The Shortest of Holidays

Mama made a break for it this afternoon.

Papa came back from his errands and took over the kid duties after nap. Mama grabbed up her boots and ran out the door with her coat-tails aflying. Oh, all right, no coat tails, but I grabbed on to my purse and went as fast as I could to the subway, lest someone call me back to tend a crying babe.

I spent a few, non-custodial hours in Barnes and Noble, reading magazines, flipping through writing books and sipping my latte.

Ahh. Just a few moments living a life that I once took for granted. I never thought about it at all when I was single and fancy free. I jokingly called the book store "my office," and was often found there. I would write and write and paint and read and research and sit and stare off out the windows overlooking Union Square.

Today, I only had the energy to read the magazines for free and eat a lovely orange-cherry loaf. And I had the little ones at home to return to. Bedtime, you know. I didn't even bother to buy a book to read, since I have been reading the same book for a month and am only a quarter of the way through. So I cut my afternoon short and came home.

Made a call to Papa before getting on the subway back to Brooklyn. Papa put the boy on the phone to talk to me, and all he could say was, "Mama!" and then broke out, "Waaahaaahaahaa!" He wailed and wailed.

Heart broken boy. Did he get scolded by Papa? Did he miss his Mama? Not quite sure, but when I hung up the phone, I laughed pretty hard.

Oh, heartless Mama.