It's my (birthday) party

... and I'll cry if I want to. OK, I'm not crying today, but it's the first day in a couple of weeks. Been too swamped with work to think straight. Missed bedtime with Jude more than a few nights and I'm working from home in the same apartment. Awful. Trying to keep my head above water and keep this paycheck coming in.

Life lessons

I've been in Rhode Island this weekend visiting my in-laws. One of the nice things about visiting family is the built-in babysitting. Matthew and I had "date night" on Friday after we bathed and put Jude to bed. We went up to Federal Hill and walked around. It's a very old Italian part of Providence that has been revamped in recent years and lots of restaurants and shops have moved in and revitalised the area. We has a great time people watching and window shopping.

We came upon a clothing store that we hadn't seen before (which blows my mind since we later found out it's been there for 9 years) and went in to check it out. The atmosphere was super cool and edgy, really well decorated with funky style. There were vintage chandeliers and old hat stands, all the makings of a chic boutique. Definitely not your mall clothing store.

The clothing was amazing. As we looked through the racks there were coats, tops, sweaters, skirts, even hats that really blew us away. After about 10 minutes Matthew said, "Do you see any tags on these pieces? I think these are all in-house!" He was right. Every piece was designed and handmade by the store. Amazing clothing. The detail and thought put into those clothes was obvious.

We ended up talking to the salesman, who we found out was one of the designers. He was soft-spoken and appreciated compliments on his work. We admired his work for about 20 minutes, I mused about what I'd love to wear once I shed the 30 nagging lbs I've been meaning to lose since before Jude was born. We laughed a little and talked about a '20s inspired cutaway coat... and then he saw my arm. He saw my tattoo. He said, "Oh, how lovely. Are you a seamstress?"

And my heart sank. "No," I said. "Not at the moment." I wanted to cry. That's not a very good example to set for my son. Set goals, dream big, let it fall by the wayside when life takes over. I need to set a better example. Lead by example. All talk is no way to be.

drone

Work. Is. Not. Fun.

My workload increased recently and it's prohibiting me from writing like I want to. It's prohibiting me from hanging out with rapidly growing Jude all day like I want to.

A paycheck is good. A paycheck is good. A paycheck is good.

So close, and yet so far

Some people do well in chaos. I am not one of those people. We've been in our new apartment for a week, but we're not fully unpacked yet. We have a desk to sell, a trunk to move to a friend's apartment, 2 closets to clean, and about 4 boxes to unpack. We're close, but we're not there yet.

Poor Duke is confused. He's not good with stairs and we live on the 3rd floor. It's not any sort of physical limitation. It's confusion. He can't figure out how not to trip going up the stairs and how not to go too fast going down. He has a tendency to whack his muzzle a few times a day.

When I said we have 2 closets to clean, it's not that we need to organize them. It's that we literally need to clean them. You see, the previous tenants were here for 12 years. They spent those 12 years chain smoking and not wiping the garbage juice off the wall where they tossed things into the can and didn't quite make it. All the walls were washed and painted twice before we moved in - that got rid of the smoke smell. The windows were washed 4x and still aren't crystal clear. The nicotine staining on the intercom plate was so thick we thought it was brown plastic. It's white. Eww.

So yeah, we need to clean the closets. The walls need a scrub and a coat of paint. Once that's done we can move things into them and get the last boxes out of the living room. I really hope we can get that done soon.

After that's taken care of we need to figure out what to do with a pair of skis and 2 golf bags. Not exactly Brooklyn apartment type sports equipment, but we're slightly unconventional.

Oh, how things solidify

Here is something that isn't talked about very often among people who don't have kids, but discussed at length among those who do - poop. Specifically the change in poop when going from breastmilk only to breastmilk + solid foods. Consistency, color, stink potency... it all changes.

This is enthusiastically talked about between parents. There is much excitement surrounding the topic. Parents of older children pipe up and reminisce about their own kids' poops from back in the day. Parents of younger children add anecdotes about the recent changes in their babies' diaper regions. This astounds me... and thrills me because the poop changes in this household have been amazing and I love chatting about it with people who understand the gravity of this monumental shift.

Too funny. Parenting is too funny. Kinda gross, but really hilarious.

We're in

We did it. We moved. We're in the midst of unpacking everything and determining the best room layouts, but we're here. So is the new flat screen LCD TV we bought yesterday. It's amazing how much room our old tube TV takes up compared to this sleek, modern beauty. HD is nothing to sneeze at, either!

I hope to post some pictures of the new place soon. It's a bit of a mess still and I need to get a shower. Jude managed to fling carrot/apple puree (yes, he's eating solids now, and yes I'm making them) at me when he grabbed the spoon I was deftly slipping into his mouth earlier. Motherhood is sticky.

How was your 4th of July weekend?

Took long enough...

Congratulations, Senator Franken.

Clean it up

But, make sure you use OxiClean. Or maybe KaBoom. Perhaps OrangeGlo. R.I.P., Billy Mays.

Also, R.I.P. Bernie Madoff's days as a free man. YES! Have fun rotting in your cell, you worthless bastard.

Is it really true?

Is Michael Jackson dead? I've heard conflicting reports. Coma? Maybe?

I'd like to say I'm saddened by the news... but I can't. I'm interested in it and I'm a little weirded out by it, but there's no sadness hiding in there anywhere. Not sure if that makes me callous or if it's just a distressing statement about our celebrity obsessed culture.

If the MJ of the 70s, the MJ of the Jackson Five had died I'd be sad. But, the 2009 Wacko Jacko died. Somehow that's just strange.

The club

Happy Father's Day to the best Daddy I know. I hope you enjoy being a member of the club and that fatherhood is everything you expected and brings you joys you never knew could be.

Keep on flexing those Dad muscles. Jude and I both think you're the strongest man in the universe.