Starting in about an hour, Dave’s summer vacation officially begins. He’s taken six days off of work, bringing his grand total of Days Off (including weekends) to eleven. He totally deserves it – he’s been swamped at work lately. But we haven’t been together for eleven days in a row since Oliver was born. Naturally, there are pros to having Dave off for eleven days:
- The parent-to-child ratio will be even. This is big because I’m convinced some nights Julia sneaks into Oliver’s room so they can come up with ways to wear me down to the point where, if Julia were to ask if she and Oliver could play in traffic, I’d say yes.
- There will be another adult warm body to assist me in pulling Oliver down from the ceiling furniture while hissing, “Oliver! Get down from there!”
- Dealing with Oliver’s early morning mudslide shits will not be my sole responsibility.
- The chances that Dave will take one – or both – of the children out during the day, giving me some glorious alone time, are high. (Are you reading this, Dave? Hint, hint…)
- I might be able to sleep in a few mornings, which means I could take a walk on the wild side and stay up past 9.30pm. Rebel yell!