I went back to work last week. It's only 10 hours a week, but it's in an office, dressed in nice clothes, with no one trying to climb into my lap. Yet.

This new arrangement causes quite a few logistical difficulties due to the one car and the geographical remove from bus lines compared to previous residences and the working 8-1 without a lunch break after which I get on a bus where they do not allow food. Gah.

But I like being back at work. I like it mostly because I am extremely good at it, and everyone knows it, and when I do screw up, I hear about it immediately and in detail, and I don't take it personally, and then I fix it. Same goes for everyone else I work with. What we do is too high stakes to let your ego get in the way of getting it right. So I'm not constantly worrying that I've done something horribly wrong but I won't find out about it until later, unlike the other job I have where I work from home. It's much more comfortable in the environment where I know I'm doing a good job. Like being a mom, which I know I rock at, even though I find it profoundly boring and frustrating quite often at this stage in Boy Detective's development.

I know it's common to feel guilt about putting yourself first or worry about whether you're a good enough parent or try to do everything and feel bad about not being able to do the supermom thing, but I don't. My main concerns are figuring out when Boy Detective will stop waking me up at night and how to carve out enough time that I can do what I want to do, which currently does not include cooking or making the guest room usable.

Seriously, Boy Detective is just fine. He doesn't need me to do anything more than I'm doing, and he'd probably be fine if I did even less. He walks, we're pretty sure he tried to say banana the other day and managed "ad-na," and he's a happy guy except when he's growing more teeth. It's not that I don't sacrifice for him - hello, sleepless nights, and does anyone remember the three months of my life when I sat in a rocking chair for 3-7 hours a day because he wouldn't nap anywhere but in my lap? I'm glad that I'm still nursing him as his first birthday rolls around, I'm glad that last week when I was gone for 7 hours it was the longest I'd ever been away from him, and I'm glad that he gets organic food and safe wooden toys and we read to him and all that. He has three primary caretakers who love him, and he gets mostly orgainc food, milk, medical care, clean clothes, trips to the park and the library (and holy Costco), plus lots of cuddles.

I never doubt that since I had a primary role in providing this wonderland for the last year, I'm a darn good mom. Scratch that, an awesome mom. Perhaps this is because I used to do street outreach to homeless adolescents with horrible childhoods so my baseline is lower, or perhaps my anti-consumerism extends to those who want to sell me the idea that I have do more, more, more to make sure my child is smart, healthy, happy, and ahead of everyone else.

But I'm not interested in baby signs and special enrichment games and music classes and learning this week's tip on how to stimulate your baby's social development, so I'm not gonna, and I'm not going to feel bad about it. My MIL got me a book on children's language development, but honestly I couldn't care less. If there's a problem, I'll do research. And I'm not spending a lot of time second guessing myself on whether I'm doing a good job, since right now the tasks are so basic. Feed kid. Clean kid. Keep kid from screaming from pain or boredom. Keep kid from electrocuting self. At the end of the day, I can pretty much tell whether I succeeded. Just like in my office job.

But unlike in my office job, I don't have to be perfect at parenting. I'm not comparing myself to the mythical ideal parent, I'm comparing myself to average, and my parenting solutions are rated against the "what works" benchmark. And I'm a rock star.

Being a wife? Let's not go there. I'll work on that in 2009.

FICO, FICO un day. Torches and pitchforks, absolutely.

A letter to my very ---- husband who is asleep in the other room. I don't need any more wack searches coming to my blog than I already have, so I'm editing out one word. But holy f*ck this woman can write.

Ten Things I Would Do To My House If I Won The Lottery And Was Forced At Gunpoint To Spend The Cash On Frivolous But Awesome Things.

Five questions I intend to ask my Congressman at this week's annual town hall meeting. I'm going to marry this woman.

Soapbox: The Reasons. Oh my yes.

I cannot guarantee success unless instructions are followed to the letter.

