Last nerve, meet wit's end; wit's end, meet last nerve

R. has been in military service since Wednesday night. Two-and-a-half short days, yet I am at my wit's end with the single-parenting gig. I just took the train out to the in-law's farm and dropped off Small Boy; hopefully by the time he comes home for dinner I will no longer feel like duct-taping him to the couch and turning Winnie-the-Pooh on repeat play. While I was out there, Grossmutti fed me a lunch of fish and potatoes and pumpkin, which makes the first meal in two-and-a-half days that isn't pronounced "Mandelgipfeli" or "handful of peanuts" or "Diet Coke." Which, now that I'm thinking about it, might be contributing to the desire to duct-tape small people to the furniture. (Actually, I think it stems from the fact that he woke up at 5:45 this morning.) I generally eat like a freshman at finals time when R. is in the military, I don't know why. It's definitely a pattern though. And it's crazy because I'll cook this whole dinner of chicken nuggets and pasta and peas and maybe some cheese and apple for Small Boy but nothing for myself. Then I'll nibble his left-overs and eat some peanuts and pour some Diet Coke.

But R should get back sometime tonight, though unfortunately almost surely after Small Boy's bedtime, and Small Boy is at the farm with Grossmutti for the whole afternoon and am I just going to sit here in the silence of my apartment. I miss that: although Grossmutti takes care of Small Boy once a week, she almost always comes to us and I leave the apartment to go swimming or shopping or just to go out into the world without a small person at my side. I miss hanging out alone in my home, all alone. I've got about three-and-a-half hours of solitude ahead of me. Time to log off.