I do not own The Office: U.S. Version.

I do not own a white picket fence.

A Day in the Life of Michael Scott, Featuring Michael Scott


It was Sunday.

Michael Gary Scott's favorite day of the week.

He slept in late on Sundays, the beautiful, effervescent Holly Marie Flax Scott by his side.

Usually snoring lightly, maybe drooling just a little.

And Michael would just lay there, floating in and out of consciousness.

Waiting, waiting, waiting-

"Shhh, Cody-"

"You shhh-"

-for company to arrive.

"You both shhh-"

Sometimes he couldn't wait.

Sometimes he couldn't wait, absolutely, positively had to get up and pee.

Since Holly wouldn't let him keep a Gatorade bottle . . .

"Michael, eww, no, just get up and go-"

. . . next to the bed.

"No pee bottle, no Foreman grill, come on, Holly-"

"No."

But as soon as he was done, wide awake now that the tile floor had absolutely frozen the bottoms of his feet . . .

"-rade bottle would solve all this-"

. . . he scooted right back in.

And snuggled down.

Not because he was sleepy.

But just so . . .

"One . . . two . . three . . . Daddy!"

"Who's that?! Who's there?! I can't move, I feel like I have giants sitting on me, oh-"

"Daddy, it's us!"

"Us? Us? I don't know any giants named 'Us'."

. . . he could be 'surprised' by his little munchkins.

"Daddy-"

If they weren't already snugged up in the bed with them . . .

"Get your feet out of my face, Katie-"

"Get your face out of my feet, Billy-"

. . . already.

Their kids.

All four of them.

All adopted.

All siblings.

All . . .

"Dolly, will you stop tickling your brother? That's my job!"

"Daddy!"

. . . just perfect.

"I'm gonna pee, I'm gonna pee-"

Ages six, five, the twins seven, and, Billy . . .

"Holly, get the Gatorade bottle-"

. . . a robust four.

"Michael, no-"

All together.

And all . . .

"I've gotta pee-"

. . . theirs.


And the fun didn't stop there.

While Holly locked herself safely in the bathroom to grab a quick shower . . .

"-wanna come too, Mommy!"

"No, you go with Daddy-"

Daddy-

. . . Daddy Michael, hair all askew and pajamas crumpled, . . .

"Okay, who wants French Toast?"

. . . would herd his happy little horde into the bright, previously prepped . . .

"Yaayyy!"

. . . downstairs kitchen.

And commence to preparing . . .

"Daddy, that's too many!"

"It's never too many. Until you explode."

"Daddy!"

. . . the largest mountain of powdered sugared French Toast . . .

"Michael! That's too much."

. . . the world had ever seen.

"You're going to make them hyper all day."

To the light consternation of their mother, with her healthy homemade granola and yogurt breakfasts and gummy vitamins and . . .

"Guess I'll just have to run it out of them at the park then."

"Yaaaayyy!"

. . . responsible sense of mothering.

Which though it should have starkly clashed with Michael's carefree, guts and gusto, free-range parenting style . . .

"I just bet you're going to feed them ice cream again for lunch, aren't you?"

"Mint chocolate chip!"

. . . only served to offer a well-balanced childhood experience . . .

"Michael, . . ."

"Don't worry, we'll have tofu and sprouts and hummus later on in the week."

"Daddy!"

. . . of doting and disciplining . . .

"What, you gotta get your vegetables to help you poop out all the ice cream-"

"Daddy!"

. . . Michael Scott had always dreamed of.

And when Holly left to catch an early morning yoga class . . .

"Love you."

"Love you."

. . . before heading to her parents' house to spend the late morning with her ailing father, . . .

"Love you, kids!"

"Love you, Mom!"

. . . the remaining Flax-Scott clan would clean up the kitchen . . .

". . . take out the garbage!"

"Well, I don't want to take out the garbage!"

"Well, I do want to take out the garbage, who wants to help?"

"Me, Daddy, me!"

"Me!"

"Me!"

"Yeah, I still don't want to."

"No problem. Then you get to load the dishwasher."

"Aw, man!"


Piloting a loaded mini-van full of French Toast-hyped children . . .

"Did you fart in the car?"

"Nooooo-"

"Daddy, Cody farted in the van!"

. . . wasn't the challenge of a grown, stubborn, concussed Assistant (to the) Regional Manager to the hospital.

"No, that was me."

"Daddy!"

But it certainly was . . .

"Okay, where are we going today, kids?"

"Can we go to the zoo?"

. . . an undertaking . . .

"Why, do you want to see the giraffes poop again?"

"Yes!"

. . . all its own.

"Alright, to the zoo, we go!"

"Yay!"

And when their excursion was complete . . .

"The giraffe didn't pee."

"No, but the elephant pooped."

"Ewww, Dolly!"

. . . and the after ice cream had been consumed with what could only be termed as . . .

"Daddy, don't try to lick the ice cream off your nose with your tongue!"

"Well, how else do I get ice cream off my nose?"

. . . a ridiculous amount of rabid gusto . . .

"With your napkin, silly!"

"Ohhh, okay. Good idea."

. . . or they had a good and properly outrageous ketchup fight at the park . . .

"Daddy, no, Daddy, noooo!"