1. Tell your husband you want to go thrift store shopping for jeans.
2. When he asks if it wouldn't make slightly more sense to go to a regular store so you could buy multiple pairs if you found some that fit, explain that it's like the lottery. (Buying one ticket does increase your chances of winning compared to buying no tickets, but the difference is so small as to be negligible.)
3. Also point out that it would be nice to not look like you're wearing the same clothes everyday.
4. When he says he only owns one pair of jeans, remind him that he has told you on multiple occasions that he really doesn't like wearing jeans all that much.
5. When he says that yes, khakis are actually more comfortable, respond in an exasperated tone of voice that yes, on the multiple occasions that were just mentioned, this information was also shared.
6. Realize that since he went out of town for a day to play video games last weekend, it's his turn to babysit so you can go shopping.
7. When you ask if you can go shopping on Saturday, let him bring up his trip last weekend before you do so he doesn't think you're punishing him for it.
8. Find a thrift store ninja to go shopping with you. (Someone like Grace would be ideal.)
9. Pretend that you're going to drive this time, then show up at her house without your car.
10. Go to a really big Goodwill.
11. Don't get a cart, because honestly, how much could you possibly find?
12. Work your way down one row of women's jeans, pulling out every pair in either of the sizes you might wear that is not horribly ugly. (Your ninja will be going through the rack opposite you on your behalf, but moving twice as fast.)
13. Complain bitterly about how hard it is to find jeans that fit.
14. Realize it's tax-free weekend, but don't imagine it will matter.
15. Remark that if you go home with one pair of jeans that fits, you will be shocked.
16. Find a few really heinous pairs of jeans, show them to your ninja, and enjoy a laugh together. (Actually you can do this whenever, it's just what you do at thrift stores.)
17. When your ninja says she has to get a cart because her arms are starting to get tired from all the jeans she's pulled out, say "Okay."
18. When she returns with the cart, start to dump the jeans you're holding on top of the jeans she was holding.
19. Realize that she's actually laid hers out neatly in a manageable pile.
20. Carefully lay your jeans down so she doesn't get annoyed that you're messing up the cart.
21. Scowl at how many pairs of jeans you're going to have to try on.
22. Grumble when your ninja tells you to improve your attitude, since at least you have jeans to try on, unlike women who wear larger sizes.
23. Adjust your attitude as best you can, because that is an excellent point.
24. Continue to accumulate jeans until you have gone through all of the racks of women's jeans.
25. Start to wonder if maybe you will find two pairs that fit. That would be so nice.
26. Push cart to dressing room.
27. Release ninja to other shopping pursuits.
28. Look for sign with an item limit or a prohibition on pushing cart into dressing room.
29. Find none.
30. Push cart with many items into dressing room.
31. Set aside four pairs of jeans because the color isn't right.
32. Try on 21 pairs of jeans.
33. Find six pairs that actually fit.
34. Find two pairs that would fit if there was more junk in your trunk, which there has been in the past and very well may be again once you are no longer breastfeeding.
35. Wander out of dressing room completely disoriented, because how is this possible?
36. Request assistance from your ninja in checking for holes, stains, weak spots.
37. Find none.
38. Take eight pairs of jeans to register.
39. While paying, tell ninja that you remembered to bring her money for gas, but it's all in $1 bills.
40. When ninja asks if you're going to put it in her g-string, decline.
41. Don't get as much of a laugh from the cashiers for the g-string related banter as you might hope.
42. Scold your ninja for asking for a plastic bag.
43. Relent when your ninja reminds you she has several cats who use litterboxes.
44. Leave store.
45. Proceed to next Goodwill.
46. When ninja asks what we're looking for, say "shirts?"
47. When pressed for details, suggest sleeveless, or possibly with sleeves, like last time when you and your ninja pillaged the Goodwill down south for shirts to wear to BlogHer.
48. Go through all racks of sleeveless shirts.
49. Inquire of your ninja twice "is this cute or ugly?"
50. Remember with satisfaction why you bring your ninja with you on these excursions, because the answer in both cases is "ugly" and what if you had bought them?
51. Release ninja to other shopping pursuits.
52. Proceed to dressing room.
53. Try on 11 shirts.
54. Find six that fit.
55. Go back and forth about the seventh until you realize that the strange sensation you are noticing is actually the feeling of having your stomach completely covered by your shirt even though you are wearing low-rise jeans.
56. Realize that this is a good thing, since you are almost 34 years old.
57. Decide to purchase seven shirts.
58. Find your ninja in housewares with a new in package Foogo straw cup for $2.99.
59. When ninja asks "Does Boy Detective need this?" say yes.
60. Ask what you have done to make the thrifting gods happy, because you will do it again.
61. Don't get as much of a laugh from the other shopper nearby for the thrifting gods banter as you might hope.
62. Proceed to cash register.
63. Pay.
64. Say to yourself "Holy cow, I bought eight pairs of jeans, seven shirts, and a sippy cup for $95.09!"
65. Say to yourself "Did you just say holy cow?"
66. Remind yourself that you are in an ongoing process of trying to swear less so you don't end up with a toddler yelling "fuck!" in the grocery store.
67. Admit to yourself that since the trying to swear less effort is so disorganized, you are now likely to end up with a toddler yelling "holy fuck!"
68. Leave store.
69. Call home to check in, get voice mail.
70. Leave a message saying "I guess you're either giving Boy Detective a bottle or putting him down for his nap, call me."
71. Propose to your ninja that lunch be eaten.
72. Try to decide on a location for lunch.
73. Answer phone when it rings.
74. Find out that baby has not had bottle or nap.
75. Sigh.
76. Go home.

