Where Are You Tonight, Sweet Marie?

My awesome cousin (ok, they're all awesome in their own way, but I'm talking about a specific one here) is a writer and he gave me his manuscript to read when I saw him this summer. I'm so honored that he shared it with me in the first place, I know what a delicate thing it is to share a work-in-progress. There's no way anyone's seeing mine until I've got at least one more draft under my belt. Or a whole different story (ha ha. Ha?). ANYWAY. I just finished it yesterday and. Holy bones. Is it good. It's a real, amazing, funny, interesting grown-up book with a plot and everything. And I cried. Not out of envy and thoughts that I'll never do anything like that--sure these feelings passed through me because he did what I keep not doing--but the tears were because the story made me cry. I can't wait until it's published so I can sing its praises from the treetops and rejoice when it's chosen by whatever huge book club will replace The Oprah's when she's done. I am seriously inspired now.

I've been reading A.S. Byatt's The Children's Book and it's as intensely great a piece of work as she's ever done. I'll be sad when it's over. A theme in it that really resonates with me, something she describes so well, is the lives of mothers and how their need to work introduces a competitive edge into the family, an air of resentment. The work itself becomes a sort of favorite child. Of course I don't have the book with me to pull up the quote I want to share that perfectly distills this particularly feminine phenomenon, but I'll come back here and post it when a get a chance. Suffice to say that as a woman and a writer and a mother herself, Byatt knows what's up. There are always exceptions, but historically it's not the same for men with children. Please know that I don't mean "Oh it's so hard to be a writer with children, you could never understand, woe and damnation, etc." especially since I haven't really written since my son was born and, like, he still tries to get a meal off of any woman who holds him close to her chest so it's not like he's old enough to be proprietary. I just mean that there's something about when you are passionate about something, it's hard to do it without it in some way being at the expense of the people you love. Oh fiction, you and your turning a mirror on society.

I get to see my niece for the first time tomorrow. So there!

Your Heart is a Strange Little Orange to Peel

So our Red Sox will not be in the playoffs this year. It's been a tough season with the absurd amount of injuries and such, but it really looked like they might rise above the odds for awhile there. Oh, well. We long-suffering Sox fans have been spoiled this decade. My heart's not broken this time around, it just wasn't our year. I'll still watch the remaining games and I hope they keep playing their butts off because baseball for baseball's sake is still... baseball. And I know it's probably the most boring sport after golf but that doesn't make me love it any less.

Another thing I love: as HR still wakes up for a feeding during the early early morning hours (usually around 4), and probably will continue to do this at least until we start him on solids (which is shockingly soon), I've discovered one big upside and it's the feeling of going back to bed after returning him to his crib. Settling back in and stretching, the way it makes me aware of all my limbs, it's such a luxurious feeling. Plus I can count on a good 2-3 hours of sleep to come. My dreams since he's been born have been so messed up, I won't even try to write about them, but still, the promise of more slumber is a mighty heady thing. I'm pro-sleep in case you didn't notice.

My latest thing now that we've gotten him to have a fairly consistent bedtime is to work on gradually breaking bad nighttime habits. First stop on that train: end my dependence on nursing as a sleep tool. Usually he falls asleep on the boob and we're good to go. But I know this is frowned upon for several good reasons, so two nights ago I fed him, then took him upstairs to do the nighttime routine and rocked him to sleep without additional nursing. There were some tears, but it worked. Last night he was overtired from lack of an afternoon nap (oh yeah, that's a whole other can of snakes) and fell asleep when I fed him. So it'll come and go like that for awhile, but I'll keep at it. Next thing after that: ending nighttime swaddling. Once that's accomplished the ultimate goal is to get him to go in the crib while he's still awake and put himself to sleep. I can't think of the endgame right now though, it's too frustrating. So I'll concentrate on one step at a time.

