And now ... we wait.

There is still a little bit of dirt under my fingernails from playing in the dirt yesterday. I have been feeling really off-kilter for a couple of weeks now. Nothing I can put my finger on, really. Actually, Stephanie said it best here. What I need is a little "guk."

And I guess, for me, a little "guk" is some potting soil, some seed trays, and a whole lot of seeds.

While my mother's helper played with Tom, I put together my upside down tomato planter, which I hope will give me a little more room for my tomatoes. Then I carefully and lovingly planted two trays of snapdragons, some alyssum and some basil. For the past three springs, I have started at least some of the plants in my garden from seed. I don't have a whole lot of space to work with, but I make the most of my sunny back porch.

Seeds are hope in a tiny package. As I plant them each spring, I marvel at the power of life contained in such a tiny little seed. I anxiously await the moment when they pop their little green heads above the dirt, straining for the sun. I know it will be a week or two before anything happens, but I will check every day, sometimes two or three times, just so I don't miss that first awakening, the growth of something from what seems like nothing.

For me, there is no better entertainment than watching my seeds grow and imagining how beautiful they will be when they bloom or bear fruit.

Oh, Otto.

A few weeks ago I was browsing the lingerie section of my local Tar-jay, looking for something to go under a sparkly black top I had purchased to wear to a wedding. It was the week after Valentine’s Day, so there were plenty of gorgeous lace demi-bras to be had for those whose cups do not runneth over.

There were delicate, sheer, containment units for fried eggs (barely A), apples (barely B), and oranges (barely C). For the ladies with grapefruits, there was a smattering of heavy-duty white cotton numbers more suited to a German grandmother than to a 25-year-old nursing mom trying to look nice for a special event.

“Achtung! Zees undervear vill lift and support, ya, and scare away zee men!”

Seriously, these bras practically started at the neck and covered most of the ribcage and the straps were at least four inches wide. The matching panties to these things came in sizes L, XL, and 1 X. You could sail a pirate ship with a pair or two.

But for me, there was nothing.

I am well past the grapefruit stage. My ladies are more like big momma Holsteins. While pregnant with Tommy I discovered the cup on my bra is large enough for me to wear like a hat. On my Very. Large. Head.

Oh, Otto Titsling, purported inventor of the “over the shoulder boulder holder,” why did you stop your attractive designs when they will only support pebbles, gravel, maybe a river rock or two? Are us boulder ladies resigned to only using special orthopedic-style supports and trusses? Should I just have a flying buttress installed and call it quits?

So here’s my little secret: Apart from one of the very first bras I owned, (at age 13, a lovely pink lacy number) I have never owned a pretty piece of everyday lingerie. I have never, ever, owned a bra with matching panties.

I have tried stores for larger ladies, but the problem is, the rest of me isn’t that large. I am an average weight for my height. I am not large, except, well, you know. So stores for the “plus-sized” do me no good at all.

We won’t even talk about Victoria and her secret. Her secret is that women with actual breasts can’t shop at her store. Oh, how I hate Victoria and her stick-thin models. Have you seen the new Ipex commercials? The “wireless” wonder bra is supposed to be ultra-supportive, but the commercial makes it very clear that the model doesn’t actually have anything to support! So how would she know?

I have a vile hatred of the lingerie industry. I am jealous of all those fried egg ladies out there, who buy bras that pad and lift and push and inflate, supposedly to look more like me, while I’m out here with my girls hanging low, wondering how much sailcloth it will take to hoist them aloft. And all I want is a little lace to dress it up.

Barbeque Ice Cream

Oh my goodness, someone actually did it. Took Mopsy's suggestion and Googled Barbeque Ice Cream, and it turns out a guy in Deleware actually makes the stuff. Gross. Double gross.

The Blog that can't be Googled

Ha ha! I have foiled that impressive master site-cataloguer, that invisible library of the funny, the stupid and the profane (as well as the interesting, informed and ignoble.)

Yep, it's nearly impossible to Google me. Try it. I dare you. See if you can find me other than through my blogger profile. 10 points to anyone who can.

Thirteen Things (The Ice Cream Edition)

Thirteen Things that should never be made into flavors of ice cream I love ice cream. I love most of the following items. I just don't love the idea of the two together. 1. Barbeque. Nothin' says summer like that finger-lickin' barbeque ice cream. 2. Broccolli. Yum. 3. Salsa. (But you could put it in a Tostitos cone.) 4. Cheese. 5. Roasted corn. 6. BLTs. 7. Lettuce. 8. Spinach salads. Especially not spinach salads with egg, goat cheese, tomatoes and hot bacon dressing. 9. Popcorn. 10. Asparagus with or without hollandaise sauce. 11. Grilled salmon. 12. Mushrooms. 13. Ranch Dressing. Thanks to Jen for some help with this list!

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The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

Picture This

Ok, because I'm cheap, I decided to take Tom's "formal" 6 month shot myself. Here are the finalists, but I need you to help me decide which one to print to send to the grandparents.

Photo A: A serious Tom















Photo B: What's that, over there?

Photo C: Rubber Ducky, you're the one ...


Photo D: I've got my Ducks in a row


















Please leave your vote in comments if you have an opinion. Thanks for your help!

Beads

Until about two minutes ago, I was wearing a lovely, green, three-strand beaded necklace. It had a strand of green freshwater pearls, a strand of larger, mottled green stones, and a strand of tiny, jade-like beads. It was a much appreciated Christmas gift from my sister.

This necklace was strung on very thin steel cable, so I didn't mind if Tom wanted to shake the heck out of it while nursing. After all, it's not like he can bend steel, right?

SNAP. POP. Popopopopopop - ping! That's the sound of my big bruiser ripping the steel wire from its anchor and the soft patter of beads raining onto the floor.

Now there are about three bazillion little green beads on my office floor, and I need to find each and every one of them before Tom does. What makes this scavenger hunt even more fun is that my office is carpeted in that mulit-colored industrial carpeting designed to hide dirt, and, apparently, little green beads. The suckers are invisible.

ARRRGH.

Just Because

No, it's not my anniversary. I'm posting these just because I happen to have access to a scanner, and I feel like it.

This is me and my best bud, Jules.
















And my dress ... my big, fluffy, princess dress.
















And my daddy ...















And the kiss. I was impressed the photographer got this picture, as we had said NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY during the ceremony. He did a great job, even without a flash.















That's it. Thanks for stopping by.

Not at all what I expected

I had a flash this afternoon, as I was standing at the sink washing dishes and listening to Super-Hubby tickle Tommy in the living room. My son's laughter bounced around the room and ricocheted off the light fixtures and I thought, "This is not at all what I had expected."

I really have no idea what I expected parenthood to be, but I suspect that I expected it to be a fairly solitary adventure, just me and baby, with daddy being more or less in the background. Not because I thought Super-Hubby would be bad with the children, but because the only child-watching experience I have is as a babysitter and as a nanny - both occupations where you are alone with children. It didn't even occur to me that there would be times - like when I was up to my elbows in hot, soapy water - that Super-Hubby would take over the child rearing. Or maybe it did, in theory. Maybe I just didn't expect to get such a kick out of it.

There is something magical about working in tandem with my husband to raise our son, to build our family. I was doing chores, but I was completely at peace. I loved listening to Super-Hubby do his Elmo impression. I loved listening to Tom giggle and shriek. Lovely.

How to know when you've been on the Internet too long

You know how some message boards have a little tracker next to your name that says "this is your 374th post to this board"?

I think I need a little ticker that says "You have just changed your 500th poopy diaper this year. Hoorah!"

Yeah, my life is just that exciting.

But wait - really, I have about 30 posts started, including one about Otto Titslinger and his famous invention. You really don't wanna miss that one, do you?

If not, click your heels together three times and say "there's no peace like when a baby is sleeping, there's no peace like when a baby is sleeping, there's no peace ..." and so on.

Maybe it will work. Maybe I will post.

And the truth is ...

#1. I really went to Oxford. I got good marks, but it kicked my butt.

The others are various shade of the truth.

