Mr. Mom

I’m so glad Agent Wife joined the blogging network. Not as if she needs any of my endorsing.

She really does put a female (thus, vastly different) view to this weird-ass life we live.

And often times she’s off doing her own agent solo gig during the daytime hours. That’s because she’s got her own assignments that I’m not qualified for.

Like speaking French. Agent Wife is fluent in French. And for some god-unknown reason, the US government thought it was a good idea to make the fair mother city a home to a couple of hundred African war-fleeing refugees. And most of them speak French.

Abilene is an isolated redneck town. There are no French resources here.

At least in New York or maybe Dallas, there would be some small bit of culture that these fine African folks could cling to and feel at home.

I’m glad the Africans are in the fair mother city. But there’s nothing remotely French here. Except Agent Wife, who somehow befriended one family. So she helps interpret for them at various appointments.

Of course, these social services now know of Agent Wife. So they use to call and beg her to come interpret for the other 190 Africans that needed social services.

And oh yeah, these helps organizations always said, “we don’t have it in our budget to pay you”.

That’s the cheap-ass fair mother city for you.

So Agent Wife sticks with this one particular family because they’re friends now.

So she’s off interpreting at doctor’s offices and so forth.

And we juggle our schedules around so that this can happen. Which means I get to be Mr. Mom. That picture of the Michael Keeton movie is totally me right now.

And I'm finally figuring out that being a full time dad ain't a bad gig.