Lois E. Lane

The day I met my daughter

2012-02-04T22:41:00.000-07:00

I remember it like it was yesterday; I really do. The night my water broke at home while spending time with family is so fresh in my mind. What I remember most of all was the calm. Kissing my son goodnight before we left for the hospital and singing "You've Got a Friend In Me" one last time with him as my only child.

Walking out to the car in cold darkness and listening to soft music on my iPod for the drive.I didn't know then that active labor was still a way's down the road. The night was spent pacing a quiet birthing floor with my husband and a dear friend or trying to sleep through some early contractions under my Mom's watchful eye. And the calm. Between the intensifying contractions was an inexplicable peace — like all these months had not merely been waiting, but preparing.

The hours leading up to when I met my Beautiful Daughter on the morning of February 5, 2011, I thought back to the hours I spent in an indoor swimming pool during my eighth month. I would float on my back, glide through the water and rum my big tummy. There was a comoradory formed long before she came; maybe because we're both girls. I just remember saying so many times: "We're in this together, girl. You do what you need to do when you're ready and I'll take care of the rest."

The laboring was not as difficult as I anticipated, thanks in no small part to my "team." When it finally came time to push, the sun was shining outside my window. Then she emerged and she was perfect. Like her brother, her eyes were wide and her skin so lovely.

When they set her on my belly I was in love and reborn. That's what I never figured about motherhood: Every time they're born, you're born. Life starts over and continues on all at once.

I had no idea what to expect from a daughter. My son was flat-out awesome...how would she compare?

Beautiful Daughter, you made me a believer in little girls, with your hand-holding even as a newborn and your tiny moans that could never be confused for a boy's. I love the way you always want to be touching me somehow (I love it even when I act irritated). And the calm. You and I can still sit together in quiet, just like we floated in that pool, and enjoy the comfort of the present. Your eye contact and on-cue kisses melt my heart. Your rhythm and tenacity astonish and inspire me. I may not always be able to pick you up, but we'll always be able to hold each other. You do what you need to do when you're ready; I'll take care of the rest.

Before and After

2010-08-19T22:35:00.003-06:00

My son's second birthday seems as good a reason as any to write for the first time in nearly a year.

Today we celebrated two years of life with my little Mighty Warrior. It gave me pause to think about life before and life after him. You hear comparisons about how it feels to become a mother — going from black-and-white to color or, as seems more relevant today, 2-D to 3-D. It's all true.

But what's harder to describe or pinpoint is when precisely the transition takes place. You could say it's the instant you see your child; maybe it is. Certainly the love at first sight is there. But whether you feel the Technicolor or 3-D right then depends on the person.

Inevitably one day, not long after your first bundle has arrived, you have a moment to stop and think about the before and after.

Before my son, I don't think that I knew true fear, true fearlessness, true sacrifice, true bliss — in a way, it's a bit like what C.S. Lewis called "the shadowlands." I had an idea of what all those things were, an even better idea once I got married. But parenthood took them to a new level.

The true wonder of it all is when the before and after start running together...or is it they both dissolve? In either case, it's not that you can't remember life before your child (I know he wasn't with me at my first church camp), but more that you can't remember living without him. It's like the idea or promise of my son has been a driving force in my life since I myself was a child. Time almost seems irrelevant in his existence. Is it because life begins with motherhood? Is it because motherhood changes your view of life? I don't care which. I'm only grateful it happened to me.

Since becoming a mother, I've been intrigued by romantic love songs that can double as mother/child love songs. This one, called "Fear of Heights" by Katie Melua, is my latest obsession.

I never walked near the edge
Used to fear falling
I never swam far from shore
Never tried the secret door
But When you give me love
When you give me love

I have no fear of heights,
No fear of the deep blue sea,
Athough it could drown me,
I know it could drown me

I didn't wander in the woods
Used to fear the darkness
I didn't like getting deep
I was scared of what I couldn't keep
But when you give me love
When you give me love

I have no fear...

No fear of the fall
No fear if it's with you that I fall
'cause nothing could break us,
No, nothing could break us, now

Lessons from the Lunch Room: Misc.

2009-09-29T14:05:00.005-06:00

• "Boys sure do come in strange packages" (that's a direct quote).

• It's probably best not to accept Facebook friend requests from 56-year-old men you don't know.

• Ignoring the person who's bugging you is the surest way to bug them.

• There's no shame in asking for help, even if it's just to tie your shoe or open your milk carton.

• Just because your brother is sweet and longsuffering doesn't mean you should take advantage by draping yourself all over him in front of his friends.

TV Land

2009-09-14T19:16:00.006-06:00

Admittedly, I watched a LOT of television over the weekend...more than I usually do and probably should. I blame most of it on the NFL season's kickoff. I'm in a Fantasy Football league this year and it's taken my interest in the NFL from fascination to infatuation. Among those on my team are Tom Brady, Larry Fitzgerald and Ladanian Tomlinson. I'm still in negotiations to get the Steeler defense. Go Seahawks!

I also watched the finale of HGTV's "Design Star" (yes, I'm a real Renaissance girl). Dan didn't win, but he should've.
I realize he didn't have a lot of exciting tattoos or make a lot of jokes during his reveals, but the guy could design your socks off. (It doesn't hurt that I have a 2-degrees-of-separation connection with him, like I did with that guy who almost won "America's Most Beautiful Person.") Antonio (who prevailed) always had one or two great concepts with every design, but Dan came to play and out-concepted Antonio every time. The HGTV judges should have taken a cue from Food Network and awarded star status to the person with the overall most talent, even if they're not the most "camera-ready."

The best thing I watched Sunday was the series finale of the most underrated comedy on network television: "King of the Hill." I didn't get teary at the end, even though it was an exceptional finale (sitcoms, take note!), but I did get a little sentimental thinking about Hank Hill -- arguably the most moral character on television is off the air and "The Family Guy," Hank's antithesis in every way, remains as popular as ever. Go figure. If you never got into "King of the Hill," I highly recommend you rent/Netflix/RedBox a season or two. I didn't have any interest in watching for the first few seasons it was on. But once you've seen a few episodes, you'll recognize the honest-to-goodness goodness and big heart of this little cartoon about a Texas family.