#2. I don't particularly like calamari, but I don't hate it either.

#3. Nope, not model material, but thanks to those of you who thought so ;)

#4. Nope, love snakes. I think they are really cool. I used to have a "pet" blacksnake when I was a child. Her name was Charlie, and she was about six feet long.

#5. Really, really didn't like Venice at all. It was dirty and creepy. But Rome is great.

Thanks for playing!

Lies and Lying Liars

Whoo hoo, I've been tagged! (Sort of). Thanks Kathryn, for thinking of me. I will lie my heart out now.

Here's the game. Four of these statements are false, one is true. Can you spot the truth when confronted with lies? Leave me a note in my comments with your guess. I will post the truth tomorrow. Or possibly this evening. We'll see.

1. I am the only student from my college to ever have been accepted to Oxford University. I studied there for seven months. While there I encountered the crown prince of Bahrain and Chelesa Clinton. (Not together.)

2. My favorite food is calamari.

3. When I was 15 I was offered a modeling job that involved travel to Florida, but I declined it because I didn't want to go without my parents.

4. I am deathly afriad of snakes.

5. Venice, Italy is my favorite city in the whole world. I just love all the carnival masks and mystery of the city of canals.

I am not much for tagging people with these things, but here are some people I'd love to read lies about:

J-Tron
Jess
Stephanie

Back in the saddle again

My sister called yesterday, and said "Post something on the damn blog already!" I guess I've been away too long. I have a lot of things to write about, but I've been a little gun shy lately. One of my biggest faults is my inability to handle criticism well. Time and again I've let someone's unkind or thoughtless words destroy my artistic ambitions, instead of just brushing the comments off and going on my own way. I am trying very hard not to do that here. So, that said, I guess it's time to get back on the old proverbial horse (to mix my metaphors.)

A friend of ours is getting married on the 18th, and I recently received a wonderful email from her. Super-Hubby and I were the first of our friends to get married. In fact, the ink on our college diplomas was practically still wet. Now, three-and-a-half years later, our friends are finally catching up to us. A couple have already gotten married, a few more are planning weddings in 2006. It is really fun to watch everyone walking down the aisle, but it makes me feel old.

Jenn's email, though, made me feel ever so much better. It's nice that in a culture where "starter" marriages are de rigueur, Super-Hubby and I trying very hard to redefine what marriage means. It is more than just two people living together and sharing groceries together. It is a daily commitment to love, to honor, to cherish and to support your partner in all things. We do this for ourselves, not for our friends, but it surprised and pleased me that at least one of our friends has noticed.

Jenn wrote:

Watching and hearing about your relationship in college was truly a joy. What you both have is so real, it's palpable to those around you, and that is what I would like my marriage to do and be--the kind of love that makes those around it also feel loved and loving, one of those oasises in the world where the world makes a bit more sense, feels more right and safe and accepting and understanding. A little window to a world where people accept each other as they are and love and celebrate each other for exactly who they are. I have no illusions that marriage isn't work, I know it is, but it helps enormously if you can radiate that pure joy of love and dedication that I think you and Mike do. So, thank you for that.

We are so excited to dance at your wedding, Jenn. Many blessings to you and yours.

Bruce

His name was Bruce, and he was wearing a dress.

Well, not a dress, per se. It was more of an ivory chiffon skirt-and-woman's blouse ensemble, complete with stockings and a lovely turquoise necklace and matching earrings. Picture Tim Curry, with long scraggly hair, lipstick, blue eyeshadow and a dress, and you have a pretty accurate picture of Bruce. Only Bruce is about 6' 4". I don't know how tall Tim Curry is.

Bruce was my partner at a local contra dance that my friend Jen and I went to on Saturday. If you've never heard of contra dancing it's sort of square-dancing meets old-fashioned formal line dances, such as the Viennese Waltz. (Think of the ball room scene from The Sound of Music, but put everyone in really ugly/weird-looking clothes.) The dances generally feature live musicians and a caller. You don't need to know anyone there to enjoy yourself, and you switch partners after every dance.

Anyhow, Jen and I showed up to the dance, and as I was taking off my coat I noticed Bruce. "Is he wearing a ... dress?" I whispered to her. She responded that he was, indeed wearing women's clothing. She had danced with men in kilts before, but the chiffon skirt was new to her. "Unusual," she said.

We discussed the finer points of Bruce's apparel, then got down to the business of dancing. At one point, I ended up briefly partnering with Bruce during a dance. It was long enough for him to ask me for the next dance ... and really, how was I supposed to refuse? The thing about contra dancing is that you really don't dance all that much with your partner, because you are constantly moving up and down a line of people via various dance moves.

But Bruce was very nice. He had a very deep, masculine voice, and a five o'clock shadow. Broad shoulders and not much body fat. And pearly pink fingernail polish.

It was quite a night.

Fresh Bread

Just a quick note to say: I baked my very first loaf of yeast bread yesterday. And it actually turned out!

Thanks to The Fresh Loaf for tips and the recipe.

It came out somewhere between an Italian and French loaf - nice, crispy crust, but thick and chewy inside. And it was fun! Anyhow, enough about bread. It's boring. I have a much more interesting post about a guy in a dress I should be working on.

Reason #672

Why I love my husband.

The rain was pouring down in a cold, miserable torrent when I dragged myself out of bed this morning, and started in on my third day of becoming the Queen of Grouch. Between the nasty mood that has hovered around me like a cloak lately, and the lack of sleep due to Mr. Serious' sincere desire to awaken screaming every two or three hours, I was not feeling very optimistic about how my day would turn out.

Super-Hubby had the day off today, so he came by my office just to bring me some Oreos, hoping to lighten my mood. (This man knows me well. Chocolate fixes almost anything.) When that didn't help, he tried making me laugh, but that didn't stick either.

So, when I came home from a mad dash to the grocery store, I found a vase full of beautiful yellow roses waiting for me on the hall table. My favorite flower.

Can't beat that with a stick.

Pack your lunches ...

It's a Wishful Thinking field trip! I know, you are just too excited. For a change of scenery, I decided to post today's entry over here.

It's called Mom Against the Machines. Go read it. It will only take a second.

While you're over there, check out the new issue of Cruchable. Super-Hubby has some good writing up this week. You can read about making movies about rubber rats and pretending to be in prison.

When you get back from your field trip, if it's not too much to ask, leave me a comment to let me know your thoughts.

Thanks!

That's right, I'm tagging myself

I have so much going on in my head right now, events and thoughts I'd love to write in a lengthy, touching, funny post, like the ones that can be found at Wonder Woman Meets Grizzly Adams. I would love to, but I can't. I can't because this is my third sleepless night, and I am too tired to think. (When I say sleepless, I mean I had maybe 3 hours of non-consecutive sleep last night.) Something is up with my sweet boy, who seems otherwise fine, just completely uninterested in sleep. Of any kind. Including naps.

So, instead, I am tagging myself with the 4 things meme.

Four Jobs You've Had:
1. Florist's assistant
2. Receptionist for a computer security firm.
3. Full-time nanny.
4. Reporter.

Four Places You've Lived:
1. Yellowstone National Park
2. Oxford, England
3. West Central Boondocks, Maryland
4. Christmas City, USA

Four Vacations You've Taken:
1. European tour, including England, Scotland, France, Italy, Austria and Spain
2. Grenada, on my honeymoon.
3. Arizona and New Mexico, at Christmas.
4. Ireland.

Four Vehicles You've Owned:
(Perfect, I am currently on my fourth vehicle)
1. A faded, mustard-yellow 1984 Subaru Station Wagon, stick shift, no power ANYTHING. How I loved that car. Her name was Molly.
2. A big, white, 1991 Chevy Lumnia, lovingly called "The Boat." It did 0 to 60 in about 6 minutes.
3. A blue 1999 Nissan Altima. I loved this car. It bit it when my sweet husband crashed it into an ambulance.
4. A red 2005 Toyota Sienna. That's right, I drive a minivan. A red one. Ha.

If you do this meme, leave me a note in the comments, and I'll come visit!

