48-Hours of Fun

This was a really good weekend. Why, you ask? Let me elucidate:

1. I put the crib and dresser together. This is a momentous achievement seeing as how, if Kristen were to give birth to Barnabas today (which is not a good thing and we don't want to happen), he would have a place to sleep. (Note: we have yet to buy a mattress for the crib, but that'll happen soon. I promise.) From carrying the pieces up the three flights of stairs to final assemble, it only took about 4 hours (and that included a break for lunch and a short nap -- look, it was a hot day and I was tired and I deserved a nap). And, while I've complained a lot about Wal-Mart in the past, the pieces didn't turn out so badly, with only a small blemish on each thing (which was easily remedied by just turning things around).

2. The weather was fantastic. As many of you know, I loathe the hot, humid summer days that haunt this city. I'm wont to sweat... a lot... and when I sweat, I become cranky and ornery. The past couple of months, however, have been decent, and while I still get a good sweat on now and again, it's been quite reasonable. Oh, how I long for those cold winter months where I can bundle up instead of trying to shed as many clothes as possible.

3. It was Kristen's birthday. Sunday we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art to look at the large Jeff Koons exhibit that's in town. (A note on Koons specifically and modern art in general: I really like art, all kinds. At one point in my life, I was very much against stuff that was too modern -- silly installations, ridiculous video productions, a small red dot on a large canvas -- but I've come to enjoy a lot of it if, when I look at it or hear it or watch it, it makes me feel something. But I think that art really fails when you need a monograph to tell you what the artist meant in different situations. If so, if the art really doesn't speak for itself and needs someone to promote it, then I don't think it works. Also, I think that an artist should be the person who actually creates the art. In Koons' work, he conceptualizes it, and then someone else builds it. To me, that's missing the point of art entirely.)

Anyway, we walked through the museum and then wandered along Michigan Avenue for a while. We sauntered through the Macy's and were mere feet away from seeing a would-be shoplifter get tackled by store security. If only we had our camera. We had planned to go out to a favorite place for dinner, but it was closed on Sunday (closed? how dare they!), so we went to another favorite place instead.

You say you forgot to wish Kristen a happy birthday? Get on that, people!

4. We washed, folded, and put away Barnabas' clothes. Let me tell you something, people. There is nothing that will melt your heart more than folding baby clothes, because they are a) very cute and b) very tiny. Cute + tiny = knee-buckling adorableness. (You will find that noted the inside cover of most math books right below the quadratic equation and the Pythagorean theorem.) Especially cute were the newborn items, because they were so small, it's inconceivable how anything could even fit in them. I'm not sure if we'll ever be folding these things again, of course, as soon, with a crying baby and little or no sleep, the onesies will be tossed willy-nilly into the dresser drawer.

So that's good. The only thing not good about the weekend was that, as we were driving around yesterday, Kristen found and plucked out several gray hairs from my head. My worrying has finally begun my inevitable transition into old-manhood.

Goody.