I was all set for a quite evening last night.
I had no races to run. No guitar lessons to take. No one to drive to this friend's or that friend's house. No test to study for. Nothing.
That is until Skippy called to tell me that she was headed for the dentist. She had been complaining about a toothache for the last few days which made her mouth and face sore. Being the smartass I am, I suggested that her pain may be because she talks too much. Oh, wait, that's my problem....
It turns out that Skippy's problem was much worse than she thought. She called me at work to tell me that she got an emergency appointment with our dentist and that it was at 5:15 p.m. The nerve underneath her tooth was infected and the it had to be pulled.
Me: So what are we going to do about dinner for the kids?
Skippy: I shouldn't be long. I'll make it when I get back.
Me: Don't be silly. What were you planning to make.
Skippy: Garlic pasta.
Me: I can take care of that. Leave me the instructions and dinner will be ready by the time you come home.
Skippy: You would do that?
Me: Sure. Why not?
Famous last words. I've always known that that the job of "mom" is no easy task, but I had forgotten just how hard is that task. Last night, the rust in my ability to play the role showed.
Before you beat me up about making an apparently, sexist remark about the roles of moms and dads. Please understand that our family structure is quite anachronistic. Skippy handles much of the day-to-day load of the household tasks like cooking and doing laundry, while I take care of things like fixing fences, painting basements, car maintenance...etc... It's just how things work best in our 6-member unit most of the time. I help out with her self-assigned tasks and she helps me with mine. Noodle, Zeb and Rick also pitch in by doing their daily chores of tidying up the kitchen, bathrooms and basement.
Here's the lazy one in our house. Eat, sleep, shit and bark at postal workers. What a life! I digress...
My offer to cook dinner last night was sincere, despite the fact that I hardly ever cook. On occassion, I'll fix something for myself. But sandwiches and scrambled eggs don't count, do they? I'm just not that into it.
I am fascinated by those who can cook and create culinary works of art out of any ingredient available. The Cunning Runt comes to mind at this point. The man is a genius in the kitchen and has pictures to prove it.
Me? I can barely follow a recipe, and drove Skippy nuts with my incessant phone calls on how to mix ingredients and the location of important utensils. Here's a partial transcript of our 6:30PM conversation:
Me: Uh...how much olive oil do I use to brown the garlic?
Skippy: Oh, you think I measure?
Me: What do I use to do this part?
Skippy: C'mon man. Use your imagination. My mouth is killing me and I'm still waiting to see the oral surgeon.
Click!
You get the idea folks. I'm clueless in the kitchen. I admit it. By the time it was all over I had yelled at Rick for only wanting plain pasta, and at Zeb for wanting his without garlic in it. (There are other ingredients added -- grilled chicken, broccoli and sun-dried tomatoes are in this concoction.) Thankfully, Noodle was hanging with her BFF, Rachel at her house, so she was spared my wrath.
My patience wore so thin that by the time it was all said and done, I had placed at least five calls to Skippy and swore at my boys at least 10 times, all of which ended with: "What do you think this is? A fucking restaurant?"
When Skippy finally returned home, I barely showed any interest in her condition. That made her cry.
"Oh shit," I thought. "I've done it now."
That's when I grabbed the dog's leash and harness and took him for a walk around the park. It was as much a therapeutic walk for me as it was a strategy session on what to say to her when I returned, starting with an "I'm sorry."
I got home 30 minutes later, gave her a big hug and kiss, apologized profusely for my actions. I then took her out to Friendly's for one of her favorite treats -- a vanilla/chocolate swirl sundae with whipped cream. I apologized again after we returned home. We ate our ice cream in our living room and talked about what happened. She accepted my apology reminding me that I am more than capable of managing the house in her absence. Her point? The drama was unnecessary. Point taken.
Before I close this, though...I need to say one more thing:
Skippy, I'm sorry I went off the deep end last night. You were the one suffering here. Not me. All I needed to do was step up and cook some dinner. I should have just handled things as best I could and not bother you as I did. I should have stepped up and done what other fathers in my placed the world over do on a daily basis.
If anything, days like this show how much I need you and how much the kids need you. We love you and, while we would manage in your absence, we are quite lost without you. There is nothing in the world we would not do for you.
Love.... Spartacus
Isn't she a beauty? I think so. Pick on me if you must. I deserve it. But, please, if you leave a comment, show Skippy some love. She's hurting now and could use a hug or two.
But I could resist the opportunity to write about yet another blogger meet up I had last Saturday. That evening, Skippy and I ventured into New York City to meet Alecto and her pal, Florkow for dinner and a comedy show at Joe's Pub down in NYC's East Village.
Skippy and I found her and Florkow to be delightful and charming company, and, an incredibly funny, if not unintentional, warm up act for Hazelle Goodman.
