My wife has gone down to North Carolina until Monday; leaving me with two insane toddlers, and feeling like some sort of Cameran Crowe-movie single-dad where things will be OK, utterly fall apart, and then be OK again. Except in this film, the feel-good third act probably won't take place. There was some thunder in New Jersey last night which scared the Holy Piss out of my kids. And not the good, Bruce Springsteen kind. I mean actual thunder. This occurred at 1 AM. Both of my kids started screaming so abruptly and hysterically I thought they were little Uma Thurman's from Pulp Fiction after she received the adrenalin shot.
It's funny to hear a three-year-old girl shout at you, "Daddy, what the Hell was THAT?!?!"
I of course, being the Anti-Mom with no ability to calm down and assure children that things will be alright, replied with a panicked yell of my own: "I have no idea!!! Let's just get down on the floor!!!!!"
So we proceeded to hide on the ground like we were doing a 1950's nuclear bomb drill.
We did not go to sleep and now I am at work. Watching children is hard fucking work.