"I'm coming for you, Katie!"

. . . wherein the Daddy Monster could only be vanished . . .

"Arrrgggh, got me again!"

. . . by a vigorous bout of tickle torture, . . .

"You're just too tough for me, argggh-"

. . . they arrived somewhat beraggled and temporarily worn-out . . .

"Okay, Katie, Dolly, you take the upstairs bathroom, Cody, Billie, you take mine."

. . . home again.

"And make sure to throw your clothes in the washer when you're done so the stains don't set."

In just enough time, . . .

"Hey, honey."

"Hey."

. . . to get the kids cleaned up and semi-quietly playing in their rooms . . .

"You okay?"

"Not really."

. . . in their rooms . . .

"Come here. Come here."

. . . so a softly dispirited Holly Flax . . .

"Your dad?"

"Yeah. He just . . . he just doesn't know me anymore."

. . . could wrap herself up . . .

"I'm sorry, honey. I hate for you to be sad."

. . . in the arms of her loving and supportive husband . . .

"I hate for him and you and your mom to be going through this."

. . . who may not understand.

"Me too."

But did always . . .

"You know what may help?"

"What?"

"Working on the scrapbook."

. . . care.

In a rather accidently ingenious move, Michael Gary Scott had one day suggested that perhaps it might help Alan Flax remember a little easier if he had some pictures of his precious little Hollyberry and the rest of her family to peruse through from time to time.

And the rest . . .

"Oh, Michael, that's . . . that's a really great idea. I just . . . I just love it."

. . . was tear-filled history.

In lieu of a man cave or a neon beer sign neatly tying the room together, . . .

". . . lavender ribbon, you will . . ."

. . . Michael Scott was the proud owner of . . .

". . . not glue yourself to the table, you will . . ."

. . . an impressively stocked and Candles-By-Jan-free . . .

". . . better?"

. . . craft room.

"Yeah, a little. Thank you, Michael. I don't know how I would get through this without you."

"Probably with a lot of tequila."

And all the trippings and trappings . . .

"Probably."

"You're better than tequila."

"Well, that's good to know."

. . . therein.


". . . -corn?"

"Yeah, I got it! I've got extra butter and extra salt."

"What about mine, Daddy?"

"And extra M&Ms."

"Yay!"

"What are we watching?"

"It's a surprise."

"It's not 'Threat Level Midnight', is it?"

"No. Too much language. Also, too violent. Also also, just too bad."

"Aww, come on, it wasn't that bad."

". . ."

"Okay, it was but I still love you."

"I still love you too. Come here."

"Ewww, they're kissing again!"

"Um, what movie were we watching?"

"I forgot."


". . . little star, hm, how I wonder what you, hm, are . . ."

The kids' bedtime might be his favorite time.

". . . -p above the world so, hm, high . . ."

It's really hard to pinpoint his favorite time of the day.

". . . like a, hm, diamond in the sky . . ."

But this is without a doubt . . .

". . . twinkle, twinkle, hm, little star . . ."

. . . at the very, very top.

". . . how I wonder, hm, what you are."

Not just Kermit The Frog bedtime song Sundays.

"I love you, Daddy."

But every day.

"I love you, Katie."

And he thinks . . .

"I love you, Daddy."

"I love you, Dolly."

. . . it always . . .

"Okay, ready to switch?"

"Ready."

"Hey, boys!"

"Hey, Daddy!"

"Ready to read a book?"

"Yeah. Mom already read The Cat in the Hat. She said you'd read The Cat in the Hat Comes Back."

"She's absolutely right."

. . . will be.


And as improbable as it may seem to be . . .

". . . Michael . . ."

. . . the evening only tended to get better . . .

". . . Holly . . ."

. . . from there.


The house is a mess.

Kids' toys in manageable piles.

Laundry in manageable, basketball-hooped piles.

Dishes, well, no, they'd done the dishes.

Because Sunday nights were easy.

Sunday nights were . . .

". . . pizza!"

So that was already mostly taken care of.

With four small kids, it doesn't seem like they ever get fully caught up.

But they do better during the week.

Preschool and elementary school.

And lunchboxes and homework.

And soccer practice and tumbling class.

And carefully regimented bathtimes and bedtimes and . . .

". . . you, Michael Scott."

"I love you too, Holly Flax."

. . . all the basic goings-on of the work . . .

". . . pay the electric bill tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And you're going to get the oil changed, right?"

"Right. Let me just . . . write . . . that . . . down."

. . . week.

But it's a wonderful life.

And with a wife and kids and . . .

". . . lawn?"

"Maybe we should get a goat."

"We're not getting a goat."

. . . well, maybe not quite the white picket fence . . .

"We could get a cow. Especially with all the milk the kids drink."

"True. But we're not getting a cow either."

"I know."

. . . but everything else was absolutely . . .

"You're a wonderful husband, Michael Scott."

. . . positively . . .

"And you're a fantastic father."

. . . just right.

"Thank you, Holly. I love you."

That's . . .

"I love you too."

. . . what she said.


Dear Diary,

Best Day Ever.

Again.

XOXO

Michael Gary Scott


On second thought, the title of this short might have been better called 'Daddy'.

Ha.

Anyway, been wanting to write this for a while.

Hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for reading. :)

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