jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

I’m taking a relatively rare LJ break in the middle of my work day to finally let the stopper out of some news that’s been bubbling…

We’re headed back down south to the great state of Tennessee! I accepted a new job that will relocate us to Knoxville — a land where I can get my kid a yard, get my mom a bedroom in our house, and get on down to Atlanta in just about three hours.

I will not lie to y’all (See, I’m back!) — I’m nervous. I’ve never lived in a city that small. We love Manhattan. But I suspect we will also love having a cleaning lady, proximity to our families, and significantly more discretionary income (possibly in that order).

I may have mentioned that I like to pick up pop culture trends at least a good five years late. I like for the ways I waste my leisure time to be carefully vetted. This is how I come to find myself watching American Idol for the first time.

A few things are disturbing me:

— That I’d like to have sex with two of those guys. a) I think all these people are just north of fetus age. b) It’s American Idol! I’m not telling you who, but if you watch I’ll bet you can guess.
— That the group sing numbers seem choreographed with the intention of humiliating the contestants.

Other disturbing developments: I was told yesterday (in an affection way, if you can believe it) that I have college-girl hair. I can’t help it! It grows so freaking fast! I don’t know what to do.

Watch this space for an exciting announcement in the near future.

Oh, it’s nothing. Literally. How nice. We’ve just finished up a lovely visit with my mom and cousin. Damon has piled into a car with them and headed off to Penn Station. After they left, Alden boiled over from the accumulated stimulation and had a half-hour meltdown. Did you know you can ruin a baby’s day by offering to nurse him? Or put him down? Or pick him up? Well you can. But a little of that goes a long way and he pretty promptly passed out and is now sleeping deeply in his crib. The lights in his room are off. His door is closed. I think he’ll get at least a good hour in and, if I know him, wake up happy and ready to hang out. So. I’m alone in the living room with my laptop and my lemonade. Lovely.

This morning before work I looked down at my son. He was in my lap doing one of his super-luxury-post-nursing stretches. He was fast on his way back to sleep, with his little froggy legs and limp, dangly arms. He looked so, so precious. Seeing him like that I thought, “I’ll bet this is a lot like having a monkey.”

I’ve been following a blog called Flotsam for a while now. It started as an infertility story and has morphed into a family story that puts my heart in my throat and could wring tears from the stoniest reader. Or so I thought.

What the hell is wrong with some people?