Overtime

C's working overtime. He worked yesterday (although that was a short day, because he was home before A went to bed) and he's still working today.

A and I are spending a lot of time together. A's begun to put two words together again verbally, like "Bye, Daddy!" and (sadly, with big eyes) "Go car? Go Daddy?" Sigh. He's coming out with entire strings of jargon that sound like a complete sentence ("What is this over here?"). We meet with his service coordinator in another week or so to set up speech services. Also, he knows how to operate the DVD player, including swapping disks. From closed cases. Oy.

I've been reading Nigella Lawson which always makes me feel like roasting chickens and baking cakes and being all domestic goddess-y, so today I roasted a chicken and some potatoes for A and I to eat for lunch. They came out perfectly. Perfect moist crispy-skinned chicken, perfect crispy roasted potatoes. And A wouldn't touch either of them until I produced (organic, non-HFCS) ketchup, which he's never eaten before.

Well, he loved it. And he loved chicken as a ketchup conveyance device. But he's still not really interested in potatoes. I know he's mine, but good grief, where's his potato love?