Sleep Tight

He's sleeping now, sort of, snuggled under a blanket next to his bunny. He rubs the backs of his hands across his eyes, his chubby fingers splayed like starfish.

Getting comfortable is always the most difficult part of falling to sleep, so he tosses and turns, searching for the perfect spot on the mattress. He smacks his lips, searching for me, but settles for sucking his lower lip instead.

And then he rests, his breathing deep and even. I don't know what he dreams of, but I see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and I am content.

The Practical Rut

I have friends who think deep thoughts. They wrestle with weighty issues about society and politics and religion and the nature of humanity on a regular basis. They write poetry, and music, and creative non-fiction. Some of them write fiction, too.

My husband is one of these people. And once upon a time, so was I.

Last week I stopped over at my friend J-tron's blog and saw this post, and decided that I am entirely too stupid to continue reading his blog. Seriously, I cannot wrap my mind around half of what he writes about. This disturbs me.

I used to more or less hold my own with him, when we used to stay out late at coffee houses discussing this or that, or even better, when we would stay up all night talking on the phone. I believe I actually fell asleep on the phone with him at least once.

We had so much to talk about, so much to think about, so many ideas to explore.

Those ideas are still out there, but I have begun letting them whiz right by without stopping to take a turn in my brain. My brain is full of boring details like menus and grocery lists and feeding/sleeping/playing schedules and trying to figure out when I last watered my houseplants. (Answer: Not recently enough, since the one on top of the bookshelf is wilted and turning brown.)

But this is not a new phenomenon. [Completely off-topic side note: Phenomenon was the last movie I saw in the theater with my very first boyfriend. He loved movies. We went to see this one, and the theater was full of teenage girls who all ohh'ed and ahh'ed when John Travolta came on the screen, like he was some kind of heart throb. I myself was a teenage girl, at the time. It repulsed me. Travolta is old enough to have fathered most of those girls.]

I would love to chalk the decline of my brain cells to my new status as mother, but in truth it began long before that. It began back in college, where suddenly I felt ridiculous spending hours discussing philosophical theories or the lives and motivations of literary characters. I mean really. Who cares about Lilly Bart or why she can't get her act together and get a man? She's a fictional character. Discussion her motivations won't change anything. I promise. Edith Wharton will not rewrite the novel from the great beyond just because I think Lilly is an idiot.

Such was the choice I made. Practical over philosophical. The only problem is that now, I can't seem to go back. And I'm stuck in a very practical rut.

January Update

It is just as I had suspected it would be. The pajama-clad crazy snow dance made no difference at all, except that my dog looked at me like I had gone insane. Which is entirely possible.

Instead of five fluffy, sparkly inches of powder, we have half an inch of snow, covered by half and inch of sleet, and it is currently raining. A cold, nasty rain. The kind that settles into your bones and leaves you chilled no matter how many cups of hot tea you down. Except for the snow, it reminds me of England, actually.

Sigh. At least I'm tucked in my cozy office today. Pastor keeps the church very warm, and for once, I'm thankful.

January

It is supposed to snow tonight, and I can already feel the chill seeping into our home. This morning it was sunny and clear, and nearly 60, but we are supposed to wake up under a blanket of fluffy white snow. (More likely, because we are in a valley, we will wake up sodden, coated with cold, wet, icy rain, little gravel slushies in the streets and on the sidewalks.)

I remember when I was a child, my music teacher, Ms. Eyler, used to tell us all to go home and put our pjs on and dance and sing "Let it Snow" the night before a big snowstorm was supposed to hit the area. I wonder if children still do that?

Where I grew up, it seldom snowed a measurable amount. My best friend, Jen, and I would dance and dance, but it never made any difference. We were always disappointed to see just an inch or two of snow on the ground the next morning, barely enough to scrape into a snowman. We might get one or two 3 inch snowstorms a year, but that is really not much, compared to what we have gotten since we moved here. In the beginning of December we had about a foot on the ground at one time, and it lasted most of the month. January, though, has been warm and mild up to this point.

It's about time for a cold snap, and a visit from the north wind, who bites your cheeks and knocks the wind out of you.

I'll keep you posted.

Thirteen Things You Should Know Before Injuring Yourself

Thirteen Things you should know before you smash your right hand in a door 1. Even left-handed people use their right hand a lot. 2. I figured this out only after I had smashed it and it became unusable. 3. Brushing your teeth with the opposite hand you are used to using is very, very difficult. 4. Brushing your hair is also very difficult. See #3. 5. Picking up an 18-pound baby with a bum hand is nearly impossible. 6. Buckling said squirmy baby into a car seat one-handed would make a good Fear Factor challenge. (Your mission: Using only one hand, place infant in carrier, adjust and buckle straps, raise carrying handle and install in car. You must also carry the carrier, with the infant inside, through two doors, including a spring-loaded glass door. Make sure to lock all doors securly behind you. Do not, at any time, allow the infant to squrim out of your grip or out of the car seat and knock his head on a hard surface. You have two minutes.) 7. You can only ice your hand for so long before it starts to lose circulation from the cold. 8. Lumps on your hand can hurt like you wouldn't believe, but look so unimpressive that you are embarassed to tell anyone about it. 9. Walking dogs while pushing a stroller and nursing a bum hand is not recommended. 10. Hunt-and-peck typing is no fun. 11. It is very frustrating to have an injury that doesn't look like any injury. You become embarassed to tell people why you aren't using your hand. 12. If you do decide to injure yourself, make sure it looks really bad. If it does not look bad (ie black and blue) then wrap it in an ace bandage to garner sympathy. 13. Don't bother busting up your hand. I already did it for you.

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

More, Peas

Today, we introduced a new veggie to Tom, a vegetable he loves like no other: peas. I swear he would have eaten the entire jar if I'd let him. Who knew? With carrots he makes a face. Squash adn sweet potatoes he likes, but peas ... it was chomp chomp chomp and a screaming fit if I took to long to reload the spoon. Crazy kid.

Wonder what he'll think of spinach?

Vacuum Wars

As I attempted to suck up a man devouring-sized ball of fur yesterday, I realized that my vacuum wasn't working quite the way it should be. By that I mean it was coughing and wheezing and spitting dust at me, instead of sucking it up. So I bundled the vacuum in the car and took it to the repair shop. The nice man there was happy to take it off my hands, but said he couldn't get it back to me for 10 days. 10 days?!?!

Now, normally, 10 days without a vacuum wouldn't bother me so much. I hate to vacuum. I hate the noise. I hate the smell of the dust getting stirred up. When was a child, my mom used to clean when she got really mad, so the sound of a vacuum still puts knots in my stomach.

But we have a medium-sized black dog who sheds like he thinks he's a Great Dane. My kitchen constantly has cat-sized balls of black fur tumbling through on the way to the living room. To add to that, we are dog sitting for Copper, Cole's best buddy. (See fig. 1) She is a gorgeous Golden Retriever, but man, can she shed. Together they make the Hairballs of Doom (HOD).

Fig. 1

These suckers are like nothing I've ever seen. I think the other day, one of the HOD tried to eat Tommy. It's that bad. And they come back every day, even when I whisk them away or suck them up.

So 10 days without a vacuum is almost a death sentance. At least we'd be warm under all that fur.

But wait - what's that I hear? It's a Christmas Present Miracle!

That's right. My mother-in-law, also known as The Best Gift Giver Ever, has struck again. This year she gave me a Dustbuster, a high powered one with two speeds and some sort of fancy tornado suction thingy. The important point is that it works. And it obliterates the HOD with a mere flick of the switch.

Poof, they're gone.

We may just make it through, after all.

The First Date

Eight years ago today, Super-Hubby and I were out on our first date. I had been pursuing him for nearly a year, and finally convinced him to go to the movies with me "as friends." He was skittish around girls, the result of a gorgeous red head breaking his heart the year before.

We decided to go to see Good Will Hunting, which had just been released. Unfortunately, the 7 pm show was sold out, so we hung around in a Borders and drank lattes and discussed philosophy until the 9:30 show started. But that was sold out, too. We ended up seeing As Good As It Gets, a movie that neither of us knew much about.

