Every so often you get your nose rubbed in exactly how much you DON'T have a life when you are a parent.
We had planned today around having a sitter in the afternoon so we could work on Missy's bedroom together. In all the time we've been working on it we haven't ever actually worked together - it's always been Mojo doing the child care and me working on the remodel (mostly because it's been heavy work better suited for the one of us with the bigger body mass).
But now we're getting to the finish work and were looking forward to doing some teaming on the bedroom. Until the sitter called in sick around noon.
Well. Fucketty fuck. That shot any hope we might have of doing anything. Not that we didn't have a pleasant day and I got to cook a good meal (spinach ricotta ravioli in a mushroom sauce, definately a keeper) and we went for an idle walk around the neighborhood in the surprisingly mild evening.But it grates, when something like this happens and rips away the veneer of order and control we pretend to have over our lives and exposes their irretrievably kid-centric nature. We're Slaves to Genetic Inheritance and we need to somehow smile and be okay with that. It's not easy and it's not fun and I won't pretend otherwise.