By definition I am an at-home dad. This much is true. But that definition is tweaked quite a bit on Tuesdays and Thursdays when my youngest, the Mouse, attends a full day Pre-K class. With her sister already gone daily to 2nd grade, this leaves me alone. Master of my domain, and usually master of my domain’s laundry, dirty dishes, and cat puke.
Sometimes I’ll take one of these Home Alone days to see a matinee movie. But even that can be too much work – driving to the theater, buying a ticket, putting on pants (although not necessarily in that order), which leaves the other days when I disregard those lifestyle speed bumps of pee-stained underwear (not always my own) and a sink full of syrupy plates to fulfill my quest for all-encompassing laziness.
Today was one of those days. I hit the gym early, before anyone was awake. Got that out of the way to have a productive day. Yeah, that’s what I was thinking at 6am. I now chuckle at the pre-dawn version of my Tuesday self because by not much later than sun up I’d pretty much resigned myself to the opposite of productivity: unproductivityness. Or something.
I hit up my nearest Redbox for a flick, the humorous Exporting Raymond, slipped underneath a fuzzy blanket, and did plenty of nothin’.
And it was fan-freakin-tastic.
Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve gotta pants-up to pick up the children. Time to be a dad again.
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