And lastly, a quick shout-out to Juan Martin Del Potro for doing the impossible and defeating Roger Federer at the U.S. Open. Hooray for the underdogs!

Three jeers for celebrities!

2009-09-13T22:24:00.001-06:00

Hip hip...boooooooo

1. Michael Jordan
2. Serena Williams
3. Kanye West

How to Stay Married 101

2009-09-09T14:34:00.001-06:00

First, and perhaps foremost, never (under any circumstances) allow a camera crew to follow your family around and air the footage as a reality show.

Class dismissed.

Linda's Meme

2009-09-03T15:12:00.002-06:00

This is one straight 2nd Cup of Coffee. Feel free to answer it in the comments or copy it on your own blog!

1. When you go to Wowmart, what one thing do you get every single time, besides a funky-wheeled squeaking cart full of frustration?
Parents Choice organic, biodegradable baby wipes. It's not easy being green..oh wait, it is!

2. What is something that people are currently "into" that you just don't get or appreciate?
"Big Brother." I think I'd literally rather watch paint dry.

3. What is something that really hoists your sail that other people might feel "ho-hum" about?
Starting a magazine -- well it used to be, anyway, before I had to give it up. The people I wanted to be most excited about it were "ho-hum" and sometimes vice-versa. Oh well. As the Stones would say, "You can't always get what you want."

4. Favorite song to sing in the shower or car?
Pretty much anything by Keane for the shower (their songs were tailor-made for awesome acoustics) and anything by David Crowder Band in the car. "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is pretty darn good, though.

5. A really great salad must have this ingredient:
Walnuts.

6. Advice in a nutshell to new bloggers (one or two sentences):
I am really not qualified to advise bloggers since I barely count as one!

7. What was the alternate name that your parents almost named you? Do you wish they had chosen it instead of the one they gave you?
Reagan. And I would've been fine with it. But I love my name -- my real name.

8. What in your life are you waiting for?
Word from the bank about a short-sale house we put an offer on. Boo short sales!

9. You get a package in the mail. What is it, and who is it from?
It is probably cloth diaper paraphernalia.

10. Today--what song represents you?
"Changes" by David Bowie.

11. What is one thing that blogging has taught you about yourself?
Two things: 1) I can be incredibly lazy and neglectful. 2) There is always something to write and write well about it if you're looking for it.

12. How are you going to (or how did you) choose the clothes you're wearing today? What do they say about you in general or specifically how you're feeling today?
I chose today's outfit based on what was clean and what looked nonpedestrian enough to wear in an elementary school cafeteria. I have exactly four shirts that fit the bill and two skirts (I need to hit Goodwill this weekend!). But it's a pretty little outfit, so I think it says "I feel pretty, Oh so pretty!"

Lessons from the Lunch Room: Forgiveness

2009-09-02T16:05:00.003-06:00

I've taken a very part-time job at a local elementary school as a lunch room monitor. That means I get to walk around with a walkie-talkie for about an hour and a half and make sure the kids get safely from the kitchen to their seats to the playground. It also means I interact with grade schoolers on a day-to-day basis. People are so interesting -- at any age.

My third day on the job and I had my first "mediation." Here's how it went down...

Boy 1: "That guy is telling everyone not to play with me."
Me: "Which guy?"
Boy 1: "That one" (pointing).
Me: "Hey, you in the white T-shirt, come here...Are you telling people not to play with him?"
Boy 2: "Yes."
Me: "Why?"
Boy 2: "Because he came to my house and showed me something he wasn't supposed to and said something else he wasn't supposed to. That's all I can say because there's people around. But I'm just trying to warn my friends."
Me: "This sounds like something you should discuss with the principal."
Boys 1 & 2: "No!"
Me: "OK...well, did he apologize for doing that?"
Boy 2: "No."
Boy 1: "Yes I did!"
Me: "Well, apparently he didn't hear you the first time. Why don't you apologize again."
Boy 1: "I'm sorry."
Boy 2: "OK."
Me: "There. It's over with now. You (looking at Boy 2) don't have to play with him, but you need to stop telling other people not to."
Boy 2: "OK."

Ode to the Bum

2009-08-28T13:35:00.006-06:00

I never pegged myself as a cloth-diaper kind of gal. Until my husband and I went window shopping to price disposables before our son arrived. Talk about sticker shock! And then of course there are the statistics about how many thousands of icky diapers just one baby contributes to landfills.

So now I am a cloth-diaper kind of gal. Which isn't as impressive as it was when we were kids. The ones they have now are so slick that they're almost as hassle-free as disposables.

Exhibit A: The BumGenius diaper

(and here's how its works: www.bumgenius.com/one-size.php)

Not to sound too advertise-y, but I love these diapers. I can throw the whole thing in the washer and dryer, and the insides stay sparkling white not matter "what." And, if you use a flushable liner between the baby's bum and the diper (like these ones), there's hardly ever a need to swish in the toilet -- a phrase that strikes fear in my husband's heart.

There you have it. There are hundreds of Web sites and online communities devoted to cloth diapering; I'm not quite at that level. But we like them and they work for us. So I just thought I'd share.

Baby blues

2009-08-19T18:16:00.005-06:00

My dear son,

Exactly one year ago, we met for the first time and couldn't take our eyes off each other.

Exactly one year ago, we were both puffy and tired and looked like we'd been through a war.

Exactly one year ago tonight, I already knew your cry from any other baby's in the world.

Exactly one year ago this minute, you were born and my life changed the instant I stared into those sweet baby blues.

I love you, sweet boy! If only I had the eloquence to describe exactly how you've made my world 100% brighter and more meaningful in a short 365 days. Words just won't do. So I will have to resign myself to hugging and kissing you every day for the rest of my life.

