18 Hours

My husband was home today from working out of town. He drove a little over 4 hours home last night, got here around 10. Left around 4 today to go  back. 18 hours home. 18 hours not being a single parent. 18 hours where my son got to laugh, wrestle and play with Dada. 18 hours where my daughter is doted on by two loving parents and my husband gets to see her c20140713_125202ute expressions I live with daily.

I’m on the fence about using the term ‘single parent’. It seems harsh, but real. Not that Vincent (that’s my handsome, loving, hilarious husband) ever stops being  a Dad, but he stops being my relief or back up when things get tough at bed time, or during tantrums or eating or cleaning.

Today Vince was supposed to meet us at the grocery store. He took S and I had G (he (s) is three, G is one). He texted me to find out where we were in the store, then again that he would just meet us at home. Evidently he got a taste of S at the grocery store. It makes me feel sort of good that he got to experience what I go through every time. Crying, drama, screaming… about everything! Parenting on your own makes meltdowns like that something you have to just push through. I can’t pack up and leave the store without milk or food for us to eat… and it’s so much work just getting there, to try again is a nightmare. Now when I say I wish I could go to the store by mysel20140713_131143f, he’ll get it a little more.

On the upside we spent some of our 18 hours at our local annual festival! It was awesome! We ate, rode rides, played games, looked at adoptable dogs, rode ponies and bought some goodies.

In all I’m always happy to have a short period of what other people experience daily. Just having another adult with you at the end of the day to vent to, reflect with and cuddle with is pretty awesome. Even if it’s just one day a week. Or 18 hours.

 

 

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