I work 48 hours a week, Tuesday to Saturday. I realize a lot of people work a lot longer hours than I do, but for a guy who used to be a road sales rep, 48 hours is A LOT.
After work, I go home. Every night. No going to the bar with the fellas, no weekly poker night, and no going to the batting cages to pretend I'm hitting them over the Monster at Fenway. I simply go home to be with my family.
Not because I have to. I go because there is no other place I'd rather be. I love spending time with my wife and kids, and other than Fenway Park I consider my home the closest thing to heaven on earth I've found.
With all that said, it's 9:50 pm. So far, Trot has gotten out of bed 6 times since his Mom put him to bed and the last time I had to threaten him with a beating not seen since Tek put his glove in Slappy's face in 2004. Rakes drank a glass of water right before he went to bed at 9:00 and he just got up for the 4th time to go to the bathroom. Ciera is in bed with a 100 degree fever and Ang is downstairs watching reruns of "Talk Soup" on E waiting for me to come down so we can talk about what happened today.
Meanwhile I'm at the computer, hoping I can win the stand off and she'll go to sleep before I have to come downstairs to pee or go to bed, whichever comes first.
So I ask you; is wanting to spend a few hours on the computer by myself too much to ask?
Meh. One day they'll all move away and I'll have all the time I want.
And I'll be praying for somebody to come ask me if they can go to the bathroom, have a drink of water, or will I tuck them back into bed.
My life is the definition of irony.
Some Things: February 4, 2016
3 days ago