Boy in chair.
Cross-legged blond
lounged in coffee chair comfort
scribbling with a finger on tablet.
sunlight drafting through windows
a February afternoon
three groups of solitaries.
Blond boy, leg-crossed artist;
a blonde woman on business;
an Irish Viking, long descendant of Porthos; iced coffee and punk stickers on laptop,
buried in something digital.
a cross-legged boy blond,
drawing oblivious,
a one-two punch of soul and Lilith Fair soundtracking.
a fair-headed boy squirming
an athletic ballet of gestural art-making and focused purpose.
"I made a mistake!”
he says, tears welling.
"I used purple instead of blue!"
It's digital,
I say.
Press Undo.
Becca and I split parenting and work. One works, the other schools, plays, and raises young minds and hearts. Then we switch the next day. We have done a variation of this for over eleven years and going strong.
Strong-ish?
I am not avoiding the phrase SAHD (stay at home dad) for any particular reason, other than the fact that it doesn't quite apply in our case accurately. We both raise children, we both work, we both stay home at some points and work at other points. It's great when there's one parent to work five days and one parent to stay home five days or whatever, but that's not us. We keep things hopping and make things work. Most of the time, mostly well.