It’s almost nine o clock, and I’ve been trying to get one of the kids to bed for over an hour after spending the last two running bath and book duty. I narrowly escape falling asleep in their bed but eventually make it out and down the stairs, only to run into a sea of dirty dishes calling. I’m annoyed that I can’t now do, you know, MY THINGS, and say something less than perfect and frankly not very loving to my wife. It takes a while, but eventually the air is cleared, and things resume a desirable shape. A lingering feeling remains though, that this is a pattern that I repeat all too often.
What happened? I was enjoying the time with the kids. I actually enjoy laying bed with them and running through my playlist of bedtime songs or playing a news reporter reporting a news story for the day. The mood was blissful just a moment ago. But something happens in between being a Dad and the next thing I do as a husband or maybe as a friend or one of the many other roles that I play.