It’s not that boys don’t have emotions. It’s just that they don’t have a real handle on where they left them while the castle was being built. There is no need to look now, but behind the dresser under the missing blue sock and Easter craft (worth saving, this time I mean it) is some anxiety. And if you ever did find the gray mittens at the bottom of the closet, no doubt you would also discover a little anger or perhaps some lost frustration. Emotions seem to crop up when you least expect them, when you were busy doing something else and then POW, they barge in and just take over.
Nobody was expecting Mommy to come home on Monday. Especially after hearing the placenta hadn’t moved (frankly I can’t imagine it ever moving, doesn’t that seem just freakish?), we were bracing ourselves for the long winter haul without the hub of the home. But once she arrived, it wasn’t long before each child suddenly found some latent emotion lying dormant under the sofa of the heart.
Spencer was first, getting clingy, grasping for hugs, alternately whining and sobbing. Nothing consoled him, not even Mommy herself. Tennyson seemed downright mad, throwing himself around like an idiot, as if he just learned Mommy had been replaced by a Holly Hobbie doll. Benjamin made it to the end of the day, and then on his bed, a rush of happy sad tragic upside down mixed-up bloaughght.
Welcome home. We love you. Really.