Speaking of the great state of New Jersey...

I love NJ. Everybody has their own opinion, and mine is that Jersey rules. I always hear people talking about how they want to leave NJ and move to California or Florida (which I do not get at all, earthquakes and alligators, hello?), or insert any other state name here. Back when we were looking for our first home and debating the possible charms of neighboring states, Husband and I discussed New Jersey and all her glory. We threw an impromptu state slogan contest between ourselves.

2nd runner up: Ain't nothin' wrong with Jersey.
1st runner up: New Jersey. Don't even front, you know you love it.
Winner: Don't mess with Texas? Don't f*ck with Jersey.

These are all pretty much a joint effort. Looking back, maybe now I'd pick the first runner up to win. With a little tweaking, we could probably even cut it down to one sentence.

36-ish hours

Tomorrow night, Husband will depart Jorge Chávez International Airport and fly home to the great state of New Jersey, arriving Wednesday morning and probably showing up at the front door some time around noon. Shazam! I just want to say thanks to all of you for keeping me in such great company for the past three months. Everyone from NJ to Kathmandu (really) was checking in on me, and that makes me feel super special. So thanks, everybody, for all the great energy. You're the best.

For Franky, I'm wishing safe travels. Wednesday I'll probably be looking out the window every 30 seconds to see if he's here yet. The kids know he's coming back, it's really cute how excited they are. I'll be happy to have him right next to me again. I've missed him so much, and I just wanna tell him to his face how much I love him. He'll be all tan and shaggy with a super Inca vibe -- cannot wait to see him. One of our first orders of business will be to decide when to take an overnight out of town together. That promises to be some good stuff right there.

Oh, and... freelance is back on, but I'm having a little problem with one thing. The business is registered under Magic Number Studio, only that doesn't quite fit now that there are four of us. That name was chosen right after Nico was born. I'm debating a switch. If it's going to be official, it might as well be accurate.

Dinner party

Here's what's up. Going out is awesome. I love being a human.

That is all.

Thoughts on Sunday (this might technically qualify as rambling)

There are so many things on my mind today, it would take me hours to get it all out. Mostly I'm thinking about Husband returning on Wednesday, but there's so much more. Right now I'm a little taken aback by how much I love my kids. I look at these little creatures I grew inside my own body, and they're amazing and they're walking, talking, thinking, and doing. To oversimplify, it's profound. I can't say what I expected out of parenthood, but this is just so much more. I've changed as a person in ways I can't even begin to describe. I'm trying to strike a balance between what's happening inside my head and what I'm actually doing in the world. I have this new purpose, but I'm not quite sure exactly what it is yet.

One thing I've been struggling with is the way I have missed Frank while he has been gone. All in all, I consider myself to be a fairly independent person. I would never stop him from doing what he wants to do, because I know everyone has their own life to live and because he is always equally supportive of me. I proved myself as a provider by going back to work. I (sometimes grudgingly) took care of two kids in diapers, and everything was fine for the most part. Only I would have these moment where I looked around and remembered my husband was gone, and I realized how truly important -- how necessary -- he is in my life. It was mostly the little things he does that I often say I appreciate but really take for granted.

As an adult woman, part of me wonders if it's okay to depend on someone else so much. I shifted the focus away from myself and my career, and put it on raising my young children. Feeling like I've lost parts of myself has been really difficult lately. Seeing what has happened is the greater part of the battle for me, and that makes it easier to filter through things and pick up where I left off. Sometimes the answers seem so elementary, and other times it's like standing hips-deep in a pool of I don't know what the fuck.

That's about as far along as I'm willing to get today. I'll just wrap it up by saying that I'm not too dense to see what a beautiful life I have. Truthfully, though, I'm someone who needs to think about things, and that's the part that's not always so pretty. Like, who sits down and figures out their life in one afternoon? Anyone? If so, send me some pointers because I'm ready to get back to business.

It's not First Friday, it's Last Saturday

Well. The last weekend night before Frank comes back. Weird. Hard to believe it's been three months.

Today he and I were talking and he said he has mixed emotions about leaving Peru. Understandable. I'm halfway doubting he'll be home on Wednesday. It's a classic Frank move to go on a trip and wind up staying an extra week or two. The last time he was in South America, he called me from his mom's when he should have been on his flight home, and sounded genuinely shocked that I was shocked he was staying another ten days. Um... what?

This is just part of Frank being Frank, so in a sick way I find it endearing. Just like I'm sure he'll want to go spend a few days with his friends, which is also fine. But only after I get all my paybacks. Looking forward to sleeping in for the first week. Past 8am, even. Dare to dream.