But don't you step on my blue suede shoes

2009-08-14T20:04:00.002-06:00

If he were born about 10 years earlier, I'd swear my kid was the prototype for "dancing baby" made famous by "Ally McBeal"

I likes my cookbooks like I likes my men

2009-08-04T15:04:00.006-06:00

OK, that's not true at all. The cookbooks I like are old and idealistic. My husband is neither.

But my Superman does have a few things in common with the vintage cookbooks I've developed a fetish for: Colorful, efficient and a good dose of eye-candy.

A year or so ago I was able to curb my seemingly insatiable appetite for old-time cookbooks of the '50s and '60s. I told myself to walk on by the book department at second-hand shops. I held off for a year. I knew it couldn't last.

Here are my latest finds:

I love this little entry in the holiday book:

In case you can't read it, the passage says "To make Combination-salad Baskets (like those served at McDonald's Tea Room)..." Yes, because that's a timeless reference we all can understand!

Another favorite of mine is the Betty Crocker party book.

But the Better Homes and Gardens Salad Book just might take the cake for most creative (or weirdest) set of recipes. These folks were all about the gelatin molds! Check out this inexplicable idea for a salad.

Shredded cabbage and gelatin ought never to be uttered in the same sentence. But then again, that's half the fun of these books.

Toast: A Lesson Learned

2009-07-14T14:14:00.004-06:00

There is a fine line between polite and rude. Scratch that -- sometimes we get them downright backward.

Back in college, I traveled to Scotland on spring break with three buddies of mine. We were fortunate to be able to stay many of our nights with friends of my sister (girlfriday). All these folks were inexplicably hospitable to four strangers -- a testament to my sister, no doubt. At any rate we felt right at home wherever we were and enjoyed their company immensely.

One morning in Pencaitland, Mark (our host at that home) made us all coffee and a hearty breakfast. When we'd been eating for awhile, he asked if we'd like more toast. "No thank you, this is plenty." A few minutes later my friend and I passed through the kitchen on our way to the bathroom and noticed a stack of freshly buttered toast lying in a waste basket.

Oh dear.

I never forgot that. It is how I learned the hard way that politely refusing something is not always polite at all. Often the most gracious thing you can do is accept more.

This past weekend, months of planning a high school reunion with three other girls came to fruition. I haven't processed it well enough yet to discuss much. But hosting a large event does give you a unique perspective into social morays. For instance, it is impolite to register and pay for an event but then not show up. "But I've paid and don't want my money back," you say. No matter. While we like having your money in the bank, it's no substitute for adding your warm body to our numbers.

The night of our first event we had trays and trays of cookies, brownies and cupcakes leftover. Luckily we were able to finish them off at the next day's event. Then the next evening after about two and half hours at the semiformal dinner, nearly two-thirds of the crowd left to hit the club scene downtown. Again, it's really no skin off our nose financially that they left -- food has been bought and eaten. But we had planned music, dancing, etc. for an entire evening.

So, the next time you're thinking of canceling your plans somewhere because you're sure there are enough other people attending or you're thinking of leaving prematurely because you've made an appearance, remember your hard-working hosts. Please don't make us throw away the toast.

"As the music of the universe plays..."

2009-06-26T13:53:00.003-06:00

I watched part of a special on PBS the other night called "Science and Song." It followed a group of scientists and Bobbie McFerrin as they explored the uniqueness of music to human beings and postulated on why it might exist. The discussions were evolution-based, of course, and the best guess they had was that music connects us to one another -- which makes it necessary from an evolutionary standpoint (I guess).

But it went deeper than that. One scientist spoke of "The String Theory" and the idea that every particle of matter contains a string that vibrates, not unlike a piano string. So we essentially have music in us, which might explain how music can affect us so powerfully and make me want to weep after five measures of a cello solo. Not only that, but virtually everything in the universe emits its own pitch -- it's just so low that human ears can't hear it. Human ears can't hear it. A black hole, for instance, makes a B flat. But it's dozens of octaves lower than any B flat we play.

So this got me thinking: The universe is essentially one big song. And I believe music was God's way of letting us in on it all. I was reminded of Lewis' gorgeous narrative in "The Magician's Nephew" where Aslan sang Narnia's stars into existence. Or in Job when God asks "where were you...when the morning stars sang together and the sons of God shouted for joy?" (Job 38:7). Then, as providence would have it, I was out driving as the song "Cannons" came on my car stereo. I was stopped at a red light and couldn't help but grin as I noticed the branches in the trees swaying back and forth in perfect time to this melody...

It's falling from the clouds
A strange and lovely sound
I hear it in the thunder and rain
It's ringing in the skies
Like cannons in the night
The music of the universe plays

You are holy, great and mighty
The moon and the stars declare who you are
I'm so unworthy, but still you love me
Forever my heart will sing of how great you are

Beautiful and free
Song of galaxies
It's reaching far beyond the milky way
Let's join in with the sound
C'mon let's sing it loud
As the music of the universe plays

You are holy, great and mighty
The moon and the stars declare who you are
I'm so unworthy, but still you love me
Forever my heart will sing of how great you are

'Shack' attack

2009-06-10T09:51:00.005-06:00

I've done it -- I have read "The Shack." The Christian work of fiction has grown exponentially in popularity since it was published just two years ago. I hadn't heard of it until last winter when a friend from my Bible study mentioned it. Once I started reading it, I was amazed at how many people I would talk to in passing who'd also picked it up. Its popularity hasn't come without its share of controversy, for reasons I won't go into here for fear of giving away too much.

What you should remember going in, and keep in mind as you read, is that this is a work of fiction; it is essentially the author's imagining of what a conversation with God might look/sound/feel like. As long as you read it with that frame of mind you'll avoid the two extremes of either embracing it like the Gospel itself or rejecting it as presumptuous heresy.

