We’re leaving for Boston this evening. I want to leave at night—at a time Em is normally sleeping—so he doesn’t realize he’s uncomfortable. I really don’t like driving at night. But I dislike traffic even more. And I loathe driving in traffic with Em in the car. One time, it took us over two hours to get from Maplewood, New Jersey to our apartment in Brooklyn. The actual distance is 27 miles, give or take a few. It was an awful trip, especially for Tobyjoe who sits in back with Em because he faces the rear of the car.

Incidentally, when can I turn the car seat around? I know that they say a child must be at least a year old, 30 inches long, and weight 20 pounds. He’s met all of those requirements except for the year old part. Why a year? Why does one have to wait a year to turn the car seat around? Traveling would feel much easier if I could see the little guy. We have one of those mirrors, but it doesn’t work in our car. It’s main function is to dangle from the window so that Em can occasionally flirt with himself.

I’m looking forward to taking him to Boston. I’m not sure what we’ll do there. I have read it’s a much more family friendly city, so perhaps I’ll find some family things to do. The funny thing about that statement is, I don’t know what “family things” are. Pizza parlors? Zoos? Bowling alleys? He’s far too young to appreciate all that. Puppet shows seem to appeal to him. And he loves other babies. Perhaps we’ll crash a daycare.

It’ll be wicked cool.

I am writing this post fueled with excitement. My Kitchenaid ice cream making attachment arrives via UPS today. (Along with 50 bucks worth of agar agar, obviously a massive mistake made on my part that Tobyjoe will probably NEVER let me live down. At this rate, we’ll have vegan ice cream until we’re peeing in our own britches.) I took an ice cream making class on Monday over at The Brooklyn Kitchen where I learned how to make scrumptious ice cream from scratch. The chef taught us how to make milks, ice cream, frozen yogurt, and vegan ice cream.

And I ate her ice cream. I ate it right up.

Last night I cooked up some vanilla ice cream batter. It’s been in the fridge (soon to be the freezer) ever since. It’s ridiculous how excited I am about making ice cream. And if it turns out well, Em will have his first taste of the creamy goodness today.

I made another deal with myself, one I know I can’t keep. If our evenings and windows continue to be pierced by the sound of a warped ice cream truck jingle, instead of buying Em a popsicle, I’ll offer him fresh ice cream instead. I’ll have batter ready to go. And If he still wants ice cream from the Good Humor guy, I’ll give the kid a buck or two and eat the rest myself.

I’ll eat it right up.

Leave it to self-defeating me to make a deal and try and keep up with Brooklyn ice cream trucks.

I anticipate failure.

Em walked last night, like actually walked. He thought about it, realized he could do it, and then freaking walked. And both his parents shrieked like monkeys. Any droppers of eaves would have surely guessed a lottery had been won. But no cash prizes were attained. Instead, our son walked, over and over again, stumbling gleefully.

He’ll take about four steps each time. I imagine he’d go further, but our apartment is only so wide. He plops down the moment he reaches our bait, his goal (which was a plastic spatula last night and this morning but will hopefully be ice cream in few hours).

We tried to get a video. It’s difficult taking video of Em because he much prefers playing with the iFlip than any other object we use to entice him. Of course, it doesn’t help that the makers of iFlip put a groovy red light on its front letting everyone know, “HEY! I’M RECORDING!” whenever it’s on. He loves the red light. He loves bashing my iFlip onto the floor. He loves making movies with it, which consist of 90% blackness and can easily make a person sick within the first minute or two.

Anyway, this is the best I could do this morning.

In no time at all, he’ll be chasing ice cream trucks all over Brooklyn.

My kid walked.

I simply couldn’t resist. This video was taken yesterday. I hope it cheers someone up out there!

They really, really like playing together. This went on for a while yesterday and I just stood there, smiling.

Also, sorry about yesterday’s cryptic and grumpy post. I was having a “throw your hands up” sort of day. Today looks much better.

I’ll be doing quite a bit of traveling starting Thursday (with the baby) and I think that has me sort of nervous and excited. I’ll try and update here, but I will most likely use Twitter a bunch. Either way, I’ll be back next week armed with stories from a rocky coast.

I think I’m going to take a week or two off from writing (or trying to write) on here. I have roughly 4 half-written posts, one of which I accidentally pushed live last week for at least an hour, maybe longer.

