Thursday, November 10, 2011
My husband is in Madrid for the week for work, and I'm holding the fort with the kids. I should be in bed, since I have to wake up to go to work in six hours which may feel like five minutes but will give Mademoiselle ample time to wake me up a few times, I'm sure. It took me from when the kids were asleep until roughly twenty minutes ago to do dishes and laundry and organize things for tomorrow. And as always when I've got this kind of temporary superwoman gig, I'm filled with awe for parents who do it solo all or much of the time.
Today, Wednesday, was my day "off." I put "off" in quotes the same way I put "working" in quotes to describe what my husband is doing in Madrid, because I spent all day running around and he's at a tech conference, after all (which, to be fair, isn't devoid of irritation and annoying colleagues, but hey, he gets to sleep through the night.) It's crazy, and I'm exhausted, but a few things made me smile, and I have to write them down.
So far this week, I've noticed that,
1) You shouldn't turn your back, even for a few seconds, on a baby with a high chair tray spread with raspberries. If I could take the bits that ended up on the floor and in the hair and on the face on all ALL all over the clothes and reassemble them, I'm pretty sure I'd have more than the five raspberries I presented her with, and I can't explain this.
2) I can still utterly fail to understand when someone on the phone is asking me to spell my last name in French. Even when they repeat themselves twice.
3) The four-year-old, not the baby, puts the strangest and most disgusting things in his mouth when we're outside.
4) It is very hard to read "Fox in Socks" and prevent a daredevil baby from climbing onto a table at the same time.
5) If le Petit is hungry enough, he will eat raw broccoli dipped in store-bought gazpacho. Of his own initiative. [Le Petit digging through the fridge while I was making dinner: "Mommy, can broccoli be eaten raw?" Me to myself, "Who are you and what have you done with my son?"]
6) I can keep my cool during a supermarket checkout line temper tantrum ("But Mommy! I only want to put MY things in MY bag!") by assuming that if people are staring, it's either in appreciation of my calm yet firm (if punctually slightly ineffective) parenting style or in wonder that my son is bilingual.
7) Few things feel quite as nice as le Petit's head leaning against my shoulder as I read him a bedtime story.
8) It may be way past Mademoiselle's bedtime, but she may still stop nursing, start babbling to herself, and clap joyfully in the dark. And I'll find this cute, though irritating when I think of the pile of dishes waiting for me.
9) Few things feel quite as nice as Mademoiselle (finally) drifting off to sleep in my arms.