Vignettes * "While Daddy's Away" Edition

Four. Days. Without. Joseph. When he finally returns home tomorrow evening, I don't know whether I'll strangle him for doing this to me, or fall into his arms in sobbing, joyous relief. Probably the latter. Probably. After all, a job interview is a job interview, and it's not my place to complain; goodness knows we need him to get a job soon. Anyhoo, I spent most of my time trying to survive the madness (Joseph spends the majority of every day at work anyway, so it shouldn't make that much difference when he's gone entirely, but it does, my friends: it does), but here are a few highlights from our Joeless week.

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7am on the dot, and I am awakened by the squeak of the doorknob turning. I lift my head to see -- as expected -- Edward with a train of blankets trailing him. "Where's Daddy?" He asks with indignant curiosity.

"Daddy went away on the airplane," I groggily remind the Floof as I make room for him on the bed, "he's in Philadelphia."

"Oh." Edward snuggles into bed beside me. We both know the drill from here: he plays "quietly" on the pillow while I "sleep" for the last few minutes before Robert wakes up. My youngest Floof actually sleeps in until 7:20, which is nice (or, at least, would be if I were actually sleeping). He finally awakes, giggles loudly, and waits for Edward to open his door.

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Breakfast time: wouldn't you know it? Edward is looking for excuses not to eat. His current excuse is a legitimate one, however: "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! I need to use the potty!"

I unbuckle him from his booster seat, and return to the kitchen to finish dish duty. After several minutes have elapsed, however, I begin to wonder why he hasn't come seeking my help to get dressed again. I dry my hands and head to the bathroom, only to find both of my boys (one of them in a state of complete deshabillé, of course) playing in the empty bathtub with their cars.

"Are you ready to finish breakfast?" I ask The Unclothed One.

"No," he coolly replies, "I'm still using the potty."

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Emerging from my room with an armful of laundry, I encounter Edward. He is standing over his brother (curled up with his blanket on the floor) with his own armful -- of toys. Seeing my quizzical, raised-eyebrow expression, he reassures me: "Hi Mom. I'm just giving Robert his nerf twaddles."

Yes. That clears it up completely, Edskers.

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Whoever said that Sunday should be a day of rest obviously wasn't a [temporary] single mother of two young boys. How I managed to get my boys scrubbed, fed, dressed, and out the door by 8:30 this morning I will never know. Did I mention that my boys chose this day of all days to sleep in until 8? This should have been an unheard-of luxury, but instead it only added to the chaos.

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This week marks Edward's second in Primary (a step up from nursery), and he's handling the transition better than I would have thought. Not well, mind you, but better than I hoped. The poor Floof doesn't handle major changes very well. After sacrament meeting -- don't ask. It was a nightmare. I like to think my obvious lack of a husband mostly bought our forgiveness for entirely disrupting the meeting, but if it didn't, I'd just prefer to forget the whole thing anyway -- I drop Edward off at Primary. He enters the room with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, and sits, forlorn and bereft of all hope, in his seat with his hands in his mouth as he tries so hard not to cry. Break, my heart.

Robert, on the other hand, races headlong into his nursery class and makes straight for the large box of toys, without so much as a backward glance in my direction.

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After church, I pick up my boys (both relatively unscathed), and maneuver us through the busy halls out to the car. As I reach to buckle Robert into his seat, I realize that my hands are still full: full of hymnal. Sigh. "We have to go back inside, Floofs: apparently I'm stealing all the hymnals." Back inside we go, Edward loudly crying out: "We're back! Mommy stole the himmals!" We return the book and return to the car.

As I lift Robert into his carseat for the second time, I smell something askew. Sigh. "We have to go back inside. Again. Robert needs a diaper change." Back inside we go, Edward loudly crying out: "We're back! Robert's very poopy! We have to change Robert's poop! Robert's such a poopster!"

Thank goodness this was a Mormon chapel, so that we were guaranteed to be interrupting another ward's worship service with all our thievery and poopiness. After all, how embarrassing would it have been to yell about stealing and poopy diapers to an empty foyer? It almost doesn't bear thinking.

For all those keeping score, that's two sacrament meetings we managed to upset, y'all. We Millers have some serious skills.

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Finally buckling Edward into his seat to go home, I ask the little Floof what he learned in church today. "We learned about coloring and eating, Mommy!" Quality teaching, that.

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Scene in the kitchen, while I put together a rather laid-back dinner (I don't really cook while Joseph's away. We bluff our way through meals half-heartedly. It's not like my boys care, anyway):

Edward, leafing through a picture book with Robert: "Look, Robert, that's Jesus!"
Robert, pointing: "Jee-zussss!"
Edward: "His name is 'Jesus Christ.' I don't live with Jesus. I live here with you."
Me: Hunh? Well, that's one way to put it, I guess.


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Scene after dinner, while putting away the books -- including the fore-mentioned picture book:

Edward, showing me his new favorite page: "Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Look! It's Jesus!"
Robert, corroborating his brother's assertion: "Jee-zusssss!"
Me: "You're right! That's Jesus!"
Edward: "I don't love Jesus."
Me: "What?!"
Edward: "I don't love Jesus, Mommy. I love you."

What is it with this boy and his serious issues with how love works? On the one hand, I'm glad that he can finally conceive of a world in which mothers and their sons actually love each other. On the other hand, what are they teaching him in Primary?!

Me: "I love you, too, Edskers. Jesus isn't your mother, but I'm pretty sure he loves you, too, just like Robert loves you. He loves you because he's your brother."
Edward, patiently: "But Jesus doesn't live with us, Mommy."

So help me, this boy will be the death of me yet.

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Joseph? If you're out there reading this, come home soon. We are quickly devolving into godless heathens over here. If that was your intention. For the record, we all love you (and miss you) even when you aren't living with us.