There’s just too much going on right now, too much uncertainty and change.

I will be back soon, as will Murray. In the meantime, I’ll be updating here using 140 characters or less, which is just about all I have time for these days.

See you soon!

I know this is a long shot, but if anyone out there wants to get together to watch the game tomorrow, hit me up with an email. I know this is totally last minute.

Nevertheless, TJ and I are looking to get a group together to watch the Spain Vs. Italy game. It’d be great to find somewhere out and about but I gather most places that are showing it are likely rowdy, packed bars. But a gal can dream, right? (It’s times like this where I wish we lived in the suburbs.)

I think that particular match is going to be awesome. GO SPAIN!

I woke up this morning and discovered Toby couldn’t move. His back had given out. He spent the better half of the morning hunched over the table, pale as a corpse, groaning into his bowl of uneaten cereal. He spent the hour before that fighting nausea while perched over a toilet bowl.

I had to hit the ground running. I made Em breakfast while he played in his closed, safe quarters. When I turned around to put him into his highchair, I discovered he had been playing in cat vomit.

“It’s organic.” I thought and washed his hands.

I left the apartment at 8:30 first making sure my husband wasn’t going to die. I left him lying flat on his back, still pale and unmoved, groaning. I told him to cancel work and our reservations for tonight. He was in no position to move. Of course, he refused.

I headed to McCarren Park to meet the other mothers for a weekly workout. This was my fourth session. I had missed it all last week. I wasn’t going to miss it again. Plus, I want Em to hang out with other kids. He must get tired of looking at me all the time. I know that I do.

Five of us showed up today, plus our trainer. It was hot but that didn’t stop us. We did push-ups, pull-ups, lunges, and tummy work. We jogged and talked, all the while exchanging stories about motherhood.

I’m not one for all-gal groups or groups for that matter. I haven’t ever been one for all-gal groups. (Except for soccer!) There’s a reason we gave up two R.E.M. tickets in order to have a quiet dinner out instead. That’s why I don’t go to BlogHer; I know I’ll clam up, expose a less than attractive side of myself, a side I have grown to despise but am forced to live with.

But this all-gal group feels different. I’m feel comfortable with the women who attend these weekly workouts. I enjoy hearing them talk. I can’t put my finger on why they’re different from, say, the women I met in the park a few weeks ago. But they are. They’re very different. Perhaps coupling group meetings with physical activity allows for more easygoing conversations?

I don’t know.

But I feel positively wonderful right now. Sure, I’m lightheaded from having only consumed one of my 21 allotted WeightWatchers points for the day. (Did I just write that?) But I feel great.

(Why?)

I had not one, but three adult conversations and all of them took place before 10 AM. I had them with other mothers. And I let myself relax while doing so.

(Maybe I’m different?)

I know I probably don’t say this enough, especially on here, but I have a really great life. I have a caring husband whom I trust and love with all my heart. I have a son who makes my heart ache and whose smile and eyes I discover for the first time every day of my life. I have a family that is hilarious and weird and I feel very close to them even if some of them moved all the way to China.

I’m a mother. And sometimes it’s not easy. Sometimes it’s downright lonely. Sometimes I want to sob into my hands and feel sorry for myself. Sometimes I leave the house, both shoulders draped in baby vomit but I wear both stains like war medallions—motherhood medallions of war.

All I know is this: today, I feel happy and hopeful. I love that I found at least five other mothers willing to laugh out loud—in public—because someone else just nonchalantly admitted that they caught their daughter digging through (and sampling!) their rabbit’s litter box.

Humility and motherhood go hand-in-hand. And I think we’d be a whole hell of a lot happier, mothers of the world, if we’d just admit it.

It’s been a while. I have no excuse. The sounds you hear are of Em in the background playing with Tupperware, his new favorite toy.

(This is video for a series called Stories For My Son.)

Below is a video showing how Em uses the orange pillow, which is precisely how he acted with the woman from the story above.

We have reservations at Gramercy Tavern tomorrow for 7 PM. But we just found out that we can get in to Le Bernardin tomorrow at 8 PM. (Toby knows people and those people pulled some strings for us.)

So, if you’re reading this and you’ve been to either, or you know anything about either restaurant, please help us decide.

We so rarely get to go out these days alone. I’d like to make the very best of it.

