My husband had to go to Hong Kong for business this week, which is completely amazing for him and completely de-mazing for me.

Don’t get me wrong, I feel completely sorry for him that he has to sit alone, undisturbed, for 16 hours while people only talk to him to say “sir, can I get you a drink?” My heart breaks a little, too, when I think of the church-like quiet of a business-grade hotel room with nothing but an internet connection and television to distract him from his grief. I also wipe away a tear when I think how he doesn’t get a home cooked meal and has to choke down the meager culinary offerings of a rich, thriving and world-class city. I digress…

The most important thing that we can do as a family during these trips is to try to keep in touch. Phone calls of this nature used to be fairly one-sided, with the little one holding the phone to his hair, staring into the distance and saying nothing until I prompted him to finally whisper “I wuv you dada, bye-bye.” Sadly, over the past week, I’ve discovered that my son’s conversational skills have really blossomed since Dad’s last trip.

Instead of the usual treacle, my son now uses these daily calls to vent about the poor service he’s been subjected to since his father has left town. The daily check in call has become his own customer complaint line.

On Monday night, after catching me checking my email on the computer upstairs: “Mommy cannot use Dada’s computer! That is his toy to play with and it is his upstairs. Mommy’s work is downstairs and mama should not play with Dada’s computer. It is his work. Not mama’s. Right mama?”

On Tuesday morning, after I turned off the television to take the dear boy to school: “Dada, mama turned Lightning McQueen off before I was done and I wanted to watch it and I do not want to go to school [overheard sympathetic mutterings on Hong Kong end.]” Boy looks relieved to finally be talking to someone who understands. He aims his worst stink eye expression at me.

On Wednesday night, after making pasta with peas and cheese: “Dada, hello. I wanted it plain, but it is not plain. I like it dry. It is too sticky. I’m not going to eat it because I said I wanted it clean and dry and it isn’t. [overheard, more sympathetic mutterings on Hong Kong end.]“

Things I’m glad went unmentioned: “Mama is drinking all of your good bourbon,” “Mama said she’s going to Daytona for Spring Break by herself,” and/or “Our new babysitter’s name is Ron.”

These solo parenting stints are hard enough without having to worry about spin control. For the next trip, I’m going to be much smarter about things. I’m going to hire a child actor to perform pre-recorded messages that report nothing but finished meals, joyful mornings and enriching play activities. I will also tell this child to tell “Dada” to skip the chow fun and squirrel away some of those per diem dollars to buy Mama some nice duty-free diamonds at the airport for all the pain and suffering the trip has caused.

How do you say “Please, for the love of all that is holy and good don’t ever go to Asia for a week again” in Chinese?