the Heart Approaches What It Yearns

Monsieur is out of town on business, and I never really grasped how hard he works around here, how much he does.

He left at noon, leaving a few meals in Tupperware that I can pop in the microwave. The house was spotless and the sinks were shiny before he left. I know all Emergency Procedures, and I know whee the Panic Buttons are, in case there’s any trouble I can hit one of six strategically located buttons, and an alarm goes off that would be loud enough for an air raid siren.

Laundry, dishes, Littlest Boy’s first change at 5 AM. Water the chickens, milk the cereal and rotate the laundry again. It’s not hard work, but it’s steady, and he normally does it while I’m swinishly asleep. He typically gets up with reveille, and I stay in bed until 6 or even 7 sometimes, when I wake up to homemade chicken sausage and omelets.

No omelets for me this morning, it was my rubbery scrambled eggs, which no one touched and I don’t blame them. Littlest Boy was up and out of bed like a little jumping bean flavored Pop-Tart™ all night. “Where’s my daddy?” he would cry. He kept forgetting that daddy was away. “Will he come back now?” No, not for some days. I can relate, sweetie; I can’t sleep without your daddy either.

At least he gave me yummy yum before he left. Plenty. I’m once, twice, three times a-laid.

Still, a taste of the bone, right now, would be just what the doctor ordered, what the butler saw, what made the preacher hopping red.