(Email me if you can suggest either.)

Toby and I hired a maid. We made the appointment two weeks ago. She was to begin Monday.

On Saturday night I began to freak out about the logistics. (How would she get in the house? Were we supposed to leave? Did she need to use our supplies? If we left the house, how would she lock up? Am I supposed to tip her? Does she do laundry? Am I supposed to tidy up the house first? What if she’s allergic to cats? Oh my crap! Murray!)

I voiced my concerns to Toby starting with the more reasonable.

“Do we stay here while she’s cleaning?”

“We don’t have to.”

“Do we need to move things around so she can get to certain areas? Does she do the closets?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to ask.”

Realizing that he wasn’t going to suggest that we cancel, I dove right in.

“What about Murray?”

“What about him?”

“What will we do with Murray?”

“Nothing. He’ll probably eat her.”

“Well, what if she uses poisonous cleaning supplies? I think we should cancel. I’ll clean instead.”

“Whatever you want.” He rolled his eyes.

On Sunday I canceled the arrangement and asked Toby to keep an eye on Em so I could clean up. I started with the counters and the stove and worked my way down. Just as I began to mop the kitchen floor, I was attacked.

Murray leapt into the air—all four feet off the floor, arms spread wide, eyes wider—and bear-hugged the mop with all his might, deploying a move we liked to call “The Grizzly Bear”.

The mop gave way beneath his weight. As his hind legs touched the floor again, he slid full force into the mop bucket, spilling water everywhere. Unsure of how to regain his composure on the slick surface, he tried running, which sent him sliding all over the linoleum surface.

I looked down at the wet, hairy mess. The kitchen was dirtier than it had been before I started.

“See!” I said from the kitchen. “This is why we can’t hire a stranger to come clean our house!”

I wandered around Manhattan (for the first time since Em was born) with my dear friend Nico on Saturday. We had lunch outside at a café near Union Square and shopped until near exhaustion. (It was damn hot.) I got home just in time to watch the sky attack Brooklyn for several hours; the thunderstorms were awesome.

Unfortunately, due to uncertainty about where we’ll be living come December, I came home with only a ten dollar pair of sunglasses from Feline’s Basement and a small Father’s Day gift for Toby. (He enjoys making us both jam and cheese plates. I thought the nerd in him might find it funny as he sometimes writes code on graph paper.) I wanted to buy a whole lot more.

We had lunch with Brad and Laura yesterday. They are expecting a baby in July. She looks amazing, far better than I whenever I was that far along. Even her ankles looked great! Being with a pregnant woman made me realize how much I miss being pregnant. (Did I just write that out loud?)

I think I’m feeling this way lately because I’m nearing the time Em was born and will therefore fully exit a year of no longer being pregnant. I’m not sure if that makes any sense at all. I call this “The Overlap”. And usually, it’s a good thing. It usually helps me to get over something. For example, say a certain song reminds you of someone whom is no longer in your life making it difficult to hear. “The Overlap” requires listening to that song under new circumstances, with new people so that new memories are created.

I do this with food, smells, songs, periods of time, breakups, vacations, friendships, loyalties, bars, cities, towns, and now apparently pregnancies.

In this instance, however, it makes me a little sad. I’m really going to miss not being able to say, “Last year at this time, I was fully of happy hormones” or “Ndugu was kicking the shit out of me last year at this time!”

I’m not sure if that makes any sense. Maybe I’m a little nuts.

(Note to self: Must bookmark this post so that if I ever do become pregnant again I can go back at 8 months and read it and make fun of myself.)

This week should prove pretty pleasant. On Thursday we have dinner reservations at Gramercy Tavern. My mother is going to come for the day and watch Em. Toby and I are both looking forward to the night out, so much so, we passed on two R.E.M. tickets because the show conflicted with our dinner plans. A younger me would have kicked my ass for this. I simply adore R.E.M. I can’t even begin to tell you how much they mean/meant to me. But I think perhaps my older brother is the only person who will realize how crazy the choice I made really is.

I know this doesn’t make me very popular, but right now, I’d much prefer a quiet night out with my husband at a fine restaurant over standing in Madison Square Garden surrounded by thousands of other people who may or may not really give a damn about the band before them.

The times? They have a-changed, whether I agreed or not.

