When the husband is away.

Scott went out of town for work this week.

Hey, watch this –  things will go wrong that wouldn’t normally go wrong if he didn’t have to go out of town. It’s Murphy’s Law coming to you, live! From my house!

Scott told me he would be gone from Thursday until Sunday. OK. Sure. I can handle this. Really, the only time he’s missed is the 6 pm – bedtime time slot anyway. I got it. Sell, sell, sell! Send me a picture of the Alamo.

Thursday: Emma had to get 3 cavities filled. Emma’s appointment went smoothly. But I had to bring Kate, my curveball. Entertaining a 2-year-old in a waiting room is the last place I wanted to be.

Kate was clingy. She whined about other kids sharing toys with her. She ripped my necklace off my neck and made herself a lasso to fling at the woman across from me. She had a meltdown when I took it away.

We came home. I got the girls fed and Emma off to school.

Kate goes down for a nap. Ten minutes later. *cough* *cough* GAG, SPLATTER. GAG, SPLATTER.”Mommy!!!”…GAG, SPLATTER.

No. No. No. NOOOO!!!

The stench hit me on the 3rd step up. It was everywhere. The bed sheets. The wall. The carpet in bedroom. The carpet in hallway. I was trying to exhale as long as possible.

I grabbed Kate and held her. Puke goes flying across my shirt. I turn my shirt up from the bottom and she neatly filled my shirt like a bowl of soup. Why didn’t I just carry her to the toilet? I do not know.

I pull off her clothes and start the throw up pile to go in laundry. I put Kate in the bath. She throws up in water. Kate looks at me, with a droopy, dazed face and asks, “why is ‘dere poop in here.” Poor kid was out of it. I start over then had to drag her with me to pick up Emma from school.

On the walk home, Emma poops her pants on accident. Of course.

The girls didn’t eat dinner that night. Emma wasn’t feeling too good either. Both girls went to bed early. I had a hot date in my sweats with the laundry machine the rest of the night.

Friday: I woke up to Emma screaming about poop. I stumbled into her room and see a blurred dark pile of something in the middle of her room. I didn’t have my contacts in so I got on my hands and knees to see if this is the source of the smell or a toy. Dog crap. The dinosaur dump of dumps 1 inch from my face. Bailey!! The 8-year-old black lab, the dog who would roll over and die before peeing or pooping in the house, knelt down and pushed a steamy fat one for all of us to breathe in as the sun came up. She has never done this since her puppy days. Of course.

I go downstairs to get more carpet cleaner and realize it’s like a cold tundra in the living room. I check the thermostat. It’s down to 62. Our heater broke. I figure out that I needed to change our filter. Well, what do you know when I take a look outside. Snow. A steady stream of big fat flakes went on for at least an hour. Nice of you to show up to the party, snow. I move along some more laundry then realize the washer is leaking water all over the floor. Of course.

I decide that we’ll just hang out upstairs where it was a lot warmer. I would figure out the filter and the washer later, after the snow went away. I cursed the Universe for putting me in the husband-out-of-town twilight zone. I might have cried. I drop Emma off at school. By the time I get Kate and myself ready to run errands, our heater kicks back on. And then like Disney magic… the dark clouds moved away…the glorious sun came out. It was 55 degrees by the time Emma got out of school. What snow? I’m pretty sure that only existed in my head. That is Kansas for you. What a freak of nature with the weather and my twilight zone house. I’m convinced the Universe knew I was a single parent at that moment in time. None of this would have happened if Scott didn’t have to go out of town. Guarantee it.

Scott just walked in. Everything is normal again, even if it’s only been 15 minutes since he’s been here. If I have learned anything from this weekend, it’s that you single parents are ROCK. STARS. You really deserve a medal. I applaud every one of you.

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