J bought these guitar strings recently, which he proudly displayed in the living room, and keeps going on and on about their “Polyweb” coating or whatever and how awesome they are. Seriously, look at that box! Elixir?! “Long life?!” Every single time I glance over in that direction I’m all, “Who the HELL put a box of condoms on our bookshelf?”

Last night, as I was crossing the rather crowded dance floor of a club in NYC at the premiere party for TiMER - a movie that my best friend Jennifer produced, which played at the Tribeca film festival and which was absolutely wonderful - I thought - as the fizzy cocktails that I was carrying for myself and my friends dripped down my arms, as I was thrust back and forth by terribly enthusiastic gentlemen who took Sunday night to levels I didn’t even know existed, with their costumes and face paint, and, just…their moves - about my baby, who was undoubtedly asleep in her pink pajamas, curled into some kind of impossibly sweet position in her little crib at her grandparents’ house, and, for just a moment, I wished so badly that I was there, too, in bed, clean, without heels on for the LOVE OF GOD WHY DO WOMEN WEAR HEELS, but something in the throbbing music, perhaps, and my smiling friends’ faces and the insanity of it all reminded me that it was totally worth it, and, I must admit, I was also comforted by the thought that an 8 p.m. bedtime for the rest of the week, well, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

My parents are currently in Rome, where they are renting an apartment. They have been there since the beginning of March and are staying until the end of May, and because it is what you absolutely must do when family is taking an extended vacation abroad, we are going to see them in a couple weeks. Needless to say, we can’t wait.

I don’t know how I’ve resisted posting the emails my father has been sending me since they’ve been there, because, to put it simply, they’re worth posting. He’s managing to utilize his Blackberry just as frequently over there as he does on home turf, philosophizing from piazzas, bars and, of course, his bed.

I got an email from him this morning - the subject line was the entire message and it read “We are in Prenatal with cribs and high chairs.” I thought about how strange it sounded to have my father tell me he was “in Prenatal” and am just hoping very much that Prenatal was some kind of Italian baby furniture-renting depot.

I just noticed that Nicole had written a comment asking if I’m still reading the “Twilight” series. Um, yeah, about that. The thing is, I am. It’s. All. I. Can. Think. About. I’ve got a cold right now, and I found myself warm in bed last night, tired as could be, badly in need of sleep, but instead of sleeping, I decided to keep the roughly 800-pound “Breaking Dawn” propped up on my chest for just “one more chapter.”

Or, you know, seven.

Thankfully there are things in life exciting enough to pull me out of my vampire-induced reverie for a few moments here and there. Like my baby, for instance. She’s cute.

I’ve also had a bunch of really interesting writing assignments for findingDulcinea recently, like this Happy Birthday profile of Leonardo da Vinci that’s running today. I’m not sure why I got so into this one in particular, but I’m telling you, by the time I’d finished I was kind of obsessed with the guy. I like how he apparently had a lot of hobbies, so he didn’t finish all his projects. And yet he still managed to churn out the “Mona Lisa.” It’s kind of like when I’m trying to pep talk myself into trying a new recipe for dinner and also finish the laundry, neither gets done. But I still manage to watch “Law and Order SVU.” I’m a renaissance woman like that.

Against all odds, my father has learned how to use Twitter.

Here are a few of his latest Tweets (from Rome, where he and my mother are spending three months):

listening to a dog bark in St Peterks square during the papal mass

they’re rioting inThailan having sex in Paraquay eating pasta in Italy oh, what a day

I won’t ruin it for you by giving too much else away. Instead, you can follow him on Twitter here.

I just watched the opening two episodes of “The Hills” (on demand because, I admit it, sometimes I don’t stay up past 10) and my favorite, favorite scene was where Heidi’s mom was telling her that she loves it when she comes home to Colorado, because she always seems more “grounded” and, meanwhile, Heidi is wearing this ridiculous hat with a feather on it attached by, like, a large, faux diamond.

Then I watched the teaser for the upcoming season and had to keep myself from shouting out loud with glee. Is it ok to get THAT excited about a tv show, especially “The Hills?” Yup. Something I’m proud of? Not so much.

Mina’s been sort of pissing me off lately, and it’s hard to pinpoint why, specifically, because, really, it’s so many things. She went through what I would classify as a slight depression after the baby was born, skulking around with her tail between her legs and a martyr expression plastered on her face, like “I know you guys are busy, so I’ll just settle for this bit of dusty kibble I’ve found in the corner of the kitchen, don’t worry about me,” and, I don’t know, maybe that was worse than the way she’s behaving now.