Just before the movie, I went to the snack counter and purchased a large (a very large) Coke. These were the days before stadium seating; the theater we were in had only one aisle and it was all the way to the left of the theater. We were seated up against the right wall, with about 20 seat in between us and the aisle. And all the seats were full of people.

Like I said, I knew nothing about this movie, least of all that it was really, really long. So I polished off my 128 oz. soda about an hour into the show. And realized I really needed to go to the bathroom. But I didn't want to interrupt all those people's viewing in order to get to the aisle. So, I could hold it, I thought.

Then came the scene where Jack Nicholson uses about 20 bars of soap to wash his hands, and leaves the water running the whole time. I thought I was going to die.

To take my mind off my bladder, I had been trying to get Super-Hubby to hold my hand throughout the movie. I would lean in just a little towards him, and he would lean away. Every time.

Finally, about 10 minutes before the movie was over, we ended up holding hands. That was nice, but ohmygodi'vegottopee.

As the credits were rolling I shot out of the theater, barely even speaking to Super-Hubby in my quest for a ladies' room. I stood in line and did the potty dance until I could get to a stall.

It's amazing we had a second date, come to think of it.

The Christmas of Crazy Hats

We are not hat people. The only time I wear a hat is if it is really, really cold or if I am gardening in the hot sun. Super-Hubby is slightly more likely to wear a hat than I am, due to his fair and easily sunburned skin, but even then, hats are rare. But somehow, this Christmas hats were everywhere.

Christmas Eve day dawned clear and very cold, and we all piled into my sister's Surburban and headed for Bisbee, to take a tour of the defunct copper mine. They suited us up in real live miner gear, including hard hats (as illustrated by myself and my youngest nephew, Jeremy) and heavy duty battery packs strapped to our waists to power our miner's lights.







Tom was too little for his own miner's hat, so he's wearing his cool ear-covering fleece cap from Old Navy. It's actually borrowed from the little girl across the street, but we won't tell Tom that. (We also won't tell him that he sleeps in her pink fleece sleeper bags.)
The mine was really interesting, but I have absolutely no need to ever go half a mile underground ever again. Once was enough. And cold. I can't imagine what it must have been like working there 10 hours a day. The tour guide said they used to keep mules in the mine to pull the cars, and the mules would be underground for 10 or 12 years, until they died. Most of the mules went blind because of the constant darkness.


Look, Daddy and baby Santas! My mom found a Santa hat just Tom's size, but the Santa booties (which were supposed to fit up to 18 mos) were way too small for his feet. We stuck them on anyway, for the picture.














Here is Super-Hubby in my sister's super hiking hat. Tom is staring off at the gorgeous view from an Arizona mountaintop. Tom spends a lot of time staring off into space, come to think of it.







And finally, me and Tom with a saguaro at Saguaro National Park. Those suckers are some big cacti. It takes a saguaro about 75 years to start growing arms; they can live over 200 years. Notice the hat: it is one of my father's. Since moving to the Southwest, he and mom have gone cowboy. It's kind of cute actually. They have boots and white cowboy hats and everything. Guess they're the good guys.

Baby Musings

It makes no sense, this pull in my belly. The empty hollowness of my abdomen. My ache for another life to feel pulsing and kicking and fluttering behind my navel.

Tom is just barely five months old, and my breasts are still heavy and full with milk for him. His little fingers are beginning to reach out to touch and grab, his little tongue constantly exposed as he tastes everything. There is still so much he needs from me; how can I want another baby so soon?

My house is in shambles, my garden full of dead plants I never dug up in the fall after having Tom. I cannot keep up between the house, the dog, the baby and work. I barely sleep.

So why do I wake up at night dreaming of a baby that doesn't exist?

Thirteen Things that Drive Me Crazy

Thirteen Things that Drive Me Crazy 1. Blemishes, on myself and other people. Poor Tom has baby acne, and it drives me nuts. I have a friend who has a blackhead in her ear (I doubt she knows it's there) but it's been there for at least 8 years, and it drives me insane. 2. The paper that always seems to pile up on any flat surface in my house. 3. People who tailgate and flash their lights, telling you to get out of their way. (Where's the fire, buddy?) 4. People who drive WAY below the speed limit on a major road. 5. People who tell detailed stories about their lives without giving any context. "So then Jenny came into the office and said that Suzie had complained about me to Mary ..." Wait, who's Jenny? Suzie? Mary? Why do I care? 6. People who set dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty and just waiting to be filled up with nasty dirty dishes that should never be in my sink. 7. Drawing a nice hot bath, getting in and comfy, and having the water go cold five minutes later. 8. Running out of HOT water during my shower. 9. Squirrels and birds eating the plants in my garden. 10. Coltrane "watering" my garden. Grr. 11. Strangers who give parenting advice. Advice from family and friends, great. But the lady in the supermarket? Please. 12. Running out of chocolate in the house. 13. My inability to just get up with my alarm. I need an alarm that does not turn off until I put my feet on the floor.

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Confessions of a former female chauvinist

I used to be one of those women who laughed at jokes about men and how stupid, dirty, and lazy they are. You know, like the Mr. New Dad T-shirts that show a man diapering the dog and allowing the baby to eat dog food while dad is trying to catch the game out of the corner of his eye? Or jokes like these, which pretty much sum up my point.

Jokes like that used to make me chuckle. I would agree with other women that men, as a rule, just can't focus on more than one task at once. The point of the jokes, when told by women, is to make ourselves feel better. To make ourselves feel like the smarter, harder-working, better gender.

But now, every time I hear a joke like that, I think about someone saying it ABOUT MY SON. And I don't want anyone to ever, even jokingly, tell him that he is lazy or stupid or helpless just because he has a penis. Nor do I want someone implying that he should act these ways just because he's a boy.

Being a mom has made me such a stick in the mud. Oh well.

Hail Mary

I'm no theologian, not by a long shot, but I got to thinking about Mary last night. Some branches of the church believe that Jesus was an only child.

I know for some people it messes up the theology, but for Mary's sake, I hope this only child thing simply is not true.

Only one baby to feel kicking and swimming and thriving under her heart? Only one time to feel the power of life inside of her?

Only one pair eyes to follow her every move as she did the cooking and the wash? Only one pair of tiny hands to grab at her hair and only one pair of tiny feet to tickle and kiss?

Somehow, after all that God asked of her, to only have one child to love seems awfully cruel.

Think about it. Mary was young, unmarried, pregnant in the midst of a culture not exactly forward thinking on women's rights. To top it all off, she's going around telling everyone that the father of her baby is - get this - God. You think the other ladies of the town weren't whispering about her as they drew water and baked bread?

"Oy, did you hear about that Mary? G-d is the father of her baby? Poor Joseph. It's bad enough that she's expecting, worse that she's lying about it. He'd be mishsuggana to marry a girl like that."

What about her family? I don't recall much about them in the Christmas story. Someone tell me if I'm missing a big chunk of it here. Like I said, I'm not an expert.

Did her mom and dad disown her? What mother would let her hugely pregnant daughter be dragged across the country on the back of a donkey or on foot?

When she gave birth, she was in a strange town, and not one single door was open to her. Not any of Joseph's relatives, not a hotel or inn. No, she was stuck laboring in a barn like an animal. How humiliating is that? Was there even a woman present to be with her when the time came to give birth? With no midwife, was she pretty much on her own? No one to hold her hand or tell her what to do. I can't even imagine.

Then, not two years after her son is born, she's told to pick up everything she owns and leave the country. On foot. With a toddler.

The least God could have done for this poor girl is give her many children to cuddle and to bless her home.

Still Waters

Sometimes still waters are just still.

I am sitting here, very still, trying to think of something deep and interesting to write about. I've got nothing.

The baby has been asleep all morning, which has allowed me to actually get work done. Hallelujah. He's now playing with a teething book called "Quack" says the Duck; I think it's too funny. Mostly because Tom looks like he's reading, which he's not, but also because Tommy does not say "Quack." He says many other things, mostly during the very, very, quiet part at church when they are preparing communion, but he does not ever say "Quack."