Plazm 'gasm

Okay, don't tell Frank (he will probably read this anyway) but I went and bought myself a couple more items before he gets home. Since I always bust his chops about buying random shit when we are trying to actually save money, I limit my own spending to be fair. It was nothing too expensive, just a couple of art magazines featuring works by Milton Glaser and Raymond Pettibon. One of them, Plazm #28, came in the mail today. I was so excited looking through it, I had to make a conscious effort to stop saying "Ohhh... oh!" out loud. The seller was kind enough to include all the inserts in pristine condition, including a 9x7" sticker. Seriously, what makes your day like a big sticker? Nothing? Right. This one reads 'terror' in large, plain text, and it's magenta on magenta. Yea-yah.

So there's a good Glaser cover, but mostly I got this issue because I've been a Pettibon enthusiast for many years and I get all goofy about picking up little things here and there. I wouldn't say I have many prized possessions, but yes, I do get hopped up on the occasional special object. I collect hardcover first editions of David Sedaris books, and I have three different sets of vintage juice glasses. To give you my idea of awesome juice glasses, one set are opaque kelly green goblets lined with milk glass. I'm crazy about them. Then there are my bits of Pettibon. A couple of random record covers, books, and magazines. A poster from his 1999 show at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, which I went to see with my friend who stole me the poster. I'm always tempted to have it framed, but that's not what you do with Pettibon, so I will just keep hanging it with push pins. Bonus points if you just got that Glaser reference.

So there, we have come full circle on tonight's art lesson. Sleep tight on that.

I brake for PJ

Did a little lunch break rediscovery of PJ Harvey. Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The remainder of the afternoon will most likely be spent sorting through the heaps of clothes that are mysteriously lingering in my closet. The never-ending task.

Sweet bonus entry, part three

Over the course of the day, I've been reading my entries from February and earlier this month. I have one thing to ask -- is it wrong that I just got goosebumps watching this again?

I'm, like, shrinking and stuff

Just noticing a couple of things.
1. I've recently begun buckling my belt three notches in. I own two belts. I wear one of them. This one:


I've had this belt for about five years. It is my favorite, ever. In December I was buckling it way down on the end, in the very first (or last, depending) holes. Now I'm fastening it at the third set. So that's approximately two inches, give or take.

2. If I'm not wearing my belt, I can pull my jeans off without unbuttoning them. This means it's time to haul it back out and shop for new denim. Sweet, and sweet.

My childrens is crazy

Not even 7am yet, and already a commotion over Cars and Cheerios. It's like the primate house at the zoo in here, only slightly less organized. Shouting. "Mommy! Mommy, Mommy. Mommy! Cars! Dockie. Mommy! Where's! Dockie!" Nico's toy Doc Hudson is missing. That's how it works, evidently, we always lose the favorite car for maximum drama. Livi is sitting in her chair (shouting) swishing Cheerios off her tray. She was up at least four times last night. Pretty unusual for her, she usually sleeps through. "Oh, no! Cars!" The King has just crashed. I'm crying again, because McQueen is going back to help The King finish his last race. "Mommy, sad?" I smile. "Mommy! Happy!" Now we're putting all the cars into the cereal bowl, and upon further inspection of the inventory, Nico has once again realized Doc is missing. That's my cue to begin the recovery mission.

Sorry, but I'm a total girl

Alright listen, what I'm about to say does not leave this room. I love Madonna. Having recently acquired Hard Candy, I am now playing Dance 2night (which I fell in love with during tonight's run) constantly. Because if you know one other secret about me, it's that I love Justin Timberlake. I also love Pharrell. Oops! Did I just say that out loud? Crumbs. You may be saying to yourself, my goodness, doesn't she just love everything? Well I'm saying to you, yes. That's the girly thing to do when you hit repeat. Duh.

I'm-a just go listen to the song a few more times, grab a glass of wine, and read my book. And then put the song back on repeat and fall asleep.

Completely unrelated -- I think I need glasses. Super.

10:23? Already?

This night is going a lot faster than I thought it would. I got a few packages in the mail -- three records on which I did some bidding (and winning) earlier in the week. I'd forgotten all about them, so it was a nice. Like a weird surprise gift. From myself. Sadly the turntables are in storage so I can't have a listen just yet, but honestly I'm guilty of buying them mostly for the artwork and overall fanciness of the package. For being a commercial artist, I am a huge sucker for that kind of thing. I think it's so easy to critique everything out there, and I tend to collect the things that make me forget about the game behind it all, if that makes any sense. Make me a lovable package, and I'll reward you by peeling bills off the huge stack I keep in my pocket. Here you go, thank you.

