-Man sofa or entertain the occasional visitor solely in the kitchen with apologetic glances toward the Living Room Wasteland of Toys.
When Amy gets home Sunday evening, I'll be sure to pawn the kids off on her and go check my own Facebook messages.
Google Images seems to indicate that Sylvan Lake is, in deed, a lovely little place. Here's shoping Amy enjoys here time there.
I just don't get the Facebook obcessions. My brother is hooked on it too. He showed it to me and raved about it...but it just looked like MySpace to me. What am I missing?
Have fun smashing stereotypes this weekend. I like to think I did well with my similar time last week. People seemed impressed...but then, like you said...as a working father, the mere fact that I didn't blow up the house and loose my daughter amidst the clutter is enough in some folks' eyes to garner praise.
Posted by: Moksha Gren | Friday, 27 July 2007 at 09:24 AM
MG, I do understand the obsession with Facebook, I just don't subscribe to most of that same obsession. Mostly not my cup of tea. Through that portal, though, I was able to rekindle a friendship with an old high school chum who's in the military and has served two tours in Afghanistan.
I think it's a whole lot different than MySpace, and the crowd does seem, on the whole at least, a little more mature. Still lots of silly fluff I strive to avoid though.
I'll raise a glass to myself this weekend in honour of not killing or seriously maiming either of my sons.
Posted by: Simon | Friday, 27 July 2007 at 09:56 AM
I think it's funny when people find out I took care of Ben all alone for a weekend (or that such a time is impending). They say things like, "How'd you do without Shannon?" or "So, are you gonna be okay?"
I suppose if I were accustomed to spending 10 hours on the golf course or Xbox over a weekend I might be concerned. But, I'm a family guy through and through. I didn't get into this fatherhood thing so I could keep doing what I always did (which involved neither golf nor any type of game console -- those were just examples).
I say, Dang movies like Daddy Daycare!
Posted by: Mark | Friday, 27 July 2007 at 10:05 AM
Mark, the stereotype of the incompetent father... heck, the incompetent boob of a man or husband is annoying as all hell to me. Look at the trend in sitcoms on the idiot box these days and all you see is a goofball husband who somehow managed to snag a gorgeous, competent, yet nagging wife. Can't stand it, frankly.
I may not go so far as to use the sort of strong language you do ("Dang!") since this is a family blog, after all.
Posted by: Simon | Friday, 27 July 2007 at 04:29 PM
I'm not posting about Harry Potter because I don't want anyone to know I'm reading it ... wait ... damn it. It's for the same reason I covered my book with a blanket when I left it in the car: I don't want any nasty person knowing I'm enjoying it and ruining whatever surprises lay ahead for me. Paranoid maybe, but I'm determined to enjoy this book at my own pace.
Posted by: Sarah | Saturday, 28 July 2007 at 05:57 AM
Taste of Edmonton sounds a lot like Taste of Duluth -- the thought of either of which would probably make anyone from New York or San Fransisco gag. But we like em, right?
I'm not posting about Harry Potter, obviously. I have a hard time with Harry Potter mainly because I don't enjoy one-dimensionally evil characters. I like my evil a bit more tormented and complex.
Posted by: marian | Sunday, 29 July 2007 at 09:24 AM