Smoke and Ashes

This cracks me up

T-Minus 1 month until you’re a year old

Month 11 was big. Huge.

First and perhaps most important, my darling sweet boy, you sleep now [Cue the angel music]. You sleep all the way through the night. And not just one time here and there, but you’ve actually managed to string together several nights in a row. As soon as Ama went on break from school, we said we were going to pull the plug and Ferberize you. You must have known we meant business because it took exactly one night and 20 minutes of crying for you to figure it out. We couldn’t believe we waited this long. I almost forgot what sleep was like. I vowed never to be one of those pushy moms who tells other moms "Well, I did [insert parenting tactic] and it worked so therefore, how could you be so dumb as to NOT do it?" but I have to say, I might tattoo "I heart Ferber" on my ass. Ironically, though, I’m actually more tired. I think it’s because I wake up several times a night wondering if you’re ok (or maybe it's because you keep infecting me with your daycare cooties). While I’ll never stop wondering if you're ok, I’m hoping I learn to sleep through it. 

In general, this month was a 24x7 sugar high (all natural sugar of course, like in fruit), but seriously, kid, you embraced the holiday season like no other <1 year old I know. Christmas for the McAuleys this year was a two week event. First we had our Christmas, just the three of us, a few days before Christmas. We opened a few presents, mostly books and jammies. You were relatively disinterested, but you sat through the process patiently while I took 800 pictures. People talk a lot about how babies don’t “get” Christmas and if they do, they’re just interested in the boxes and wrapping papers; I think they just don’t give babies enough practice, because by Christmas #2 (ie Christmas Eve at Uncle Dan’s) you had started to warm up and by Christmas morning at Memere’s house, you were all over it. You were as much into your cousins’ presents as you were into your own. Santa brought you just one gift (Santa had strict instructions not to go overboard, knowing that everyone else would spoil you). He brought you the Cozy Coup, only Santa had a few too many cocktails when assembling the car at 11 pm on Christmas Eve, so the wheels pointed inward and it was a long time before we could actually push you around it. I would have yelled at Santa, but alas I was fast asleep on the couch, camera in hand but unconscious, so wasn't really in much of a position to judge.

Christmas #4 was on Nantucket with Grandma and Grandpa, and your crazy cousins and aunt and uncle. We spent so much time away from home, I was afraid you were going to forget how to sleep through the night in your crib – a thought that nearly drove me to drink (on top of normal holiday libations, that is). You didn’t forget though, and we promptly settled back home, our house littered with more widgets and gadgets than I could have imagined (Remind me to send a very sternly worded thank you note to Uncle Dan for the plastic hammer).

I think the Christmas high must have given you an extra burst of energy because you hit another key milestone just a few days afterwards: you took your very first steps. Legit steps. One foot in front of the other three times followed by several seconds of steady standing afterwards, at which point you looked up at me and Ama with a look that said, “oh boy, you guys are totally screwed now.” Because we’re masochistic, we keep trying to entice you to do it again, and again, and every once in awhile when you’re too occupied to notice, you walk. Most of the time, however, you take a few running steps and then just crash into our arms. It’s less walking and more falling while covering a few feet of runway. You think it’s a game. Then again, you think pretty much everything is a game and you laugh and squeal most of the day. It’s my favorite sound in the world.

This holiday season really was so much more fun than ever before because we could share it with you, so thanks buddy. I can’t believe next month I’ll be writing that you’re ONE YEAR OLD (and yes, *that* milestone is worth all caps).

Love, mama

 

I couldn't have answered any better

My 12 year old nephew was at Sunday school class, and the teacher asked him who his favorite Saint was.

He answered: "Drew Brees".

Surviving 10 months - mobile and with attitude

There comes a time in every baby's life when they go from being a goobery little ball of deliciousness to a little person. This month, Mason, I'm pretty sure you discovered the concept of free will.

It's been... interesting. 