I throughly liked "The Shack." The questions it asks are important and the answers are provocative. There are so many noteworthy themes — I can't even scratch the surface on this blog. But something that really resonated with me is the idea that legalism and ritual-based religion often amounts to a declaration of independence from God. How's that? Well, the more you take upon yourself to do in efforts to please God, the less you depend on Him; apart from Him we can do nothing, remember? As the book puts it, "independence is lunacy" when it comes to the way God created our relationship with Him to be like.

And there's no point saying "God is my top priority," because how much Bible study/prayer/etc. is ever "enough"? The more we know God and give up our independence to rest in Him, the more He's in all of our priorities.

There is certainly nothing wrong with church, a church building and church leadership. But rules and rituals have never healed any of humanity's wounds or brought us closer to God. Religion didn't die on the cross, Jesus did. As a perfect cherry-on-top to finishing the book, my husband and I visited a church Sunday while on vacation. It's as if the sermon was the bridge in a song I'd been learning while I read the book.

Channeling your energy into whether you're keeping the Sabbath correctly or drinking alcohol too frequently just misses the point. There is no power in religious legalism but the power to bind ourselves. The heart of Christianity is a constant conversation with God — no folded hands or closed eyes necessary — and a surrender to grace. It is then and only then that our lights so shine before men that they see our good works and glorify the Father (not us).

So consider that my book report for the year.

^"16 So let no one judge you in food or in drink, or regarding a festival or a new moon or sabbaths, ¹⁷which are a shadow of things to come, but the substance is of Christ. ¹⁸ Let no one cheat you of your reward, taking delight in false humility and worship of angels, intruding into those things which he has not seen, vainly puffed up by his fleshly mind, ¹⁹ and not holding fast to the Head, from whom all the body, nourished and knit together by joints and ligaments, grows with the increase that is from God.
²⁰ Therefore, if you died with Christ from the basic principles of the world, why, as though living in the world, do you subject yourselves to regulations— ²¹“Do not touch, do not taste, do not handle,” ²² which all concern things which perish with the using—according to the commandments and doctrines of men? ²³ These things indeed have an appearance of wisdom in self-imposed religion, false humility, and neglect of the body, but are of no value against the indulgence of the flesh."

{Colossians 2:16-23}

It's kind of a big deal

2009-06-03T15:28:00.004-06:00

"Since the dawn of time..."

Isn't that the best way to start a sentence? Well, pretty much since the dawn of time, God has been very specific about the ways we were to (and *not* to) partake in sexual activity. Man-woman-marriage-period (well, a few extra wives here and there plus a couple concubines was palatable). From what I've studied, this was a pretty rare idea among ancient religions. Why do you think this is?

I've often thought about how things changed from the Old Testament to the New, in terms of "the law." Many of the rules were thrown out. Forbidden foods can now be enjoyed with a clear conscience, circumcision is optional, etc. But the rules about sex didn't change: man-woman-marriage-period. And it seems the model was made even stronger with more focus one ONE man and ONE woman.

Sex is a big deal to God, for one reason or another. I have some theories about why, but I'm much more interested in hearing other people's thoughts on the matter, since mine are vague at best. Circumcision used to be a sign of God's promise living in you, and there was a time when you were what you ate (almost literally). But all of that changed, or rather was fulfilled, with Christ's death. What is it about sex?

Depth-deprived post

2009-05-22T14:25:00.012-06:00

I enjoy television. In fact, there is some television I really enjoy.

There. I said it. How very pedestrian of me. As anti-intellectual as it seems to some people to "like" watching television, the fact is we all have our diversions. And while mine certainly aren't limited to the small screen, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I partake frequently. And every year about this time, most of the best programming takes a vacation. It's a sad fact in the entertainment industry, but true nonetheless. So indulge for a few minutes while I explore the oh-so-shallow corners of television I will miss for the next few months:

I'm glad he won. I wouldn't call myself a fan of "American Idol," but I would call myself a music fan and good-clean-television fan. So here we are. Kris Allen was my favorite for some time, and I'll never forgot his rendition of "Falling Slowly."

I definitely won't be on pins and needles waiting for the next season. I always skip the auditions, anyway. I just like to hear these kids sing.

I AM, however, a fan of "LOST." This season's finale left me with so many mixed emotions. It also left me with a sense of appreciation for the writers. The two-hour episode they crafted was masterful and chock-full of Biblical allusions. Did Juliet pull it off?

The only other two shows I watch religiously (apart from Jeopardy and almost anything on the Food Network) are "The Office" and "30 Rock," whose finales were also off-the-charts good this year. The way they handled Jim and Pam's "news" was perfect. Both shows lagged a little mid-season for some reason, but ended strong. Let's get Alan Alda that kidney!

So now I've gotten it out of system and can go on with my summer. Thank goodness cooking shows don't take vacation!

Onnnne...twoooooooo..............three

2009-05-18T13:20:00.004-06:00

I've never been a big fan of the "counting method" in childcare. I mean no offense to anyone who uses it as a form of discipline (or threat of discipline, rather), but to me it's always seemed like permission for a child to misbehave for three, five or 10 more seconds. "You stop that tantrum! I'm going to count to three..."

No doubt I am a little biased because my parents never counted with us. It was first time or the highway. I think it stuck, for the most part. But Sunday morning I got to thinking about grown-up misbehavior and how God might view it.

Driving to church I was having nothing short of an adult tantrum. I was in a snit (for no good reason, of course) and I could feel my frown lines setting up camp around my mouth. It was not pretty. My tantrums don't look like a child's version — instead of loud yells and stamped-down feet it's a lot of eye rolling and abrupt conversation.

The worst part about an adult tantrum is that you know you shouldn't be having it and know you'd happier if you just let go. But it's easier said than done, and I thought about God looking on as this mood reared its ugly head. Is there any excuse at this point in my life not to stop immediately and fix my attitude? I think not. And I'm pretty sure he thinks not, as well.

