When I’m asked “How’s everything going” or “Whatcha been up to,” I usually give some sort of ambiguous answer. It’s because no one really wants to hear the actual answer. It’s not that it’s a bad answer. It’s just that there’s a lot involved. For instance, I give you a glimpse into my life as a father of six (three kids/three dogs) on a random Monday night:
5:45ish p.m.: As I’m leaving work late, again, I call my wife to let her know that I’m going to head straight to the hospital to see my Papa. She reminds me that her friend/coworker is coming by to drop off food. I decide to stop by the house first to express my gratitude. Our friends have really stepped up to help with dinners and stuff while she recovers from a pretty intense surgery. I will never be able to thank everyone enough.
6:30ish p.m.: One of our visitor’s kids randomly peed on our floor. She’s maybe 3. I find it hilarious, because kids. Meanwhile, I understand that for my wife’s coworker, this is probably pretty embarrassing. My 9-year-old son repeating how disgusted he was by it helped, I’m sure. I give my son my best ‘SHUT UP’ look and tell him to go walk our dog, Snotz… yes, the dog’s name is Snotz.
7ish p.m.: Our oldest needs a physical for football. He goes to camp the second half of this week. No problem. We can take care of that and then scoot off to see Papa in the hospital. We head to an urgent care, and he fills out the health history paperwork. As the doc is going over everything, she asks about the heart problems that my son listed on the paperwork, of which this is the first I’m hearing. The expression of WTF had to be apparent on my face. This kid hasn’t mentioned the first thing about any heart concerns to me or my wife — who works in a hospital — and this is kinda something you want to speak up about. The doc said, “Well, I can’t clear you for activity until you have heart tests, etc.”
7:45ish p.m.: As we’re checking out and I’m informing to my poor, clueless son that he should have said something to us about this earlier because he just lost the chance to go to football camp, my phone rings. It’s the wife with a hysterical 9-year-old in the background. She informs me that while on their walk, a cat ran in front of Snotz and, well, you can probably guess the rest. I tell her that we’re walking out the door and on the way. We’ll find the dog when we get back to the neighborhood. She then tells me that our daughter hopped on our golf cart to go try to find Snotz, but it wouldn’t move. I later discovered that one of the battery cables was corroded and will need to be replaced. Guess what I’m doing this weekend.
8:15ish p.m.: My oldest son and I are cruising the neighborhood when I get a text that my daughter found our dog. I’m relieved. If this dog got hit or something, my youngest would have definitely been scarred for life.
8:30ish p.m.: As we get everyone settled down from all the commotion, I reflect on the whirlwind that just took place over the past three hours. I also notice that we’re creeping up on 9 p.m. and I don’t really want to disturb my Papa in case he can get any sleep. Besides, I have to write my column for the Metro Spirit. But, whatever will I write about this week?