Obvious side note: I'm not finishing the latest round of Blog Challenge. I am pretty sure Jen's done, too. As far as I'm concerned, Pride can suck it.

Sorrow and bullshit

I think this is the first night I'm willing to admit to just how upset I am about missing Frank. I really need some distraction, but nothing is working tonight. No music, no television, no going outside, and no reading. Nothing is taking my mind off of being lonely. Everything I do just seems to make me feel worse. I'm stuck in a spiral of imagining what we'd be doing together if he were home. Many nights, we sit together and do separate things. He's on his computer, I'm on mine. Or he's watching a show and I'm reading. Or he's working and I'm knitting. But at least he's here, and at the very minimum I can look across the room, or walk down the hall, and there he is. Even when he's staying in Brooklyn for a few days, at least it's just that. Three, four days and he's back. I'm looking at the calendar and I've still got two weekends by myself.

So... enough of that shit. Last thing I should be doing right now is depressing myself. Great, so... I'm doing a 5k in Haddonfield this weekend. So that's something. And I'm replacing an air filter at the condo tomorrow. Today I learned that Nico has a best friend at school. It's the adorable Russian boy whose parents wrap his wavy, shoulder-length hair in a bun on top of his head every morning. Exactly the kid I would have picked to be Nico's friend if the choice were mine. Makes me feel like he is listening with his heart, even when he doesn't seem to be hearing a single word that comes out of my mouth.

Alright, I am going to leave it at that. All I feel like doing now is cursing. Night.

Physical handicaps and potential ugliness

Ankle surgery in the late 90's has left me sidelined from playing contact sports, and doing many things that put a certain pull on my lower leg in general. Bye bye, competitive soccer (I do believe it was you who got me into this mess in the first place). So long, snowboarding. Let's hear it for subluxation of the peroneals! In a way, naughty tendons, I should be thanking you. You've forced me into what has become my favorite solo activity. Running. Amazingly simple, wickedly satisfying.

Tonight I added a dangerous new exercise to my roster, which (at night) includes sidewalk kung-fu and spontaneous dance moves. I call this move Parking Block Push-Ups. There's a freshly paved lot just down the way, with a bright yellow parking block at the top of each space. Hands on the block, body in Plank position, three sets of 10 with some Downward Facing Dog in between. Be careful not to slip or give up too early, or BAM! there go your front teeth. Pretty good motivation for getting your body back up, I'd say. Sets the shoulders on fire, but hell if I don't escape with my pearly whites in perfect order.

Guinness as usual

The Irish Hammer would like to wish all of you a Happy St. Patrick's Day. Please to enjoy one of my most Irish moments of all time, straight outta Dublin, complete with divine light (cue choirs of angels).

And the heart grows fonder

Even though we challenge each other incessantly, bickering and raising each others' blood pressure, all I want to do is see Frank's face and put my arms around him and make some smart remarks. Let's rehash some of my favorite standard quarrels...

Karen: Love, would you take out the trash?
Frank: Okay.
Karen: Now, please?
Frank: I'm not your robot!

Frank: Here, honey, let me show you an easier way to cut those veggies.
Karen: I'm not stupid, I can chop. See? (makes loose, sloppy chopping motions on cutting board, then slams knife down on the counter)
Frank: You are stupid.

Karen: I can't wait until you get home.
Frank: No, you just can't wait to yell at me again in person.
Karen: Haha.

Can you just feel the love? I know I can. I wouldn't know what to do without a little anger once in a while. Just one of the many things I'm looking forward to with great anticipation.

Summer in Paris

I recently sent this photo to Frank. It's the two of us on the lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower, and in typical fashion it's either really late at night or really early in the morining. This was taken pre-marriage, pre-babies. It's one of my favorites. 19 days and counting.

ENVY.

This is probably the topic with which I am least familiar these days. I pretty much have everything I want. And I have everything I need. So that doesn't leave room for much jealousy. If I could ask for one big ticket item, it would be a house, but we're working on that and I wouldn't go so far as to say I envy people who have one. But again, not too concerned. Money always seems to come from somewhere. Every time I swear off work, someone offers me more, and I accept it because I'm a fool for design and the agony that comes with it. Certainly not the worst pattern to fall into, wouldn't you say?