GAHH I can't wait until this hot and muggy weather is done for good. Talking about the weather is completing the hat trick of boring blogging (after dreams and baby routines) sooooo.... fin. For now.

Not That I'm NOT Keeping One...

When I need a shot of inspiration, I go on flickr and do searches for things that I'm feeling nostalgic about or I think might generally make me happy. Often I'll type in cities that I love and see what comes up. It's fun to get a look at them throught different people's eyes, and sometimes you even spot someone you know. This morning I typed in "Portland Maine" and it really just made me long for a visit. Portland is the bomb at all times, and it's home to several of my most favorite people (you know who you are), but it's the best in the fall. I'm dreaming of a weekend trip, though I have to say it's going to be tough to pull off now that Mike works weekends. I suppose HR and I could go up ourselves, but 1) I'd feel bad going without Mike because he loves it too and 2) I'm phobic about driving on highways. I'm not proud of this and I don't intend to be ruled forever by my fear, but I get panic attacks traveling at fast speeds, mostly when I'm alone but even when I have a passenger. Argh. There's always the train and bus. But I want to go as a family. We'll find a time, if not this fall then next. But like I said it's great any season.

Anyway, when I was pregnant, I used flickr to browse for maternity shots every day. I'm still enamored of other people's big bellies (I like to look, I'm not one of those hands-on people), everyone's so unique when it comes to their pregnancies and I think they're all beautiful. That little experiment is what led me to this week's Blog of the Week: Cherry Menlove. Her blog is like a fantasy, I still can't believe she's a real person. But I'm pretty sure she is. And she's got gorgeous twins who were born shortly after my dude was. And she's British. Very cool, very uplifting. Her blog always makes me smile, and sometimes cry.

While I'm on the subject, I linked the wrong blog last week in haste. What should have been on here was My Favorite and MY Best. No offense to the writer I linked in error, it just wasn't the one I described. You know, I've noticed my attention to detail--which used to be one of my major selling points as a human being--has waned over the last, oh, five months. I'm hoping once I return to full nights of sleep it'll come back. If not, just one more thing HR will owe me for when he's a big boy. Not that I'm keeping a list or anything.

Sing a Song of Five

Our boy is five months old today! Everybody told me that these infant months fly by, and everybody was right. He's almost a half-year old - I can't quite comprehend that. Sometimes I wish I could just slow him down, but the developments are way too much fun.

Saturday I hosted a shower for my girl who is due to give birth in a few weeks, and it was a very nice afternoon catching up with a bunch of ladies I rarely see, nibbling on treats and sipping on a baby-bathtub's worth of pumpkin and other fall brews. It was a tad warm for a fall-themed shower (the hot cider was barely touched) but we gathered around the air conditioner and passed around the two babies in attendance while the Mama-to-Be opened her gifts. Can't wait to meet the new baby when she/he's fully cooked!

That night I stayed up way past my bedtime so I could see Mike for a few minutes (he worked his butt off this weekend), and the little sprout decided to wake up way early yesterday morning, so we spent the day inside, chilling in our jammies. I hope the baby enjoyed himself, because as long as Mike will be working anyway, this will be how the boy and I will be spending the majority of our Sundays. The lazy Sunday is a beautiful thing and I've perfected its observance.

In between trying to keep a quiet vibe and get Mr. Man to take two separate afternoon naps (and failing miserably) there was an Arrested Development marathon on IFC. Perfect. Sundays were made for such things, if you're not into football. Sure I own the entire series on DVD and I haven't even watched it, but I know it's there if I need to. In general I'm not a big buyer of things, but I do collect art that I love and this qualifies. Ditto Veronica Mars and Freaks and Geeks. IFC has also been running Freaks and Geeks in its entirety, and I've been revisiting that and marveling at what an amazing, amazing show it is. It's note-perfect. They ran the episode the other night where Freak leader Daniel talks to Geek leader Harris and I believe it's one of the best written and performed scenes in TV history. It's easy to see why Stephen Lea Sheppard didn't go on to much more (aside from a memorable turn in The Royal Tenenbaums) because he so perfectly inhabits the role of Harris.

