Ah, gentle readers, it seems like just last year that Stella was ruminating about her broken finger and taking small breaks (ha ha, get it) from blogging and being able to type 80 words a minute. Oh, wait, it was just last year. And now Stella is coping with a family fracture: the littlest Commute broke both bones in her arm in a fall off playground equipment at school.
Aside from the obvious maternal concern that I'm experiencing over Baby Commute's injury, there is the non-trivial disruption to my home-based office that has occurred. The good thing is that it has reconfirmed my most fundamental telecommuting ideal:
Do a search for images of "telecommuting mom" and you find all these pictures of women using laptops with their laps topped with small children. Sister, I got news for you: if you're really working, your kids probably aren't around. In fact, do everyone a favor and don't call it working.
I have a few coping techniques for when there are people in my house -- headphones, the thrill of the locking door, heavy sedation for younger family members -- it works out great. But there is always a designated adult (or young adult, now that Miss Teen Commute is 13 and a tremendous babysitter) minding the little one. And if not? I take vacation to care for her. Like I've been doing last week and part of this week.
Because no amount of headphones, blinders, and "talk to the hand because mommy's on a conference call" sign language is going to stop the piercing sounds of the Little Mermaid from penetrating my brain and rendering me incapable of coherent thought.