I have been working on another doll. With two inches of sewing left to go before the remainder of the doll was to be hand-sewing, the flywheel on my machine seized. Panic! I called Mom, who said it’s come to the point where I obviously need more than one sewing machine around the house. She also said that if it was her, she would just find something to take apart. So I took her advice about taking the machine apart and was able to narrow the issue down to a very small area.

Iris said, “Mommy, why you taked the fryweeoo off?” and threw a tantrum because I would not let her clean my machine which told me (1) she needed a nap and (2) I must spend an awful lot of time sewing lately if my two-year-old is concerned about the flywheel.

Before nap we needed to eat. Unfortunately, I could not for the life of me understand what she was asking for. The word was not coming out right, so she was crying and covering her mouth, which made the whole understanding-bit even more difficult. Eventually we went to the fridge, but no, it was not in there. In the freezer. I opened it. Oh, aspic! She’d been saying aspic! But it was frozen. She had a little, then she had some leftover quiche and I had a burger and some green beans (followed by gobs of peanut butter and dark chocolate, but please pretend I did not mention the “followed by” part.)

Iris is nice and conversational while eating. At dinner, for example, she generally prefers that any conversation between Martin and I be conducted through her. It actually isn’t bad, as she is quite responsive to conversation, nodding and agreeing continually to show she is listening. She took some of my beans. “You put gorgonzola in there?” she asked. She had not seen me put the cheese in, but as a budding cheese-connoisseur, she’s come to enjoy it. I said that yes I did. “And hard cheese,” she added. Which, yes, I had. It was neither parmesan nor reggiano, but rather something more obscure whose hyphenated name even I have trouble pronouncing.

She went back to eating her quiche. “You going to fix your sewing machine?” she asked.

And I said, “Maybe.”

And she said, “—and maybe not.”

…then she continued her temper tantrum because I would not let her clean my machine before she took a nap.