Daddy In Charge

I knew it would eventually happen. Last weekend, Jaime went off and left me with the kids with NO ADULT SUPERVISION. I'm not even sure what she did was entirely legal.

The occasion was a friend's wedding in Utah. Jaime had planned for months on attending the wedding by herself, and had put the events into motion that would allow for me to stay home with Kate and Davis. She'd successfully got Davis 100% on solid food weeks ago. She'd prepared Kate by telling her about all of the fun times she was going to have with Dad (including trips to the park, to Thrifty Drug Store for ice cream, etc.).

But getting my head around this weekend was probably her toughest hurdle of all.

In actuality, the weekend was just fine. I spent most of the evening before she left preparing an hour by hour timeline of when the kids needed to eat, sleep and play (and what foods they were the most likely to eat at what times of the day). I made sure that she would be carrying her cell phone at all times when she was gone, even during the ceremony (hey, I couldn't run the risk that I would be stuck not knowing whether Kate likes her grilled cheese cut corner-to-corner or down the middle).

But the kids did fine -- we only had one major mishap.

On Saturday morning, the three of us ventured to Costco. We did some shopping, and then hit the lunch counter for some pizza for Kate and me and a hot dog for Davis. I got the food and a drink cup and started maneuvering the nifty Costco shopping cart (where two toddlers can sit side by side) toward a table to eat our lunch. I realized that with the pizza in one hand and the hot dog in the other, I wouldn't be able to fill my soda cup before dropping off some of the stuff at our table. So we found a table, and I put down the pizza and hot dog and pushed the shopping cart up against the side of the table. Then, realizing that I couldn't leave either child at the table while I ran back and filled my soda cup, I grabbed one of them in each arm and the cup in my hand and headed back for the soda. Once there, I filled the cup with lemonade but didn't have a spare hand to put a lid on the cup. No problem, I thought. I got back to the table and got the kids seated and started to give the kids their food.

Then it got interesting. I gave Kate her plate with her piece of pizza on it, and then turned to break Davis's hot dog into pieces. Seconds later I heard Kate crying, and saw that she had dropped her pizza face down onto the concrete below the table (of course). In my haste to stop Kate from crying and give her some of my pizza, I then knocked over the lemonade, where it soaked my pizza, Davis's hot dog and poured off the edge of the table into my lap.

I looked around and noticed a few observers watching how I was navigating all of this. I casually picked up my pizza, allowed the lemonade to drain off of it (the side benefit was that it also rinsed off a lot of the grease!), and then took several bites of my now lemonade flavored pizza, never bothering to even acknowledge that I had a lapful of lemonade. I pulled the soaked bun off Davis's hot dog, broke it up into pieces for him, and then convinced Kate that a few bites of lemony pizza was just about as good as it was going to get for us that day.

Through it all, the two 70+ gentlemen seated across the way seemed to be enjoying the fact that I was dealing with this, and they didn't have to.

Sunday went smoothly, except that since the kids got to bed late the night before, they woke up late too and I was an hour late to church. Can't say that was an entirely bad idea . . .

Sunday dinner was great - they loved Dad's burritos (which I think are better than the El Pollo Loco version they get occasionally). We played in the back yard for a while before bed, and Kate decided to take Davis for a few rides on her four wheeler:

Note: she still can't steer (nor does she seem to care about this).

By the time Jaime got home late on Sunday night, the kitchen was clean, the living room was straightened, the dishwasher was running and the rest of the mess was conveniently stashed in the upstairs bedroom where she didn't notice it immediately.

I almost think Jaime expected me to be more frazzled by that point. But hey, what does it take to frazzle the guy who can sit through an entire lunch with two crying toddlers and lemonade soaked shorts?

More than that, I tell you. But I don't want to find out exactly what just yet.