It probably helps that I believe in the notion that whatever you really need will find you. Somehow, some way, you'll be taken care of. Get your head in the right space, behave like a decent human being, and you can manifest your heart's desire.

WRATH.

So... Wrath. First of all, Wrath, I hate the way you're spelled (are you insulted, Wrath? Ooh!). What's more, I hate the way you make me feel. That sting in my spinal cord, and the stabbing pain behind my right eye. You crop up every now and again, and you force me to worry whether or not I will be able to sustain control over myself long enough to keep from scratching someone's eyes out. We both know I like it best when I get my own way. We both know all too often I play the game of "do it my way or get the hell out of my face".

99% of the time, I keep you at bay. I'm mostly bark, very little bite. More of a light punishment rather than full-on vengeance. I limit myself to the angry fist slam on the kitchen counter, or the too-loud huff of frustration. I feel pangs of guilt the instant I let you get the better of me. It feels great sending that open door flying shut, but you know I always cringe right before it slams. Empty satisfaction. And over the silliest things. Someone interrupts me whilst I'm reading or writing? The beer I've been nursing for three hours gets emptied into the sink, mistaken for the previous night's unfinished business? My bath towel has been selfishly used by another person and carelessly left to gather must and dust on the bedroom floor? Crimes punishable by death in my book, or so you would think the way I roll my eyes and grumble through my teeth.

Do I see red? Yes. Do I try to disguise the anger in my voice by talking to adults as though they are children? Yeah, I do. So transparent. Husband says, Wife, you're talking to me like I'm an idiot, to which my best response is, "Karen O'Toole, baby. Love it or leave it." It doesn't get more intelligent than that, my dears. Hurts a lot less than putting my fist through a wall.

Intermission

While I wait for Jen to catch up on Blog Challenge, I thought I'd bore you with some more of the ins and outs of my daily life. Originally, I began this site to stay in touch with my sister after she moved to PA. For the past year and a half, pretty much everything in my life has become fair game. Sure, I hold some stuff back because I don't think it's healthy to empty out your entire soul, but for the most part it's been relatively gratifying to scrape off that top layer of brain tissue and smear it around on-screen on a semi-daily basis. In short, life is good, and I love writing about it.

All parenting duties aside, here's what's up:
1. My nail polish is chipping, and severely at that. It might be another day before I attempt to do anything about it.
2. The search is on for a good composting container. Bin, drum, whatever. Nothing huge, just something the dogs can't break into.
3. I'm back to drinking coffee. It was black tea for a few weeks there, but the dark mistress has tied me down once more. I ease the hurt with a splash of hazelnut cream.
4. In an exciting beauty discovery, I've realized my flat iron is equally effective whether or not I do a blow out beforehand. This saves me 20 minutes of hair drying every two to three days.
5. Right after I finish this post, I'm making veggie noodle soup.

So that's a little bit of my day. I hope you're all being fairly productive and taking a little time to relax your minds here and there. Hugs all around.

Late breaking news: Blog Challenge is killing me. Now I remember, Jen, why we hardly ever do this.

SLOTH.

Past few days, I'm energized by the thought of being home again with the kids. Having that work break did me a world of good, but I did miss them. All single parents out there have my undying admiration. Weeks of non-stop go! go! go! usually makes me want to collapse and vegetate. Not so this time. I'm just really happy to see my loveys.

Sloth is tough. It's not just laziness or inaction, it's apathy. It's the inability to find joy in your surroundings, with part of the religious aspect being that your surroundings were created by God, and that you're sinning by not enjoying that which He created for you... but don't even get me started. Two words: Big Bang. That being said, Sloth really seems like less of a sin against a god, and more of a sin against oneself. The greatest thing you can do is keep your life moving forward. When you're a parent, you are automatically saddled with the heavy duty of moving the lives of your children forward as well. Exactly how you do that is up to you. Just make sure you're doing something, and make sure you take them along for the ride.

So I'm getting a little preachy here... but what I'm really thinking is that you can accomplish quite a lot by doing a bunch of small things. You don't have to live in a certain city or adjust your entire life or make a lot of major changes at once. All you need to do is pick yourself up and move. Up, down, left, right, diagonal... wherever. Plenty of directions out there. Just pick one and run with it.

GREED.

Seriously, people, I've got nothing. Tapped out on the third day. Jen is at a bachelorette slumber party tonight, so I can't even look at hers for ideas. I forget every time how hard Blog Challenge is... and Greed should be such an easy one. ugh.

