Daddy’s in charge.
After I made the call for her today, Supermom went to the doctor. the verdict? Bronchitis. She was given meds and ordered to rest. We’re going to try to maximize her rest time tonight since I have to work tomorrow. That means dinner is on me. As she sleeps on the couch, I leap into action.
I will not be able to fight a battle with The Narrator over something even as simple as grilled cheese (He’s got to be the ONLY 4 year old on earth that won’t eat it) and have it be silent enough for mommy to stay asleep, so he’s won tonight. Dinner consists of clementines, apple slices with peanut butter, and yogurt. He’s happy- and most importantly…quiet. The battle swings his way this evening. The war will wage on.
Mini-me has feasted on 4 clementines so far, and is working on left-over pasta that has to be given to him in lots of no more than 5 shells at a time, because at any moment, he could decide that they make better projectiles than food, and I’ll be sent searching the carpet for all of the food that he’s gleefully thrown. Numbers more than 5 seem to overwhelm him and that’s where we start to see his inner shot-putter start to come out.
Me? I’m gnawing on slices of beef that I cooked last night before it became apparent that nobody was going to eat a real dinner, thanks to the small version of the plague we’d contracted. A beautiful steak came out of the broiler and went right into the fridge. Its my dinner tonight without garnish, vegetable, or even heating it up. There’s a slab of it on my fork right now resting on a saucer next to me looking for all the world like something you’d bait a lion with.
Part of the reason for my slap-dash approach to my own sustinance tonight is that I’m still technically WORKING too. I was supposed to be off at 6, but one of the other techs had to leave for a family emergency, and the other has gone already. Leaving me. So, as I feed my two biological successors, I am also the only human being working technical support for the U.S. and Canada for our company at the moment. So if you managed to break one of your HDMI over CAT5 balun sets and call for assistance tonight, and the phone rings a few more times than usual, it has less to do with a high call volume and more to do with my having to change a diaper or set up the “Disney Magic Timer” for The Narrator.
Sorry, but your inability to watch TV is slightly offset by my kid being happy as hell to spent two whole minutes brushing his teeth.