The Part-Time Parenting Blues

"She's 97% crazy and 3% normal," D said to all of us in the car. He was referring to a certain girl who is exceptionally creative and artistic.

"Most artists and writers are part-crazy," I explained to him.

"Yes," said A, addressing D. "Take Dad, he's about 50% crazy and 50% normal. But I've noticed that the crazy things he comes out with help me see things in a new way. They are crazy but useful."

That made me feel good.



On the same trip across town, A turned to me and said, "You and I both have very long hair, Dad. You look cute with long hair. But you look very good with short hair -- that makes you look more...professional."

So, yesterday I cut a haircut.



There is an aspect of part-time single parenting that is emotionally difficult, at least for me. After an intense week where we spent almost every waking hour together, topped off by the wonderful baseball outing, now I am in a week where none of these kinds of conversations can occur.

The silence is making my chest hurt. (Either that, or something else is making my chest hurt.)

The good part of having what some parents call a "break" from parenting work is you can spend time with a girlfriend or boyfriend, if you happen to have one.

But my kids are never far from my front of mind, which is why I don't often have a girlfriend with me in this stage of my life. When I'm not with the kids, I often buy or find things that I put aside for them. I often write (here) about them. Today's post is an example. I am here writing about my kids with these words, thus put.

It is the end of a weekend. Sunny, breezy, summery. I bought about ten books today (for $10) and ran into a photographer friend at the book sale. He was scooping up many *huge* books -- almanacs, encyclopedias, dictionaries, some in a lot less than mint condition.

"Some of these I'll use for wrapping paper," my friend told me.

I thought that that sounded like a good idea so I went back to the reference section with a similar intent. I did buy one "photo mosaics" book that would make great wrapping paper.

But when I got home I set it aside for J, my 10-year-old daughter, instead.

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