Right now, I am dying my hair brown, making toast, and desperately hoping Em decides to sleep for 45 minutes so I can rinse the hair dye out before he wakes up. It’s the all natural variety, but still. And I actually am only dying one hair brown, since I have lost almost all of it. I look like a coconut.

I figured I’d multitask while my toast is in the oven and write a quick post. I haven’t had much time to write lately because Tobyjoe is in Boston and I’ve been away. It’s just me and the little dude.

Speaking of the little dude, Em has decided in the past week that for whatever reason 1:45 AM seems like a perfect time to wake up from a deep sleep and sob until I feed him. This started about a week ago and hasn’t let up. And I have no idea where it’s coming from. Nevertheless, each and every night Tobyjoe and I have given in because, well, we like to sleep. But Tobyjoe is out of town, and so last night I decided to have a go at the “battle of the wills” and he flattened me. I caved after ten minutes.

I realize we’re creating a terrible habit—knowing he can’t soothe himself back to sleep and instead looks to midnight (or later) milk to help, that can’t be a good thing. And I know the answer probably involves “crying-it-out”, but what’s with the sudden change? And why does it happen at almost exactly 1:30 AM every night? Babies are strange.

I’m beat. But otherwise, things are going pretty well. Nico is coming into town tonight and I’m going to be a brunette for the summer. Also, I’m losing weight, albeit at a snail’s pace. But I hear that’s the better way in the long run? I hope so. I really want to get down to a healthy weight so I can get knocked up again and put it all back on by ingesting cupcakes and perogies. (Is that how you spell perogies? Or is it “a pocket of heaven”?).

And, yes, you read that correctly.

OK, I can smell my toast permeating over the smell of hair dye. Must eat, then rinse.

Holy crap! I forgot to mention the most important thing! Em took two steps. He was pissed off at the time, so I am not sure if he even realized it. But he took two steps!

(Please note: I can’t be held accountable for grammatical errors or spelling issues because I seriously wrote this in less than three minutes. I ask that you forgive me. Haste is to blame. And sleep deprivation, 10 months out.)

Edited to add: Pictures! Also, I am going to continue posting a few pictures of Em until he starts to become less baby and more boy. I am thinking at around 14 months? Anyway, more on that later when I write up the changes that will take place here eventually. Soon. Whenever.

I am totally and completely shocked my tagline wasn’t chosen for the BlogHer bag tagline contest. Only not really.

Naturally, “Clique Here” didn’t make the final cut.

Regarding BlogHer 08: no, I’m not going. I know. I know. Tears are going to be shed in my absence. Goodness knows, everyone notices whenever I’m not around, right?

In all seriousness, I haven’t ever been to a Blog_Her_ or blogger event. I feel like a terrible gal blogger for this, but I do not enjoy being in large groups. Having me as a guest at a large gathering is like witnessing a live Cat Power show (before she gave up the hardcore drugs) only I’m a lot less hot, a lot less talented, and a lot more boring.

OK, so, maybe it’s not like that at all. But I totally would end up facing the back of the auditorium.

I do hope everyone has a good time. I wish it were possible for me to.

I am in South Jersey for a few days visiting my parents. I’m relaxing. We’re going deep sea fishing. It’s gonna be awesome. Right now, I’m sipping coffee, eating my daily allowance of Weight Watcher’s yogurt (Strawberry today), and catching up on the plethora of ways I normally waste my time. (Hello, Internet!)

I gotta tell you, unplugging for a few days really sets a person back. I feel as though I have no idea what is going on (out there) anymore. And I’m not sure if I feel out of it or liberated.

It seems most of Twitter is filled with blurbs about iPhone gadgetry, heat waves and travel. The national news seems to be about iPhones, the Clintons, and the price of gas per gallon. And of course our local news is about baseball, subway outages and heinous acts of torture. Flickr has been fairly consistent. Travel, dogs, babies, more travel, macro shots, and more dogs, throw in a few mouthwatering shots of meals and you get a pretty great idea of my daily “Friends and Family” Flickr stream.

My Net News Wire RSS feed reader is down to less than 20 feeds. Sometime last month I decided—out of nowhere—that I was spending too much time trying to keep up with other blogs. That said, I have no idea what’s been going on in the (I hate this term) Blogosphere lately.

And then I got to my email. I had a lot of email waiting. I’m still nowhere near caught up, but I’m trying.