So God isn't into "one, two, three." The only number I'm glad He IS into is 70 times 7!

I wanna quit the gym!

2009-05-14T13:47:00.004-06:00

Gyms are notoriously hard to quit. I learned this from watching "Friends" (where I learned a lot of important things, such as the importance of saying the right name in your wedding vows). Since Superman and I are trying to trim whatever fat we can find in our monthly budget, I decided to quit our gym. It sounded so easy.

Except that you can't quit this gym — not unless you move outside a 25 mile radius of said gym. Not no way, not no how. There isn't a penalty you can pay for opting out of your contract. What you CAN do, however, is find someone to take over your membership. As luck would have it, my brother has been interested in joining said gym. OK, now we're talking.

Almost.

On my end, I'm told the contract I signed runs out next February and there is a transfer charge for my brother to take it over (but no monthly tacked-on charge that would apply to non-immediate family). On his end, brother dearest is told that my contract doesn't run out until next May and there is a monthly charge in addition to the one-time charge.

My brother is a lawyer. Heh heh. One way or another, we were going to get this worked out. And when I say "we," I mean my brother while I stand by and watch. Here's how I did it and you can do it too!
1) Lean against the wall and look confused.
2) Disagree with any fact the sales guy reads off a computer screen.
3) Back down from your stance when they prove your memory is worse than you thought.
4) Nod at whatever your brother says and say "That sounds right" repeatedly.
5) Remember that these are sales guys and they want to get a long-term contract signed no matter what.
6) Watch your brother get a sweet monthly deal.
7) Walk out of the gym for the last time and kiss rock-hard abs goodbye.

Three Men and a Lady

2009-05-11T21:12:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I enjoyed the first Mother's Day of my life that honored me. And while my existence is the product of countless ancestors, there are essentially four people that made my motherhood possible. This post is for them...

To my mother, who once told me that one of her great callings is to act as an extension of God for her children in this life; whose generosity virtually has no end; who talked to me like a human being and not a child when I was small; who didn't get to have a mommy comfort her in the delivery room; who has shown more resiliency through what life's thrown at her than anyone I know; who tells me I'm pretty and tells my son how lucky he is to have me.

To my father, whose unyielding warmth made it hard for me to believe in gruff father figures; who let me dance on his feet in the kitchen no matter my age; who challenged me with questions and taught me to argue intelligently; who worked his ever-loving hiney off to put food in four little tummies; who never stopped caring or asking about any activity I undertook; who taught me never to settle for a man who withholds affection.

To my husband, who whisks me away to ice cream when we feel our poorest; who makes me laugh like a giddy school girl — the same way I did when we were dating; who comes home from an 8-hour day to eat and play with us before going back to work on the computer until very late; who plays even goofier with the baby than I do; who calls home once a day just to say "hi"; who would rather be home than any place else in the world; who doesn't waver.

To my son, who has conversations with me all day without saying a word; who's really smiling at me and not the camera when I take pictures; who came out just as wide-eyed as he is today; whose impossibly blue eyes could stop my heart; who already displays athleticism; who would rather socialize than just about anything; who touches my face when I feed him and gently strokes my hair; who makes me yearn for long talks at the dinner table.

Thank you all for making me the mother I am today.

Going in circles

2009-05-07T19:32:00.006-06:00

Snobbery is something, isn't? A distant cousin of prejudice, it feeds off the excess of an over-inflated ego and its motto is "Thank Goodness I'm Not Like That."

As I was watching the Kentucky Derby last weekend, I thought how it essentially boils down to watching people race around an oblong track. Then I thought how many Derby goers may be the type who look down their noses at NASCAR fans. You know, the folks who sit in the stands and...watch people...race around an oblong track. And then I thought about the snobbery of some NASCAR fans who scoff at the properness of sitting in the stands to...watch people...race around an oblong track.

It's funny, isn't it? I realize that car racing and horse racing are two very different animals (no pun intended). And I also know there are plenty of fans on both sides who hold no such prejudice. But you've got to know the attitude's out there. I mean, we are human and these are two very different groups of people (by rule). Naturally there's always room for some well-placed snobbery.

But I'm reminded again of how all too easy it is to scoff at what we don't understand and turn our noses up at what we've never experienced. Dale Earnhardt, Gary Stevens...there's enough toxic activity in the "real world" to go around. Why would we invite it into our diversions? I know as much about thoroughbreds as I do about pit crews (which is almost nothing). But I do know that snobbery and sports shouldn't mix.

Under construction

2009-05-05T22:45:00.003-06:00

Is there anything on earth that arouses more irrational anger than unexpected road construction? I wish I had a nickel for every time I rolled my eyes and said not-so-nice things under my breath while the "men at work" told me to slow down. And every time I have to talk myself down from the cliffs of insanity by remembering that the end result is worth it.

I would argue that the irrational anger has increased exponentially as our culture advances further into the era of instant everything. Forget coffee--we've got instant communication, instant fame. Instant, instant, instant.

Will my children see the value in investing four years of their lives for a college degree? Will they be willing to actually earn a strong friendship with months of work?

And what about me? It's hard enough to put down the third cookie today so I might fit into a size smaller jeans next month. Let alone reading more than a chapter in the Bible more than three days a week to become a better human being. God may as well be wearing an orange vest and holding a sign that says "Be Prepared to Stop."

Here's hoping we are prepared to stop. If only to imagine a better road in the distance.

P.S. Did you see who's back in the blogosphere? Always a good read!

News of note

2009-04-22T13:16:00.004-06:00

Here is a conglomeration of headlines and tidbits I think are interesting from the last week or so.

First is up is this research, which concluded that people who look happy in their senior yearbook pictures are more likely to be happily married. I hope it's not true in our case, because I would be waking up blissfully happy every morning next to a love-starved, Mr. Grinch wannabe.

In case I was a fan of Janeanne Garofolo before, I'm not now, thanks to this tirade. And Jackie Chan isn't winning any points with me either!

