Single Parenting, Part 1: Chaos and crying

It was just the boys tonight and while I don't consider myself a real "planner," I usually make sure to have things in good order when I am single-parenting for any length of time. 

The "Rock Star Dad" look,
with Gavin in 2009

Early in the evening, I felt like Rock Star Dad. I worked with Gavin this afternoon to plan the menu for the next few days (if he has a say, he eats much better) and before we dropped Dede off at 5 pm for her weekend away, I already had everything laid out for dinner preparation when we returned.

I finish up the Mac and Cheese Chowder, add some fresh fruit to the plate, and walk it into the dining room for Gavin. He has already set the table, Bode is already eating and things are looking awesome! My confidence is rising by the second.

Then, and this is the point at which the night goes downhill for me, I notice Gavin has his index finger between the blades on his scissors. Stay cool, there was no trip to the ER. He simply was holding the scissors and his finger happened to be between the blades. The scissors weren't all the way open though; they were pretty tight to the skin.

Without raising my voice (but obviously with a very concerned look in my eyes), I say "No, no, no, no, no, no." I think the sixth one was what pushed the envelope. He looks at me, his head drops as he puts down the scissors, and then he looks back up.

Do you ever feel like life happens in slow motion? I see the eyes sink and moisten a bit first. Then comes just a hint of the lip quiver. Finally, full-fledged bawling. I feel terrible, but I still don't feel like I overreacted.

I pick him up and proceed to tell him "I love you" about 22 times and that I am not upset with him. I explain that while scissors are great and useful, they can also be dangerous and I was worried about him when I saw how he was playing with them. I threw a couple more "I love yous" in for good measure and he eventually returns to the table and eats like a champion.

I'm cleaning up the kitchen and starting to feel better about the evening, until Gavin comes in and says nonchalantly, "I think Bode pooped."

I take Bode upstairs while reassuring Gavin that I will not get poop on his bed since I'm going to use it to change Bode. Gavin sprints upstairs behind me to make sure I was joking.

Bode's on our bed now (Dede's side of course), and I open that diaper to a huge blob of dark chocolate fudge-colored poop. I'm not kidding. This was like the 90% cacao dark chocolate. Gavin bails immediately. I want to wail, but instead I say loudly, "Holy moly, Bode Frey."

Bode does not like the response and starts to cry. I already have this diaper open so I continue to work to change it while telling Bode "I love you" about 22 times and that I am not upset with him. I explain that while poop can be great and useful, it can also be dangerous and that I was worried about him when I saw what came out of his bum. I threw a couple more "I love yous" in for good measure and he eventually calms down, takes a bottle, and goes to bed.

But the evening isn't over...