Last night, my beloved and I had a serious talk about This Old House.  After almost five months on the market with no bites, we're looking at probably having to drop the price another 10k to get it sold.  Ouch.  We looked at it pretty hard. It's located conveniently next to my favorite jogging path, and it is getting nicer outside.  We love our new daycare, The Emerald City.  My beloved's new job is a ten-minute drive from This Old House.  So...you guessed it.  We're giving up.

Now I'm faced with seriously examining this spring-cleaning business. I admit it - I'm not even really sure what that means. I wonder if I can pay someone else to do this. Aren't I horrible?

Two posts in one day!  Am I making up for lost time, or what?

Here are my answers to Average Jane's Interview Game.  (She came up with the questions.)

1. What's the most impertinent thing anyone has ever said to you? When I first started at my old job, I was talking to one of the others in the Other Department Silo.  She said, "Don't take this wrong, but most of the people I work with view you as a parasite."  I also was once called a parasite at my second PR job by the editor of some HVAC trade rag when I called him while he was on deadline. So apparently, "parasite" is a theme for me.
2. If you could write for any magazine in the country, which one would you choose? Esquire.  But I'd be very afraid. The writing in that magazine rocks.
3. Is there a song that you and your husband consider "your song"?  If so, what is it and when did it become significant? I'm sure there is, but I don't really know the title of it. My beloved picked out the song for our first wedding dance, and since I never really knew of it before, it didn't really speak to me. Don't tell him that. There's no danger of him finding out from here, because he never reads my blog.
4. Would you ever buy another old house? I would, but I'd have to get divorced first.  I'm not really the one who hates old houses.  I'd probably hire a handyman, maybe someone named Schneider, to stop by periodically and fix things in exchange for meatloaf.
5. What's your favorite comfort food? Baked Doritos. What did you expect?

Well, here I sit.  In my home office.  With the window open, blowing in all the delight of a warm, spring afternoon.  I have started my new job.

New jobs are kind of rough.  You never really know what is expected of you.  I always attempt to maintain the external facade of "everything will be alright," even when I'm quaking in my boots, and to some extent, this is no exception.  On the flip side, there's the beauty of a new challenge.  A new mess I have never sorted through before.  A new bunch of people who have no reason to not like me.  Then again, my insecurities have also resurfaced...what if they find out I really don't know anything? I was able to beat those back at the old job, because I had been there longer than anyone else.  They weren't there when I looked the stupidest, but I was there when they did.  It was all good.

I did just complete my first real task for the new job, though, and it felt good to at least produce a document of some sort.  I do like a nice spreadsheet, especially when there are no numbers.  I should do one for the other problems mulling around in my head.  They are, in no particular order:

1. How does one sell a house by oneself?  We are firing our realtor at the end of the month.
2. What kind of decorations/food/games - do we need games? - does one need for a child's first birthday party?
3. What do I need to do in order to host my in-laws for three days in a house that must be kept clean at all times?
4. Whom should I call to interview for the new article I am writing for the local wedding magazine?
5. Where does one buy a kid cart for biking?  Will she sit in it?  Should I forever give up my love of biking because it's all just too damn hard to figure out?
6. How long should one wait to buy a plane ticket to Florida in August?
7. Is it better to book hotels in Chicago in July now or closer to July? 
8. Where should my beloved and I go for our date on Saturday?  Our last date was in January. I don't remember how to date.
9. How long can I put off painting my toenails? When does sandal season start?
10. Should I teach my class in the fall or not?  If I don't (because I want some free time, darn it!  I want just one job!), does that mean I'll never be able to teach again?
11. Why does my husband want to start his own business?
12. Should I do spring cleaning now, or hope someone buys This Old House and I'll never have to do it?
13. How long has it been since I've seen (fill in the blank) group of friends?  Who are they, again?
14. If the little angel is turning one, does that mean I get demerits for not having any of her baby book done?

These and other questions have been swirling in my head all week.  Eternal chaos is my constant, I guess.

My friend, Average Jane, came up with a new game. I post some questions for her, she posts some questions for me.  Here's a link to the rules.

Jane, here are your questions:

1) You mentioned not being above wearing leather and fishnets on the proper occasion in one of your comments. What is the best occasion and worst occasion for wearing such items? 

2) How many cats is too many?

3) If you had to buy your husband a car, what would you buy him?

My team threw me a lovely going-away happy hour on Wednesday. It was at this great Irish pub downtown, and it had food and free drinks and everything. Lesson to the kids:  Suffer through something long enough, and eventually someone will give you a party.  ha! 

It was a great time.  I think I made the mistake of sharing with my co-workers that I took tap-dancing lessons for twelve years.  I didn't get drunk enough to show them, though -THANK GOD!

