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Speaking of neighbors, through the magic of the internet I found out there's another Robin with a toddler who lives a few blocks from me. I think we're the same age and we have the same bathroom and the same taste in music. Amazing. I moved to a town where, apparently, I already lived. She's not fat and I bet she doesn't run braless down her street, screaming at her stupid dog. She lives on the nicer side of the street.

I just taught Clara Jane how to make an L7 with her thumbs and forefingers. I'm the best mom ever. Or, I will be once I teach her the words to "Pretend We're Dead".

Lunch delimma? Solved. Med. salad with chicken, and an admonishment from the kitchen about my penchant for ordering the same thing all the time. I don't care. I'm glad to be back to normal. Especially since "normal" now includes blogging-anywhere capabilities. Why I waited so long to join the 21st laptop-operated century, I'll never know. Oh, right. The money thing.

Speaking of techology I dont need, B. procured a Palm Treo for me last week. A nice surprise, but I'm not convinced I'm busy or important enough to merit that much electronics in one wee machine. He bought it from a friend for $65, and I'm pretty sure it was done wholely as a preventative measure to keep me from uttering the term "iPhone" one more time.

Oh my word. I just watched a father admonish his son, who's probably younger than Clara Jane, for playing with a pink tutu. Enforce those gender roles, Papa! Granted, he's an older dad. He probably would have had a stroke if he'd seen Clara Jane in her skirt, pretending to play baseball about an hour ago.

You know, one of these days I should just live-blog an afternoon at Hartford or Cooperella. Not today. Raquel just walked in, bearing beautiful sock yarn for me. There's knitting and visiting to be done. And another iced hazelnut mocha to drink, for sure.