a love song for elevators everywhere

today i am grateful for the elevator in my building. 

while it was really exciting the other day to discover that i could lift my 30 pound stroller plus my 15 pound baby up an entire flight of stairs, it was even more exciting when i remembered afterward that i wouldn't ever have to do it again.

dear tiny little elevator in my building: i love you. thank you for always cheering up the hucklebaby when he is fussypants by dazzling him with your sparkly fluorescent lighting and your beeping on every floor. thank you for always smelling like other exciting dogs, so my puppies can gleefully sniff your every corner. thank you for being you. thank you! thank your! 

(p.s. the story goes that a woman here in the city named her son otis, after an elevator she knew and loved. what would you think of me if i told you that woman was almost me? it's ok, my mom talked me out of it.)

DECISIONS

It seems to me lately like maybe decision-making is not my strong suit.

Well, sometimes I am really good at decision-making. Like one time I decided I should never wear earrings that dangle, and not to toot my own horn or anything but that decision alone has spared me countless hours of unnecessary accessories shopping.

But actually I am horrible at making decisions, and I know this for a fact because last week we made a doozy of a decision. Last week Brandon got a job offer.  A JOB. OFFER.

Well, actually, he got two. Two job offers!

Now, one job offer is fun, but two job offers? Two job offers is an ulcer waiting to happen, Steve.

We had two jobs to decide between, and also two cities.

Anyway, we made a decision. Well, Brandon made a decision. I threw my hands up and decided to turn off my brain until things were more settled, because that is just my right as a human being.

The point is, The Holbrooks are employed!

And we're staying in New York!

AND MY HUSBAND HAS A JOB!

chubbalubbaflubba

there is one thing my boobs have never been, and that is impressive. but man, my boobs have sure done a number on old huckleberry's thighs, i tell you what.

they're like the little boobs that could!

he's like a little late sunday night snack.

tastes like sugar!

today peter pan walked around all day with a q-tip stuck in his beard

i don't think he minded it a bit.

if i were bill murray

if i were bill murray,
(one can only dream!)

and i had to live a day over

and over

and over

this wouldn't be such a bad one i don't think.

(wouldn't you kind of love to be bill murray for a day?)

p.s. good old punxsutawney says it'll be an early spring.

tell that to the upper west side, will ya?

image via

yes, that is a car.