On the one hand, it's amazing. You are a little person that communicates what you want. You point, lift your arms up if you want to be picked up, and bee line it for just the right toy.

On the other hand, it's been a bit of a disaster, particularly where our dog bowls are concerned. I'm not exactly sure why you love our dog bowls, but "love" actually seems to be an understatement. You are obsessed. If I turn my back for one second you're elbow deep in little bits of food or the water. If I catch you en route and say sternly "Mason, NO!", you'll stop and look at me, roll your eyes, and then continue on your way. This morning ritual eventually resulted in your first time out. (I'm not sure if it was really a time out for you or a time out for me, but it was needed either way.) You arrived just shy of the dog bowl, looked at me, I said "no", you looked at the dog bowl, thought about it for a second, then looked back at me. I repeated "no", and you laughed a maniacal little laugh as if to say "f-you" and slammed the water bowl with all the force you could muster.

We had another big milestone this month: You stood up all by yourself. You were playing at Auntie Trish's and holding yourself steady on the coffee table when you turned to look at me. You let go of the table and just stared at me. I reacted the way any proud mama would have: I shrieked with delight and scared the living crap out of you. You wailed louder than I've ever heard you cry. It was awhile before you tried that trick again. Even now, you only do it once in a great while. I still think you're going to be an early walker. You have all the pieces. You can practically run if you're holding onto something, and you could balance on your own if you weren't scared.

We got your first report card and your first school pictures. Ridiculous, right? Report cards and school pictures for an infant. You got wonderful marks, of course. You know your name, are social and engaging, and have hit all of your key developmental milestones. You have a best friend at school named Harry. I think you're best friends by virtue of the fact that you two are the oldest and most mobile. You terrorize the other babies together, stealing their toys and crawling over them to get to where you want to be. Your report card remarked that your next step was to start working on a sippy cup instead of a bottle. Naturally I went out and bought 47 different models of sippy cups. You really don't care for them as a drinking vessel, but you sure do like grabbing them and banging them against pretty much anything - the tray of your high chair, the floor, my head... 

Last month, I joked that you were no longer the toothless genius because you sprouted your first sliver of ivory. Not long after that, we took you for your checkup, and Dr. O'Connor off-handedly said, "Oh good, he has three teeth." THREE? You grew two more teeth when we weren't looking. In fairness, every time I try to pry your mouth open to check on your teething progress, you act as though I'm pulling your toenails out with a pair of plyers, so I've limited my investigations substantially. 

We celebrated your first Thanksgiving this month. You looked extraordinarily handsome. You even had a chance to meet the Vice President of the United States. That really crawled up Uncle Dan's a$$ - he's a staunch republican. I was tempted to make that picture our Christmas card just to spite him, but instead I picked a picture of you in your Christmas jammies.

You're getting so big. I can't believe you're almost one year old. 

I love you buddy,

mama

 

Thanksgiving

Mason and the VP

My kid is a bobblehead

Just had Mason's 9 month check up...

6th percentile weight

50th percentile height

70th percentile head circumference 

Yep, he's a bobblehead.

"Pursuit of Happyness" Moment

I like my daycare - the teachers are nice and they actively engage Mason in art projects and active playing. He's exhausted at the end of the day, but generally happy. The teachers proudly display the kids' artwork around the halls.

I'm somewhat dismayed (just like Will Smith),because I walked in the other morning and there was a new display of construction paper artwork in the main hall outside of the 5-year olds classroom. Little construction paper figures had been dressed with construction paper sweaters and pants and shoes and hats. On each one of them, though, was the header "I'm Dress for Fall" written in neat teacher-like block letters with a big bold black magic marker.

I mentioned it to Mason's teacher, but she clearly didn't feel comfortable telling the other teacher (who I believe is originally from Columbia, so English is her second language), or the head of the daycare, but it makes me cringe every time I walk by it. Does that make me a snob? It's literally written on 10 little pieces of artwork with the child's name written boldly beneath each cutout. How have none of the parents in that class said anything? 