I am also trying to figure out how to buy a week's worth of groceries for less than $25, (ha ha), how to keep Super-Hubby from obsessing too much over his Web-magazine/baby, and still dealing with the fact that there is no Santa Claus.

Don't ask.

How are you doing this Monday morning?

A Picture of my Sister

This is a picture of my sister and my dog, Cole. I couldn't get it to post in the Thursday Thirteen, but I thought it would be nice to have her pic up here.

(By the way, she's the pretty one in the family. Although she's a redhead now. It looks nice.)

Thirteen Things about my Sister

Thirteen Things about my Sister I had a wonderful visit with my sister over the Christmas holiday. It's amazing how much closer we've become as we've gotten older. Or maybe it's just me who is getting closer - maybe Sher has been there waiting for me all the time. I'm terribly self-centered, and sometimes I miss out on people and relationships because I simply don't realize they are there. In any case, it's a good thing that we're getting to be friends as well as sisters. On that note, I thought I'd tell you a few things about my big sis ... 1. The way my mom tells it, all my sister wanted for her 10th birthday was a little sister and a 10-speed bike. She got both, but spent a couple of years trying to send the little sister back. 2. When I was a little girl, I had very, very long hair, and my sister would curl it and style it for me. I remember once, when we were going over to her boyfriend's house for dinner, she spent hours carefully curling my hair into sprials with a curling iron becuase I wanted "locks" like a princess in a storybook. I was maybe five or six, and I thought "locks" were long curls, not just long pieces of hair. The curl didn't last long enough for us to get out the door, (my hair won't curl for anything. Not even perms. Really.)but I felt like the most beautiful little girl in the world. 3. Right around that same time, she also gave me an adorable little china clown that sat on an orange satin crescent moon and hung from the ceiling. I kept it in my room for years, even when it didn't match anymore, just because it was from her. 4. Growing up, we had an inground pool in our backyard. When my sister was a teenager, she used to take her little pink portable radio/tapedeck out to the pool and lay out in the sun for hours. She would listen to Madonna but mom would make me come inside because she didn't want me listening to Madonna. Sometimes I would go out anyway and stay out until I got too hot, just to be like her. 5. I was always the one who had to go to the basement for popsicles, cause I was her slave baby sister. 6. As we got a little older, I started knowing most things about her life through the family grapevine, instead of from her. She moved out of the house and went to Florida when I was 8. That put our relationship on hold for quite a while. 7. When I was 13, my sister met a wonderful man and married him. They were engaged just three short weeks before the wedding, which threw my mom into a planning frenzy. My sister was a beautiful bride, but I looked clunky and awkward in my bridesmaid's dress. (I got my first strapless bra, though. Black, from Victoria's Secret. That was cool.) Right after the wedding, she got pregnant and had a baby. I was so jealous of all the attention she got that year, mostly because I was 13 and that's what being 13 is all about. But I wish I had been more interested in her, instead of being jealous. 8. When I graduated college Phi Betta Kappa, Sher tried to get me to go to law school. I think she really believed I had the brains to do it, and she would have been proud to be able to say she had a lawyer for a sister. I hope she's not disappointed that I'm more or less a stay-at-home mom. 9. When we're apart, I always forget how funny she is. I never thought she was funny when I was a kid - mostly because I had no sense of humor and her jokes were often directed at me - but now, man, she can make me roll on the floor. Someday I'm gonna be just like her. 10. Sometimes I'll say something, and Super-Hubby will turn to me with this quizzical look on his face and say "Sheryl?" Apparently, even though we live 2,000 miles apart, I still copy her mannerisims. 11. When we were together over the holidays, we talked about starting a "family homestead" and living on a big plot of land with two houses and a barn and a big garden and a stream for swimming in. That sounds really lovely, and I wish it could happen. 12. I forget how much my sister likes the outdoors. We hiked the Chiricahua National Monument, and it was amazing. She was going full steam ahead, too. At 9,000 feet above sea level. 13. This year, I got the biggest stocking of all, and in it was a box of Cookie Crisp. 'Nuf said.

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Oy Vey

He looks so sweet, doesn't he? Smiling, playing. Don't be fooled. Tommy is an eating machine. He ate a quarter of a cup of rice cereal last night before bed, and still got up four times in the middle of the night to eat. I am very, very tired.

I got up early for the fantastic trip to the girly doctor for my annual exam. Always a pleasure to be poked and prodded "down there" at 8 am. But I made the best of it. I showered. I shaved. Then I put clean socks on my nice clean feet - only to find the left one filled with sand. That's right, sand. What the? So now I'm walking around with sand between my toes. I'm trying to write it off as microdermabrasion for my feet.

So I'm running a little late, and I go to change Tommy really quickly so we can dash off to the doctor's ... and as soon as I get his diaper off, I feel a wet warmpth soaking my leg. And yes, my adorable son has peed all over me, all over the changing table, and all over himself. He even hit his own chin. And he's just grinning at me like it's the funniest thing ever. Yeah. Funny.

So, that was how my day started. How 'bout yours?

A New Year's Meme

I’m back from my hiatus (also known as a crazy Christmas vacation) and ready to blog again. I have so many wonderful memories to share; I also have lots of thoughts for the New Year. I have so much to say, in fact, that I was having trouble getting organized. (Not to mention having trouble finding the computer under all the laundry we managed to generate during our trip.)

So, instead of thinking of something wonderfully creative, I decided to tag myself from a meme that Mopsy has on her site. You know what they say: Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Thanks, Mopsy.

1. What did you do in 2005 that you had never done before?
Traveled to Ireland, danced the Irish broom dance in a pub, collided with an ambulance, bought a brand-spanking-new car, traveled to New Mexico, toured a defunct silver mine, and oh yeah, had a baby. (Not necessarily in that order).

2.Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I have no idea what my resolutions were last year, so there’s a good chance I didn’t keep them. I have decided that making formal resolutions is a waste of time. “Eating less chocolate” and “Spending more time with God” are laudable goals, but I never, ever keep it going.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yep. Me. And my next-door neighbor. And her sister. And a dear childhood friend.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Nope, praise God.

5. What countries did you visit?
I visited Ireland to attend a friend’s wedding. Other than that I mostly stayed on the east coast, except for our Christmas getaway to Arizona and New Mexico. And Texas.

6. What would you like to have in 2006 that you lacked in 2005?
A closer walk with God. The gift of enjoying each day, instead of constantly living in the future. Fewer days spent at our very fine St. Luke’s Hospital.

7. What dates will remain etched in your memory and why?
June 19th, August 13th, September 2nd. These are all days I went to the hospital. The first, in an ambulance after Super-Hubby ran a red light and hit an ambulance. I was seven months pregnant, but he’s the one who got hurt. The second, because that’s the day I FINALLY gave birth. The third is the day Super-Hubby was readmitted to the hospital with a hugemongous blood clot in his leg that the docs think might be a souvenir of the accident.

8. What’s your biggest achievement of the year?
Oh geez. I dunno. Becoming a mother? That seems lame.

9. What was your biggest failure?
My lack of ability to stay even remotely organized once Tommy entered my life. I hate the slob I have become.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Yes, but not too badly. My legs were a little banged up in the crash, and I have a fantastic scar on the front of my left shin, just below the knee, that is from the fabric of my pants melting into my leg when the airbag deployed. The baby, thankfully, was fine.

11.What was the best thing you bought?
My beautiful new minivan. It’s red. It’s still a minivan, but at least it’s sort of sexy. (Hey, don’t disillusion me.)

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Super-Hubby has been incredible, loving, supportive and amazing. My folks and his folks have also been fantastic, especially surrounding Tom’s birth.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and disgusted?
Many national figures have appalled and/or disgusted me this year. Seems every time I turn on the TV I see something new and frightening. But I was most disgusted by Super-Hubby’s bosses this year. They jerked him around and were downright terrible to him.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Wow. Hospital bills, doctor bills, new car bills, bills for baby stuff. That’s most of it, I guess. Oh, and a mortgage. And now our ever-increasing gas bill to heat our house. Ugh.

