But I can't think of anything to write for the person I'm supposed to be writing for, so I thought I'd take a crack at writing something for myself.
[Deafening silence while I try to think of something to write about. And fail.]
Okay, so, well, let's see. The kids. Good place to start, right? The kids are B"H fine, although they're both under the weather right now. Barak was sick Sunday morning--slept until 10 am, threw up, slept some more. He actually fell asleep on the floor while I was sitting in the chair keeping him company. Right now he seems better, though was pretty kvetchy all day today.
Iyyar is still coughing. He's been coughing since before Rosh Hashana, despite several trips to the doctor and a ten-day course of Amoxycillin and being pronounced cured by the doctor what was it, two weeks ago now? Yucky wet chesty cough. I called the doctor today and left a message for him--not the nurse--to call me back. I think this has gone on way too long. I'm not sure what else I expect the doctor to do, but I want to at least talk about it.
I got a mysterious box at work today that turned out to contain sixteen thousand calories' worth of chocolate-covered pretzels. I'm not making that number up--I did the math. On a similar topic, I appear to have lost a grand total of two pounds in the last month. Better than no pounds, I guess, but... sigh. I miss my wardrobe, and I'm sick of the three skirts that fit me. Who would have thought I'd one day be longing to fit into a size ten?
Anybody out there want to host us for, um, all of Pesach? My DSIL is going to a hotel with her family, and my ISIL is in Israel, and there is no way to spend the holiday with either of them without spending many many thousands of dollars we don't have. It's not even really a matter of making Pesach--I'd manage it somehow, despite work and kids and the general chaos--but the second Pesach in a row all by ourselves (I was on bedrest last year)... bleh.
What else. I made Barak a new pair of mittens out of the leftover Shetland handspun from the gloves I made the friend we just visited. I think he likes them--he wore them around the house for a while this afternoon. I'm working on baby things for the friend who just sent me the pretzels, who is expecting, and for whom I seem incapable of knitting anything but hats. I keep trying to make a sweater and it invariably comes out the wrong size and gets turned into a hat. Fortunately she is expecting twins but I'm on my fourth hat right now and this is getting silly. I should stop it with the fancy handpainted merino sock yarn and just whip something out in Lamb's Pride already.
My boss's boss's boss (someone who is Up There at work) had a talk with me today about the "sleaze factor" of someone I'm about to be writing for. Someone I'm about to be doing an awful lot of writing for, for the next two years. She rates the sleaze factor as a ten out of ten and recommends keeping distance and not being alone with him. Great. Just... great.
Iyyar had his first successful solid food adventure yesterday. He thinks rice cereal is vile (can you blame him?) and has not had any interest in bananas, avocados, or jarred food (which I like to avoid anyway because honestly, could there be any nutritional value in there at all?) Anything I put in his mouth he shoves right back out with his tongue. Then he cries. It goes exactly nowhere, every time. Despite having no interest in any normal baby fare besides that of the nursage variety, he plotzes for anything anyone is eating in front of him. Yes, I know you want it, but it doesn't help when you go nuts for my food when I'm eating, say, schwarma! Last night, I was in the back bedroom playing with him while MHH worked on the computer. Barak was in bed and I had made a late supper of chicken and vegetables thrown into a pan, covered and cooked--it comes out sort of like chicken soup without much soup. I sat down with my bowl of dinner and Iyyar went berserk. Not the standard first solid food for babies, but whatever--I mashed up a few pieces of zucchini and yellow squash, sat him in my lap and fed him with my soup spoon. He inhaled everything I gave him. I guess nobody switched babies at the hospital--he's definitely mine.
You know, I might as well have numbered these paragraphs and had another one of those list posts. Oh, well, whatever. I think that's all I can come up with for tonight anyway.
I think this is one of the worst-written posts I've ever done. Sorry about that. I hope the stuff they pay me to do comes out a little bit better.