Losing Track of Time

I keep forgetting what day of the week it is, and with David leaving today, it’s even worse.  Like, he should be gone on a Monday is what my brain is telling me, but, no, he left and we went to church and there were thousands of other people there, so it has to be a Sunday, but it just doesn’t feel like it.

I read once that for parents of young children, weekends don’t exist because the kids will still be up and still on the same routine as every other day and pretty much, that’s been true this summer.  I’m sure it would be different for a family who puts their kids in daycare, but having the boys home all day everyday, it is very easy to forget what day of the week it actually is.

David returns to work “this day” as James would say, and while most people would say, “Nuh-uh, it’s just TBA, that’s not work.” I would say, it takes him away from the family and is related to his profession, so, yeah, I consider it work.  Maybe for any other guy, it would be a vacation — away from the nagging wife, the dirty dishes, the toddler tantrums, the screaming baby (oh? not a baby anymore? have you heard that kid scream? yeah, still a baby, at least the baby until he’s a big brother.) … but I think Dave will really miss us, our dirty dishes, and our tantrums, yes, even mine.  It’s been a super short summer and we’re sad to see it go.

At least he’ll be home for Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.  (What day is it again?)