15. What did you get really, really excited about?
Ireland, the baby, the baby, the baby …

16. What song will always remind you of 2005?
Pass.

17. Compared to this time last year are you?
a) Happier or sadder? Mostly happier. When I’m not wondering what happened to my life.
b) Fatter or thinner? I’m about the same I guess. Maybe a little heavier since I lost weight in the early part of my pregnancy.
c) Richer or poorer? Poorer in money, richer in love.

18. What do you wish you had done more of?
Romping. (I’m leaving Mopsy’s answer. I like it.)

19. What do you wish you had done less of?
Waiting. Waiting for whatever the next fun thing I thought was going to happen to happen.

20. How will you be spending New Year’s Eve?
I spent New Year’s Eve in baggage claim.

21. Did you fall in love in 2005?
Yes, with my son.

22. What was your favorite TV program?
“Medium”

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
No. I don’t hate anyone.

24. What was the best book you read?
I don’t know. Probably something embarrassingly entertaining with the literary value of a bag of potato chips.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
That I can still play my saxophone. Maybe Super-Hubby and I will start that band after all.

26. What did you want and get?
A baby. A new car.

27. What did you want and not get?
Nothing.

28. What was your favorite film this year?
“Batman Begins”

29. What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
I turned 25. Super-Hubby set up our living room like a beach and we had a picnic of fried chicken. It was wonderful, especially since we didn’t get to go to the actual beach this year.

30. What one thing would have made your year measurably more satisfying?
Less time in hospitals. A trip to the real beach.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion in 2005?
Fashion? What’s that? You mean this old t-shirt and these ratty jeans don’t count?

32. What kept you sane?
Super-Hubby. My mom. Friends. Wish I could say God, but my relationship with Him has been … cursory at best. I miss it.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Nobody.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Iraq. The prisoner abuse scandal.

35. Who did you miss?
I miss a lot of my friends. I miss having a closer relationship with Jen. I miss having family close by.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
My son.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2005.
That epidurals are the most wonderful creations ever. Period.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
I’m skipping this one too, cause I’m horrible at remembering lyrics. Just ask Super-Hubby. He knows every word that’s ever been put to music, and I have trouble remembering the words to “Happy Birthday.”

Another Crunch

After much sweat and many tears and only a little blood, the December issue of Cruchable is up. Go check it out. Has some great gift ideas, too.

Thursday (Oh Joy!) Thirteen

Thirteen Things to Celebrate Today 1. Test results are in. It's not cancer. Apparently, he's just getting old. 2. Christmas vacation is still on. Super-Hubby's boss ok'd the time off. 3. We do not have to try to get our non-refundable plane tickets refunded. 4. The Christmas Cards, for the first time ever, are all mailed before Christmas. Well, all except one, but I don't have that address yet. (Did I mention that last year, we were still sending Christmas cards at Easter? No joke.) 5. I have a wonderful husband who loves me and is cleaning the house as I type this. I am, by the way, at work. With the baby. So really, he only has to vacuum around the dog. 6. Speaking of the dog, Coltrane has been really good this year. All the ornaments are still on the tree. He has (miraculously) left all of Tom's toys alone. Amazing. 7. The snow still on the ground is pretty and very Courier and Ives. 8. Apparently, my blood has gotten thicker over the last year. The 10 degree mornings no longer bother me. Maybe I'm just a hot momma. 9. Did I mention my husband loves me? 10. I only have two, count 'em two (2), Christmas presents left to buy. 11. Last night I curled up in the tub with Nora Roberts for about 20 minutes. All by myself. No Tommy. They were 20 of the finest minutes I've had in a long while. 12. When I got out of the tub, Tom was asleep. Even better. 13. We're getting more snow tonight. (Not sure if I'm thankful for that or not. Let you know tomorrow.) Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I'll add you here!)

By My Fingernails

I know that the crap stuff happening in my life is minor compared to the sufferings of others. I mean, really. I'm healthy. My child is healthy. My beloved husband is relatively healthy.

But right now, I feel like I can't even begin to dig out from under this mountain of responsibilities. Combining that with a big ol' pile of worry and chance, and you have an instant ulcer. Or something.

Ok,so my dad's health is still up in the air. Tomorrow, mom goes to the doctor to have a lump on her thyroid checked out. There's a possibility that the lump could be cancer, too.

Mom and dad are both very ill with some sort of respiratory bug. Although we are currently something like 2,000 miles apart, it seems like the same bug that both Tommy and I have.

The house hasn't been cleaned in what seems like forever. All my friends' houses smell delicious and cinnoman-y and full of holiday cheer. Mine smells like a dog that's just been put through a car wash. Dog hair, dust, and a just a whiff of detergent. Yuck.

Super-Hubby is adjusting to his new job, but that means he's working much longer hours in an effort to impress his new boss. Plus, the relaunch of his Web-based literary magazine is taking a lot of his time and effort. While I cannot call him unhelpful around the house (he does a lot of wondeful things) I have been frustrated by his lack of ability to see what needs to be done and do it. The only way he chips in is if I ask, specifically, for him to do something. Which normally isn't a problem, but it's been getting on my nerves lately.

As usual, I'm in charge of ALL the holiday cards, gifting, etc. I am exhausted. I don't want to go Christmas shopping today. But I get to anyway.

Oh, and although we've had plane tickets since May to go to see my sister for the holidays, Super-Hubby's promised vacation time may be revoked.

Seems when his idiotic company moved all their people around to different offices, they neglected to take into account that people had already scheduled their Christmas vacations. Apparently, everyone in Super-Hubby's new office has been promised the same week of vacation. Since they can't all be gone at once, SH's new boss has to figure out a solution. At last check, no solution has been reached. We are slated to leave in 8 days.

There's other stuff too, but maybe that's too personal for this blog. I am so frustrated right now, I don't even know what would make me feel better.

How's everyone else doing this hump day?

Wow, I'm Blue. Who knew?

What Color is Your Brain?

BLUE:

At work or in school: I like to be with people, sharing with them, inspiring them, and helping them. I work and learn best when I can take into consideration people and the human element. I flourish in an atmosphere of cooperation.
With friends: I always look for perfect love. I am very romantic, and I enjoy doing thoughtful things for others. I am affectionate, supportive and a good listener.
With family: I like to be happy and loving. I am very sensitive to rejection from my family and to family conflicts. I really like to be well thought of and need frequent reassurance. I love intimate talks and warm feelings.
Take this quiz!

Waiting

This just in: The test results aren't back yet. So, no appointment. We wait.

The Dreaded "C" Word

Today my daddy is going to the doctor. It's a follow up visit to find out the results of a bone biopsy he had last week. We have all be dancing around the subject for months, when some routine bloodwork showed that his white-cell count was dropping.

Two weeks ago, another blood test showed that his white-cell count is still dropping. My incredibly healthy, strong, amazing daddy has something wrong with him, and the doctors don't know what it is.

What makes it even harder is that he feels fine. He's still volunteering his retirement away, leading talks at national parks and doing trail maintenance. Heck, he's probably still riding his bicycle in those century rides, where crazy guys pedal 100 miles in a day.

When my mom called to tell me about the scheduled biopsy, I said "What does this mean??" I couldn't wrap my head around what she was saying. She said "well, the doctors think it could be something really bad, or it could just be that his body isn't making enough white blood cells. They have shots to fix that." Never once has either one of them talked about what it could really be. Some form of leukemia. Of cancer.

My mother is a breast cancer survivor. I would think she could say the "C" word, but no. She and my father talk around it like if they don't say "cancer," it won't really be a possibility. It drives me crazy. For weeks I was floating around thinking ... oh, it's not that bad. Really, it could be that bad. Cancer. Cancer. Cancer.

It's hard for me to imagine my father having leukemia. In my mind, leukemia is a disease of childhood, characterized by poor bald-headed children on the television, playing with tricycles and trying to look lively while celebrities ask us to be generous to St. Jude's Children's Hospital.

