Masters in Baby Administration

3.25 years

30 classes

76 units

788 hours spent in the classroom

2,363 hours spent reading / writing papers / studying for exams

16,400 miles driven

dorkus majorkus

On Friday, we attended Santa Clara University's Commencement to celebrate 2013 MBA graduates. For the sake of full disclosure, we went to campus with the intention of attending the ceremony...but instead opted for a nostalgic walk through campus + photos in the rose garden + dinner out. I finished school in December 2012 and with all-things-baby, it was a bit anticlimactic...but a lovely evening nonetheless.

obligatory baby bump grab

Many, many thanks to all for the support during this time!

She's Crafty [not really]

While listening to the Beastie Boys, hence this post's "inspired" title, I started two projects for the nursery.

The first was making the dresser / changing table less fit for an 8th grade science room or mechanic's garage and more fit for a nursery...by lining its drawers. Still not 100% convinced it is going to work. Mostly because when I opened all the drawers for the last pic, the thing almost fell over.

The second was auditing the collection of vintage letters we used as table markers at our wedding. The goal is to have the whole alphabet up on a wall, but some "went missing" at the wedding (family and friends with names that start with A, E, F, L, M - expect a call from us...j/k) and we still need the end of the alphabet. eBay and etsy, here we come.

P.S. Sorry my slipper is in the last pic, but at least I cropped out my belly. It was bare. Naked crafts are the best.

before

midst

after

"What is this crap?"

"Are you sure?"

There are three items that I would like to make permanent in the blogosphere, before I forget. 

1) In case he ever asks, Baby Jenks attended three concerts whilst in utero. 

• The first, Vampire Weekend at the Fox Theater in Oakland on Wednesday the 17th of April. I wore heels, bad move. 
• The second, The Killers at Bill Graham Civic Auditorium in San Francisco on Sunday the 28th of April. We had great seats and, as I settled in with my cookie and Sprite, our neighbors lit up a huge joint. I had to flee the scene. We spent the rest of the concert standing toward the back of the main floor bobbing our heads. 
• The third, Fleetwood Mac at HP Pavilion in San Jose on Wednesday the 22nd of May. I had a major cold / allergy thing going on, but that didn't slow you down from moving and grooving.

[that's you and me, kid, headed to FM]

2) Last night, I took a girlfriend out to dinner for her birthday. European restaurants are great as there is generally no judgment and, in some cases, even some encouragement to have a little wine with food. When I ordered a glass of red, the waitress asked, "Are you sure?" We agreed upon a half glass. I wish I had said something. But I am new at this and don't quite have my sea legs.

3) Your dad is freaking out. When I came home from the baby shower on Sunday, I sorted all of your gifts. When he came home from a round of golf and a few rounds of beers, he saw the spread of tiny items, went into the office with the cat, began stroking him, and repeated this mantra: "Lots of changes, Mookie. Lots of changes happening around here. Lots of changes." Since then, he has hung all his concert memorabilia in the garage and, yesterday, installed a TV there too. I will continue to keep a watchful eye on him. 

4) Okay - a few more bits. You are moving around like crazy! I even have a video of my stomach doing the wave. Creepy, but keep it up. I like to be reminded you are acrobatic. Yesterday, I picked-up my cap and gown (and hood!) for grad school commencement. I felt all the undergrads looking at you and desperately wanted to shout, "This is what your future looks like! Bwahahahaha."

Selling our Sh!t to Strangers

This blog is even boring me. Two posts in three months. And this one features furniture? This, folks, proves that my greatest fear in starting a blog is becoming a reality.

I don't know if it's the hormones or what. But I am a little emotional right now. We have completed due diligence for Project Making Room for Baby and are currently working on the terms of the transaction. Phase 1 involves turning our dining room into an office / den. Phase 2 will be turning our office into our bedroom. Finally, Phase 3 will be turning our former bedroom into a nursery.

Yesterday, I posted our Mission-style dining room table and chairs on craigslist. This set ain't even our style anymo'. That happens. BUT, it was the very first thing Mike and I bought together as a couple. We remember finding it on craigslist, driving to an unfamiliar part of SF to see it, negotiating a steal, and then lugging it up the three flights of stairs to our first apartment on Capra Way. 

We had visions of dinner parties. Which happened. But mostly it was the venue for drinking games. It held a buffet of provisions for some excellent parties (Super Bowls, book club, Christmas Eve, Spark fundraiser, etc.) and one time it featured a party fountain that flowed a dangerous concoction in honor of our tax dollars hard at work, err Fleet Week. Mookie, who considers each chair a place to claw / nap and the table a place to receive treats (pain in the ace when one of the aforementioned dinner parties is actually taking place), will most likely miss it the most.

We sold it today, for not much less than we paid for it. It will live with a nice older gentleman and his wife - who just got the dining room she had been dreaming of for years - in the Santa Cruz mountains. But, alas, let our first major purchase as a couple live forever in our bloggity boog. 

We had thought acquiring a dining room table was a sign we were growing up. The irony that selling it is actually an indication of the real deal is not lost on me.

I hope I love my kid as much as I love my cat.

Some years ago, my mother gave my boyfriend, at the time, and I a cat for Christmas. Even though she has a penchant for giving funny gifts (note: they are mostly for her amusement), I suspected she was testing our relationship. My boyfriend responded by asking that she give him a swift kick in the nuts, instead, the following year. Never give someone a pet, as the saying goes.

This was no kitten. Well, for accuracy’s sake, we had a choice. She presented us with two framed photos, one of a feral kitten and one of an older cat, both male. The older cat, according to my little brother and my mother’s accomplice, drooled. A lot. We decided to meet this cat first.

“Puffy” – his street name – lived with his foster parents a few blocks away. We visited during the early afternoon of a grey San Francisco day. Puffy, part Maine Coon, had a mane like a lion. His foster parents, still in their pajamas, were watching college basketball on the boob tube and had a purple bong either poorly hidden or conveniently located (depending upon your view of such things) behind said boob tube. So, his street name had a double entendre. We knew this was our cat.

Renaming Puffy took too long. I know this because a lot of people still call him Puffy. To be clear, his name evolved from Puffy to Puff to P-Kitty, just like the hip hop mogul naturally, to Michael Jackson (who passed mid-naming, okay) to finally landing on Mookie. When we took him to his first vet appointment, there was an older couple that was laying their dear Mookie to rest. One Mookie leaves the cat world as another one enters. You can call him Mookie Boo Boo, Monkey Butt, or Boobies. He does not necessarily have a preference.

Mookie climbs onto my chest, with his nose close to mine, every morning and every night. He talks to me in squeaks and likes to be held like a baby. The left shoulder of most of my shirts has claw marks and absorbed much drool. He never breaks eye contact and he greets me at the door. He hates having his picture taken, especially when he is wearing a sombrero. He is going through a husky phase, at the moment, but perhaps it’s just sympathy weight. I tell him that he is going to have to learn to play second fiddle.

I hope I love my kid as much as I love my cat. And I hope they love each other. And I also hope they do not sit on each other’s faces.