Anyway, I'm overdue for the first pump o' the mornin' so I'll go take care of that but Happy Banned Books week! Go exercise your intellectual freedom and read your favorite (it's probably on the list).

Estrogen Represent!

Family walk was thwarted this morning because SOMEbody--I won't say who--thought 5:30 was an appropriate time to wake up instead of the usual 6:30 (or later if we're lucky). Mr. Anonymous soon realized that a little more snoozing was a capital idea, so the resulting extra couple of hours put us off our schedule. But hey whatever, sleep takes precedence these days for all of us. It just reaffirms my belief though that babies are born saboteurs, that they're all part of a secret conspiracy to keep their mamas as soft and fleshy as possible for as long as they can. Damn them and their comfort agenda.

A thing about music on my mind: again. Something you may not know about me is that I don't like many female vocalists. That sounds unfair and shitty and anti-feminist, I know, but it's an acknowledged preference. I specifically don't like many female voices of the singer-songwriter variety and I can say exactly why: I don't care for endless vibrato, and earnestness (from either sex) makes me uncomfortable. And I have a penchant for male singers (Antony, Jake Shears, Mika, etc.) who can nail a falsetto. What is that all about? I've decided to start keeping a list of the women whose voices I do like, and it turns out that all hope is not lost. Here are some xx singers I really enjoy:

-Kim Deal
-Regina Spektor (in small doses)
-Sharon Jones
-Dolly Parton
-kd lang (probably my all-time favorite voice, actually)
-Johnette Napolitano
-Loretta Lynn
-Tanya Donnelly
-Ann Wilson
-Joni Mitchell (to be honest though I merely tolerate the vocals because her songwriting is so good)
-Beyonce
-Imogen Heap

There's a whole bunch of big-mouth Broadway ladies I'm forgetting too. Was there a point to this list other than to prove to myself that I'm not sexist? Well, no. But thanks for sticking around (if you did).

This weekend I'm hosting a pumpkin-themed baby shower and I reckon it should be a lovely time.

I Like to Move It

I've reached a weight plateau: all the weight that baby-popping and breastfeeding alone was going to take off is taken off, I think, and now it's time to either give up nachos/cake/beer, or start ramping up the workouts. I don't believe in giving up things unless it's strictly required for health reasons, so exercise it is. The way our schedules are these days, the only realistic solution is early morning walks together, so we plan to start those tomorrow. We won't take them every day, because hanging out in bed with the baby is one of the best things ever. A few days a week is a good start. Someday I'll get back to my desired level of fitness, but it's pointless to be in a rush. Who cares about a couple of pounds when I've got a sweet baby boy already growing so fast? It's not like I make my living by being a model. So tomorrow we haul ourselves out of bed and walk. It's on. I'll let you know how it goes.

Work beckons, so instead of the long angry screed I had planned on the subject of my sucky evening commute, I'll wrap up this pep talk to myself and call it an entry.

Born Nerdish

Oh, how beautiful is the wretched world following a night of unbroken sleep! Dear HR, whatever you did last night, please do it again. Love, your (relatively) rested Mama

My brain feels accordingly shiny and I've got academic nostalgia which happens this time every year. I was just realizing that you know I'm a lifetime ultra-nerd because all my fond memories of my undergrad years are based in the academic aspect. Like sitting in Shakespeare class just drinking it in... oh man. I could have made out with that big fat book of Collected Works. And workshop classes. Being an English major with a Writing (vs. Literature) slant, I took approximately one kajillion workshop classes and though I probably got really sick of them after awhile, I long to take one again. Someday when the bean's a little more grown I'll join a writer's group.