It is not a disease contracted by 67-year-old men who can fix anything.

It's *That* Kind of Monday

Ok, this pretty much sums up my day so far. Just picked Tom up off the floor from tummy time and found that he had mysteriously gotten spitup ON his eyelid. Yuck. And now he's just gotten it all over my desk.

Sigh.

Snow Day

When the pastor called me at work yesterday and told me not to come in today because of the impending snow storm, I was escatic. I had visions of snuggling on the couch with a cup of hot cocoa and watching fat flakes drift down and make fluffy piles on my sidewalk. Of taking Tom for a walk in his first major snowfall. Of actually getting some chores done around this mess I call a home.

What I did not envision was being puked on (right on the kisser, no less), then spending the rest of the day shoveling snow in a shirt that smelled like sour breastmilk, mostly because I was too lazy to go upstairs and change.

Somehow, my wonderful snow day where I was going to accomplish so much turned into "make the house look worse than before day." Dunno how that happened.

I also did not plan on being stranded at home, sick, with a sick infant and an insanely rambunctious dog. When the clock blinked 7 p.m. I thought, "Surely Super-Hubby will be home soon! I will get help!" Then the clock turned to 8 p.m. I gave the sick baby a bath. We cuddled. He nursed. We both coughed a lot.

Super-Hubby made it home somewhere around 10 p.m., after spending more than 12 hours putting together his first major A-1 story for the paper. I am very proud of him, and there's no helping the fact that he had to be at work. He's promised to watch Tom all weekend, but we'll see.

I am starting to dread snow days.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things about my Christmas Memories 1. I used to absolutely love Christmas when I was a child. I would look forward to it all year, the decorating, the food, the family gatherings. Now, I still love Christmas, but the decorating, the food, the gatherings all seem like an awful lot of work. 2. I just realized this year how incredibly awful our collection of Christmas music is. I will have to purchase some new CDs to replace "Christmas with the Stars, 1997", which I believe my mother bought at a grocery store for $5. 3. I really miss my mom's cooking at Christmas. We always had a huge Christmas brunch that included scrambled eggs, brunch cake, cinnamon rolls, fruit and cheese trays, even oysters (yuck) for my Paw-Paw. For dinner we would have roast beef with Yorkshire pudding (my absolute favorite). But now we usually celebrate with other family and they make boring old turkeys. 4. Christmas was also the only time of year my sister and I could have pre-sweetened cereal. For years and years, stockings and Cookie Crisp went hand in hand. 5. I don't remember when I stopped believing in Santa. 6. My sister and I knew that we were never, ever permitted to go downstairs and look at the presents on Christmas morning until Mom and Dad were awake. We spent a lot of time huddled on the top step of the staircase at 5 a.m., just outside of the master bedroom door. We thought we were being quiet, but I imagine it was an effective wake up call for my parents. 7. Our family almost always gets sick on Christmas. One year, we all had a terrible stomach bug, and we had 7 people all fighting over the use of two toilets. Gross, but true. 8. My husband and I never, ever spent Christmas together before we were married, even though we dated for 5 years. 9. Someday I would actually like to celebrate Christmas at my house. I think. Maybe. 10. This year we are flying across the country for the holidays, and I am terrified that Tom's ears will bother him and the flight will be hell for everyone with a screaming 4 month old aboard. 11. At 2 a.m. I sometimes awaken terrified that I will not make the right kind of holiday traditions and memories for my son. 12. Last year our dog ate a bunch of burnt out Christmas bulbs and I didn't even call the vet. Our dog eats everything. He also got a few of our decorations last year, like the candy Christmas trees my mother insisted on making. I caught him climbing atop the table to lick the candy like a lollipop. This year, however, he is doing much better. No destroyed decorations, yet, but he did eat one of Tom's bibs. The whole thing. Except for the velcro. 13. My family is big on stockings. In fact, we're so big on stockings, we don't stuff them ... we stuff shopping bags. The big paper ones with handles. I always end up with a lot of little stuff I don't want and can't use, but it's a big deal to my other family members so I can't really do anything about it. And it is fun. But really. Shopping bags?!? Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I'll add you here!)

Anger management

I tripped across a blog today and for the first time ever wanted to send a nasty reply to a post. I did not, but only by an act of extreme self control.

She was criticizing other bloggers - specifically "mommy bloggers" - for posting about the minutiae of their lives, when there are so many more "big issues" people should be blogging about. She upbraided the masses for being so afraid of "being alone." Of failing to delve into grief.

The kicker, of course, is that the title of her blog (which I hesitate to name) is basically "celebrating the minutiae of life." Ha. This is irony, crashing down with a big-ass stick.

Apparently, at least a dozen readers found wisdom and encouragement in her words. I'm guessing that I'm the only one out there who thought she came off as a pretentious, self-righteous brat.

What I don't understand is why posts about joy and happiness and the little good things that happen in the day of a mother should bother her so much. True, everything said about happiness has been said before. Children, like puppies, are cute and snuggly. (Except when they are oozing snot and puking in pastel colors, or coloring on the freshly painted walls of the master bedroom, or playing in dog poop. But nevermind.) Motherhood fills us all with warm fuzzies. (Even when there is more laundry, pound for pound, than people in your house and the washing machine just broke, the baby has been screaming for six hours and your husband comes home complaining that he is just "so tired" so he can't help.)

But everything about despair and grief has been said before too. Many, many authors have made their life work out of writing about these "real" issues. Want despair? Try reading Koskinski's The Painted Bird. There's a portrayal of grief and abuse that will knock you off your chair.

I know, we're supposed to be talking about the blogosphere, not good, old-fashioned books. But there's the problem - we're not talking about literature. We're talking about people's personal, daily journals. Some mommy bloggers are looking for a spot to stretch their literary wings. And brava to those ladies.

But many more of us are just hoping for a little corner of cyber-space to use as a mirror of sorts. A place to hold up a few moments in our daily lives and say "would you look at that!" or "does yours do this?" We are seeking out a place where we can say "This is where I am right now. Anybody with me?"

Unveiled

The new issue of Crunchable is up, and all you literary types should give it a click. This is my Super-Hubby's creative non-fiction webzine, of which he is very proud. His college roommate started it several years ago, and has recently turned the reins over to my hubby. It's fun, it's free, and you might be surprised at the cool stuff you can read there.

My absolute, all-time-favorite piece of creative non-fiction is on there. Take a second and read it. It's worth it.

So Crunchable is looking for new content. If any of you lurkers have an essay that you'd be willing to dust off, please let me know. You won't get paid, but you will get published!

Inspiration

I just tripped over a wonderful blog this morning, as I was making my blog-rounds. Seems my favorite blog of all time, Lifenut, was nominated for Sallie's 2005 Blogs of Beauty Awards. Go Mopsy!

So I clicked on over to Sallie's blog to check out these awards and see if I should vote, and ... well ... wow. I've only browsed a very small portion of her site, but Sallie has a lot of interesting things to say.

The premise of her site (paraphrasing here, so I hope I get this right) is that people need to recognize and use the gifts God gives them, not the gifts they would like to have. In the parable of the talents, the master gives one servant 2 talents, and another servant 5 talents. Both are rewarded for being good stewards of their talents - even though the profit they brought to the master was unequal. The point is, they both gave their all to taking care of what they had been given. But our culture tells us we need to be more, to do more, and as a result, we often neglect the talents we've been given in pursuit of other talents that weren't meant for us in the first place.

This is something I've struggled with for a long time - the realization that God did not create me to be a the lead in the play of life, but rather a supporting cast member or even a member of the audience. All of these groups are important for a successful play - after all, most people don't want to go see The Music Man or Twelfth Night performed by just one man. Neither do actors want to perform for an empty house.

A supporting cast is necessary. But it has been hard for me to realize that I am that supporting cast.

I have done a lot of lead-actor type stuff in my life. I have been the lead in several plays, I have headed up volunteer organizations, and I have lead Bible study groups. But for the most part, those efforts did not turn out as well as I had expected them to.

