Ain't All It's Cracked Up to Be

Max in one of his favorite places: his changing table.

This first week of working from home was like being inside a tornado. And it's not over yet.

"From home" is also a misnomer of sorts. Two significant board meetings, two on-site interviews, and a formal event all took place somewhere besides my husband's big desk that I have commandeered while he is out to sea. I have a whole festival to cover tomorrow. I'm schlepping around a lot more than I expected I would.

Beginnings of new jobs are always challenging, but I didn't think it would be this hard. Or that I would suck at it this much.

I've blown deadlines. I had an actual error in my first damn story. I swear I thought she said her name was Donna. Nope, Ana.

Complicating matters is that my babysitter has become unavailable. My mother and teenager have stepped up, but that came with a price. Gabe had a really bad cold and I tried to keep the baby away from him as long as possible, but I just couldn't get anything done and had to have him watch his brother. The next day, Max had sniffles.

Runny noses just happens to be my Achilles heel. I can't stand the snot seeping out and will make it my mission in life to eradicate it. That blue bulbous sucky thing the hospital gives out is my favorite baby tool ever.

But tending noses is a big time suck, too, and I haven't gotten anything done that I actually wanted to get done this week. Not in my job, and certainly not in my house. What a wreck that became in just a few short days. I forgot that I had washed a load of clothes and left them soaking wet in the washing machine for a whole day and night before remembering to put them in the dryer. Of course, I had to put them through another rinse cycle first, and there was a whole basket of baby clothes waiting their turn yet.

Hippo's horrible handiwork. That crap used to be a cushion.

And that miserable mother-)&)$#^@ mutt dog of my husband's (I like his desk, not his dog) has acted out terribly now that even less attention is being paid to her. My dog Johnny died recently (too sad to blog about it just yet) so she lost her playmate, and she had a yeast infection in her ear that required significant vet care. I was feeling a tad sorry for her and was trying to interact with her more often. But then she went and tore up a patio chair cushion and strew it all over the backyard. One more goddamn thing I have to take care of now.

Working at home is not green grass on the other side of any fence. Working early mornings downtown was stressful, but when I was "at" work I got my work done, and when I was "at" home I got my housework done. Now nothing is getting done, not with any satisfaction.

And there's not much I can do about it right now, except bitch on a blog. I've had time to do this only because I've been composing it in my head for two days now, and I finally figured out a better place to do work than the desk in the family room.

I'm sitting in the nursery rocking chair with my laptop in my actual lap while Max babbles away happily on his changing table. (I'm right next to him, so no danger of him rolling off unattended.) Like the strange-but-wonderful baby he is, he loves getting his diaper changed. He loves hanging out on the table and interacting with whomever is changing him. He loves sucking face with the little stuffed frog I keep on the table.

This is the most productive moment I've had in days.

Who's Down With OCD?

I don't have an official diagnosis, but few who know me well would be surprised to learn I'm a touch obsessive compulsive.

This may have something to do with the hours I spent as a kid planting flowers with my dad and his trusty tape measure. The little packet said to plant them 8 inches apart, and by God we did just that.

It was reinforced during the years I spent as a page designer and copy editor at a newspaper. Those lines had to even up just so, and it sure as hell does matter exactly where the word "only" goes.

As much as I like to let clutter lie around in my house, I do have specific locations for which clutter should lie where. That pile of receipts may have no business stacked on the liquor cabinet, but that's where I have been keeping them and I know where they are and so they stay there.

When it comes to Max's baby stuff, I am quite specific about where it all lives. The most anal thing I do is keep a particular pacifier in each room. I want to be sure to always have one wherever he may decide to pass out for a nap. If we change rooms or especially floors of the house, I pull out whatever plug he has in his mouth and then pop in another one once we reach our destination.

However, when other people are in your house caring for your child -- like the babysitter or my I'll-do-whatever-I-please-anyway mother -- those pacifiers grow legs and travel all over the house. My dad, the boys and I were halfway to Wauseon before I realized the sitter had not heeded my directions to leave a binkie in the car seat. (She left it in the cup holder of the stroller to which the car seat attaches after their walk, so maybe she assumed she was.)

I buy more and leave them on the tables where I like them, but they don't stay there very long. I restack books and reorganize toys only to do it all over again the next day.

I really can't complain to the people who are making my life easier in every other way. So I'll just complain to you, dear reader.