Single Parenting: Not For Me

I don't know how single parents do it. Whenever I know that David is going to be working late, I find activities to do with the kids outside of home, in an attempt to diminish the hours and minutes I'm home alone with them. I think it's some residual after-shock from the days when he worked late every Sunday coupled with the fact that my kids tend to go a little crazy when we're couped up in our 1100 ft. square box for too long. Ok, so they're not the only ones who go crazy.

David used to work every Sunday from 3 PM-11 PM, and for those 8 hours a week, especially in the early days of being a mama to two, I felt like a desperate housewife. There's just this feeling when David's not home. It's not like we even talk that much when he is home. He's on the computer and I'm doing my thing, but just knowing he's there provides a major psychological advantage, especially in the beginning, when I was still recovering from my second c-section and more or less home-bound. I tried 'hiring' some neighborhood sisters to watch Grace and Johnny for an hour or so on Sundays while I would attempt to fold socks or unload the dishwasher, but they required more of my attention than my kids did. I mean, who ever heard of a 15-year old still in diapers? (Just kidding). Then there were these long expansive hours I needed to fill that included endless loops of "Wiggle Bay," "Baby Bach" and "Elmopalooza." I remember one Sunday afternoon, I killed an entire hour singing every word to the "Best of the Beach Boys" tape to my audience of two. Johnny, just weeks old, was held captive in a bouncy seat. Grace, on the other hand, could have walked away, but didn't. All eyes were on me, for a solid hour, while I sang and danced to all of my favorite Beach Boys hits. An hour where no one cried. They weren't smiling, either. They had this look of, "Who is this woman and why does she want us to call her Mommy?"