It’s like she’s entered some sort of renaissance period. Everything is GREAT and she’s recapturing her YOUTH and she is pooping ALL OVER THE PLACE. She loves the baby all of a sudden. She was always fine with the baby, but now they’re like soul sisters or something. I’ll look away for a few minutes only to look back and discover Mina crouching in a play bow, and Nora laughing hysterically. Are you kidding me? Mina hates kids, but whatever, I’m glad she likes mine.

That’s beyond the point, though. Mina’s new glee is universal and uncontainable. When it’s time to feed the dogs, she leaps like seven feet in the air, all the way from the food container to her little bowl (which, by the way, is pink and from the Beverly Hills Hotel). I’ll be quietly eating my dinner and all of a sudden find her balanced on the edge of the sofa, quiet as a mouse, her face mere inches from mine, her eyes averted, ready to pounce if I give her the go ahead.

She’s taken to making messes, and then pooping on them, as if to mark her handiwork. Gets into the downstairs closet, tips over the food container, eats her fill, poops on top of the leftovers. Removes all the trash from the basement bathroom, poops on it. Makes a bed out of the clothes were organizing for Goodwill, takes a nap, gets up, poops. I realize that part of the problem is that, with our new baby and the neverending winter, we’ve been lax in taking Mina for the walks she needs, apparently, to do her business (while ever-obedient Cecilia sees nothing wrong with going in the backyard when it’s 30 degrees, Mina prefers to use the little park down by the water as her personal dumping grounds, she’s prissy that way).

And no matter how angry we get, it seems, her spirit cannot be contained. Just a few minutes ago she was sitting by the window in our living room, her lips quivering, a low growl issuing from her tiny body, looking out the window at the guys picking up our trash. You know, because she was going to kill those 200-pound guys if they got too close to our house. That behavior is anger and aggression, sure, but it’s also a form of happiness for her, I’m telling you.

But this morning I was going through some photos from the last few months and found the above, of Mina at my parents’ house, a huge swan in the background. The swan had flown over from the nearby pond and waddled around our yard for a good hour or so, and Mina just about had a heart attack. Justin and I giddily questioned at the time whether we should let Mina outside. What would happen? We didn’t, because I’ve heard swans can be pretty violent and, besides the unbelievable sadness that would follow the death of either of our dogs, I don’t want to have to explain to anybody that “Our 10-pound dog died when we decided to let her take on a swan. Yeah, a swan fighting a Miniature Pincher/Pomeranian. I know. We should have thought it through.”

The point is, the photo reminded me of that incident and how funny it was. And how Mina’s little escapades are always funny, and that, even when she’s trying to persuade me into letting her eat my dinner, which is undoubtedly annoying, even then, she’s pretty funny. Furthermore, underneath all the bravado, she is a very loving little dog. A dog who used to dominate my photo galleries, in fact. I’m glad she’s snapped out of her mini depression and decided to join us in the good times. I mean, the pooping has got to stop, but I’ll take the unbridled, if irritating, merriment. After all, she’s brought us a lot of happiness (sometimes at her expense, um and here and here, also), and will no doubt be the subject of very good stories for many, many years.

I am writing this post to openly challenge my husband to design me a new blog header. Do you see? See how the psychology works? Like, how I am asking (demanding) that he do this, in a public forum, so that if he doesn’t do it, everyone will know? See how I am so utterly hopeless in the realm of things like graphic design (and, on a totally different note, coffee making) that I am completely dependent on his superior skills? (The less-than-subtle flattery there, that is part of the whole thing, too.)

If anyone else wants to take up the challenge and design me a new blog header, let’s just say I’m not going to stop you. I will probably put you in my address book under “people who know how to do things that you have absolutely know idea how to do,” however.

1. It is not ok to wear the brown flats with the swans on them anymore, even though you love them and no one else has them, despite the fact that you got them at Nordstrom, because having holes in one’s shoes is only ok when you’re 20 and trying to convince the world that you don’t need material goods, although maybe not even then.

2. No more Chipotle. Yes, there is a dearth of good Mexican in New Haven, but that doesn’t mean you need to run to the nearby chain joint when at the office once a week. Instead, will launch a search for the best tacos in CT! Who’s with me?

3. 10 a.m. and still in my robe = relaxed mom. 11 a.m. and still in my robe = let’s get our priorities in order.

4. Time to put some motivating tunes on the iPod and go for more than a ten minute run because…

5. Next door neighbor looked me right in the eye the other day and said, “I see you got the ‘mom hair cut.’” So it’s time for revenge. In the form of hotness.