Home alone

Some people are lonely.  I’m not one of those people.  I have the opposite condition.  I have a wife.  I have two daughters, four and eleven.  I adore my family and they are the center of my universe.  But they have a gift for relentlessly ensuring that I am never, ever lonely.  It’s like they work in shifts.  And they are unfazed by the concept of “personal space.”   I can’t read the newspaper while sitting on the toilet without someone blow-drying their hair or asking me to put shoes on a Barbie doll or telling me about the boy at school who uses the F word on the playground.  Jeez, people.  A closed bathroom door should stand for something.  

Our four-year-old is also a night stalker with the ability to silently and randomly appear at our bedside when she’s supposed to be in her bed.  This can be terrifying at times and awkward at others.  The point is there is not a facet of life at home that is deemed off limits when it comes to invading Dad’s privacy.  Dad's on the telephone?  What better time to demand a snack or thrust the consent form for next week’s field trip in his face.  Dad's enjoying a book?  Be aware that nothing in the world will be too mundane or trivial to share with him during the inevitable interruption.  

Well, I finally caught a break.  Carissa and the girls left town for a 10-day road trip to Nebraska to visit Carissa’s family.  I was left behind.  The first day, Thursday, was bliss. Sitting on the toilet reading the newspaper in solitude.  Making coffee wearing only my underwear without a tween-aged daughter rolling her eyes.  Enjoying a run after work because I didn’t have to pick anyone up from pre-school or piano practice or basketball.  I had left over spaghetti  for dinner.  Then I watched The Godfather (the best movie ever) while sitting alone in a king-size bed drinking vodka on the rocks.  Living like a freaking rock star.

Day two was almost as good.  It was Friday so when I came home from work I made a tuna sandwich and chased it down with a beer.  OK, two beers maybe three.  Then I talked on the phone to my brother without once intervening in a sibling blood feud or pouring someone a glass of orange juice.  Later I defiantly left the toilet seat up after peeing.  Then it was off to bed with a glass or so of Jameson on the rocks and The Godfather II (the second best movie ever).  Charlie Sheen should be calling me for advice on how to party.

Day three was Saturday – an entire day to myself.  I slept until 7:30 a.m., and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast followed by a drive to the mountains for a long trail run.  I came home, ate lunch, showered, napped, and went to dinner with friends.  Chatted with Carissa and the girls on the phone and then went to bed.  The Godfather III is not one of the greatest movies ever so I searched for something on Netflix’s streaming video library.  Nothing sounded good.  I eventually settled for a Sarah Silverman standup comedy special and fell asleep.  Even rock stars have slow nights.

Day four was Sunday.  No waking up to the pitter-patter of little feet bustling down the hallway.  No owner of those happy feet hopping into the big bed to snuggle with her mom and dad while they share the Sunday paper and drink coffee.   Nope.  No interruptions of any kind.  I got up, made some coffee, and read the newspaper (I mean I actually read the newspaper and not “read the newspaper” although I also did in fact “read the newspaper”  but you know what i mean).  I went for a run.  Got groceries.  Wondered why I hadn’t heard from Carissa and the girls yet today.  Made a ham sandwich.  Then I found some superglue and fixed two of Sydney’s old chess trophies that her little sister had broken a month ago and that had been sitting on the kitchen counter by the telephone since then waiting to be repaired.  Started  a load of laundry.  Reset the timer on the automatic sprinklers.  Took out the recycling.  Grilled a steak and some asparagus for dinner and sat on the deck eating my meal.  Alone.  Couldn't find anything interesting on TV.  Wandered aimlessly.  Put the toilet seat down after peeing.  Went to bed. 

I guess I should admit it.  It took less than four days to drift from blissfulness to loneliness.  I miss my girls.  All three of them.  Today is Day 7.  I would love to sit in a hot gym tonight watching 11-year-old girls play basketball or read bedtime stories to a four-year-old or even argue with Carissa about when we should remodel the kitchen.  The truth is that the frenetic quality of family life contributes far more to my happiness than it takes.  Apparently I needed a reminder.  

That said,  would it kill any of you to leave me alone when I'm "reading the newspaper" behind a closed bathroom door?