Home Alone: Day 1

Mrs. Smitty has left for Florida with her girlfriends. They are going to check out baseball studs in Spring Training and visit some Disney sites.

Before we all revel in a weekend diet of strippers, booze and Schedule 1 narcotics, she didn't take the boy. My son is home, with me. So my weekend diet is now chicken nuggets, kids' music and chocolate milk.

But I am quite thrilled. Some solid quality time with my son, to absolutely ensure that the Smitty genetic code is frimly planted in my boy. Oggling women, staring at boobs, farting contests, over-eating, sleeping late, laziness and a demand for instant gratification are all a part of Smitty Jr.'s future and I have the next 5 days to make sure it is firmly in place.

So it is officially Day 1. Mrs. Smitty left yesterday morning after dropping Jr. off at day care. We survived our first night; on the docket was some rousing song-and-dance from The Laurie Berkner Band (for any parents out there, she is absolute GOLD...the songs are catchy and vaguely less than annoying and the kids love it), no less than 3 times completely through, a fine dining experience of food that seems to permanently stain his face, a frenetic chase around the house with hockey sticks, bath-time and crashing in an exhausted heap.

On the docket tonight: going to a friends' house, smearing pizza around the dining room, and the dads get to stay up late after cramming the kids into beds and pack-and-plays.

So far so good. We're all in one piece. Mrs. Smitty has only called 1,236 times, which is lower than expected but still covers the spread.