Home Alone

On the Friday before Father's Day, my first as an expectant father, my wife left me. Don't worry, she came back on Sunday.

Before we decided to take Labor Day weekend literally, my wife and I had whirlwind plans for the long weekend. Two of our friends, one of mine from high school, two of hers from law school, are getting married Labor Day weekend. The first wedding, where my wife was to be a bridesmaid, will be Friday, Sept. 1 in Long Island. The second, two days later in Saint Louis. Flush with expendable cash, energy, and liver, we planned to attend both.

Being otherwise occupied of Labor Day weekend, those whirlwind plans were abbreviated to my wife attending a bridal shower this weekend in New York. I had an unavoidable conflict on Saturday morning, leaving my wife to fend for herself (with her mother) up I-95 and the Jersey Turnpike, while I had to spend the weekend at home. Alone. Woe was me.

With the end of my Healthy Challenge Competition coming to a close in a few days, I couldn't fit in as much gluttony as I would have liked. I more than made up for it in sloth and laziness. But, come Saturday evening, I began to run out of deadly sins to practice, unless cleanliness and loneliness snuck on that list somehow.

So I didn't live it up in pure bachelor bliss the past 48 hours. But I did reconnect with my own bed for some quality time and I managed to ruin my wife's Father's Day present by finding it while cleaning and reading it. C'est la vie.

It was a fairly uneventful Father's Day 'round these parts. Despite getting a few "almost" Father's Day cards and calls, it's hard for me to fully embrace the day. It's getting credit for something I have not yet done. Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with the accolades. But come laud me next year, when I have nine months of successful child-rearing under my belt, and then we can talk about a holiday.