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I pulled the night shift last night. To be honest, I pull it more often than my wife. Mainly because she’s a bad parent. Just kidding. She swears that’s not the real reason. She also swears that I better not write that. No, I pull the night shift because she works late and, many times, thanks to Dante making her schedule, she works early the next morning.

SheepdogI hardly work. I’m basically a SAHD that moonlights at a paying job. “Paying” being a relative term. Needless to say, our home revolves on an axis of shiftwork.

Quality time with my wife consists mainly of sleeping next to each other, although we often don’t know if the other is even there. Still, it’s a nice thought.

We have two sick kids right now. One is teething and one is coughing. Both are requiring extra attention, which makes the shifts that much harder on the, well, everything. Less sleep, more snot. That’s my mantra. In fact, in the few minutes that I’ve been writing this post I’ve had to stop to unclog some apple from the mouth of Thing 2, the teether, and consult on the consistency of a bowl movement for Thing 1, the cougher. His exact words being, “DADDY! I THINK MY BOTTOM JUST THREW UP!” It had.

The shifts are going into overtime. My nights are spent on the couch with crying boys and Chet Baker. My days are spent with a laundry basket full of shirts turned handkerchiefs and a headache that makes a brainfreeze sound nice.

So my wife and I pass in the night like two ships sailing out to different seas. Thankfully, Dingy 1 and Dingy 2 know how to keep our hearts in the harbor and our eyes on the shore, covered in sand and snot as it is.