So life as a single father and writer is challenging. Time seems to be one of those things that doesn’t happen for one who needs to write, raise children, work a full time job, and is going through a divorce as well as learning how to be single again. I am ill prepared. I sleep 4-5 hours a night. I take anti-depressants. I am lonely.
I wake in the mornings with immediate action happening in an otherwise zombie like body. I trudge around waking children if they hadn’t woke me already and wander about trying to feed them without waking my parents. Oh yes, did I mention I had to move back home with my already helicopter parents. It sucks big guerilla balls. Anyway, I manage to feed them and then I bypass food in order to shower. I come out and they are usually ready to get changed into clothes at that point. My older boy can pick his own clothes thank goodness. My youngest is like trying to put a tuxedo on a carp.
If my inner beast mode dad hasn’t kicked in yet and my patience has stayed intact, then we move onto grooming them and brushing their teeth. From their I take my goblins and say be free until we leave. They meander into their own little worlds and I attempt to shove food in my face like a death row inmate and pour nearly scolding coffee down my scarred throat in an attempt to jump start my body.
The time has come to load them up. If the youngest is staying with Grandma and Grandpa, I give him a hug and wish them luck. If he isn’t, I drag him out of the house like he is being taken to the gallows. My oldest usually looses his shoes, or looks for his backpack, or finds some other reason to drag his feet. We make it to the car by the grace of the Universe.
I drive around like Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver and deliver them with a quickness to their perspective destinations. I sigh a breath of relief. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys and would slaughter anyone who fucks with them, but I don’t know one parent whose shoulders don’t drop a little after they drop their kids off.
I then proceed to shove myself through eight house of work. Doing a soul crushing job weighs on you like adding a small pebble to a bag on your back everyday. Do that over nine years and you want to just let your legs go and collapse under the weight. But you can’t, you push through because kids have to eat, alimony has to be paid, creditors circle like vultures waiting to pick the meat from your proverbial monetary bones.
I stopped smoking 9 years ago when I found out I was having my first child. I was like fuck this noise, it’s expensive and my wife smoked and quit and I wasn’t going to be a dick about it. Plus, I had to not be dying of cancer on these kids from doing something stupid like smoking. So, I stopped. I may have one cigarette when I am really drunk, but I usually feel like crap the next day and hate the smell of it. So I am over it. So that little escape does not exist anymore.
I get off work and pick up my boys, I hug them and ask them about their days. Sometimes the stories vary in length or they are like the never ending story. I enjoy hearing about their days as a happy escape from my day. I listen to them talk to each other in the car. I occasionally chime in on their conversations of come in to regulate on an argument.
I come home with them to my Mom cooking dinner or us going out to dinner. I miss my own kitchen. I miss making food for my boys. But it is not my kitchen and I don’t want to overstep my bounds in a place that is not my own. I know they would say otherwise, but it doesn’t feel that way, period.
My youngest debates actually eating. My oldest picks through his food and eats what he wants. I eat the food because I am hungry and have to show my appreciation for the food. We talk, we eat, and we clean up. I wash the boys after dinner and they run around in PJ’s afterward. Washing these boys has honestly gotten a lot easier, so I am thankful for that. I usually just hand out in the bathroom to make sure no one dies and manage time because we are on a septic system. I hang out with them and we watch cartoons or play games.
From there it is usually bed time. I take them to bed. Some nights it is a scene from the WWE and some nights its cuddles and kisses. I have them FaceTime their mother and they talk to her for 5 minutes or so before bed. Then they say goodbye and we go from there. I pull my lil one’s toddler bed closer to his brother’s and turn on music for lullabies and sing them to sleep. they now fall asleep within minutes with me singing to them. It is something that has taken time to figure out. But with a combination of my touching their legs or patting them and singing soft songs to them, it comforts them and they fall asleep. I used to just want to be alone and get them to sleep. But feeling their small bodies finally relax under my touch and hearing their sleep sounds in an otherwise melodic room, it makes me happy.
So by 8-9pm I go by my parents and talk to them for a little before retiring to my room. I go on my writing social networks and talk to friends. My mind is muddled from the day and I try and see if I can find some strand of creativity in my body left from the day. I sometimes do and I start writing. But other days I just end up playing Skyrim or talking to friends. I feel like I am lost in a way but I also feel like I am so different. I am not who I was in either way. I am not who I was before I was married, nor am I the same guy I was when I was married. I am a new creature. I am something else. I am a single father.
I conclusion I feel I must say, my life is crazy, it’s packed, and it’s a regular cluster fuck. But all in all it isn’t half bad. I hope to use my tax return to finance my first and last months rent. I also hope to finally come to a new agreement for the money with my ex because the original six months is up on our agreement and something new must be discussed. I also hope to be filing soon. So this is how it is. This is my life. So if I ever sound a little crazy or a little nuts… Well now you know why.