Milk Drunk

My new favorite thing to do is to take crummy cell phone pictures of Huck right after we've nursed and text them to my mom. He sort of rolls off me like a drunkard and passes out into this goofy stupor. It's sublime. I'm thinking they'd make a great collection in some swanky art gallery in Chelsea. I would probably be featured in Vogue. I would call it . . . Milk Drunk! (Or possibly Boob Drunk!, depending on how classy I am feeling at the moment.)

Please to enjoy the fruit of my boobs!

A Message From My Middle Child

A little note from Barnaby MacDuff to you. 

Hi!

Hi! Hi!

Hiiiiiiiiiiiii.

I like birthdays!

This is my daddy.

I loooooove my daddy.

Nails?

Daddy!

I like sticks.

WOAH BUT IS THAT A COOKIE?

Ohhhhhh noooo decisions. . .

BIIIIIIG STICK!

Bed?

I AM ON THE BED.

Daddy?

WHAT.

BABY.

Cute Baby Alert!

Today was a good day, because today was the day my wallet came back to me from Queens.

I lost it in a cab on my way to the doctor's office, where I was declared fit for "strenuous physical exertion," wink wink, and then as I was packing up all of my parts and pieces (do I have my keys? do I have my Huck? does my Huck have his socks?), I was suddenly aware that I was missing my wallet, my cab fare home, my ID, aaaaaaand my MetroCard.

And then in a moment of pure Irish luck (I am not Irish), my phone rang (Lady GaGa is my ring tone), and on the other line a-calling was Huck's pediatrician (her name is Carole).

"You left your wallet in a cab!" Carole said.

"I know!" I said back. "Wait--how do you know?"

"Billy called me."

"Who is Billy?"

"Your cab driver."

"Oh!"

"He said to call him before five."

I looked at my watch. 4:59. Luckily I can dial super fast.

What do you suppose a wallet does while it is in Queens? And what do you suppose the inside of a cab company's office must look like? People must leave things in cabs all the time. I always get a little nervous when it is time to pay and calculate the tip and try to exit the car gracefully. It's any wonder I leave cabs with any of my belongings at all. Probably a lot of take-out boxes get left in cabs. I always leave my take-out boxes in mysterious places. Do you do that too?

When my wallet returned to me from Queens I did the cursory check to make sure everything was there that should be there (credit cards) and that nothing was there that shouldn't be there (bedbugs). (Really, you've got to take these things seriously.) And what do you know? Every last cent.

So now you know the story of how my wallet came back to me from its grand adventure in Queens. It is also the story of how I came to know that, as much as people might try and pretend otherwise, New York City is actually a pretty nice place to live after all.

PLEATHER

Today I tried on a pair of stupidly awesome pleather pants. 

For about twenty seconds they were totally coming home with me, 

and then common sense won out. 

Common sense is so boring sometimes.

A CHRISTMAS TREE!

The Holbrooks have a Christmas tree! Three feet of pure beauty! I love her. Isn't she positively scrawny? She's kind of the world's most pathetic tree ever. I like to stroke her boughs lovingly and tell her that even though she's not the prettiest tree in the lot, I will still love her until all 35 of her pine needles drop off.

She is a little Charlie Browny, but I'm pretty proud of her.