I think it would be fair to say that single parents have more of "those days" than most.
My three daughters and I had been "on our own" for less than a year, it was still new to me.
Just goes to show you that newer is not always better.
Life didn't stop and wait for me to catch up and neither did the bills.
The rent was still due on the first.
The electric company correspondence came each month.
Groceries, clothes, shoes and occasionally, toys, were still in demand.
Working six days a week meant a daycare bill that Congress wouldn't approve of either.
I used two paragraphs to somewhat describe life back then, when one word would have done just as well: Stress.
Days at the park, the beach or the river, or even a day of playing "hide-n-seek" in the California Redwoods there was one word, one rule and it was so easy to keep.
Laughter.
As a single parent, worse; a man raising three future wives, (I hope my future son-in-laws can forgive me) the rule of Laughter went by the wayside.
I needed to laugh.
I missed the release of pent up emotion that it offers.
Sure there were times I did laugh but that was for the girls sake more than mine.
I needed a real, deep, heartfelt and satisfying laugh.
School days were as organized as the tornado that threatened Dorothy and Toto.
Clothes, books and shoes flying everywhere; "You girls are going to be late for school, again.
" I would get Jessica; eight at the time & her sister Sara, who was seven out the door and off to school.
They only had to walk across the street.
Before I could leave for work I had to check the menu to see what I'd planned for dinner and did anything need defrosting.
Dishes needed to be washed and after the mayhem of the morning, the bathroom definitely needed some attention.
The toothpaste tube suffered the most.
There it lay, looking more like an hourglass than a tube of Crest for Kids.
I would be sure and talk to them about dental care and the proper dental care etiquette that evening, but for now I had to get Abby in the truck and over to the babysitter.
I was about to be late for work, again.
So began my nightly reminders, telling my daughters "don't squeeze the toothpaste tube in the middle, it will all come out.
" Repetition is a good teacher, so they got the spiel every night.
Along with other life altering instructions.
"Don't squeeze it in the middle, it will all come out.
" It was becoming a mantra.
I was getting better at being alone with our children, but the laughter factor didn't improve.
One evening after all the house work had been done I settled down with my three charges to watch a movie.
I didn't need to use air freshener that night; the popcorn aroma wafted through the house and did marvelously.
It was "cuddle time".
I was enjoying the reprieve from daily life but I was still a prisoner.
Trapped in a dungeon of despair; a pit so deep that laughter couldn't find its way in or out.
I told Abby to go to the bathroom; her "potty dance" was interrupting the movie.
Every couple of minutes I would go to check on her.
There she sat, wondering why her sisters' feet reached the floor while hers were dangling like dice on a rearview mirror.
She was fine so I would go back to the movie.
If I remember right it seemed as if she'd been in there for 15 or 20 minutes.
Apparently she'd had enough time to survey the bathrooms contents and was learning the lesson of the toothpaste tube on her own.
"Are you okay honey?" I asked.
She was having "tummy" problems, to put it delicately.
"Daddy! It won't come out! Please squeeze me!" She cried.
Laughter found a way.
My three daughters and I had been "on our own" for less than a year, it was still new to me.
Just goes to show you that newer is not always better.
Life didn't stop and wait for me to catch up and neither did the bills.
The rent was still due on the first.
The electric company correspondence came each month.
Groceries, clothes, shoes and occasionally, toys, were still in demand.
Working six days a week meant a daycare bill that Congress wouldn't approve of either.
I used two paragraphs to somewhat describe life back then, when one word would have done just as well: Stress.
Days at the park, the beach or the river, or even a day of playing "hide-n-seek" in the California Redwoods there was one word, one rule and it was so easy to keep.
Laughter.
As a single parent, worse; a man raising three future wives, (I hope my future son-in-laws can forgive me) the rule of Laughter went by the wayside.
I needed to laugh.
I missed the release of pent up emotion that it offers.
Sure there were times I did laugh but that was for the girls sake more than mine.
I needed a real, deep, heartfelt and satisfying laugh.
School days were as organized as the tornado that threatened Dorothy and Toto.
Clothes, books and shoes flying everywhere; "You girls are going to be late for school, again.
" I would get Jessica; eight at the time & her sister Sara, who was seven out the door and off to school.
They only had to walk across the street.
Before I could leave for work I had to check the menu to see what I'd planned for dinner and did anything need defrosting.
Dishes needed to be washed and after the mayhem of the morning, the bathroom definitely needed some attention.
The toothpaste tube suffered the most.
There it lay, looking more like an hourglass than a tube of Crest for Kids.
I would be sure and talk to them about dental care and the proper dental care etiquette that evening, but for now I had to get Abby in the truck and over to the babysitter.
I was about to be late for work, again.
So began my nightly reminders, telling my daughters "don't squeeze the toothpaste tube in the middle, it will all come out.
" Repetition is a good teacher, so they got the spiel every night.
Along with other life altering instructions.
"Don't squeeze it in the middle, it will all come out.
" It was becoming a mantra.
I was getting better at being alone with our children, but the laughter factor didn't improve.
One evening after all the house work had been done I settled down with my three charges to watch a movie.
I didn't need to use air freshener that night; the popcorn aroma wafted through the house and did marvelously.
It was "cuddle time".
I was enjoying the reprieve from daily life but I was still a prisoner.
Trapped in a dungeon of despair; a pit so deep that laughter couldn't find its way in or out.
I told Abby to go to the bathroom; her "potty dance" was interrupting the movie.
Every couple of minutes I would go to check on her.
There she sat, wondering why her sisters' feet reached the floor while hers were dangling like dice on a rearview mirror.
She was fine so I would go back to the movie.
If I remember right it seemed as if she'd been in there for 15 or 20 minutes.
Apparently she'd had enough time to survey the bathrooms contents and was learning the lesson of the toothpaste tube on her own.
"Are you okay honey?" I asked.
She was having "tummy" problems, to put it delicately.
"Daddy! It won't come out! Please squeeze me!" She cried.
Laughter found a way.
Source...