orichalcum

Supreme Court Justices who complain about their workload.

If you happen to be a Supreme Court Justice, first of all, you only have formal court sessions three days a week, two weeks a month, 8 months or less a year. Now, yes, there's a lot of writing to be done in those off times - in which you are aided by multiple extremely talented, able assistants, who will work as long hours as you tell them to do as much of the work for you as you want.

Look, I'm an academic. And, yes, sometimes I'll whine in a stressful week. But I'm well aware of the lifestyle perks of my job, and how it compares to a conventional job where you work 9-6 every day or the many, many industries where you're expected to work 60-80 hours a week, let alone, say, medical residents and legal associates. I have it easy - and I like it that way. But I try not to whine about how difficult my overall schedule is, because I'm well aware of how good I have it.

If you can't deal with the workload of a practically part-time job that thousands of lawyers and judges in the U.S. would give their eyeteeth for, there's a simple solution to this problem. Resign.

For this Monday, two actual toddler-dog interactions worth sharing. At dinner, Mac got bored with his spaghetti, and Eowyn had wandered over to his high chair. He took his fork and started carefully unspinning the pasta wound around it into Eowyn's mouth, which she opened quite readily. It was tremendously hard to stop laughing and discourage this behavior, a horrible idea though it was. But it looked so cute. We took away the fork, and then Eowyn carefully licked every one of Mac's fingers clean of tomato sauce while I was clearing his plate.

A little while later, Mac had asked us to cuddle in bed with him. We had just collapsed into bed when Eowyn came in, wanting attention, and grabbed a sock of CP's (an old bad habit she's revived at the D-Ws) and ran off with it. We called after her to no avail. Mac stands up, "Eowyn shouldn't have a sock! I will go chase her!"
"No," I say, "it's okay, Mac, Mommy will get it in a minute," since I really didn't want to move. CP and I look at each other, each reluctant to get up.
Before we can stop him, Mac jumps off the bed and runs off into the living room. We look at each other and think about our old hard-wired rule that the dog and baby can never be alone together, and all the ways this situation could go badly. I start to pull myself up, just as Mac comes running back into the bedroom, triumphantly waving the sock. "I got Daddy's sock! Eowyn was eating it!"

I guess it's good they've developed such a trusting relationship?

And in another instance of Mac's refusal to accept others' reality:
As we're driving past a P.F. Chang's, Mac points and says, "Look at the dinosaur statue, Mommy!"
I look at the stone horse and say, "That's a horsie statue, Mac!"
"No, it's a dinosaur!"
CP chimes in, "Mommy is right; it's a horse. Look at the head, Mac."
(After a few more iterations of dinosaur/horse)
Mac: "I'm not sure it's a horsie. I think maybe it's a dinosaur," with a tone of great sufferance.
"I think we'll agree to disagree, Mac," CP offers.