My wife is gone.
As in: Honey, I am going to the greatest city on Earth to have a blast with my hottie girlfriendz and so you can have the kids for three days by yourself.
For the first time ever.
Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t leave me alone with them for ten seconds. But, Monica loves the big town: the glitz/the glammer/the Mojitos/and the Mojitos. And she’s outta here.
So, we’ve both decided that we might as well leave an account of our separate voyages behind. For the FBI. Or the Sociology Professors. For our kids and our family and friends. I mean, there is no way that we aren’t each about to have wildly different/incredibly crazy weekends, so we both we figured: hey let’s live blog the whole thing.
Both my kids, Henry, 1, and Violet, 3, have been sad sacks of snot the last ten days. Their little chests are still rattling and their tiny noses are still leaking, so the odds are already stacked against me as far as who is going to have the most fun over the next three days.
Oh heck, let’s be perfectly honest: the odds are stacked against me in just about every category. Except maybe: “Most Likely To Have A Seriously Disturbing Nervous Breakdown.”
But, the show must go on.
I’ve spent my whole life up to now getting ready for this weekend, for the responsibility of two little lives in my humble hands.
Just like my wife has spent her whole life up to now getting ready to dangle from the top of the Empire State Building on the six o’clock news with a cocktail in one hand and a skyscraper in the other.
Come join us this weekend over at our He Said/She Said column.
Because you know you like to watch.