Let me take this moment to give a hearty salute to single parents and stay-at-home Moms everywhere, as I truly have no earthly idea how they do it. I'm now at the halfway point of my three days of solo parenting, and I'm a wreck. At this very moment, both of my little demons are asleep (though it was a long, arduous road out of Hell getting here). For the fleeting time being, there is peace and quiet -- to say nothing of a big goddamn mess -- in the apartment, but it'll be short lived. In the arrow-slit-sized window of time I'm afforded, let me just give a recap.
Peggy left very early yesterday to go visit her folks for a much needed break, leaving Charlotte (age 3) and Oliver (age 1) here with me. Originally, the plan was for Charlotte to accompany her, but at the last minute, the plans changed and I somehow ended up tasked with minding both of our children for the three day duration. Not really in a position to say "no" or forbid the already extensively-planned excursion, I accepted the mission and watched as my lovely wife disappeared into the back seat of a taxi bound for the airport. At the same time, an Old Testament-suitable variety of rainstorm pelted Manhattan, cooping myself and my two rambunctious little ones in our ever-shrinking apartment. It wasn't even 9 am.
It rained for 90% of the day yesterday. Apart from a brief trek out with both kids in tow on an emergency grocery mission, we three were all inside for the majority of it. My Mom gamely showed up to entertain the wee ones for a couple of hours, but otherwise, I begrudgingly resorted to flipping on the television. I'm not at all proud of it, and it's becoming a real problem, but what else could I do?
Time was when flipping on the idiot box was an ideal solution. It bought you time to shower or make coffee or collect yourself or do something without having to worry about your child wandering off or sticking their tongue in an electrical socket. Gradually, however, Charlotte started to crave TV time and would pitch fits worthy of "The Exorcist" when we'd flick the damn thing off. I used to shy away from airing my true feelings about "Dora The Explorer" -- as it was the flagship program of my former job's corporate sibling, Nickelodeon and its similarly inclined off-shoot, Noggin (which Charlotte is slavishly addicted to) -- but now that I'm unencumbered by gainful employment, let me take this opportunity to shout it out loud:
I FUCKING HATE "DORA THE EXPLORER!"
It's stupid, cloying, insipid, poorly written, shoddily animated and an absolute fucking menace. This is not to say that the other garbage -- from "The Back Yardigans" through "The Mickey Mouse Club House" -- isn't similarly maddeningly irritating, but "Dora.." in particular positively makes me want to blow up the world. I really can't say enough derisive things about it. Don't get me started. I hate Dora. And fuck Boots, that shrill little monkey sidekick of hers too!
:::sigh:::
ANYway, despite my misgivings, the television was my saviour yesterday. Today, mercifully, the sun is shining and it's lovely outside. I can at least take them to the park and the playground and have them run around and tucker themselves out. I'm not saying I'm not going to flick on the tube later when it's time to get dinner ready, but at least they'll have spent more of the afternoon getting some fresh air and giggling.
Peggy comes back late Sunday night. I have four more meal times to suffer through (these are the worst -- I have a hard enough time providing food for myself, let alone my doe-eyed offspring). Hopefully, our supply of Pop Tarts will hold out and we'll all make it.
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