I cleaned my desk. Or at least I put it in more orderly piles. So now it looks like this:
Some of the piles in the background belong to Fritz, since our desks face each other. Isn't that sweet? I mean: it's sweet that our desk face each other, not that Fritz has piles on his desk.
I not only finished designing the deck, but I got the necessary permits. So we're ready to build. Kinda. Except for the part about having two piccolini who would just love to help us play with saws and drills and big pieces of wood. And, oh yeah, buying supplies and tools and stuff. Gotta do that.
Shaming myself on the internet worked. Or at least, it worked better than whining to my mother. She says I need to "stew" before I take action. Isn't that sweet? I mean: it's sweet that she kindly refers to it as stewing, not that I'm whining to my mother at this age.
Mattias. I'm sure I managed to get the permit so easily thanks to his smiley face and the grandmother-ly building department official. He IS so cute. But. He's a monster at diaper changing time. He basically screams and twists and turns so hard throughout the whole process, that it takes me three stages to get him fully changed. We take one pause where he crawls around without his diaper on and one pause where he is wearing only a diaper. I know, the problems of motherhood. Poor me.
Mattias. And his car seat. He's ready to move out of the infant carrier and into the convertible. The convertible which Noah is still using. I know Mattias is ready because I basically have to shove him into the seat use all the strength in one arm, hold him in place as he arches his back and scolds me at the top of his lungs, and attempt to buckle him in with the other hand. No pauses. We do this every time. Yeah, I know, the car seat instructions say something about age and weight and maybe even height. But when getting the kid into the seat is this much of an ordeal, I say, time to change.