It's always funny

The Boy, my real rotten boy, is back. I had two incident reports from daycare and when we came home, he only wanted me to PLAY! not fix dinner or put anything away. I put him and his blanky in his chair for a Moment while I changed out of my work clothes. I had every intention of coming out and playing, as my chores were done and he was calming down, but my work cell rang. I had to take it. It was an interview I'd been waiting on all day.

The Boy's wails gathered strength again as I started my interview. I closed the bedroom door on his yells and went on with my work. I had to turn up the phone's volume twice during the conversation and by the end, I wasn't really paying attention to the source. My guilt was too loud.

I came out of the bedroom after the call ended -- maybe 10, 15 minutes later -- to find The Boy still in his chair, red-faced, tear-streaked and sobbing for MOMMA! I apologized and picked him up, explaining I had to work and he couldn't just scream like that. He calmed down and wiped his snot and tears on his hands and my shirt. But no smile came.

"I'm sorry," I said again. "But Momma had to take that call. Trust me, I'd rather have been playing with you, but I had to work. It's just poopy."

He giggled.

"Poopy, poopy, poopy!" I said, grinning.

He laughed harder.

"You forgive me?"

"Yah!" The Boy said. "Poopy!"