Whiling Away the Day

The cat is sleeping in a pile of clothes.  Clean clothes, formerly folded, but now kneaded into a kitty nest for her.  In the next room, pictures of her as a new kitten are popping up as the screensaver on the old laptop that I put out for Jack to play with while the Professor and I work on our own laptops, while the Saints play on tv in the background, while Jack ignores his laptop toy and instead combs my hair with a fork while I try to work, while Liam slumbers in his crib.  While While While – in any sentence in which I describe our lives right now, I require about fifty whiles, so that I can accurately portray just how many things are going on at any one time.

The boys nap serially instead of simultaneously right now.  It is a requirement of their weekday schedules that this be so.  But it’s amazing how much our productivity has been reduced because of this.  Firstly, someone has to be here for six hours in the afternoon, as first one kid sleeps (noon-3) and then the next (3-6).  We can’t go anywhere because of the tyranny of these naps.  Secondly, virtually every second that we are awake, there is a needy little boy who is also awake.  There is no little window of time in the afternoon in which I can not be meeting their needs.  There is no quick catching up on laundry, or reading, or tidying, or cooking and freezing the next week’s meals.  There is just constant mothering.  Can you tell from my tone that I DO NOT LOVE THIS??

Working with Liam running around is not possible.  He is *almost* to the phase of being trustworthy in a child-proofed room, but not quite.  And he definitely never stops moving.  Ergo, I do as much as possible while he’s sleeping, with just Jack on my hands.  I try to let Jack “help” me as much as possible, because I don’t want to be one of those absent-minded parents whose kids just pathetically follow her around, longing for her attention while she brushes them off again and again.  But man, the laundry’s gotta get done, the meals must be cooked.  I rely too much on the tv for babysitting, but there is a limit to how much I can accomplish with him “helping” me.  When he helps me cook, I spend the whole time keeping him from hitting the dog with a whisk, or poking his brother with the turkey thermometer, or digging around in the all-purpose kitchen drawer and somehow finding the one incredibly sharp Cutco knife that I forgot was in there and then brandishing it at me from his perch atop a stepstool while I approach him in a nonchalant way, gently remove the knife, and then commence with having a heart attack.  When he helps me fold the clothes, he mostly just grabs one end of whatever I’m trying to fold and flaps it around, playing a game with me, making me crazy because IF YOU’D JUST LEAVE IT ALONE I WOULD BE DONE IN FIVE MINUTES AND THEN WE COULD PLAY A GAME BUT YOU WON’T LEAVE IT ALONE AND SO THIS IS TAKING ALL NIGHT ARRRRRGH.  Right now he’s helping me type this blog post (and before that, a motion for summary judgment).  This handy preschooler assistance includes putting a clip in my hair and then dragging it back out for maximum hair pullage, putting sunglasses on and off my face (and poking me in the eyes) as I type, talking to me on a play phone while I talk back (we mostly discussed hostile work environment in Title VII claims, as that’s what my motion is about), and climbing on and off my lap to see what’s on the screen.

Lo, to be independently wealthy, so that I could enjoy him, and he me, without this infernal treadmill of work work work getting in the way.

Anyway, this post is probably about as disjointed as it feels, but I should go pay either him or my work some serious attention so I’ll just hit publish.  So, dear readers, you’re getting about as focused an effort as everyone else in my life right now.