Dear Baby Daddy,
I’m gonna need you to come home. I realize that you are out of town because you’re working. Your jobs pays the mortgage, buys food, clothes, blah blah blah. I am not cut out to be a single parent.
The boy has been going to Bible School all week. Sure, he’s having a fabulous time. Yes, a whole team of fantastic volunteers are doing wonder things. I’m confident he’s learning about Jesus, and it’s good for his soul. But I have to remember what color shirt he’s supposed to wear every day and what item he’s supposed to take for the daily mission. Like there’s any chance I’m gonna get both of us up, ready and out the door by 7:30 every morning AND remember it’s Tuesday so he needs to wear a red shirt and bring a nickel for some worthy cause or other.
By the way, we have to talk about the nickel day. I’m pretty sure he convinced someone *he* was a worthy cause to donate the nickel because he came home with the nickel on that day. That, or he’s got the concept of the offering plate backward. He is pleading the 5th on where it came from.
Just for good measure, I had to look at budgets IN A SPREADSHEET for the rebuild on the broke house last night. If we do everything we thought would be fun, we’re gonna be broke. But that’s a discussion for when.you.get.home.
But the real reason I know I suck at this gig when left to my own devises: this morning I accidentally used Monkey Boy’s toothbrush. I haven’t made a mistake like that since he was and infant and not sleeping through the night.
I suggest you get on a plane tomorrow and get yourself back to Arkansas.
Your loving wife,