Scattered

The thing about working from home (NOT THAT I AM COMPLAINING) is that you do still have to work. It amazes me no end the number of people who have said, when they find out that I work at home, "wow! so you don't need a babysitter!" Like I could chase an almost-three-year-old and look after a nine-month-old and keep them both clean, calm, fed and happy all day--a feat in and of itself--while writing rousing and stirring pieces of inspirational (and deathless--let's not forget deathless) prose. On deadline. I mean, what are these people thinking? And some of them are even parents. Truly.

Because of the weather I did not even try to take Barak to playgroup today. I didn't leave the house at all, and just tried to have a nice, happy, kid-centric day. I attempted to clean, and I'm sure that the house looks better than it would have if I hadn't spend so much time cleaning, but it doesn't look anything approaching clean right now. And it's almost ten, and I haven't even thought about Shabbos, despite the fact that tomorrow I'm working a full day in the office. (That's bad, just in case you didn't know.) I need to get at least something written tonight, and what am I doing. Yup yup. I'm writing a blog post.

No, to those of you who asked, I have no idea what "assessing my workspace" entails. I know that I was asked whether I had a separate workspace, and whether I would have my children home while I worked. I think they are going to be putting in a second phone line for me, or at least that was mentioned at some point (a year ago...) I hope someone tells me what they're looking for before anyone actually comes out here. And I hope I can schedule the visit for a time that my babysitter can whisk the children off to the library...

A couple of things that bear mentioning....

Iyyar is teetering on the brink of locomotion. That wonderful baby phase where they sit and play happily and independently but can't yet get into mischief is nearing its end; he can, if he's trying to get to a toy (or dangerous implement) while sitting, lunge over and wind up on all fours. He doesn't yet realize the potential utility of this position, though. He can creep on his stomach and do a 360 like that, and move a good couple of feet before he gets annoyed and starts to cry. He can stand very well if he's holding onto something, can pull up easily on my hands, and is a hairsbreadth away from pulling up on his own--right now he can get up to his knees but that's it. And yesterday, for the first time, he got into a sitting position from his stomach. I don't think he really realizes he can do it though.

In general, Iyyar is chubby, cheerful, and talkative. He has an expansive vocabulary of consonants and vowels, but whenever he has something serious to communicate he stays with the tried-and-true. Ah da da da da, Imma. No, really, I'm serious! Da da da! Ah da, da da da, da da. And the da you rode in on, too. He is sleeping much better, though still tries to sneak in a stealth nurse sometimes at around 3 am. If I'm tired enough not to notice the time, he gets his nurse; if I see that it's between the hours of midnight and 5 am and the milk bar is closed, he gets Grumpy Man with Beard.

Today, he was not so happy. He's had a low-grade fever off and on since Monday. Every pediatrician I've ever talked to says definitively that there is no connection between teething and fevers; I've never met a mother who believed it. He got a tooth on Friday and is working up three more. The one that came in was a top tooth, but not one of the two front teeth--it's one of the ones just to the side. He looks pretty funny. He was miserable this morning, and just wanted to nurse, snuggle, and sleep. Some Tylenol helped, and even after that wore off he was still feeling better. I made butternut squash soup for dinner, and he ate mine for me--a good sign.

Today's Barakisms were pretty good. We baked bread this morning--bread of the Activity with Toddler ilk, not the I Care What It Tastes Like variety. It turned out surprisingly good, despite the lack of sprinkles. (Only for Shabbos.) When I was about to put it in the oven, Barak was too close and I shooed him to the other side of the kitchen, as I do about fifty times a day. "Barak, go to the other side of the kitchen, please. The oven's hot."

"Stove hot. No can't touch it!"

"Right, you don't touch the stove."

"Only Imma Barak touch it stove."

"No, sweetie, only Imma touches the stove."

"No Abba touch it stove."

"Well, no, he doesn't really touch the stove, you're right."

"Abba's gonna touch it stove when he's bigger."

Barak, as you may have noticed, still has some trouble with pronouns. His usual way of asking me to him him is pleading "Imma help you!" If he wants to sit in my lap, he says, "Imma sit in my lap please!"It makes sense--he's repeating the phrases I use. Today, I was sitting in the rocker in his room, holding an unhappy Iyyar on my lap. "Imma sit in my lap please!"

"Sure, you can sit in my lap."

"Open it please!"

"What?"

"Open it sit in my lap!"

I had no idea what he wanted. He repeated himself a few times, and then, with another "Open it!" pulled one of my arms away from the baby, climbed into my lap, and wrapped my arm around himself. Open up your lap, please, and let me in.

All together, now: ohhhhh.