In fact, that was my problem. I was actually scared of getting drunk. Not so much because I was worried I'd make an ass of myself - I do that often enough sober that it doesn't hold any fear for me - but rather that I would either a) vomit or b) wake up with a headache the size of Montana.  I'm afraid of the pain these days.  The vomit fear is left over from my recent bout of food poisoning/stomach flu (we still don't know which it was) and the headache fear was drilled into my head the day I did make the mistake of drinking too much only to be awakened at 6:30 a.m. by a crying baby.

There's something about knowing you have to get up before seven every day of your life. It changes you somehow.  All of the sudden, going to bed at ten on a Saturday night seems like a really good idea.  Meeting someone on Sunday morning at eight has become akin to meeting someone on a Sunday afternoon at three. It's not like I'll have to get up for it. Actually, at three I might be napping.

Sometimes I dream about when the little angel will start to like sleeping in. I'm not sure when this will happen, but I'm pretty sure it will be lovely, and the start of my evening social life resuming.  I dream of her getting up, making her own breakfast, and not waking me up until nine.  I dream of her wanting to stay up late, then sleeping all morning long.  I will feed her Jolt Cola and Sugar Pops around eight on Friday night, wind her up till midnight, then...bliss.  This is evil thinking.  I know it.  But dang, girl, sleep in!  Mama needs to drink.

Okay, so I've held off for a long time writing about my job.  However, my last day is Thursday.  There's been something I've been meaning to discuss for some time.

The IT department is plotting something. Probably nothing terrorist, but they have some weird Dr. Evil sort of scheme.  They're not malicious people, but their leader is very odd.  He always seems up to something, but he's not very sneaky. It's like he's trying to sneak across a desert using a fully-lit Christmas tree as cover.  Know anyone like that?

My college roommates and I have been trying to plan a girls' weekend trip.  One that we take without husbands and babies.  It will, should, be glorious.  However, it's become a scheduling nightmare.

The girls live in D.C., Iowa City, Lawrence, Kansas City and Chicago.  That's part of the problem.  One is breastfeeding.  One has to study for comps.  One has a job that requires 80% travel. One is undergoing some personal life changes.  I am trying to figure out when my in-laws can come to visit.  I think I have the fewest problems right now.

Attempting to schedule this weekend has been like herding cats.  Now people are starting to get pissed off.  We probably need a conference call, or at least a chat room. But then again, how would we schedule THAT?

We didn't even have cell phones in college, yet we could always coordinate our tests and boyfriends so that we were sitting at the same bar at the same time.  Ah, how life has changed.  I sure how this works out so that we can be at the same bar at the same time again - I desperately need it!

This morning I had a meeting with a new editor. She edits the local wedding magazine, for which I've written articles on and off for the past six years or so.  She just took over the job a few months ago and wanted some ideas for stories.

As I sat at my kitchen table this morning, thinking about nuptials in general, I remembered how taken I was with my own.  Planning my wedding was my LIFE.  I literally could focus on little else for the fifteen months I was engaged.  Sure, I went to dinner, sat in meetings at work and feigned interaction with co-workers, but in the back of my mind i'm getting married, i'm getting married thumped like a tribal drum.  I was insane!

Fast forward four years.  I can barely remember the planning process. I remember the day pretty well, but I also remember the tremendous relief I felt the day after I got married. I had feared it would be this letdown, like the day after Christmas when you're twelve, but the reality was so much better. 

So how do I turn that into a magazine article?

I have been reading in the various baby-related books and magazines that the little angel will now begin to realize her free will AND try to emulate me all at the same time. Ah, irony IS is inherent to the human condition - I always suspected that to be the case.  Last night, she balanced on her little tippy toes next to the bathtub, watching me fiddle with the ancient bathtub handles to achieve warm, yet not hot, water perfection.  I would touch the cold knob, stick my hand in the water, touch the hot knob, stick my hand in the water, and so on.  She watched me do this for a while.  Then she touched the knob closest to her (the hot, unfortunately), and gave me a huge, two-toothed grin.

"No," I said. "HOT."  Then I feigned a third-degree burn.  This made her laugh.

I touched the knob.

She touched the knob. 

"NO!  HOT!  Owie!" I said.  She looked at me like she'd just scored front-row tickets to The Producers.  She touched the knob again.  Smiled.

I grabbed her pudgy little hands and swooped her up, football style. Thankfully, the water was already done anyway.  She was not burned.  I am trying so hard to protect her from herself, but I have to admit, it was really funny to watch her imitate me like that. I can't wait until she starts correcting my beloved in my tone of voice.