As I might have mentioned, my wife, Jean, is off in Bangalore this week, eating mangoes and wearing saris and lining up factory workers to abuse with bamboo canes. Which leaves me here in Brooklyn alone. With Sasha.
To be honest, I haven’t done this whole parenting-on-my-own thing in quite a while. The last time, actually, was when I took Sasha to San Francisco for a week (for work), but that was such a different kind of situation that it’s hard to compare.
Or, hm, maybe it wasn’t so different. Being entirely on my own as a parent, wherever I am, requires me to engage in a little self-discipline. When Jean is around, I know that if I linger a few extra minutes on the couch after dinner, she’ll clear the plates away and wash the milk bottles and do that cleaning-up shit I hate. And she’ll also maybe prepare Sasha’s school bag for the morning, and put clothes in the hamper, and whatever else happens behind the scenes that I usually fail to notice.
Which is not to say I don’t usually do much here. I’m the guy in charge of picking Sasha up from school, biking her home, playing with her, bathing her, and doing all the chores (tooth-brushing, etc.) that lead up to her going to bed. And frankly, much of this is easier to do when Jean’s not around—because with Jean around, Sasha thinks she can choose between parents, calling out “Mommy!” when it’s bath time, then rejecting her and calling for me when it’s time to brush teeth. If Mommy’s not there, Mommy’s not there, and Sasha just has to suck it up and deal with me.
Not that I want this to continue much longer. With Jean away, I can’t keep up my post-bedtime routine of going out to fabulous parties and getting massively drunk. Instead, I’m watching House on Hulu at home and getting massively drunk, which isn’t quite as much fun. Even worse, I have to empty the dishwasher. Come home soon, Jean, please!