Abby works on Saturdays so that means it’s dad city, all day. Or at least until Abby gets home. It’s a lot easier than the daily life of Roby-duty that Abby does, mostly we just play. We play and we listen to music and we go on a walk. If I can keep the kitchen clean while I make her breakfast and lunch, great, but that’s the height of my aspiration. I don’t try to get much done, I don’t try to get any work in on my novel or in my sketchbook, I don’t try to read or exercise or clean, really. We hangout and sing songs and fart around. It’s great, but it’s not the work of real life that we see in the week, and once mom gets home. 

The business of being home and making home, and the difference between being a fun parent and a serious one, is nuanced and difficult to measure. 

I don’t like the idea of a fun parent and a more corrective parent, but I can already see it happening. It’s not serious, it’s not a problem, but it is an emergent quality of people being different, and child care being...dynamic. It’s something to be aware of, absolutely. Roby is so liquid, so fun, so silly, that there’s not a lot of room for contrived version of this good cop bad cop routine. Mostly, mom’s in charge of some of the stuff that’s less playful. That doesn’t mean she’s in charge of the bad stuff, just stuff that’s serious, like food, wether it’s meals or milk.

Abby’s a great mom, and we’re lucky to have her. 

I promise to use my fun powers for good.