My job, my environment, and my life are a multitasker’s dream. I am working on 20 simultaneous projects. We’re still somewhat unpacked in our new home. And my kids are, well, kids. But when everything happens at once, a certain amount of embarassment is inevitable.
Body language. Oren is obsessed with making up words. One of his favorites, thanks to its rich consonant sounds, is a clear and present vulgarity. I haven’t decided if this is worse than his nude escapades on the lawn.
Prioritizing. Siena insists on wearing underwear without first potty-training. This morning I had to turn around to go home because she suddenly and tearfully demanded a diaper. For the rest of the day I had a tiny pair of panties on my passenger seat.
Reputation. I gave Siena a new business card and showed her the letters of my name. She was so excited that she put the card under her pillow and shrieked when Oren tried to take it. More of my clients should be like that.
Affection. Oren has perfected the art of making flatulence sounds by pushing his lips onto your skin and blowing. Now he does it all the time. To everyone.
Baby’s first argument. My three-year-old actually argued with me like an adult. She said it would be dark when she woke from her nap. I said it would be light. She said it would be dark. I said light. She said dark. I said light. She tantrumed. I raised my voice. She insisted. … Fewer of my clients should be like that.
The art of conversation. The kids are marvels with the telephone. Talking to no one but the dial tone, they hold one-sided conversations that sound amazingly real: “Hi Grandma. Yeah. Yeah. I’m going to school. Uh-huh. Yeah. Yesterday, I pooped in the toilet. Okay. Bye, Grandma.”