Some of you know that I have another blog that I started as a grad school project and sort of got really into it and kept it going for the past - is it six years now? Wow. It's a passion project of mine, with a focus on talking about young women's sexuality in young adult literature, but that theme has expanded as time went on to include lots of related subjects. I've been pretty bad at updating it recently but I can't fathom giving it up because it's my way of staying connected with a certain community and from time to time I really have a fire under me to write in it. I expect to update before this week is up. So, that's a thing.

In blog-o'-the-week news: I regularly read a few design blogs. I'm not sure why, my eye is not one for design. My attraction to them can be attributed to equal parts admiration, love of eye candy and envy of people with beautifully decorated homes. These women are talented and sincere and give me a lot of ideas that I quickly forget. The other day I discovered my new favorite design blog: my favorite and my best. She's got a great eye too, but I love her more for her foul, hilarious mouth. Her writing is the perfect antidote for when the other ones leave me feeling like I'm destined to be forever drab, and her un-precious irreverence is refreshing.

Well kids, I've got to make hay and take advantage of this sharp feeling while it lasts. Happy Tuesday!

My Daddy Taught Me Good

After putting off going to the eye doctor for three years, I finally got my eyes checked and it turns out that my right eye corrected itself to almost perfect vision which is why I've been feeling all jacked up, seeing-wise. I didn't know that was possible. Pregnancy, is there any bodily mechanism it doesn't fuck with? Still I needed a new prescription, and they couldn't put new lenses in my old frames so I have new glasses that I don't like. I liked them at the store, but now that I have them I have reservations. I miss my old glasses. That reminds me of one of my all-time favorite Homer-and-Marge exchanges on The Simpsons from the "Bart's Girlfriend" episode:

Marge: Have you noticed something different about Bart?
Homer: New glasses?
Marge: No. He just seems disturbed lately.
Homer: Probably misses his old glasses.

Did you know that one of my life's ambitions is to be a comedy writer? If you didn't, now you do. The subtle brilliance contained in just four lines is so inspiring to me, and keeps me loyal to that show even when it's not especially sharp.

Anyway. This past couple of days went rather fast, no? HR was a joy as always. Even when he wakes up at 6 a.m. (which happened only one morning and it was this one) and proceeds to have an apocalyptic blowout from which no surface, body part or piece of clothing is safe, he's still the best part of my day. We got outside a lot, adventuring around the city. He can't get enough of rubbernecking now that he's able to face out in the carrier. He's the nosiest baby, most content when he's watching the world go by and occasionally communicating with his environs with delighted, high-pitched gibberish. Some friends came over last night and we grabbed some takeout dinner and played "pass the infant" before he had to go to bed and Mike had to go to work and it was a lovely way to put a cap on the weekend.

Now it's Monday and I have no choice but to be OK with that. If you're not OK with it, try watching this amazing clip (courtesy of my brother) and see if it doesn't turn your whole day around. I will caution you that you'll be singing "backin' up backin' up" for the next year.

Spicy Meat-a-ball

As if to prove a point to myself, I'm wearing the jeans today. The button is fastened with an end-of-first-trimester style-ee hair elastic, and I'm wearing a billowy top to distract the eye, but if you're not aware of the engineering feat going on underneath, I look pretty normal. I'm still getting a new pair though.

The best thing happened this morning! Usually HR lets us know that he's ready to be taken out of baby-prison in the morning with an angry sort of infant "ATTICA! ATTICA!" I've always heard tales of babies who wake with a smile, and I secretly hoped we'd get one of those, but by this point I'd reached the conclusion that our baby just isn't the type. Some people aren't morning people, it runs in my family. Today though what came through the monitor at 6:30 was some good-natured babbling. A smart person would have just let him go on and on and gotten as much rest as possible, but I've dropped the smart act lately. Plus it was the first time, so I couldn't pass up basking in the novel cuteness of him talking to himself (and/or his mobile or the ceiling or who the hell knows with these babies). I know better than to assume that it'll be like this every morning, too, so I just wanted to make sure I got a chance to be greeted with a smile instead of a wailing maw. It was awesome. I'm enchanted by my awesome baby. That's a running theme here, I guess.

