Alone Again, Naturally

Yet again, I am single-parenting this week. Husband is helping to move his dad into a nursing home out west, yet having to travel about two hours from his brother's home to his dad's old apartment.

He really didn't want to go. I would have done the moving for him but Husband has power of attorney, so there were things needed to be done that only he could do. Seriously, I'm as fit as I ever was; lifting weights now for two years. Moving furniture wouldn't be an outlandish activity for me. Besides, Husband is self-employed. If he doesn't work, he doesn't get paid.

Having him gone, however, brings new opportunities for me and the kids. I'm totally indulging in the kitchen, making stuff that Husband hates. I've got a box of instant mashed potatoes that Daughter would hug if she didn't think she'd get teased. I made baked onion rings. Yeah, they're healthier than the deep-fried ones from Harvey's but, uh, onion rings were dinner. We had ricotta ravioli with ketchup. If you're not one of my sisters, you'll never understand that one, I'll bet. Come to think of it, I think I remember Middle Sister's youngest eating ketchup ravioli once, so the tradition lives on through the branches.

The kids and I went over to Middle Sister's last weekend. The youngest took my hand as soon as I got in. "Auntie Jen, your hair is red. Your lips are red and your hair is red. Your hair is RED!" He kept touching it all afternoon. "So soft!" Apparently, he likes it, unlike my mother and one of Daughter's friends who said I look like a clown. I'd just shrug that one off, but I think the boy is the next Carson Kressley and I've always at least listened to style advice from my gay friends. I'm still liking it, though. I've just gone from black liquid liner to brown to soften things up a bit. However, the retro red lipstick stays.

Husband left just after we had parent-teacher interviews. Daughter's lasted all of about four minutes, and only lasted that long because I had asked the teacher to explain these new diagnostic tests and Daughter's results. "My job would be so easy if I had a whole classroom of (Daughters)," she said.

Middle Child's, on the other hand, lasted about a half-hour. His report card was a sea of A's (except in gym and drama), so academics aren't his problem. It's the fact that he's soooo methodical about everything. He's the last one to get his snowsuit on or off. He's the last one to get his books and pencils ready. He's the last one to hand in a report. And if he's answering a question, he answers it and then somehow segues into another idea that would fascinate him but would lose the rest of the class. Like when he answered that one Catholic sacrament was marriage, he then went on about the break up of the Church during Henry VIII's reign and, oh, let's also talk about his many wives. Or how about when the class had to write a proper letter to the teacher, where everyone else's was "thanks for teaching me", Middle Child's first sentence was, "Have you ever wondered about the dung beetle?" And it ended, "I can tell by your age that you're probably going to retire soon, but you are still good at your job." Thank God his teacher has a great sense of humour.