I’m sitting on my sofa, it’s 9 p.m. and I don’t know what to do.
I worked until about 8pm again today. It’s not a very strenuous job, but it ends pretty late. It’s pretty well paid, so I’m not complaining.
What I find a pity is that I can’t enjoy my two daughters, aged 4 and 6.
When you become an adult, the reality of life hits you and you realize that you have to make sacrifices.
I could have a normal job, of course, and come home at 6 p.m. and spend two more hours with my two little monsters. But the bills aren’t going to pay themselves, and in the country I live in, life isn’t exactly cheap.
Today again, like every other day of the week, I got home around 8.30 p.m., and today again it was the same deal as usual.
And today again, as I was getting out of the shower, I heard my wife and two daughters upstairs making a fuss.
My daughters’ bedroom is just above the living room, so it’s not unusual for me to hear my daughters walking, laughing or being scolded by Mom.
When I come home, I’m careful not to make too much noise. The reason is simple: if my daughters know I’m home while my wife is trying to get them to sleep, they’ll get excited and take even longer to sleep.
My daughters are the happiest sweethearts in the world, they love to laugh and have fun, and we can’t leave them alone in the evening, before going to sleep, otherwise it would be a real mess upstairs.
Hence, my wife usually stays with them for an hour or so, telling them stories, reading them books or singing their favorite songs.
If I were to show my face during this sacred ritual, everything my wife has built up would crumble, and neither I nor my wife wants our daughters to fall asleep at 11 p.m. or even midnight.
That’s why I usually stay downstairs in the living room, waiting for my daughters to go to sleep. I eat alone, tidy up any toys lying around and do the dishes.
The noises made by my wife and daughters are so familiar that I no longer pay attention to them, but I know they’re there.
Footsteps on the floor. I think the eldest is heading for the bathroom.
A book dropped, I think the youngest did it.
Mom grumbling: the two crazy little girls still won’t go to sleep.
Today again, my wife gives everything she’s got to get our girls to sleep.
But today is Friday, and tomorrow we’re spending the day at Granny’s.
Saturday at Granny’s is a kind of redemption for us: we forget all the tiredness of the week and have the best time ever. Even the cousins come.
What I found strange was the time it took my daughters to fall asleep today. Probably the excitement of the fact that they’ll be able to have fun all day at Grandma’s tomorrow.
I turned on the TV and kept the volume very low, and today again, the ritual was in full swing upstairs.
I love my girls, but I started to feel a little annoyed by the situation.
Oh, my phone’s ringing.
Another peculiarity of the ritual: my wife rings my phone twice to let me know that the girls are asleep and I can come upstairs.
But today, three rings.
Four rings.
Five rings.
I pick up the phone.
“Why won’t you pick up?!”
“You always ring twice!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. Are they asleep? Can I come up?”
“What do you mean? The girls were so over excited today that we went to Grandma’s around 7 p.m., we’re going to be there all night, so I wanted to give you a heads-up. I couldn’t call earlier, you know your girls, they were glued to Youtube on my smartphone in the car.”
Today again, the ritual is happening upstairs, in my daughters’ bedroom.
But today, for the first time, I’m alone in the house.