I heard from Karyn (my old boss) and Nico (who’s coming to see me on Friday). I heard from many of you about Weight Watchers and how you either hated it or love it. I also had an email from Lisa, our cat sitter extraordinaire.

Part of her email read:

“Tucker said hello then hid, but Pookum came right out to eat and sat for some pets and headbumps. Murray was Murray. He knocked my coffee over and tried to steal my Entenmans. You can’t trust him for a second can you?”

It’s nice to know that while the internet may be full of surprises, twists and turns, Murray remains exactly the same. You can always count on Murray even if it’s about how little you can trust him.

Em is almost ten months old. He’s eating pretty much everything we put in front of him. Sometimes he moves so fast we’re forced to disperse food across the surface of his highchair. He’s a gulper, just like every other creature living under our roof.

I get such a kick out of giving him new foods, though. And I’m blown away about what this kid will eat. We have yet to see him spit anything out. It’s pretty awesome, having a baby who’ll eat anything.

Right now, he’s drinking formula (which we refer to as “milk”). Every morning he wakes up and almost immediately starts giving us the American Sign Language sign for “milk”. I love that he’s starting to understand ASL, but I do have a bone to pick with whomever created the sign for “milk”. On several occasions, he’s given me a very puzzled look.

“Why is Mama sticking a bottle in my mouth instead of waving hello?”

How does one explain to a baby, “No, honey, that’s not a wave. It’s sideways. Duh.”

To avoid confusion, we now practice by giving Em BIG GAY WAVES whenever saying hello.

While I’m on the whole milk/formula topic, what happens whenever he turns one? Do I just start giving him regular, extra-strength cow’s milk? is this something I need to test out before the year mark? Will he completely freak out? Obviously, I need to read up on this milestone.

I remember a mother on here (forgive me, I can’t remember who mentioned it) writing that it really freaked her out whenever she had to stop giving her baby formula. She said she spent weeks wondering if her little one was receiving enough water and/or vitamins. This comment has crept into my head a lot lately. What does one do at that magical point? How does one deal with this? Is it a direct change up? Do you just substitute formula for milk and water and/or juice?

While I feel as though my brain is somewhat mush-full and I complain that there are parts of it that I’m not currently using (for example, adult conversations are at a minimum), I learn something new every day about how to care for someone. And I get the feeling that whenever I look back on this year, I’ll have a greater appreciation for everything I’ve learned and how much I’ve grown as a person and (more importantly) a mother.

After last week’s dramatic post about Murray and the future of this blog, I figured a video might be nice.

This is a video of Emory (his hand, mainly) trying to help Murray lift his own leg so Murray can lick his neuticals. And Murray needs help in that department given the belly and all.

Enjoy!

(Worry not, Murray’s nails are short and he doesn’t have them out when dealing with his buddy, Em.)

Are you a stay-at-home mother or father? Does your husband or wife work while you stay home and care for the babies? Does he or she have to commute in order to get to a job, a job that your entire family’s livelihood depends on? How do you both fit in your own time? When does that happen? Does it?

Toby and I are finding it difficult to work in a daily workout or time for ourselves. We recently priced buying a treadmill for home and discovered that it’s impossible to have one in an apartment. There’s a track nearby that I could use—I should use—but I’m not really into running outside. (I know, that sounds absurd, but I much prefer zoning out and working out on a treadmill.)

But today, putting my petty, personal problems aside, I’d like to instead pose the question: how you manage your schedule in relation to your spouse’s.

In a nutshell: Are you a single-income family? Do you have a weekly schedule? Are you ever frustrated whether you’re the stay-at-home or the person bringing home the bacon?

Does my question make sense at all? Eh?

Edited to add: Thanks to commenter Joey, I got over my fear of meeting new people and went to Mighty Mommies this morning at McCarren Park. It was perfect—just what I needed. Em was totally well-behaved, he even clapped for us when we were doing our squats. But now I have to figure out where Joey lives so she can come over and help me carry my baby upstairs—I can barely move my legs!

Also, thanks to everyone who wrote me and left a comment. Your words are always very helpful. I know more and more every day what I plan on doing with this Web site. Sure, Em might be off limits regarding images and videos, but I’m not ready to let go of the mommy stuff yet. So, thanks for showing me that.