The Toothless Genius

Nine months. 3/4 of a year. It seems actually impossible, but it is true. Mason, you are 9 months old today. Holy. Crap.

Earlier in the month, we went home to Nantucket to help Mackenzie celebrate her Sweet 16. Thankfully, the party was a few days before her birthday, so we were safely off the island before someone was foolish enough to give that girl a learner's permit. When we were there, Grandma mentioned that some other baby was your age and already had 4 teeth, and reminded me that Auntie Kristen had a full head of teeth by the time she was a year. I jokingly snapped at her, "Oh yeah? Well my kid is a frickin' genius. A wonderful, toothless genius." That witty retort sure did quiet her up.

You, however, must have taken it personally, because a few days later it happened - that tiny little white sliver started peaking through your goofy gummy smile. I was disproportionally excited about this milestone - I mean, of course eventually you were going to get teeth, but I couldn't help it and I excitedly called Grandma to tell her that you were now the one-toothed genius.

My excitement quickly waned. Along with your tooth has come a shit storm. Literally, a storm of shit. You actually got kicked out of daycare because you were pooping too much. Who knew they had a "three diarrhea and you're out" rule? And not just for that day, but for 24 hours afterwards. Our day off from school went reasonably ok -- I pumped you full of rice in a vain attempt to bind you up. I brought you to the office because I had one meeting I couldn't miss, and Jillian watched you because she's the best assistant ever.

On the way home, we  stopped at the store to buy bananas, which I read is another good food for kids with a leaky pooper. I grabbed you from the car seat, situated you on my hip, and only got a step before I felt something soaking through my shirt and my nose was filled with one of the more offensive smells I've been treated to since motherhood. I stood in the parking lot paralyzed - do I put you back in the carseat and rush home? Do I go into the store and try to change you there? After careful deliberations, I put you back in the car seat, and you screamed the entire ride home. I immediately ran a bath, and tried to undress you but it wasn't going so well, so I gave up and just put you in the tub... fully clothed. Not surprisingly, you screamed some more. After two baths for you and a shower for me, life at the McAuley household returned to normal. We survived the shitstorm. 

In non-poop related updates, you continue to be more and more precocious by the day. Somewhat to my dismay, you have discovered the dog door, and you think it's h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s. Personally, I would have preferred you made that discovery when it's 70 degrees outside. Since we're among the 10% of people that still have stupid electric heat, I watch you bat at the door and just see dollars flying right out of it. You haven't yet tried to go through the door yet, so that's a plus, particularly given the giant flight of stairs just a few feet from it.

We also managed to get a fairly decent family photo right before Kenzie's party. This is good news for us, because when daycare asked for a family photo to put up, the best one we had was on Uncle Dan's boat. This wouldn't be so bad except there are very clearly two beers within arms reach. So even though this one is oddly yellow, it makes me smile whenever I see it. You're so handsome in your faux-tux-onsie. 

I love you my little monster. It's been the best 9 months of my life.

love, mom

The Super Sweet 16

Sixteen years ago, my niece was born. I was there, in the room with my sister and brother-in-law. It was, shall we call it, memorable, and it served to create a very special bond between Mackenzie and me. 

There's a lot of things I love about this kid - the fact that she is, in many ways, a minature version of me is high among them. But there are a lot of ways she's different.

Like me, the kid can't carry a tune to save her life... seriously, tone deaf is an understatement. Unlike me, she'll grab a microphone and sing at the top of her lungs any chance she can get, regardless of who is there to bear witness. I think she was born without the embarrassment gene.

Like me when I was her age, she spends the majority of her time wearing cleats or sneakers, chasing, passing or shooting a ball of some sorts. Unlike me, when not playing sports, she likes to rock a nice leopard print dress. 

