we took michael to the airport yesterday morning for his 28 hour commute and owen has worked it out pretty well in his head.

mommy, where daddy at?
remember sweetie we took him to the airport, he went to work.
oh, daddy's not home.
no, he's in norway.
oh, it's mommy and owen time.
yes, it's mommy and owen time.

in a fit of frustration this afternoon --sometimes i forget and remind myself: ah, owen is two--i stupidly asked owen: "what is your deal?" (apparently i have taken to using cliched valley girl 80's phrases so when he says back mom, "what's your dammage" in a couple of years i shouldn't be suprised) he quickly answered "thomas is my deal, mommy." at which point i couldn't help but laugh. for despite the fact that owen has bursts of two-ness he recovers every so love-ily.

so i think that's how we get by with michael gone, we just have mommy and owen time. we stream kcrwmusic (and i'm obsessed with this bass-boosa sp?? cover of "wicked game" that is as of yet unreleased/unsigned but spooky beautiful). we play trains (and we clip michael's coupons form our neighbors to buy new ones--today we got molly). we watch lighting storms in the oc. and we read two books, sing the fishy song, then the butterfly song, then say goodnight and i get the moonlight night to write in a corner of my own (or after a day of relentless "no! mommyno!"--and a night of refusing to sleep without mommy in the room-- we crash out on the couch at 5:30 and ask to go to bed).

but every time i think it should get easier and it really doesn't. the absence is there, and instead of daddy, my mookoo-michael as owen hollers down the stairs imitiating me, there's just a sad kind of funk. but as there should be. but i think the rain is good, lightning is good. ah, am on the verge of crazy digression. i'm going to review some lit. crit. and then reward myself by reading some elizabeth george (although i am a bit weary of this one but do need the mystery disconenct) in bed.