It started with leftover chicken.

Last night, I cooked a roasted chicken for Aaron and me. It turned out perfectly. I mean, anytime your six year-old asks for seconds, you’ve done some “Iron Chef”- level poultry mastery. We laughed, we ate, we cleaned up. We went through the rest of our evening, and I put him to bed after we read and cuddled.

This afternoon, I pulled out the chicken. And as I took off the plastic wrap, I felt the tears.  Because I realized that by the time I see him again, the chicken would be gone or spoiled.

A whole weekend without a part of my heart…again.

And now, here I am. Compelled to finally start sharing what I feel as I struggle to navigate going from full-time Dad to half-time parent.

Our grasp on what we love and how we maintain control over our emotions and order our lives when faced with tremendous life-changes is tenuous, at best.

So, this is now a part of my therapy. And my sounding board. And my comedic sketchpad, on occasion. Because I really do hope that those who join me for this journey will, indeed, find solace as they cope with their own trials and have cause to smile and laugh with me at times.

Just not at this moment.

Right now, I hug his pillow and sob.