We were listening to some music before I left for work, and Matthew Sweet came on and it made me think, how did it take me this long to realize that he sounds an awful lot like Michael Stipe? And they have the same initials! Suspicious.

I'm craving red-sauce Italian food like a mother and we've been meaning to go to the North End for like a year so this is the weekend it will happen. If it sounds counterproductive in terms of the fitting-into-my-old-pants project, it's because it is. And I'm ok with that. I'd rather eat carbs than... than.... Well, that's it. I'd just rather eat carbs. Maybe I should get that printed on a bumper sticker.

I'm at home tomorrow and probably won't write again this week so here's my wish to y'all for a lovely weekend.

Or, Denial

GodDAMN why is The Band so good? I ask myself this question every time I hear them. Are they underrated? Probably not. I think their musicianship is widely respected, it's just that I'm relatively delayed in my appreciation for them. As with many people who covert to whatever later in their lives, I like to push them on everyone. "You haven't seen The Last Waltz? Oh, you MUST! It will change your life!" No, but seriously it will.

It's unavoidable folks: I need to buy pants. Jeans, in particular. I'm down to one pair of jeans. And I love these jeans, they are the only jeans I want and would be happy to wear them every day. But they don't seem to love buttoning when I put them on. The main problem with this is that I HATE buying jeans. It's really hard to find jeans that look good on my body. Trust me on this, that's why I'm so enamored of the ones I already have, they were perfect. I'm still holding out hope that they will be a perfect fit again, but it doesn't look good. I'm back within a couple of pounds of my pre-preg weight, but I find that everything seems to have sort of moved into a different location. Assuming I do get back to working out at my desired rate again, there's still no guarantee that it will all rearrange itself to my liking.

It's not that I ever had a flat stomach to begin with so I don't expect mine to magically go concave, but it'd be nice to get rid of the, you know, the skin flap thingy. Mamas understand I'm talking about (though if you're one of the lucky ones you don't. Also I don't want to hear from you). It's going away, but not fast enough even though I'm taking everyone's advice and being patient with and kind to my body. The bottom line is that unless I want to wear skirts all winter--and I'm sick to death of the ones I have for wearing them all summer--it's off to the store I go for jeans. Gross. Or maybe I'll just make the switch to all caftans, all the time and call it Golden Girls chic. This might seem like a defeatist attitude to you, but I like to think of it as creative solution-ing.

Just About Halfway Through...

Everything bad happens in September. There are some good things about this month, but when I think of the most heinous occurrences in my life--either in my backyard or worldwide--the timing is impeccably September-y. For some reason, call it mental self-preservation, I forget about it every year until the month gets going and then, POW, the September curse. I've never considered myself to be superstitious, and I'm not that self-centered as to believe that the universe is out to get me personally, but I can't shake the bad vibes of the ninth month of the year. I have a long list to back this up, and it's studded with gems like my sister dying (1980) to that little matter of planes crashing in New York (2001) to the time when it kept on a-rainin' and the levees done broke (2005). We just found out that our really good friends and their infant were in a scary car crash this weekend. It could have been a much worse thing, of course, as aside from their car being smashed to kingdom come none of them are seriously injured. That's the bottom line. Still, it was awful for them and for many other people who happened to be on the highway when a driver came zooming up the wrong way.

In conclusion, fuck this month. Is it October yet?

Of course I can't leave on such a down note. And I can do lots of things, but skipping a month of the year is out of my skill set so I've got to stick it out and focus on the positive. Having such a cute baby around all the time helps in that respect. I have a rare after-work meeting and the possibility that he'll be in bed when I get home is sort of crushing, but we had some fun time this morning and I'm sure he'll give me a chipper feeding call in the dark wee hours. The point is, even in the Month of Doom the scale is tipped in happiness's favor.