Like me, she's a great student, but not always so quick on the uptake. For example, she really thought I gave her a box of pasta for her 16th birthday, and it was only after rather explicit prompting, she opened the box to find a little something to fund her trip to Italy this summer. 

In short, she's the better version of me at her age. She is fearless, entirely comfortable in her own skin, sweet, and kind. And funny. Man, is that kid funny. (Like me, sometimes not always intentionally). Happy birthday, Kenzie. I'm so glad Mason has you as a wondeful role model. 

 

Keeping the magic alive

I have a hacking cough. Yesterday I texted a picture of the piece of lung I spewed into the sink during a particularly rough coughing fit to my wife and her classmates who just finished their pulmonology class. Some would say that's disgusting; I'm pretty sure it made my wife love me more.

Not exactly a convincing argument

[Setting: Steph and I admiring Mason's latest outfit]

Me: If I was a boy, I'd be super stylish.

Steph: Me too!

Me: Um... I'm not so sure about that. 

Steph: I'd be, like, Lumberjack stylish.

 

For real?

This could be my favorite picture taken to date... Which is saying a lot.

Month 8 - Now with more cowbell

This was another month of milestones, but then again, what month isn't? 

Milestone 1: You wail. I mean really wail. Previously, you had a cry that was the functional equivalent of "um, excuse me, mom? ama? Could you please come get me? My diaper is wet and I'm suffering major shrinkage and I would really like to have some of that nice white stuff sprinkled on my boy bits."

Now your cries are the equivalent of "Hey bitches, don't you hear me? Run -- don't walk -- and free me from this espresso-stained prison you call a crib. While you're at it, bring me an 8 oz bottle made with the good stuff, not that generic crap you've been trying to feed me to save a few extra bucks, because it's been hours since I've eaten and I'm frickin' starving."

Luckily, as soon as we do get you, you return to your charming and lovely self, and we smother you with kisses and decide, yeah, we'll keep you.

Milestone 2: This milestone is someone related to Milestone 1. You were exercising your lungs one night while ama and I were cooking dinner. We heard the aforementioned wail, so ama went in to check on you. She opened the door and yelled to me to come quickly. You see, you weren't just wailing, you were standing in your crib and wailing. That's right - standing. On two feet. All by yourself (well, bracing yourself against your crib, but still, you pulled yourself up all by yourself). Ama was yelling at me to hurry because she thought for sure you'd teeter over at any second, but you didn't. You just stood there screaming as we looked at you in amazement, I'm sure thinking to youself, "Will you wipe those dumbass grins off your face and come get me?? It's just standing; it's not like I'm doing quantam physics over here." Since that night, you rarely sit. You're always pulling yourself up on something, no matter how precarious the object. It's resulted in a few bumps and bruises, but your balance is improving and social services hasn't come to visit us yet, so that's a plus. Tonight you took it to a whole new level and actually fell asleep standing up in your crib. We happened to catch it on the video monitor and went in to lay you down before you fell over. It was a close one.

Milestone 3: We have started swim lessons, and I know I'm biased, but you're definitely the best. You love the water and kick and play. When we're singing "Ring around the Rosie" and substituting "ashes, ashes we all fall down" with "splashes, splashes we all fall down" you're the only kid that gets fully dunked. The other moms and dads look at me in amazement that when I bring you out of the water, you're giggling and not screaming or gasping for air. That is, after they've called social services to report not only that you're covered in bruises, but that I'm actively trying to drown you. 

Milestone 4: You've officially been elected the Mayor of Daycare. Ok, that's not really at all true. Daycare doesn't have elections. But if they did, I'm sure you'd win. You're the only one in there that's really crawling around and when I drop you off, you scoot right over to a toy or another baby and look back over your shoulder at me, as if to say, "hey you, why are you still here? I'm about to get my play on with my peeps, don't you have to be at work?"

And not particularly apropos of anything, but because it's fall and I love posting pictures of you, you now have the best hat collection of any 8 month old I know. 

I love you mister. You're the best.

