Today

My son has learned how to dance. I mean for real...like a little headbanger. Today, I spent 20 minutes trying to teach him the devil horns, because they would just go so great with the dance. He didn't get it.

Maybe he'll have to learn from the master, Uncle Andrew.

Nomination for worst day ever

1. I woke up at 5 am realizing that Peer1 was about to deprovision my server and I hadn't finished moving my files.
2. Spent all morning trying to figure out how to get the servers to talk to each other.
3. Spent the next 3 hours sitting in front of my computer moving my mouse every 30 seconds to make sure my connection wouldn't time out. During one of these hours, I was simultaneously preventing my one year old from a) pushing the buttons on the scanner, b) eating change, and c) knocking over Max's conga.
4. While I was moving a certain client's 50,000 mail items to the new server (I am not exaggerating), FTP failed. I still can't get the servers to talk to each other.
5. While I was waiting for tech support to help me, I snuck upstairs for a beer, only to find that someone had drank all my cold beer. I put one in the freezer.
6. I went back downstairs and noticed that all my websites were down. I continued to wait for someone to help me.
7. I went back upstairs to get my beer, which had frozen.
8. I went to the bathroom, which needed a preemptive flush. Upon flushing, the toilet overflowed. One of my kids said, "I was just trying to get your attention. I didn't know where the plunger was."
9. I went downstairs to get the plunger, only to discover that the overflowing toilet was leaking into the utility room.
10. I came back upstairs and had to teach a certain 17 year old man how to use a mop.
11. I am now on the phone with tech support. I am discovering that neither my server or my firewall was configured correctly in the first place.
12. My husband is about to kill me for sticking him with the kid all day.

Do I win?

One year

I just closed the door on Sam's first year.

It doesn't happen every night, but sometimes, as I pull his bedroom door closed, I feel compelled to linger. I stand there, forehead pressed against white paint, left hand gripping the brass doorknob, and ask the universe to keep him safe, tonight and forever.

It's a private vigil. Dave and I almost always put Sam to bed together, but at the end of our routine, Dave switches off the light and slips into the hallway, leaving Sam and me alone in the bluish glow of his nightlight. I whisper a verse of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, tell him he's my little prince, and lower him into his crib while making a variety of promises about when I'll return.

Moments earlier, as Dave and I said our goodnights to this marvelous little being, I realized that precisely one year ago, I was sweating my way through forty-five minutes of pushing, ripping myself to shreds in places I couldn't feel, struggling like hell to get him out of me. We've come a very long way.

I've been holding my breath. I release it all: my breath, my worry, and the doorknob, and trundle off to bed.

It's been a very good year.