Ah. It is 7:15, and they are asleep. I am very close to that state myself. It was a long day. Not bad, just long. We did not leave the house, and that is tough—nothing to break up the day. There was plenty to do, especially since everyone ate at a different time, thus there were way more than 3 meals to make and clean up, and I am also desperately trying to get the basement cleaned up and organized, so there was a great deal of up and down with that. I put the Johnny jump up on the I-beam in the basement, and this allowed me to stay down there with the kids a lot longer than normal. It was really fun for him as there was not a door jamb in sight, and he could really get going. And then of course Ava would periodically blow by him on some mission or another, giving him some good acceleration, both linear and centripetal. It is very helpful to have a stash of toys down there that she can raid, as well as some of her little push/pull wagon type things. As long as I remember to haul her upstairs to use the potty, we are all set.

But both of them had had it by 4 PM, and up we went. Carter was starting to fuss, and nothing was satisfying him, so the evening chores were sort of put aside for a bit—I called Peter and asked him to come home late and fend for himself dinner-wise, because I had no idea how I was going to convince Carter to sit and play for another half hour while I made dinner. After a half hour of trying to please him to no avail, Jack’s Big Music Show came on, and we all danced around – getting me big smiles from both kids, at which point Carter was sufficiently exhausted that he fell asleep. I scrambled to get dinner for Ava and myself prepared, picked up Ava’s various debris, and actually sat down for a second, and then he cried. A whopping half hour of sleep. And he really did not stop crying for the rest of the evening. At one point I looked at the clock, and it said 6:00. Then I looked again after some excruciating length of time, and it said 6:04. It is times like those that you just cannot believe it. I seriously wondered if the clock might be broken. I finally remembered the naked trick, and put him on his changing mat on the floor in his altogether. This made him quite happy, and I got Ava to finish her corn and edamame, ran a bath, and cleaned up the dishes. Then I looked over at the little guy. He was peeing all over himself. This is part of the calculated risk inherent in the naked trick, and I obviously miscalculated. He used to have his little peepee teepees, but they don’t stay on now that he has wandering hands. (thanks rox, they were great!). So, there he is, guaranteeing himself a bath, something that I thought I had dodged. First Carter, then Ava. That occupied her nicely and Carter played peekaboo with me, and at 6:40 I pulled the plug on the day’s activities and piled them all into bed. Phew.

Yesterday we went to Whiteface so that Ava could ski, and she managed one and a half runs with Peter before face-planting. I could see her coming down the hill saying “MOMMMMYYY” and so I ran out of the lodge with Carter, who was in the middle of a profound bowel movement and none to pleased to have to interrupt it to step outside in the cold, scooped my sobbing heap of ski gear up in my free arm and made for the warmth of the building. And then I very nearly sustained the concussion of my life when a well intentioned person inside tried to help by opening the door. But the door opens out, and I could not see her, and had no idea that just as I was about to reach for the door she was going to push it into my head. Oh well. Ava continued to sob as I unearthed her, layer by layer, saying that she got a face-full, and then she suddenly stopped, looked around, and without a hint of a tear said “can I have French fries?”

We managed to get fries, relaxed a bit with Adrian and his mom Chrissy, and then headed home, hitting Price Chopper on the way. Dad attended that shopping spree, so it was a little easier, but he kept taking Ava on adventures around the store, leaving me without a cart. So I would have to traipse around with a bunch of groceries in my arms and Carter on my back, looking for my family. We got home, made bratwurst, and collapsed. Much like tonight.

So, now I am going to settle in with them and my book. I am reading Katharine Graham’s autobiography. This is a ridiculously long book, with teeny tiny print, but it is actually interesting and engaging. It is pretty curious—here she is, writing about her life and her mom’s life in the early part of the 20th century, and she writes about all of these incredibly accomplished women—women owning businesses, scholars, artists, etc. Her mother, who did not grow up privileged, hauled herself off to Barnard, got her degree, then became a journalist as well as an expert on Chinese art, all before the first world war. And it just goes on and on—when Katharine graduates from college, she trots off to San Francisco and joins a newspaper there where there are plenty of other women working as journalists, her father buys the Washington Post and is in direct competition with a paper owned by a woman, etc. I am reading this, thinking, huh. How is it that we don’t hear about all of these women in the work force, long before Rosie the Riveter, and way before the 70s when women apparently entered in droves? I understand that these were exceptions, and that women were and still are discriminated against, among other things, but it certainly would have been nice to at least know about these women before now. Perhaps I have been under a large rock, but it seems that there is a bit of a disconnect here. Obviously, Katharine Graham and Betty Friedan never had a long chat. (All this said, I am still not very far into the book, and have not even reached the 1950s).