***

Okay, so giving this another go, I did something slightly greedy today. I moved the baby's crib into Nico's room. It's something I've been meaning to do. The kids are decent sleepers, and they both seemed happy about sharing a room. I have always had a strict policy that my bed is MY bed, and children are not invited because I simply adore having my own space. Hubby tried on many occasions to get me to allow newborn Nico to sleep in our bed. I refused, and we had a couple of intense arguments over it. Today, he will tell you it's the best battle he's ever lost. Make no mistake, I had to sleep train those little stinkers just like any other parent has to, and it's probably the area where I take the least crap. Sure, you can have a handful of mini marshmallows in your Cheerios. Pay me back by sleeping through the night in your own room.

So now that I have my room all to myself, whatever will I do? Enjoy the hell out of it, that's what. Fall asleep watching a movie, roll out my yoga mat at 11pm, call Portland at midnight and close my door and actually have a private conversation. *gasp* Yes. This room is mine now. Mine. All mine. Oh... the greed! Delightful!

Sweet bonus entry, part two (for Toni)

Crane Technique.

Sweet bonus entry

Here's where I went today. The beach at Loveladies on Long Beach Island. No kids. No worries. I was jogging in the sand at 10:30 in the morning. But I never said my life is easy. It may have been warm (kinda) and sunny in Stuckatmydeskville, USA, but it was positively frigid where I was. And no, I did not practice my Crane Technique. You just don't do that shit 60 miles from home, and a two mile hop from your car. Recipe for disaster.

GLUTTONY.

This is a tough one. Food and I have always had a fairly healthy relationship. While I do the minority of the cooking at home, I will gladly stuff my face with anything anyone else decides to make. I'm naturally a slow eater, and therefore avoid overeating to the point of waste, as Gluttony would imply. I love to eat, but when I'm done, I'm done.

And how about the drink? I'm a bit of a lightweight now, but in college... forget about it. I enjoyed myself, and shamelessly. Though I could just as happily spend nights without a beer in hand, my roommate and I preferred hanging out with the boys, and we passed many an evening on many a front porch toasting the small pleasures in life. I wouldn't say it hurt either of us too badly. We are both happy, successful career women, both married with children. In the most recent photo I've seen of her, she's standing next to her husband, holding her infant son, and accepting a prize from the president of Nepal. So, yeah, not too shabby there, Melissa.

It seems to me that you need to overindulge yourself once, just so you can find out where your limits lie. After that, it's up to you to reign yourself in and exercise self control. Everything in moderation, whether it's dinner or snacks or cocktails. It's not always easy, but it's part of growing up and becoming an adult. Gluttony is now officially my least favorite of the Seven Deadly Sins. I'm glad this post is over... Gluttony is making me nauseous.

Remember to read Jen's entry, too. It is Blog Challenge, after all.

Blog challenge -- it's on! LUST.

Welcome to the new installment of Blog Challenge between me and my most fabulous best bud Jen, Swisscake Mama. This is "Seven Deadly Sins" week, and we will follow along with the list in the proper order, as follows: Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride.

Lust.
First thing I think of is sex. Hot and heavy, me on you (well, not you personally, but you know what I mean), anything goes type of thing. You all know hubby has been away for over two months. I can only say one thing, which is that half of you would pass out if I told you what I think about half the day; the rest of you would ask for my hand in marriage (too bad, I'm taken). And that is all I can say about that.

Let's move on to one of the other things I associate with Lust. Appearances. I think Lust has less to do with the day to day reality of a situation, and more to do with the illusion of what something might be. And how do women convey this? Clothes, undies, makeup. Hair style. Makeup. Illusion. Makeup. You wear mauve lipstick, it says one thing. You wear more of a deep, glossy garnet, and that's a whole other mood. The art geek in me is saying, "Great, everyone, let's discuss color theory!"

For years, the only lip gloss I bought or wore was M•A•C Lipglass in Lust. A couple of days after I got my bangs cut, I changed my shade to Viva Glam VI, which is a step and a half in the raspberry direction with a fine glittery sparkle. A change, but not completely outside of the realm of what I would wear daily. I now carry both tubes with me at all times, though nine times out of ten I am reaching for the Glam. It took three days of posing and faux-pouting at every reflective surface around for me to decide I love it. Such is the story of how much scrutiny I put upon choosing a new shade of lip gloss, and maybe it's a little too telling. Sure, I care about how I look. But why? Because it's fun. Lip gloss is fun, and nail polish, and getting bangs, and being whoever you feel like. Somewhere inside your lust for life, you should really have a lust for who you are. Who wants to be the exact same person every single day? Not I.

