Welcome Home, Daddy?

Well, Michael got home last night around 6:30 PM. You should have seen the welcome he got. There was a little confusion, you see. I wasn’t certain he was going to show up in time for dinner so I asked Megan, our babysitter, to come over for an hour just in case Michael was running late. She’s been over for an hour every other evening this week to play with Cassie and help take care of Sam, and that’s how I’ve managed to survive this whole fiasco.

Well I got a call from Michael telling me he was on his way home and expected to be pulling into the driveway around dinner time. So when Megan called I said all I really needed her to do was come over and get paid because Michael was almost home. Then Sam blew out her diaper and I had to go bathe her. While I was washing the poop off of Sam, Cassie came running in to tell me the door bell had rung. “That’s probably Megan,” I said, and that’s where the trouble started.

See, Megan is fifteen and probably Cassie’s most favorite person in the whole wide world. Megan gets down on the floor and plays dollies and Legos and Lincoln Logs and other stuff. Megan will take Cassie outside and run with her and play tag and hide ‘n seek. Megan is young and still has two good knees and she can more than keep up with my overly energetic three-year-old. So when Cassie heard that Megan was downstairs waiting, she took off, screaming, “Megan! Megan! Meeeeeeeeeeegan!” Unfortunately, by the time I had managed to wrap Sam up in a towel and get downstairs, there was nobody at the door. Cassie, of course, started to bawl.

Cassie: “Where’s Megan? I want Megan!”

Me (still holding Sam who is only wearing a bath towel and may erupt in poop again at any moment): “Honey, it’s okay. I’ll call Megan and ask her to come back. But she’s only coming to pick up her money, she’s not staying, okay?”

Cassie: “I want MEGAN!”

Me: “Oh look, sweetie! Look who just pulled into the driveway. It’s Daddy!”


Me, on the phone trying to get hold of Megan: “Hi Kathy? Is Megan there? Yeah, I was busy cleaning up the baby. Could she come back over real quick?”


At this point my husband has pulled his bags out of the car trunk and is headed up the sidewalk. He can see us in the bay windows and is giving me the hand signal for “What the hell is going on in there?”


Me: “Um, Kathy? Could Megan stay and play a few minutes with Cassie? She’s a little upset that we missed Megan at the door.”

Michael, walking in the door: “Honey, I’m home! Where’s my big girl? Where’s Cassie?”


Fortunately, Megan showed up at that point and kindly agreed to play with Cassie for a little bit. While the two of them went into the living room to build the Taj Mahal out of Lincoln Logs, I raced upstairs with Sam, who had that peculiar look on her face that always means, “Mommy, I’m going to make a big poopie!” I got the diaper on her just in time.

Not exactly the warm homecoming that I’m sure Michael was expecting. But the house was still standing and everybody was still alive and Sam waited a whole hour before spitting up on him, so I think it went pretty well, all things considered.

Now that Michael is home, we’re back to our usual chaos. I was up all night again with Sam, and thus only managed to sneak in ten minutes of a conjugal “welcome back” before having to nurse again. Then this morning, we had everyone, and I mean everyone including the giant ballerina doll that my sister sent to Cassie, piled in our bed at 6 AM. Michael did manage to evict everyone for a little bit so I could grab a little shut eye, and then after breakfast he kept both kids occupied while I passed out on the couch. I can not believe it, but I slept there for two hours this morning, mouth open, snoring and drooling and everything. What a pretty picture I must have been. (Oh god, I hope nobody took any pictures). Anyway, Michael is finally home and life is finally back to normal.

Or at least, whatever passes for normal for us.

Here’s something I drew yesterday. You’re probably wondering what the heck it is. It’s a contour drawing of a badly torn up pinecone. No, I am not kidding, this is actually a torn up pinecone, not a mistake. This is an exercise from a drawing book I have. The purpose is to draw just the outline of an object, and then come back afterwards and fill in some of the detail, but again, outlines of details only. It’s a hand/eye coordination exercise. If you squint, it does sort of look like a pinecone that got mauled by a lawn mower. Trust me.

Mangled Pinecone, 25 August 2006

About Cynical Woman

Cartoonist, Artist, Geek, Evil Crafter, Girl Scout Troop Leader and Writer. Also, a zombie. I haven't slept in I don't know how long.
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