jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I like to start a new home with lots of shiny new organization.

If you’re reading this, I’d like your mailing address for the book I will unearth in the coming weeks.

The post is locked. But if you want even more privacy, you could also email me at jaysaint at gmail.

And if you want even more privacy than that, I suspect you don’t want to give me your address. And that’s okay with me too.

I often have grand aspirations for the things that I will mail my friends in the computer. Usually they fall apart, but not always. You never know.

Tell me your stories about night weaning, if you would.

I’m not decided on when, but it would be good to have an idea of how. Alden will be one next month (yikes) and once we’re past that birthday I’m willing to consider it. Probably not right away, but at least it goes on the table. One factor is that we still co-sleep. I’m not willing to put him in his own room yet, but would entertain the thought of putting him in his crib in our bedroom.

Mildly interesting photo of our new dining room:

I have ordered a pizza, using the internet rather than a telephone. I love that the digital age is progressively stripping away the necessity of talking to strangers. I know that love is not a ringing endorsement of my personality, but it’s the truth. I dislike the phone. I am awkward around strangers. The combination is almost lethal to me. So now I order pizza online. The crazy part of my pizza this evening is that Damon doesn’t know I’ve ordered it! Won’t he be surprised! This is what passes for excitement this Sunday in Knoxville.

That’s okay, though, the next two weekends are jam packed. Oh, and we’re moving in there as well.

I’m sad that our pizza isn’t here yet.

This is the final interesting photo of our house from the listing. There are two more, but they’re anyrooms. I’ll post them regardless, but saved the most boring for last. This is the back view of our house with a slice of the sweet yard.

Today Damon volunteered to work a voter registration drive for the Obama campaign on the University of Tennessee campus. (I’m not looking to start a political argument here. If you want to discuss Obama’s merits or lack thereof, I will give you Damon’s cell phone number.) I am achy and defeated from the stories he’s telling me now. Some young men felt perfectly free to shout things at him like, “No black man is going to be my president.” Really? I’m not naive. I know people think like that. But it still rocks me back a little to hear they feel free to shout it on a crowded campus without fear of repercussion.

I regret that there is no photo here for you.

But you can always come over to our apartment, which has a sliding glass door out onto the porch. Alden has never seen one of those. He likes to booty scoot up to it and smack his palms into the glass. Tonight I walked up and slid the door open. He kept sticking his arms out with his hands flat like a little traffic copy, waving them around, looking for the glass. Then he’d leeeeeeean forward looking for the contact point. And wind up with his nose on the carpet between his knees.

House stuff continues apace. Our inspector says “termites.” Theirs says, “no termites.” Another guy is coming out tomorrow to get a handle on that. A different guy is coming out to give us a quote on putting flashing on the roof, which has never been done. A dead tree must come down and some other errant branches need to be trimmed back. Everything else is minor and we’ll handle it after we move in.

Kitchen: