So it seems I didn't post to LOD this weekend. I think everyone in the world is OK with this, because frankly, after 24 straight days of bloviation, I was sort of sick of myself. It was time to put down the bellows in this wordsmithery and do something radical. Like socialize.
For you see, like the great Colossus of Rhodes, which mythically stood akimbo while Aegean merchants gazed up at its junk, I am a single parent with a foot in two very disparate worlds. Half the time, I'm a parent navigating a bedtime routine; the other half, I'm walking the streets of Manhattan, legally acquitted from any sort of childrearing whatsoever. It's a defensible lifestyle, given the dual opportunity it offers, but decompressing from one to the other is a tricky business. You need to learn to pace yourself during transition, or you can get the social bends.
Friday was a typical example of this. I spent the day with TwoBert before I corralled Robert from school and saw Toy Story 3 as part of a birthday party. Moxie and I swapped the boys at the afterparty, and before I knew it I was at a table of childless people trying to keep up with their ridiculously unburdened lifestyles. I spent about half an hour with my face in my dumplings before I could construct a lucid thought that didn't involve This Darling Thing My Kid Did.
It's been a kid's age since my weekends could turn on a dime, and it's still cool to pretend I can still flit from flower to flower without a moment's thought. But when my kids came along, my DNA sort of changed over. I became a planner. A shepherd. A dad, whose mind is seldom far from what his kids might be reading, or building, or poking with sticks.
I'm getting better at my single man's repartee, and if I'm out long enough, I can reinhabit the Ghost of LOD Past and remember when I had only me to care about. Every so often, though, when I cross the street, I catch myself instinctively reaching back for TwoBert's hand.