I don't think I mentioned that my mother is arriving this afternoon for a week-long visit. J's preschool is closed Thursday and Friday, so this seemed like a highly opportune time for her to be here. She has encouraged me to take advantage of her free babysitting services this week, and not feel like I can't see The Irishman just because she happens to be here.

I might feel ever-so-slightly guilty about seeing him, but that doesn't mean I won't do it. He's out of town next weekend, for his sister's birthday party in Boston, so yeah, I want to see him this week.

Kids, I'm going to move $299 million this week, in increments ranging from $0.75 million to $10 million. My adrenaline is pumping already. Is it very twisted that I'm starting to love the challenge of these huge month-ends?

Also, when did I start wearing high heels? I barely recognize myself these days. My mom might need smelling salts . . . she's seen me at my dowdiest, remember.

I think The Irishman should spend more time with his friends, you know, the ones I met Saturday night. Specifically, I'd like him to pick up their habit of tossing out well-timed compliments. (My favorite: "Ah, you don't look nearly old enough to have a five-year-old child." Nicely done!) It's not like I'm keeping track, exactly, but I have noticed that he never compliments my appearance. Maybe he's just too honest and I don't look as nice as I think. Still, I take a fair amount of trouble with my appearance and I'd like to think he's noticing.

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