I did ok in the plays, but I was also a child at the time, so somehow that doesn't really count.

I was extremely gratified that my horrible management did not drive the volunteer organization I presided over for a year into the ground. I have no idea how they survived me. I was like the Hurricane Katrina and FEMA of presidents, laying waste to a perfectly good organization and then having no idea how to fix the damage. It was that bad. I learned, though, that leadership is NOT one of the talents that God has given me.

The Bible study went well for a year or two, until InterVarsity decided to take my Women's Bible Study and make it co-ed. Then, for some reason, everything fell apart. I guess I have a harder time leading and inspiring men, or something. That still stings.

I have been less than a success in my career, up to this point - not to mention very unhappy. But I was expected to have a career, seeing as I had a college degree and all.

Now I work out of the home part time and am a full-time mother. And I am the happiest I have ever been. I am not stressed. I do not get migranes and stomach aches at the thought of going to work. But every now and again, I have guilt. I worry I am not using the gifts God gave me. After all, I am blessed to have an education, and a reasonably good brain. Shouldn't I be out changing the world?

So, thanks Sallie, for giving me another perspective, and for helping me to remember to grow the gifts I've been given and not worry so much about the rest.

The sweetest sight

This morning, the sun slanted through our bedroom window and lit on my husband and my son, sleeping peacefully next to each other. They were snuggled up under our blue-striped flannel sheets, and they looked so warm and cozy and peaceful.

It was such a beautiful sight - Super-Hubby's dark hair and whiskers next to Tom's soft, blond, fuzzy head. It lit up my day.

Oh, I wish I'd had my camera.

My life, according to a dumb net quiz

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	8.4
Mind:	7.1
Body:	8.9
Spirit:	7.6
Friends/Family:	7
Love:	9.1
Finance:	9.1
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

So according to this quiz, my life is pretty good. Which is absolutely true. My life is actually very good. At the end of the quiz, a box popped up commending me on my way above average love score. The box instructed me to share some advice on how I manage to be so lucky in love. I didn't fill it out, but if I had, this is what it would say:

I'd love to spout off some ridiculous platitude about karma, about how I deserve the love I have because I am such a good, loving, gentle person. But the truth is - I am just lucky. Impossibly lucky. And immeasurably blessed.

Last night, when I was too tired to hold Tommy for one more minute, Super-Hubby came to the rescue. Even though he had gotten less sleep than I had the night before, even though he had a long and stressful day at the office, he volunteered to stay up with our wide-eyed son until he finally went off to dreamland around midnight. Super-Hubby even let me get an extra 30 minutes or so of sleep. That is love.

He also scrubbed the bathrooms. Need I say more?

I am lucky. I grew up in a home where every day I was reminded that I was loved. My mother used to tuck little notes inside my lunch box telling me she was proud of me and that she loved me. My father made an effort every morning to have breakfast with me, to catch up on what was happening in my life, and to tell me he thought I was a good kid. I can't ever remember him reading the paper or a book while eating with me. When we breakfasted, that was our time together.

Love was given freely in our home, but once in a while it came with a price. Sometimes when my mom was feeling especially stressed she would remind me of how much she did for me because she loved me. It was a mild guilt trip, but an effective one.

I have read and read and read 1 Corinthians 13. But I had never seen it LIVED until I met my husband.

Sometimes, I am guilty of doing the same thing to Super-Hubby. I do many things for him out of love, but once in a while I feel a need to be recognized for them, to be told how wonderful and loving I really am. (This behavior is why I can't, in good conscience, attribute my luck in love to karma. Plus I've done some really mean things in my life.)

But Super-Hubby doesn't even comprehend that love could demand recognition. He just does things because he loves me - and he neither expects or desires repayment of any kind. He doesn't keep score (I put him to bed last night - now it's your turn), he doesn't demand anything. He just loves. It's an awesome example, and one I am always grateful for. I have learned a lot about love from him.

I hope Tommy learns from his father's example, too.

The Good News

Ah, I love Super Hubby's new hours. I LOVE them. He is home for dinner, most nights. He goes to bed with me! Most nights. We don't breakfast together, but hey, I can't complain.

We actually did family activities this weekend. Well, if you consider a trip to Lowe;s and Wal-Mart a family activity. But hey.

So, things are good in our household. Super-Hubby is relatively happy with his new job, and I am over the moon.

Just thought you might like an update.

The Dark Knight sees the light of day

On Thursday, Super-Hubby will start a new job. A day job.
My nocturnal sleuth of a husband will actually be awake for breakfast, for the first time in nearly three years. Well, maybe.

To be honest, I'm not quite sure if I am excited about the change, or terrified. With any luck, the new job will give him more time to spend with Tommy, which would be a great thing.

I wonder what it will be like, to smile at him over cereal in the morning. To kiss him and wave him off to work. To have him home in the evenings!

I am wary that this may not be a good thing. He may be tired and grumpy all the time. What if he objects to my evening visits with my buddy Elise across the street? ER just isn't the same when you watch it alone.

What if he hates the new job? What if he misses the wee small hours of the morning when he could do whatever he wanted without anyone bothering him?

I guess we'll have to see.

Hello Rattle

Tom to his rattle, clutched in his left hand: "Whoa, what is this? Are you a rattle? How do you make that sound? Hmmm .... what do you taste like?? Aaahh, stop hitting me in the head!"

Tom's rattle: "Rattle. Rattle."

Tom (dropping his rattle): "What the heck? Where did you go? Oh, you're over there! Come back here! Why are you just laying there?? MOMMMMMM!!!"

The list

Things I have been promising to do for at least 2 weeks, yet still have not done:

1. Cancelled reservations for Cole at the kennel.
2. Booked hotel for pre-and-post-flight.
3. Thoroughly cleaned the master bedroom.
4. Gotten rid of the cardboard and newspaper recycling.
5. Laundry.
6. The Christmas Card List.
7. The Christmas Card Letter.
8. The (ever adorable) Christmas Card photo.

Argh.

Once upon a time ...

There was a girl who was great at beginning things, but lacked the ability to follow through. She started a blog, with plans to post something each and every day, but soon found that she was unable to keep up with those plans. Life, as usual, seemed to get in the way.

Her half-finished dusting of the downstairs is evidence. She can barely finish a thought without getting distracted and (Darn it, I forgot to do my Bible study again this week. And the clothes need washing. And gotta get Tom's baptismal certificate. And cancel reservations at the kennel. Come to think of it, where's the dog? Crap.)

She started writing blog posts in her head - she has seven collected now, titled:

La-Z-Baby
Spring is in the air
The Dynamic Duo take a chauffeured road trip
For the love of ...
Who's afraid of a little spitup?
What happened to my cheesecake?
Nancy Drew and the mystery of the Christmas Card Caper

Maybe this week some of these blogs will see the light of the Internet. Who knows. I can wish.

Whatever happened to Thanksgiving?

Last night, the lead story on the local news was the fact that retailers have their Christmas wares out, as the holiday gift-lust has begun. The reporter also mentioned that a local station has begun playing Christmas music 24/7. WHY, WHY, WHY??

I had to laugh at the newscast, where the story about Christmas trees and lights for sale was broadcast ahead of two murders and a fire. Ah, the power of retail.

But really, I feel sorry for Thanksgiving. It is a lovely holiday - full of family, delicious food, relaxation. No gifts to hurry and buy, no stress. Just lovely pumpkin pie. But poor Thanksgiving always gets lost in the hustle and bustle of Christmas. Most of the country seems to treat it as just another obstacle to overcome before the end of the year. It's sad.

On that note, I am very thankful for everything I've been given in life - which is, well, everything. Literally.

Our home was purchased thanks to my husband's inheritance. It was furnished with my parents' furniture, because as full-time RVers, they had no use for a house full of antiques. My new kitchen was remodeled by my husband and my father, free of charge. Almost all of the baby supplies - from Tom's teeny, tiny socks to his crib - were gifts. We are so blessed.

Not to mention each morning that God gives me the gift of life and the chance to wake up and see what I can do with the day. Here's hoping it's something worthwhile.