jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I can hear Alden and Damon dancing to Van Halen in the bedroom.

Tonight I resolve to just be grateful.

I just finished up my first week at work. I think it’s going well and that I made the right choice. It’s weird to adjust from a magazine to a web world. Everyone is FAR less glamorous, even at the Chelsea Markets. Which, while less interesting, is also kind of a relief. I could not keep up with the print glossy Joneses, but I think I can hang here.

At home this weekend we’ve chalked up open house number four. Nine families came through and had lots of positive things to say. It’s been the same thing every week. People think the apartment is beautiful. They think it’s an excellent price. Sometimes someone gets all excited and calls friends or family to have them come look. But no offers so far. I continue to maintain that you’re not going to find a nicer two-bedroom in Manhattan for this price.

We bugged out today to accommodate that open house and I was treated to my son’s first public tantrum. It was brief but impressive. In his defense, he was many hours late for a nap at this point. Instead of snoozing in his crib he was sitting with me in a crowded cafe while strangers poke through our drawers. When it was time to go he felt that standing in his stroller seat would give him the best shot at snagging goodies off other tables as we went. When I vetoed that by tugging on the knees of his pants until he fell on his butt in the seat his reaction was immediate, immense and hilarious. Remember Al Pacino at the end of Godfather III when Sophia Coppola gets shot? That.

My two-week unemployment is about to come to a close. I’ll be able to hold on to my jobless cred a little while longer, though, since my health insurance doesn’t kick in until June 1. Why is that? Is it to make sure you’re not taking a new job to fill an urgent medical need? Or is it just administrative? I doubt the latter because I was able to get Alden insured on day one. I know they can do that. And yet the former seems ludicrous. My last two jobs both took multiple meetings over the course of several weeks just to get my official offer letter. It’s got to be the latter and I’m just applying my experience to an much larger group of people, most of whom arrange themselves faster than I have recently. So it’s the former, right? Does anyone know?

Fascinating insurance questions aside, I’m quite excited to start my new job. I’m working for a former boss and I suspect we’ll get along well just like we did last time. She’s one of the more demanding bosses I’ve had, but also taught me more than, perhaps, anyone else I’ve ever worked for. I’ll take that deal. I’m at work to work, so I don’t mind swinging for the fences. She also has a history of respecting my whole life, which goes a long long way. I’ve already told her that any time I travel from New York I will need to take Damon and Alden with me so that our nursing isn’t jeopardized. She didn’t have any problem with that. So that’s a good indicator that we shall be fine.

I do think I’ll be doing a hunk of traveling down to Tennessee until we can get our apartment sold and get down there permanently. We had another open house today. It was only an hour long and five families came through. We’re getting tons of positive feedback, so now we just need the right people to turn up and write a check. I know in the current economic climate that being on the market for three weeks (and counting) is not something to complain about. And yet. Sell house!

As such, no one can stop me from eating ice cream directly from the carton at 4:43am.

We are indulging in home-style pasta, Dancing With the Stars, and cat snuggling.

The flight from Tucson to Atlanta was a dream. Alden slept through 2/3 of it and flirted his way through the final 1/3. The flight attendant told me he was a hot topic in the galley and they were wishing they could bottle him. On the flight from Atlanta to New York it was only his dedicated parents standing between Alden and flight attendants no doubt determined to toss him out the emergency exit. The look on his face when we got off one long flight and promptly got on another plane told me everything I needed to know about how the rest of my afternoon would go. So much irritated rasping and kvetching later, we arrived safely in NY and hit the traffic jackpot, getting home after only 20 minutes in a cab. We ate cheese in the backseat and it was a breeze.

The airline broke my suitcase zipper. I hate them.

But that’s my only complaint. It will be nice to crash in our own bed tonight, although I wish Sarah, Scout and John were still on the other side of the door.