When Daddy Works Late

My husband has the kind of job where there’s quite a bit of working from home and there are often overtime hours. This complicates dinner time.

See, toddlers are a little notorious around dinner time for a reason. They haven’t eaten. They have played hard all day. They are worn out. They are all out of cope. They need stability, routine, food, and bed. All of which get thrown off, when my husband gets home late.

So, we have to cope. We have to get dinner as far done as we can without spoiling it and then play a waiting game. Something that allows us to pass the time without requiring patience or skills, both of which are in short supply by the dinner hour. Something that doesn’t involve cuddling, because cuddling leads to ill-timed napping.

Fiona and I? We dance. Which turns into tag which turns back into dancing.

It wouldn’t work if we were any faster than we are, but we run circles around our living room, into the dining room around the table and back to the living room, where, arms out, we turn into spinning, dancing diving airplanes.The last couple times we’ve mostly played this song:

Somehow, we seem to find our balance in the twirling dance and joyous release of playing together. And, oddly, that makes the time of day when we’re just so done with everything, that witching hour of not-quite-dinner-time, that time where daddy-works-late, one of my favorite times of day.

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