Love, 

mama

Brave New World

Steph: "I keep forgetting you posted these pictures of Mason..."

(pregnant pause, in which my face twists up in quizzical glance)

Steph: "... and by 'posted' I mean, 'put on the fridge.'"'

Yep, I went old fashioned and ordered PRINTS and affixed them to the refrigerator, with magnets, leveraging no digital assets whatsoever, and the only people who can see them are physical humans, in my house, that I probably (hopefully) have actually met in real life (no offense internet.)

Happy #7

Dear Mason,

You've reached the 7th month mark. When you turned 6 months, you blessed us by sleeping through the night. You have since taken that gift back. Don't worry, I don't hold it against you (too often).

You started daycare this month and within one week, you caught the plague and were sent home with 102 fever. It was really scary, although you were still a happy little guy, despite being a sweaty mess. Your disposition, even when ill, is something that evokes comments and admiration every time we take you out in public.  People have never met such a happy, laid back kid. 

Ama started school this month too. She's going to be a PA. You (and a bunch of her friends and family) helped me make a video to wish her good luck. (There were lots of other folks who sent videos too, but after I had already put it together - so she got to watch those separately).

Ama going back has been both a blessing and curse. It's a blessing because she's so happy and so commited and for the first time, really feels like she's doing what she was born to do. And we both like when Ama feels truly, genuinly happy. It's a curse because as part of the gig, she had to buy an odoscope, and she really likes chasing us around with it and sticking it in our ears. I did get a nice ear lavage out of it though. 

You've also started crawling this month. Legit. Point A to point B. Unless you get distracted... and you get distracted easily. You particularly like gnawing on shoes. A better mom would probably remove the filthy shoe from your mouth, but you work so hard to get there that is just feels mean to take it away. Maybe I have to rethink whether or not it was daycare that gave you the plague. 

We video chat with grammy and grampy and memere, and you love that. You get all smiley and goofy and drooly. Ok, the drooling might have something to do with the fact that you're clearly teething, but still, you really do like it. Maybe not *quite* as much as they do, but close. 

Besides Ama and me, Keela is your best buddy. You love to play with her tags, and she's been thrilled with the fact that you now sit in a "deluxe feeding center" (aka high chair) and drop cheerios onto the floor. She's always gentle with you, even when you pull on her face. Plus, she doubles as a kleenex. Since you've had the plague, you have a steady stream of snot that Keela thinks is the world's best snack, and she loves to lick your face. mmmm. Ama gets mad at me because I don't stop her right away. I can't help it though - it's just so funny.

Today is a big deal, not just because you've been around for 7 months. Today is the 10 year anniversary of 9/11, one of the saddest days most of us have ever lived through. Ten years ago, I had just gradutated college and had just moved back to Boston (Grampy said I wasn't allowed to live on Nantucket tending bar after he spent so much money sending me to Harvard. He probably had a point). That morning, I was painting the bedroom of my new apartment in Somerville. Benjamin Moore's "Butter". I talked to Auntie Kristen in the morning after the first plane hit. We thought it was an accident. I turned off the tv and went upstairs to paint. I had no idea what was really going on. Truth be told, even when I did finally learn what was going on, I didn't "get it". I think my life had been so truly blessed and sheltered from anything bad that I was literally incapable of understanding such tragedy. It took awhile before I really started to feel the weight of what happened. Incidentally, since you've been born, I feel the weight of everything x1000. I literally can't watch anything violent on tv without getting full of anxiety -- my chest physically tightens. I think it's part hormones, and part an uncontrollable urge to shield you from anything bad.

With all the changes - Ama in school, you in daycare, you mobile and obsessed with electrical outlets, things have been pretty hectic, but I gotta say, our family kicks ass. But don't say "ass". That's a bad word. Literate people would come up with a suitable alternative--something you might someday see on the SATs, but as previously referenced, you don't sleep through the night so I can't really be bothered right now to be that person. 