We need to talk.

I realize that your presence in such great numbers in my house means that there must be lots of tasty snacks here. I realize that without your presence, those tasty snacks would be flying, creeping, or crawling around in my house. So I am disposed to tolerate your presence.

However, it would be appreciated if you could keep all of your houses up high, instead of continuing to gunk up the area under the kitchen cabinets. Your sticky webs trap dog hair, and then the baby gets into it, and yeeechhhh.

Thanks for considering my proposal.

p.s. Where were you when those big ugly black flies snuck in? Do your job!

Last time I took it, I failed.

42 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

Until it comes back to you kind of reminds me of a graceful flower arrangement.

I'm not sure about the hair thing, but Childrearing makes some good points. p.s. It's not really about childrearing.

How to Save Up For Your Vacation. Check out the alternative titles as well.

When Anti-Racist Parenting Goes Wrong...Or at the Very Least, Neurotic. I laughed out loud.

The Basics of Boundaries. Target actually carries a line of clothing for junior girls called No Boundaries, by the way.

a search for "made in usa curtain rods" brings back a New England Patriots logo hip flask.

I am married to a man who is playing in the national finals of a video game tournament.

Kill me now.

Friends, I have pondered for almost a month how I should deal with the inch high stack of cards on my desk from BlogHer. Long story short, I'm going to work my way through them and link to a post by each one, perhaps with a bit of detail about how we met, perhaps not.

Any more detail about how and why I am using this method would bore even me, so here we go.

You must see what Stephanie of A Year of Crockpotting recently did after running a half marathon.

Laura of No Appropriate Behavior loves to high five people, and she took my favorite photograph of 2008 thus far. If she didn't live so far away, she'd be perfect.

Genie of ...in a bottle has blog cards were so cute that I told her I didn't know whether to marry her or stab her to death, which is WAY inappropriate to say to someone you don't know. She is apparently in the middle of a lingering home renovation project and you should read this post about it.

Laurie totally cracked me up with this quick post about Matthew McConaghey or however you spell his damn name.

Maria is a charming and gracious person with a beautiful speaking voice and a great sense of style. If you have a chance to hang out with her, do it. She is currently asking for suggestions about how to deal with it when life seems to be repeating itself.

C-Man: Did he quiet down again, or did I just fall asleep like a punk ass?

The Princess: Yes.