Missing Mom

My wife had gone grocery shopping for bit.  I tried to explain that to our three year old son, but he wasn't having any of it.  After a few tantrums and a few attempts on my part to calm him down, we walked together to the front door.  I opened the door and he just laid down across the threshold, his face on the doormat, his feet inside our apartment.  I rolled my eyes.  "Don't you want to come back inside?" I asked.  No response.  Perhaps he found the outside air refreshing.

I slowly started to close the door on him, hoping this would prompt him to his feet and back inside.  No such luck.  He just whimpered and whined a bit and staid right where he was.  I rolled my eyes again and relented.  Finally he stood up on his feet and stepped out into the stairwell.  I eased the big heavy door closed behind him, thinking the idea of being locked outside our apartment would scare him back in.  Again, no such luck.  The door was closed.  He was on the outside.  I was on the inside.

About three seconds past.  I couldn't resist.  I slid the metal peep hole cover aside and spied on him standing outside the door. Small, pudgy, innocent…and absolutely still.

There are three apartment doors on our landing and, although he was standing sideways so I could see his profile, he wasn't looking at any of the other doors or the stairs.  He just stood there, a little wrinkle on his forehead, looking upward slightly at nothing in particular.  Then he asked quietly, "Mommy, where are you?"  There was something so pure and honest about it. This time I didn't roll my eyes.  As a grown up I knew where she was more or less.  I knew the route to Costco and back.  I had her cell phone and knew I could call her if I wanted to.  But all he knew was to look up at the sky, say his mother's name and ask where she was.  Being apart from Mom can be hard.

I felt a little guilty for spying on his quiet moment of desperation, but the moment didn't last long.  He started to walk down the hall--out of the narrow view of the peek hole--so I opened the door to follow him.  We spent the next couple of minutes walking up and down the hall, pushing elevator buttons and enjoying the coolness of the tile.  However, Mommy didn't magically appear.  I tried again to explain where she was, we puttered around some more and--after a few minutes--he was ready to go back inside, so we did.

A while later my wife did come home and we were all happy to see her, especially our little guy.  We all miss mom when she's gone.  It's nice to be back together.