I love you buddy.

Famous among dozens

I'm quoted in the Boston Globe today, and it's only appropriate to share it via my blog which is republished to my Facebook and Twitter pages because the article is about social media advice for job seekers. Check it out: "Social Media Advice for Job-Seekers, from CEOs, HR-execs & Recruiters," (although I'm none of the above. 

I am triumphant

I just assembled a "deluxe feeding center" (more commonly known by the non-babies-r-us-dbags as a "high chair") all by myself without one emergency call to my wife for help. How about that!?! 

Funny (but kind of cruel) way to piss off a baby who is just learning to crawl

Put him in track pants and let him loose on the wood floor. 

He thought he had the whole crawling thing down until the slippery nylon foiled his attempts. It was mean, but also a little hilarious.

Happy 6 months

 
Dear Mason -

A few days ago, you turned 6 months old. You gave me the best gift ever -- a blissful night sleep. For the first time in six months, when you woke up at 2 am, you put yourself back to sleep. It was a big night for the McAuley household.

My friend Erika gave me a piece of advice right after you were born. She said, "don't wish anything away -- even their annoying habits that they'll outgrow, you'll miss." I knew as soon as she said it, she was right. But there's a difference between "knowing" it and really knowing it. There's already a lot that I miss, as you seem to grow faster than I thought was humanly possible. 

We have had a very busy month - visiting Auntie Joy in Lake Tahoe, visiting Auntie Marcie and Auntie Lauren in Connecticut, cheering on Ama while she rode the PMC, visiting grandma and grampy and Auntie Kristen and Uncle Dan and your kooky cousins on Nantucket. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Generally speaking, you're the world's easiest kid. You were a pill on Nantucket this weekend - something wholly out of character for you, but you were running a fever and I'm putting money on the fact that there's a tooth coming. In general, you don't cry. You love this ridiculous bouncy toy, and you eat everything we give you - except beans. You HATE beans. Introducing solid foods has done some interesting things to your pooping schedule - and yes, I *LOVE* talking about your poop with anyone who will listen. This weekend, Auntie Joy handed you over thinking you had the world's most giant deuce the smell was so bad, but it turned out you only had this tiny little rabbit turd. You didn't poop again for two and a half days, but you sure have made up for it since then.

You love the beach, and I will never forgive myself for not getting a video of you "swimming" on Nantucket this weekend. The way your legs and your butt bounced up and down - there are no words to describe it, but I nearly dropped you I was laughing so hard. I think Auntie Kristen might have peed herself she was laughing so hard too. 

Next week, you start day care. Ama is going back to school to become a PA in two weeks, but we figured we'd give you a week head start, mostly so we could get adjusted and used to a new schedule for you. I think I might be traumatized by the experience, though I'm very confident you're going to love it. If not, we'll just figure something else out. 

I love you buddy. I can't believe six months has gone by already. 

The aforementioned bouncy toy.

 

 

Cruisin' on Lake Tahoe.

Hanging Lake-side.

Playing in CT while visiting Auntie Lauren and Auntie Marcie. 

Sitting in a high chair, all by himself, sporting one kick-ass hairdo.

S

Mason and great-memere cheering Steph on her PMC ride.

On Uncle Dan's boat en route to Nantucket to see the Boston Pops.

Taking suggestions

Although I barely have enough energy to string together a coherent sentence these days, I'm ready to do something that seemed unimaginable just a few weeks ago...

Read.

As in, an actual book.

One with words that go together to tell a story not about animals, red balls, trucks, or anything related to Disney characters, bears, and preferably not written in rhyming couplets. 

I'm taking suggestions. What do you have for me, dear internet?

Oh, crap...

So it's not like he's cruising around, but I thought we had a few more months before we had to get ready for him crawling. By the looks of it, we have days, or maybe, if we're lucky, a few weeks.

 

Five Months Old Today

I know I'm biased, but I've never seen a prettier pair of blue eyes before in my life. 