I also thought it was interesting how Miss California got raked across the coals for (gasp) answering a question. One more reason I'll never go to Perez Hilton's Web site. But I thought this commentary articulated the real issue here.

And finally, I'm glad to see Jake Plummer is picking up the pigskin again. I love that he's doing it because he wants to and not because he couldn't stay away -- he doesn't even miss the NFL. Good luck, Jake the Snake!

Endangered species

2009-04-18T00:00:00.004-06:00

I plan to write soon on the slow death of real American journalism. But in the meantime, I thought the opening paragraphs of this movie review articulate my sentimentality quite well.

License to Wed

2009-04-11T21:26:00.003-06:00

A few weeks back I was watching the panel show Oprah does every Friday. Her special guest was Jenny McCarthy, who had some thoughts about marriage, mainly that it should be treated like a driver's license: expiring every four years with the option to renew.

Well shoot. Looks like I'll have to abandon my "Do Whatever Jenny McCarthy Does" life philosophy.

Right off the bat, I gotta say this advice would seem a lot more interesting if it came from someone who was -- oh, I don't know -- married? But honestly, what a fun idea! No muss, no fuss marriages. Just stay as long as you like and as long as it "works." Sounds like a good deal to me!

I find this idea particularly mystifying coming from a mother, which McCarthy happens to be. She's been seriously involved with Jim Carrey for some time now and often beams about how good he is with her young son. I wonder how that little guy would feel if the men in his mother's life entered and exited every few years?

And therein lies the problem. No man is an island -- especially no parent. The fact of the matter is that marriage (or at the very least some kind of Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russel arrangement) has been and continues to be the best model for raising children. That doesn't mean other can't succeed with flying colors or that some marriages are kind of a joke. Obviously there are circumstances beyond our control that prevent this arrangement. I get that. But what's wrong with it being an ideal?

Deciding whether we want to mate for life is one of many things that separates us from the animals. It should come as no surprise to you that I pull for the lifetime thing. I realize it is an ideal and that it's not for everyone. But if you are married with children (and barring abuse or wanton infidelity) I believe you should do everything in your power to stay that way. Everything. Why? Because what people in this day and age refuse to acknowledge is that your mate is your family -- no more and no less than your own children. Your mutual flesh and blood created their flesh and blood. You are all connected.

Just because we choose our mates doesn't make them any less related to us and thereby easier to abandon. What if we only left our spouses for the same reasons we'd disown our own siblings? In my opinion, that's how it should be.

And in the words of Tim Gunn, "Make it work."

Dry well

2009-01-07T21:38:00.003-07:00

I lack creative inspiration and motivation right now. Could you tell? I fear I must take a (hopefully) brief hiatus from blogging. I'm tired and busy and unfocused...none of which are great excuses. But who wants to read lame posts? No I. And likely not you, either. Of course I'll still be surfing in on your blogs, but mine will be static for awhile.
P.S. Happy 2009 :)

A recognition he never craved

2008-12-23T11:57:00.004-07:00

Here are 10 things you may not know about Saint Nicholas (also known as "Good Nicholas"):

• He lived almost 1,700 years ago
• He didn't know when everyone was sleeping or awake
• He lived in Turkey
• He never owned a single reindeer
• He was a bishop
• He was imprisoned for his devout Christianity and exonerated by Constantine
• He never set foot in the North Pole
• He believed deeply in helping the needy
• It is said his "do-gooding" was often done in disguise because of his modesty. And this is what we've turned him into:

What a pity that the man himself represented the true meaning of Christmas far better than the myth -- that blessing is doled out not according to one's naughty-or-niceness, but out of mercy. Let us all reflect on the event 2,000 years ago that still stands as the ultimate gift of mercy.

Merry Christmas!

Good shoes

2008-12-19T19:49:00.004-07:00

My husband and I got into the strangest "discussion" awhile back. It was one of those where you start off on one thing and end up on another, inconsequential topic that puts someone on the defensive. The issue at hand was whether I would even want high-quality, expensive shoes when all I buy are Payless fare (not that there's anything wrong with that).

I like shoes just fine, but a Carrie Bradshaw I am not. I certainly don't display my shoes in a place of honor (you all remember my "ode to piles"). But one needs shoes to tromp about outside and keep one's toes warm, so shoes are necessary above all. The trouble comes when I have to budget for a new pair and can't justify paying a half-month's spending money on them. Yes, I'm one of those people who raise their eyebrows at a price tag of more than $15 or $20. And because I rarely go shoe shopping, I get so obsessed with finding the one perfectly versatile pair, that I drive myself crazy and leave the store empty-handed.

Quality is more important than quantity -- it's not like I have that mixed up. The number of shoes I own wouldn't turn anyone's head. But I run into a wall when it comes to buying shoes.

This is where the conversation took us, harmlessly enough. But for some reason I started acting upset, even wounded. It's not that what my husband pointed out wasn't painfully obvious. I just suddenly became very melancholy at the prospect of never needing "good" shoes again.

The one career-oriented goal I had seems like an old faded picture. And the fanciest place I go is to church. Not that I'm complaining; I love being a mom and spending the bulk of every day in a thick pair of socks. I'm simply looking at my life now and squinting down the road ahead, trying to imagine an occasion for which I'd need a really good pair of shoes -- except for perhaps sneakers (my go-to footwear for running errands).

Will I never need an excellent pair of sleek, black pumps again? Will I venture into some outing that requires tough, waterproof sandals? Does it matter?

Why it's probably good that I don't have too much time/money on my hands

2008-12-06T14:53:00.002-07:00

'Tis the season

2008-11-26T16:00:00.000-07:00

You and what army?

