Vivi was heartbroken this evening when Shannon took Julia to her dance class. She cried pretty much nonstop from 5:35, when we watched them leave in the car, until 5:55, when I finally got her, pink-faced from the weeping, into her bath. Once naked and slippery, she enjoyed playing without the physical and psychological encumbrances of Julia's four-year-oldness, but her playing was a bit hollow - nostalgic, even. As I dried her off afterwards, telling her that it wasn't long now until Mama came home, she looked at me and shrieked, "Mama! Happy! Julia! Happy!"
I guess I'm chopped liver, huh?
Anyhow, she's now happily occupying herself in the playroom, building one of her patented elaborate block towers on a picture-book foundation. She's really just biding her time until Mama comes home and she can be reunited.
UPDATE, 6:35: I just changed Vivi into an overnight diaper, a process she punctuated by moaning, "Mama? Happy?" and then breaking down into another crying fit.