Another Mortgage Pivot

Every New Year's Day, Mrs. Done by Forty and I go to an uninspiring chain restaurant and plan out our upcoming year. We bring a little notebook, enjoy some some average-but-carb-heavy meal over bottomless sodas, and talk about everything. The trips we want to take. Babies we might want to make. Do we want more or fewer rental properties? Do we feel the same way about early retirement? What sort of fun stuff should we do if we do retire?

The Olive Garden, which is lovely, had been our usual spot for years. But it only took one meal with that dumb tablet on the table to ruin the place forever. Apparently I'm a luddite, since I don't think punching in my own order into an Amazon Fire is the best way to experience all the flavors of Tuscany.

So this year we went to Mimi's Cafe (the site of our very first date: I was also cheap way back then) to plan out all of 2018...in June of that year. And I'm just now writing about it in July.

Can we blame the baby?

A Hot, Wet Tragedy of the Commons

Baby AF, briefly and formerly known on this blog as Baby by Forty, aka BabyDB40, has been going through a six week growth spurt and denying us sleep, even on the weekends. As such, the blog's writing will experience lows not previously thought possible. Your patience is appreciated.

But before this site morphs into a dad blog, I thought we'd get back to basics: a preachy, left-leaning diatribe that lazily links something I found in the newspaper or NPR to economics and personal finance. Enjoy.

I know it's cool to dunk on the New York Times these days, and the paper has certainly given its critics plenty to be angry about. But it's still the site I go to for news (if not for op-eds) in the early morning and the way-too-late-at-night. I'll forever love the paper, flaws and all, because the writing is always so good.

Back Too Soon

Tomorrow is my first day back to work, and the end of my too-short four week paternity leave. Between the diaper changes, visits to the doctor and lactation consultant, and the regular torture of post-tongue-tie-revision exercises we have to do every four hours, I sometimes have a chance to think about financial independence and how I sure wish it were here already, so I could spend more time with the little guy.

Work is going to be hard on Monday, and not just because I'll be tired. I'm going to miss having all day, every day, to spend with the fam -- even if it is just to change diapers and practice tummy time, or trying to get the little fucker to sleep.

As always, I have no room to complain. I get to work from home, so the baby is literally just in the next room. I can open the door and see him as often as I like, which is a situation many new parents would kill for.