2008-11-21T15:44:00.003-07:00

I'm not a stupid person. I like to think I'm even a bit smart. But I have yet to grasp exactly what the construction sign to my left fully means. I see it in a construction zone on the Interstate. "DO NOT FOLLOW TRUCKS." OK. Shall I just slam on my breaks if I find myself behind one? Or should I flip a U-ie and start driving the opposite direction? What are these mysterious trucks I'm not supposed to follow? And what precisely does "follow" mean? Perhaps that Darigold semi yesterday was just a form of entrapment by the local PD.

Heart (and soul and all your insides) on your sleeve

2008-11-14T00:07:00.003-07:00

The hardest part about being a new parent isn't the stark change of lifestyle that has you pre-planning a five-minute trip to the gas station. It isn't the amount of patience it takes to get up from and go back to bed five times in one hour. The hardest part about being a new parent (or "old" parent I suspect) is the complete and utter vulnerability that instantly becomes you.

Every time I lift my child from his crib, it washes over me, this rawness and exposure: I wonder how I'll react if one day he looks at me and that light in his eyes is gone; I try to imagine how we'll afford the lawyer who has to defend me for what I'll do to the person who hurts him; I think if I loved him any more, the lump in my throat would travel down to my heart and explode it.

The gravity of parenthood is scary at times. You try not to let your mind wander to worse-case scenarios in an effort to keep your sanity.

This vulnerability isn't all that different from what comes with falling in love. In romance, you trust another person with some of your deepest emotions; you show them parts of who you are and believe they won't look away. Talk about risk. It's hard, and it's a wonder we ever do it all! I kind of get why people become hermits and close up their hearts. The sting of loss is a deep one, and sometimes "It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all" sounds more promising the other way around. Yet the majority mankind continues to expose itself in this way because the reward outweighs the risk.

And so it is with my baby. For every moment of intense, irrational anxiety, there is a stronger moment of joy when I see the huge smile on his face that I and I alone put there. There's nothing like the crazy, boundless bliss of holding that tiny body that's half-me and kissing his warm head. It's intoxicating -- intoxicating enough to overwhelm the crippling anxieties. Every wonderful moment I've had in my life comes pouring out in a moment, like Champaign that's just been uncorked.

But to get there, I had to expose myself.

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
{Elizabeth Stone}

2008-11-05T20:30:00.001-07:00

On with the show

2008-11-05T10:19:00.002-07:00

No matter what side of the aisle you found yourself on at the polls yesterday, I think the image below is what stuck with me last night. This is very cool.

Heavy heart

2008-11-03T13:24:00.002-07:00

Who hasn't said this presidential campaign's made them tired or even stressed? There are some passionate candidate supporters out there, so it's no wonder. But it's more than that for me; this election season (or is it decade?) has made me sad.

There is something exciting and attractive about the idea of getting gung-ho for a horse in the race. There's a spark, an invigoration that comes with pulling for one side and cheering your little heart out for someone you believe in. Unfortunately, I lack said spark, invigoration and pom-poms. Part of it comes from not being as political as I was when I was younger, and part of it comes from not being enamored with the options at hand.

Over the past month or so I've grown literally sad as I channelsurfed to cable news networks, read magazine covers and sifted through politically-charged e-mails among my family -- sad because of the conflict, derision and downright nastiness. The sadness has even brought me to tears at times.

For whom should I vote? Should I vote? Sometimes I really like what he has to say. Sometimes I don't think there's much to his platform. Sometimes I think he's really earned this. Sometimes I think there's something to all this his hype. Sometimes I think I can sacrifice some important issues to me for others. Sometimes I think there's no room for me to compromise.

The stress began to take its toll. I ate more and breathed less. I struggled to find the real root of it all. I'm not sure I accomplished that, but I came close. See this year, my family is divided politically and I don't remember the last time that happened. It's put me in a mental and emotional tailspin. Not because I poll my family before casting a vote, but because there used to be more idealogical unity. And like some kind of decoder toy from a cereal box, this election has revealed yet another way my family has changed and moved further apart -- like the tektonic plates shifting.

So I hope people don't think I'm un-American for not wanting to vote at all (though I think I finally found the will to). It has more to do with family ties and less to do with citizenship. I've been to loyal to each my whole life, and this is the first time they've gotten all jumbled up together. Should I be able to separate them in my mind? Probably. So pray that I can. As I'm praying that blood is thicker than ink on a scantron sheet.

Funniest complaint heard about toilet tissue yesterday through the wall of a Shopko restroom stall:

2008-11-01T21:40:00.002-06:00

"Ugh. It's paper-thin!"

When you're right, you're right

2008-10-28T10:19:00.002-06:00

Remember my posts here and on Girlfriday? I knew I wasn't crazy:
McCain getting hammered on late-night TV

Sighhhhhhhh

2008-10-26T11:45:00.001-06:00

"Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter."

{Carol Bishop Hipps}

Lois E. Lane = Aspiring A-political

2008-10-24T14:26:00.003-06:00

I don't want to start a political commenting war; I genuinely just want to ask people's honest opinions. Does first thing = first priority?

Really, Matt? You NEED to know?

2008-10-23T11:54:00.003-06:00

Check out this clip. Damon obviously has some strong opinions about Sarah Palin and isn't afraid to voice them -- that's all well and good. But listen to the end of his comments. They're so convoluted and non-sequiter it makes me want to laugh. Or is it cry? Or is it cry from laughing so hard? Either way, he sounds ridiculous in the truest sense of the word.

Four years ago right now

2008-10-16T11:46:00.003-06:00

I sat in a warm apartment having my hair done by Superman's very accommodating cousin, looking out a huge sliding glass door at one of the best views in the city. I was calm and happy. All the night-before worries and last-minute stresses had dissolved into my tears when I went to bed. This is what it had all come to -- not just six months of planning and anticipating, but more than 20 years of dreaming about and praying for the man I would marry. It wasn't a perfect day by any means, at least not technically so. Flowers were forgotten, pastries were pillaged. But the glow of love from family and friends created its own brand of perfection. And, of course, the perfectly wonderful man that danced with me four years ago tonight.

