The Thirteen Highlights Of My Thirteen Hour Workday

1. The best buckwheat pancakes I've ever eaten, with homemade blueberry syrup. "That's yucky. I won't eat it," says Amélie.
2. "Elizabif! I have to pee!" Amélie scurried across the kitchen, then stopped abruptly in front of the table. "Oh, no. I'm peeing." A sizeable puddle was visible around her feet.
3. Impromptu bath time for Amélie.
4. The location is the Yellow Springs Public Library. Amélie is playing computer, her tiny ears hidden by panda bear-shaped headphones. These invariably cause her to speak in a voice that is inappropriately loud for daily life, let alone a freaking library. "ELIZABIF. I PEED ON THE CHAIR."
5. Bath time (from the belly down) #2 for Amélie.
6. Noon: "Ravioli is poopy poopy pee-on-you," says Kai. None of us finished our lunch.
7. "I hate ice cream. Just kidding, I love it. Did I trick you, Elizabeth?"
8. Amélie, speaking to her wallet, which she is having trouble zipping: "Do I always have to be SO difficult with you?"
9. "Elizabif, remember this morning when I peed my pants? Ah haha ha!" How could I forget.
10. "Elizabeth, you're asleep." "Mnnn nm nmnm, nma." "What?" "I said, 'No, I'm not, Kai.'" "What?" "No, I'm NOT, Kai." "Haha, I made you say it THREE times!"
11. "Elizabeth, am I giving you a headache?"
12. "Elizabeth, that was only THREE seconds of crazy time. You said we get TEN." Kai counts on his fingers. "That means we get TWELVE more. Because TWO plus TWELVE equals TEN."
13. "Um... Elizabif?" "Yes, Amélie?" "Um.... uh..." "Yes, Amélie?" "I love you."

Tuesday Morning

I am sickeningly bad at keeping a normal blog.

Breastfeeding Baby Sophie

This morning, three-and-a-half year old (pronounced, invariably, "free - and a HAFF") Amélie pushed the wide-eyed baby doll across the floor of our playroom fort. "She's crying for you," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh." I picked up the doll and began to cradle her in my arms, cooing gently to stop her from "crying."

"Not like THAT," Amélie inserted, exasperated. She snatched the baby from my hands, took it to her own chest, where she yanked her shirt up and pressed its plastic mouth to her nipple, or "noobie," as she calls it. "You have to NURSE her. Otherwise she'll just keep crying until you do." She passed the doll back to me and demanded that I try. When I pressed the doll against my shirt, Amélie sighed and gave an apparent eye roll.

"How can she get milk if you keep your shirt on?"

"Oh, Amiyama, I can't nurse her like that. I'm sorry." I wasn't uncomfortable lifting my shirt for this free-and-a-haff year old, but couldn't help thinking that it skirted the line of indecency on the job.

"Um.... Uh. Why?" She crunched her face up, as is her habit, as though the mental strain of this mystery was physically painful.

"Ma puce, I can't. Remember the other day, when we talked about why you have to wear underpants if you're going to pull your dress up around your shoulders?"

She pensively pressed her forefinger to her chin. "Yes." She nodded.

"Well, this is the same thing. Those parts of us are private, and it's just not appropriate to show them to people who aren't part of our family. That's why I nurse Baby Sophie over my shirt."

We sat in silence a few seconds. Amélie's face was still scrunched perplexedly, but not because she didn't understand my refusal.

"Okay, Elizabif, but... " (At this point she lowered to voice to a whisper, cupping her mouth with one hand.) "Baby Sophie is hungry."

"I guess you'll just have to nurse her yourself, Miss Amiyama."

Suddenly, Amélie snatched Baby Sophie from me in an almost violent manner. She slammed the dolls face against her naked chest and looked me dead in the eye, shaking her head. Finally, she spoke, resignedly: "I have to do EVERYTHING around here."