Which brings me to the appropriately named blog du semaine: Bookshelves of Doom. Librarians rule, and Leila is a fierce example.

Sophie the Giraffe to the Rescue

Another crazy Monday, coming off a decidedly mellow and enjoyable weekend. Thursday night we had Rosh Hashanah dinner with my in-laws in the burbs and it was a nice, relaxed occasion. As you may or may not have noticed I'm freakishly close with my family, and I want to give HR the opportunity to say the same so I'm happy for any chance we get to have him passed around by grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. I'm really looking forward to the winter holidays, not this year alone, but in the future, when the baby can raise hell with his little and big cousins. Xmas and Chanukah are for kids, as far as I'm concerned.

Friday I worked from home, and though I couldn't do this job full time from home for various reasons, I feel lucky to have that extra day to be in the presence of my little family, especially since it's usually the only day the three of us have together. My current project is trying my hand at writing a manual-- I'm adapting an already-written manual to make it specific to our office use so I'm not exactly starting from scratch, but it's a nice challenge all the same.

Saturday was a beautiful, autumn-y day and we met friends at a Greek Festival to chow down and enjoy each other's company. Oh man, Greek food is awesome. Festivals like that remind me of growing up, the way people come together for these community fundraising dealies and everyone works so hard. The old ladies serving the food in my town were mostly Italian and French-Canadian (as was the food), but that's just semantics. You know you're going to get the best of the authentic best for a steal. And it's always a very specific type of old lady making and serving the food. The one who served my salad went into the kitchen to chase down an olive because she was very concerned that I didn't get any, and another gossiped about the eating habits of some of the other attendees. They're strangers, but I know these ladies in a way that's very comforting. The festival  ran all weekend and I gladly would have eaten every meal there. I may or may not have taken away a double order of baklava for that night's dinner, I'll let you decide.

Mike had to work later on and baby decided his bedtime would be an hour earlier for some reason, so I retired to my bed with a book, a glass of wine and the remote control. It was heaven. Annie Hall was on, followed by Beautiful Girls. I have a list of grievances with that second movie, but I like it in spite of itself because a) the soundtrack is stellar and (the Afghan Whigs are actually in the movie so automatic points) and b) I am nostalgic for both the mid-1990s time period as well as that small-town New England setting (even though it turns out it was filmed in Minnesota). There's something so romantic to me about going out to bars when it's cold outside and walking home in the snow. Ask me again how I feel about that last part in February. Anyway, what constitutes a great Saturday night for me has apparently changed significantly over the past year, but I'm not embarrassed to admit it.

Yesterday was my day alone with the babe, and it was pretty great, though he had a rough bedtime, crying for an hour like he hasn't done since he was a tiny newborn. I felt so bad for my sweet little moosh, and just walked and walked with him, that being the only thing that seemed to console him until he finally fell asleep. Mike and I are beginning to suspect that the joy of teething has begun. Oh, lard.

Hmm, I thought I had more to say, but no. Turns out that's all for now.

Sweet

In the spirit of the New Year, here's a list of that for which I am most thankful (beginning with the obvious, but never to be overlooked):

-My wonderful husband, gorgeous baby boy and amazing family and friends

-All of our continued health-- I'm so lucky to have an able body that almost exclusively nourishes for our son; our niece made it into the world with a bang when years ago it might not have been possible; I'm in my mid-thirties and still have two rip-roaring grandmothers

-A stable job with benefits that I enjoy and feel good about doing

-A roof over my head

-Food as sustenance that I don't take for granted

-Food as enjoyment and entertainment - it's a luxury to be able to wax poetic over a bowl of soup, or opt not to eat something if I don't like it. I'll include delicious alcohol and coffee here as well. Last fall I was pregnant and missed out on pumpkin beer season, but this year it's SO on. Of course my consumption is tempered by breastfeeding, but a little is better than none

-Music, which lights every day of my life, the love of which I think we've already passed on to the little nugget. He seems to especially enjoy Lionel Richie's "All Night Long." Sorry about that, baby (no I'm not)

-Reading. I've been hitting the books as hard as possible to make up for lost time, and reading to HR is one of my great joys. It's a bonus that he actually seems to pay attention

-TV, particularly the new season of Community about to drop. Whoever put that cast together, you are a genius

-Living in New England, especially in this season

-This life I get to live, which is part serendipitous circumstance, and part what we've made for ourselves. It's ordinary, sure, but still pretty fabulous when you stand back and give it a good look.

