Having the husband working out of town has become our new normal, and I have to say that I kind of hate it. Aside from the laundry piling up (Shut-up, I do it when I can) and the garbage can being full, I’m also left to solely take care of all these kids. The fact that Luke (4 yrs old) only takes up the space of one person is truly an optical illusion. I assure you that he is as busy as three or four full-grown adults.
This afternoon Brantley said goodbye (truthfully, I think he said, “Later.”) and hit the road. With one slam of the door the balance of power had shifted. Smelling my weakness, Luke quickly cut his eyes at me and gave me an upside down middle finger which landed him in an immediate time-out. (It may have been upside down, but the sentiment was the same.) I began vacuuming up a mess that had appeared almost out of thin air when he began shouting.
“Mom! Mom! Mom! Hey, Mom!”
I turned off the vacuum cleaner. “You aren’t supposed to be talking in time-out.”
“I have to tell you sumping so important.”
“What is it?”
“If I ever get my own free (three) pigs I’m going to name them Pinky, Brownie, and Crappy.”
“That’s wonderful.” I turned the vacuum cleaner back on, but again I was shut down.
“Mom! Hey Mom, is it polite to do this with my hand?” he asked making an “ok” symbol with his thumb and index finger.
“What about this one?” he said as he made an “I love you”symbol.
“Yes, that’s fine too. Now, be quiet.”
“And, what about this one?” he asked as he, yet again, mis-used his middle finger. By this point I was hot. My voice became raised.
“Stop that right now!”
“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! I’m so, so sorry. I’m just making sure which one is ok to…”
At that point I turned the vacuum cleaner back on and went about my business thinking how Baxter had just moved up the family totem pole. Sure he has accidents in the house, but really, so does Luke. And, since dogs don’t have hands he could never give me the finger. Brantley might divorce me if he returned home and Luke was sleeping in the crate and Baxter was in his bed, but then again, maybe not.
(Hang up the phone. I’m not really going to do it. I’m just wallowing in my own self pity for a minute. It’s a right I get to exercise when I’m forced against my will into single parent-dom. But on the serious, I totally understand plural marriage now.)
|All my kids|