I called Bob this morning. He's home manning the fort while I am here in Delaware visiting my friend and her family.
Men get all the credit. It's just wrong. Bob had brought Jack into the office for a meeting, and he was in the bullpen of the finance office when a woman asked him, "Why do you have young Master Jack with you today?"
He explained where I was and she stopped, her jaw practically unhinged and on the floor. By this point, several other women had stopped their work to listen (I should add the vast majority of his employees are women).
"You mean to tell me that you are taking care of the four kids by yourself while your wife is away on vacation alone?"
Bob nodded. His sphincter was already tightening for the verbal ass-kicking he knew was inevitable after relaying this exchange to me.
"You are the most awesome husband ever."
Good times. How may times over the course of the years have I gone it alone with the kids? How many have you? For me, it easily adds up to a year. Seriously. How many times has someone stopped me in the store, all four kids in tow, and complimented my multi-tasking prowess? Um, none. How many times do the women at Bob's office practically hump his leg over what a great daddy he is if he brings one of the kids in? Oh, a million.
You just know one of those Bettys are waiting for me to die in a plane crash on the way home.