Who's Your Daddy?

So today is my last  day as a single mom and it could not come a moment too soon. This past week has been pretty uneventful (even with the bear in the yard!) yet thoroughly exhausting. Days and weeks such as these give me a new appreciation for one parent households, and I am not even working outside the home.

Slim to no unpacking happens during the day when it is just me here feeding, watering and walking the knee-highs. Then there are also the dogs. It is 8pm by the time they all are in bed, it takes an hour or so to tidy and then I am too burnt out to figure out the logistics of three wardrobe boxes and no closets to empty them into, so upstairs we are still living out of said boxes. Oh, and my mattress is on the floor since we could not fit the box spring up the stairwell built in 1940, and it is not in a good minimalist/bohemian way either.

It is time for Michael to come home. Jack is shouting, "Daddy" at random men across the street which is surprisingly embarrassing. Then Isla starts, "Is that my Daddy?". Umm, awkward. At the dinner table the other night Velma made a noise in the kitchen. "Is that Daddy?" Jack asks. "No Jack, Daddy isn't coming home for a few days" I answer. "But I hear a crappy sound." He means crackly.  He continues "Do you hear it? Crap, crap, crap". The whole situation is heartbreakingly cute, but I am glad it is almost over - and yes I know how blessed I am to be able to say that.