Thursday

This morning... coffee and a visit with Jen. This afternoon... put away piles of clean clothes. Where? No idea. No room left in dresser. This evening... make pasta sauce. Tonight... make friends with calculator and add up the business dining receipts I've been avoiding. The pile is huge, and looking at all the Akira slips make me long for shrimp tempura rolls and avocado salad.

Pre-spring reflection

I keep finding myself on the verge of semi-happy tears today. I have "Anyone Else But You" (movie version of the Moldy Peaches song) playing on repeat, and I'm singing it to the baby. Last winter when I was pregnant with Liv, Frank would download new movies for us to watch at night and one of them was "Juno". I keep thinking about being in our old place, with the big master bedroom, and Nico sleeping in his room next door, and Frank and me spooning on the bed. He would hug me a little bit tighter every time we felt the baby kick. Those were some of the best nights of my life. I think of all that, and then I think about how much I miss him, and there go the waterworks.

It's time for me to stay home again. Lauren comes back to work soon, and I'm ready for the change. Nico will still go to school two days a week, and it'll be nice for the baby and me to have some time alone. I think about those days when we first brought the kids home, and those first months, and I look at them now and they're both growing so fast. It makes me a little jealous when I see more friends starting families, because being a new parent is an amazing experience. Before any tears start rolling over that one, I remember that I never want to be pregnant again, and then I go back to crying over "Juno".

Watching my own life move forward is sometimes a little difficult. I love progress, and I love watching myself grow. When I see a change in myself, though, I look back and get emotional. Perhaps it's got something to do with seeing myself in the same way I see the kids. I acknowledge the past while looking forward to what's next. I look after them, and myself, and I think of my husband and the things that make up his life. This puts me on the verge of a whole other conversation about reincarnation and magnetism, and I'm sure none of you have three days to sit and read all I have to say about those topics. Liv's early nap will give me a chance to meditate on these feelings, get everything settled in my own mind, and then I can carry on with my day.

Receipts, day two

I'm working some real magic with this pile of receipts here. Starting to think I missed my calling as an accountant.

Post number 423

I was just putting my computer to sleep so I can get in a quick shower before sorting the last of the receipts. I'm looking forward to a little reading and relaxing, and early bed. Mom had just gotten up off the sofa, and she was walking past me in a most amusing fashion. Very old lady-like. I looked at her, stood up, and walked through the kitchen behind her, giggling to myself. She looked back at me as we walked through the front living room, and this was the conversation as we continued down the hallway.

Karen: (laughter)
Mom: You had no idea your mother was so crotchety, did you?
Karen: (more laughter) Don't say anything that starts with the word 'crotch'.
Mom: Still horny, are ya? Did you keep your promise to God that night?
Both: (loudest laughter possible without waking two sleeping children)
Karen: (still laughing) Yes. Thanks, Mom.

Possibly legal, definitely creative

Tax time. I'm sorting all the receipts Frank dutifully folds and stuffs into his jeans pockets all year long. Business lunches here, prescriptions and doctor copays there, and a pile of tiny MTA Manhattan-to-Brooklyn receipts off to the side. Every year I find a few things that take a little effort to push into the believable deductions column, but once I start making the connections, there's no stopping me. At the risk of being completely busted should an ugly audit situation arise, I will tell you (in a whisper) of my favorite of this year's deduction thus far... Fay's wedding.

There's no way I can convince myself to itemize the gifts or the bridal shower, but pretty much everything else is up for consideration now that I'm writing things off as business expenses. Why, you ask? Because technically, Fay was my client. I laid out her entire wedding package -- invitations and programs to illustrations and vectoring. And so, Chinese fabric and custom dress tailoring? Check. Bridge fare and gas to and from Philly? Check. Lunch meetings with the bride? Check. Let this be an inspiration to you all. Itemizing rules.

Ohhh... Livia!

So you've pulled out the big guns, eh? Poopie diaper? At 2:30am? Classic. Just wanna let you know, crying it out is still on. In fact, it's more on than it was at 2:29 since you've made me leave my room and get my hands dirty. I even gave you "ten times up", which would turn your brother green with envy since he only ever got "three times up".

I understand you're probably hating me right about now, and that's okay. I know you'll still want me to hold you later. So poopie up your diaper, stand there crying until 4:00, get snot all over yourself, and then fall asleep standing up (another classic!). I'm not getting out of bed again. And guess what -- neither are you!

P.S. I love you, Livi.