5770 was a doozy!

May the coming year bring only additions to the list.

A Schtikle of a Post

Happy New Year to my chosen homies! Rosh Hashanah doesn't start until sundown tonight, but it's never too early to start handing out the good wishes as far as I'm concerned. I myself am not Jewish. I grew up Catholic but haven't ascribed to any religion since my late teens. There's a lot more to say on that subject but it's not for today. I married a secular/occasionally observant Jew, which makes my son half Jewish, and that means I get to co-opt the fun parts, for example: homemade brisket and latkes. I suppose this picking and choosing makes me no better than Dr. Tim Watley, but I figure if I can steer clear of telling jokes (I'm not a big fan of jokes anyway) it keeps me relatively harmless. Overall I'm in favor of any tradition that promotes thoughtful gratitude and family, and that's what the High Holidays are all about. And did I mention brisket?

This morning I saw an otherwise unremarkable-looking guy walking down Mass Ave. wearing a tri-cornered hat and eating a comically large muffin, and for some reason I feel like that set the tone for the coming year. Which is to say bananas, for better or worse.

L'shana tova.

Fall-ing Slowly

What a terrific long weekend. Our little buddy is busting out with more personality by the hour, and it was a gift to spend all that time with him, eating up his laugh and getting drunk on his sleepy cuddling. Except for a wonky Friday night he was a great sleeper--waking only once in the night to feed seems to be the norm now (fingers crossed)--and he was spoiled by a succession of maternal grandparents and aunts and uncles from Thursday through Monday. I got to read, relax, hang out with people I love, and enjoy the hell out of the first Manhattan I've had in over a year. Mike worked a bit, but not too much. We capped the whole thing off with grilling giant steaks at our friends' new home. And now I feel refreshed and ready to get down to business. Dear Fall, I'm officially ready for you. Impatient for you, actually. So come on, then!

Before I dive into my workpile, my pick for Blog of the Week is Cucina Nicolina. I can say a lot about this blogger because, even though we've never actually met, I've considered her a friend for a long time. Nicole is an incredible writer, a superstar runner, a passionate foodie and amazing cook. I have made her Guinness chocolate cake repeatedly and it has never failed me. Her blog is a little bit of everything, and a lot of magic.

Check it out, and have a fabulous (already!) Tuesday.

List-O-Mania

Lists! I love to make lists. Making lists keeps me sane. It just plain makes me happy, be they shopping lists, to-do lists, or packing lists. I especially get a thrill from making lists of things I love. So on the cusp of this long weekend (that's a list item in and of itself), here's a love list.

- When I was in RI with my in-laws, there was a fire pit. There were smores. But these weren't ordinary smores - they were smores made with peanut butter cups instead of a plain chocolate bar. WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT HIS BEFORE? Wow.

- There was also an outdoor shower at this house, and I love me an outdoor shower. My buddy Kev wrote a facebook status update from his own vacation, remarking that he not only took an outdoor shower but he brought along a beer, and it was at night under the stars. That's a beautiful lesson in how to take something already wonderful and make it exponentially so. Kev and his bride know how to live - love item within a love item within a love item.