 
 
I can't believe 5 months have gone by. He's getting to be so big.

He he has discovered his toes. He loves grabbing them, eating them, having them tickled. Pretty much anything involving his toes is an A+ past time.  

He has just started eating solids - rice cereal and avocado, so far, but bananas and sweet potato coming soon. He likes to be a big boy and feed himself - which works out considerably better for me when he's nudey and right before bathtime. 

He still doesn't sleep much, or at least not in long stretches. 3-4 hours max. He likes sleeping in his crib, though sometimes we steal naps together.

He loves the beach, which is a good thing because my family takes summer beach activity very seriously.

He likes to read, sometimes all by himself.

All in all, we hit the baby jackpot. He doesn't really cry too much. He likes other people - not just his moms. He will play by himself on his mat or in his crib, giving us some time to do grown up things like showering and making dinner. He's learning how to give the best hugs. And yes, he still has boogies and thinks it's hilarious. Actually, pretty much everything is hilarious. 

Happy five month birthday, Mason. 

Kickin' it on the beach

A poop like no other poop

Mason hadn't pooped in two whole days. We knew it was coming. We knew it would be bad. Let me save you the suspense (because I know you're on the edge of your seat reading about my kid's poop...), it was terrible.

Mason was in his bumbo as I took a shower. Steph was at physical therapy, so we were on our own. I took him out of the bumbo and was accosted by a gag-inducing smell. I put him on his changing table, which only propelled the poop up his back, all the way to his neck. I spent a few minutes strategizing about how to remove his now poop-covered onsie. Inspiration did not come. He ended up with poop in his hair.

I cleaned him up as best as I could and carried him to the bathroom for a bath. End result? My bathrobe covered in poop. I gave him a bath, emptied the water, refilled it, and gave him another bath. Just because it's one of those morning, he then peed everywhere. I then spent a good five minutes cleaning my own body.

All clean and in just in his diaper, he smiled contently at me, ate, and then fell into a deep and relaxing sleep.

The world's best bedtime story

Four months ago this would have been funny. Now, it's downright hilarious.

(Warning: as you'd guess from the title, not exactly appropriate to play just anywhere) 

 

Mason finds his book really hilarious

 

I failed my "what would you do" moment

I don't have much of an issue with smokers. I think it's gross, but if you want to smoke, knock yourself out. I'm not a fan of doing it on sidewalks where I have to walk through the cloud of carbon monoxide, but even then, I think to myself "ick" and keep walking.

Today, however, I watched a guy remove the cellophane wrapper from his pack of cigarettes and throw it on the ground. I kept walking, but started seething with what my friend aptly describes as "stairway thoughts"... you know, the things you wish you had said, like in this case, "Hey a-hole, it's bad enough that I have to walk through your cloud of stink, but are you literally *that* lazy and *that* disprespectful that you can't walk the 4 feet to the garbage can to throw that away?"

Marking the passage of time ... And coolness

Yesterday at an afternoon party, I spent a good 25 minutes discussing the merits of different vacuum cleaners. Our lives have certainly changed a lot in the last few years.

Because she's a better person than I am

For the second year in a row, Steph is riding in the PMC, a 192-mile bike ride from Sturbridge, MA to Provincetown, raising money for Dana Farber. Both of our grandfathers passed away from cancer, as did Steph's uncle. We have friends that are battling cancer right now - some winning, some losing. 

Riders have to raise $4200, all of which goes directly to Dana Farber. Steph is already 40% to her goal. You can contribute to by visiting this link. Every donation helps. (And means that we don't have to steal from Mason's college fund to make up the difference if she doesn't hit her goal).

Steph made a video about some of the people she's riding for - see below.

 

A video clip that has nothing to do with how adorable my son is

In case you wonder what I do for a living, watch this video about my company

Watch the full episode. See more Nightly Business Report.

He's ready for summer