February! Welcome to the month of manufactured love, pink and red everythings, and general warm fuzzies. While I am decidedly cynical about the commercialization of Valentine’s Day, I am also decidedly in love with love and have already been to the dollar store to stock up on Valentine’s gear to surprise the kids.
Speaking of love, it also happens to be Carl’s birthday month (aawwwww!), and in the interest of being prepared, and also never leaving my house, I ordered his present weeks ago, only to have my first ever case of a lost or stolen package that was apparently left “on, near, or around the front door, possibly in the bushes.” Really? This seems like a strange system to me, but I did my due diligence in searching the bushes and questioning the neighbours, and alas, I had to reorder. Here’s hoping I am still organized enough to be on time, take two.
While we’re on the subject of Carl (it’s a good one), let’s talk about his championship dadding. Last week I came home from a week (!) away for a work trip which happened to fall in the vicinity of my family, which meant a couple extra days were in order to catch up with little-known baby nephews, their parents, and my parents. It was the longest I’d ever been away from the kids, and Carl stepped up to the plate admirably in my absence. After talking about it with him and a couple friends, we’ve determined that leaving one’s husband with four kids for a week is highly recommended. Not only did the kids have a fabulous time (they went to the pool 3 times!), I have never felt so appreciated. This is not to say Carl didn’t appreciate me before, but there’s something about being the one left behind to man the ship that can really only be understood by someone who has been left behind themselves.