I’m so happy that there are new episodes for 30 days. It’s a great show. The most recent episode featured a legal immigrant from Cuba who is an active member of a border patrol group. He spends his days with binoculars in hand watching immigrants from Mexico try to sneak into the country. As soon as he sees someone crossing, he calls the right people and they are pushed back toward their home. The premise of the show is that he lives with an undocumented family from Mexico for 30 days. Good show. Really good show.
I’ve been thinking about trying to use our Public Transportation to get to and from work. The pass is cheaper than what I pay for parking and if I get a month-long pass then Cosi and I can take a bus on Saturday and then I don’t have to worry about strapping her in a car seat.
But from what I hear the transportation system here is quite lacking. So I’m going to try it for 30 days, starting on Monday. My plan is to keep a journal of how it goes. We’ll see if I follow through.

John and I have talked before about how important it is to us that our parents, when they are old and gray, are taken care of. We don’t like the idea of leaving them in a nursing home and I’m pretty sure if we had to, we would cut our spending habits in half if it meant having to choose a nursing home or one of us having to stay home with our parents. We think this often for my moms and for John’s parents, but my father, who is so far away in Florida never seems much of a concern.
As most of you know, my father and I do not have the closest of relationships. We see each other maybe once or twice in a two year period. He came here this past weekend to meet Cosette. It was a great visit. We got along famously and he only made some inappropriate comments a handful of times (actually, not to me, but to my friends, sorry about the blond comment, Kate).
He also got very sick right before dinner time on Saturday. He sometimes gets struck by vertigo and it just happened to hit when he was here. At 5 pm on a bright and sunny day (a day that we were supposed to have a barbeque so our friends could meet him) he was face down on our guest bed unable to lift his head without fear of vomiting. He felt horrible, both for himself as he lay unable to move and for me having planned a party for my friends to meet him that he wasn’t able to attend.
It wasn’t that big of a deal. The party got moved to our house and several of our friends got to meet him as we were out and about during the day.
But as I walked up the stairs each time to check on him – to bring him a cold washcloth – or to bring him a glass of water that he would not be able to drink, I felt a strong love for him. I felt a desire, nay, even a compulsion to take care of my Dad. It was something I had never felt before and it was quite a comforting feeling.

My time off has ended. I am now, officially, a working mother. I thought, postpartum, that I would hate it. Turns out, it’s been kind of nice to return to normalcy. I’ve always assumed I would be a working mother. We’ve told people from the beginning that the plan would be for John to stay at home with whatever babies we had. After Cosi was born, though, I began to regret my decision. I cried and I cried the weekend before I came back to work part-time. I was so afraid I was going to miss something. I wouldn’t be there for the first word or the first step. And to be honest, that still bothers me. I really don’t fancy the idea that I won’t be there for so many firsts. But I am really excited that my baby will wait for me at the door, ready to re-enact everything she did for her daddy that day.