- Dancing shows, kid. I am partial to So You Think You Can Dance and America's Best Dance Crew. For some reason I never watched Dancing With the Stars, probably because the talent is so lopsided. Plus I don't need to be getting hooked on another show. But Margaret Cho is going to be on the upcoming season. Margaret Cho, guys. And Jennifer Grey - I'm very curious to see if she can rekindle her inner Baby-ness. Yeah Bristol Palin is going to be on it to, but that's what DVR is for.

- Usually by this time of the year I've snorted up the world's supply of Flonase and gone through a forest's worth of tissues due to seasonal allergies, but so far I haven't had so much as a sniffle. Did my allergies go away? Even if they're just delayed, I'll take it.

- Tonight my brother's band is playing in our 'hood and my friend has offered to stay with HR so both Mike and I can attend the show. Luckily they're going on first because I gots to get my sleep.

- Labor Day approaches which means the aforementioned long weekend. Which means nonstop baby time for me. Which also means a whisper of beloved Fall weather. Oh for conditions that might allow us to sleep with the windows open again and take the baby for a walk without him sweating through his onesie in five minutes. I'll be able to wear my Frye boots every day (some people can rock the boots all summer long. I am not one of those people). Don't even get me started on the bounty of apple cider donuts and roasted root vegetables.

- Ryan Adams. It's a good day for listening to Ryan Adams.

May the coming bunch of days bring sweets and joy and joyness to you all.

I'll Very Nearly Miss Her

HR had his 4-month check-up today and he continues to be perfect. I feel very, very lucky to have such a healthy little dude. He's on the small end of the spectrum (10-15th percentile, whatever that means) but neither his dad nor I are particularly big 'uns so it makes sense. He's growing appropriately and to me he's a delicious marshmallow of a baby, finally starting to put on some adorable chub. I guess the recent milk influx is no coincidence. He was such a love during the exam, smiling and laughing at the nurse and doctor, only crying when he got his shots, and I think that was mainly because he was hungry anyway. My boy's a champ, what can I say.

We're having a wonderfully decent sleeping week, back to him waking only once to feed after a going down for a 7-8 hour chunk. I know better than to think this pattern is here for good, but I certainly enjoy it in the moment. I know I need to wean him from his swaddling soon. And I need to sleep train so he can put himself to sleep instead of me nursing and holding him to sleep like I do, it's for all of our own good. But I'm selfishly putting it off because I don't get home until 6:30 on weeknights and that hour-and-a-half before he goes to sleep is my close time with him. Arg. If I don't ever train him there are probably worse things... but I know I should. Arg, again. I was led to believe that parenting would be easy? And that there would be more pie involved? Come to think of it I don't think I've had any pie since I started this blog and it makes me feel like a fraud. We can't have that, now.

Because of this morning's appointment I'm off my pumping schedule, which means I probably won't have to deal with Sandra Lee. What am I talking about? OK, I'll explain the correlation. Because of where I work I get the cushiest pumping set-up - we have studio apartments on site and on any given day there's one that's unoccupied. I get privacy, A/C, a refrigerator and cable TV at my disposal while I'm doing my thing (another enormous job perk). I like to be efficient and get it done quickly, but pumping is boring so I turn on the TV so I can zone out for ten minutes. The Food Network was on the first time I turned on the TV in my current little station, so I just left it on because I like to watch food being made while I'm, er, making food. The Neelys are on during my morning pump (they've grown on me because they are so obviously in love) and Giada is my late-afternoon buddy (I've always liked her). The problem is the mid-afternoon abomination known as Sandra Lee and her various crimes against humanity through "recipes" and "decorating." It's so easy to dislike her and her awful-looking food and ridiculous tablescapes that watching her becomes its own kind of fun. I could change the channel, but why when I can gape and yell things at the TV like, "Sandra for the love of god there is no such effing thing as MELK!" and feel better about my own kitchen skills in comparison? I'm no chef, but at least I never dumped a jar of strawberry jam and a pork butt in a slow cooker and called it dinner. Today though I'll have to look elsewhere for my dose of culinary schadenfreude.

It's a tough life, but someone's got to live it.