Of course I care...

2008-10-09T11:48:00.002-06:00

...but arguably not enough to actually vote next month. My high school government teacher would just as soon flunk me for that -- good thing he's not my teacher any more. I do, however, believe in praying for God's wisdom in the mind of whomever our leader is, because He ultimately "picks" him or her anyway. I just don't think I have the energy or heart for enough intelligent research to back up a vote of confidence.

"How small, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure."
~ Samuel Johnson

S.W.A.K.

2008-10-08T14:04:00.004-06:00

Don't let anyone tell you there's anything sweeter or cuter than baby kisses, because there isn't.

My son is already an excellent kisser (I'm sure he'll love to hear that declaration replayed when he's in junior high). He figured out very early what kisses were and how to get more: Open your mouth and throw your head back.

I'd always been told about the intensity of affection mothers feel for their children, but it's so much better experienced than told about -- not unlike a U2 concert or Double-Stuff Oreos. Anyway, even more than the kisses and coos, what gets to me is the eye contact. My Special K looks at me in a way no one ever has before. It's overwhelming. I hesitate to use the word "romantic," but it's in the same ballpark.

In fact, I often marvel at some of parallels between falling in love with your mate and falling in love with your baby. As with your mate when you've only known each other for a short while, there's this sort of infatuation you feel with your child and you can't get enough of him. You hang on every sound and live for every smile. And you want to document every moment in your diary so it's never forgotten. Sigh.

I'll leave you with the lyrics to a song by the artist Plumb, who captures the heart of young motherhood strikingly well on her album "Blink." This is "My Sweet, My Lovely."

I tiptoe
Hush hush...
Pitter pat
Goes my heart...
Your beauty
Your innocence

Joy is found
With every kiss

My sweet, my lovely
My sweet, my lovely
So sweet, so lovely
Close your eyes
Close your eyes
Close your eyes
Close your eyes

I stare into
The bluest eyes
Time stands still in
Your smile
You weren't there
And now you're here

I dreamed of you
But I never know how...sweet and lovely

My sweet, my lovely
So sweet, so lovely
Close your eyes
Close your eyes
Close your eyes
Close your eyes

Crossing the line

2008-09-30T16:05:00.003-06:00

I've recently started to bemoan the state of comedy "satire" on television (see my post at girlfriday), in that it's rapidly downgraded itself from smart-as-a-whip, even-handed observationism to poorly-disguised liberal activism. I don't care if people are liberal or conservative when I watch them on TV. But seriously, folks? "SNL," "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report" just aren't that funny any more.

Beyond TV comics is an even more irritating and sometimes infuriating trend -- that of Hollywood celebrities dispensing anti-Bush venom like verbal diarrhea. Did you watch the Emmys a couple weeks back? WAY too political, people. We, the viewing public, tune in to see who's winning which award, not to hear for the bazillionth time that (insert name of female celebrity) has no respect for the current administration and (insert name of male celebrity) thinks Bush is a buffoon. We get it -- really.

People having and expressing opinions doesn't bother me. Afterall, it's their right in this country to do just that! But the Hollywood "intellectual elite" (I mean, they must be intellectually elite if they're voting for Obama) is walking up to the line of common decency and taking one giant step over it.

Guess who pays to watch your movies? Guess whose viewership boosts your TV ratings? Ours. And guess who the majority of "us" voted for in the last election? Yep -- George W. Bush. So when you stand on stage spouting your vendetta-like disapproval of our country's leaders, you're forgetting this isn't a dictatorship (as much as you'd like to liken it to one). The US of A elects its officials -- by and for the people.

So thank you, Hollywood elite, for the constant barrage of insults. Not only are you richer and better-looking than us regular folk, you're clearly smarter. And you aren't about to let us forget it.

On the first day of autumn...

2008-09-24T10:06:00.003-06:00

...I took my son for a walk outside and around a local shopping center. While strolling down a particularly long and straight stretch of sidewalk, I spotted a small whirlwind of leaves making its way in our direction. I kept walking toward my destination as the leaves danced right into my path and collided with us. Autumn had tipped its hat to me and said, "Hello old friend."

Thank you for the fine welcome!

"We love Him because He first loved us"

2008-09-22T16:33:00.002-06:00

That scripture has never been as real to me as it is now as a parent. My son ("Special K") does not yet love me, at least on a working level. But he needs me. I provide comfort and sustenance. I will always pick him up when he cries, feed him when he's hungry and tell him how special he is, even though he can't comprehend my words. One day, when he is able, he will at last know what it means to love me.

And so it is with God. Before we really know Him, how can we have any grasp at all of what He feels toward us? We take and take and take. And yet, like the unconditional love of a parent, He never stops giving. He carries us when we cry, feeds us when we're hungry and tells us how special we are, even though we can't comprehend His words. Until one day we are able to love Him back.

We cannot possibly think this is an "all things being equal" kind of relationship. He loves us because He's our father. Period. We are tiny, helpless children until we know Him. Then, and only then, do we love Him...because He first loved us.

Landslide

2008-09-16T11:25:00.004-06:00

My son is 4 weeks old now. My how the time flies. But we've earned every minute of it, mind you, with all the sleeplessness and adoration that young parenthood should comprise. Since day one, I have found myself overwhelmed with emotionally charged thoughts:

How do I take in his whole bodily appearance so that I can keep up with the changes?

What will I do with myself when he no longer welcomes my motherly kisses?

Will I ever sleep soundly again knowing he's alive and vulnerable in a dangerous world?

How on earth am I doing to handle how quickly time goes by? I already miss him.

Is there any way to prevent him from ever hurting himself? Surely there must be.

Yet in the midst of these deeply emotional questions we grapple with, thank the Lord for the thoughts that keep us sane -- like the promise of wearing zippered pants again.

Here, here

2008-09-04T15:01:00.000-06:00

"A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on."
~ Carl Sandburg

Some Enchanted Evening

2008-08-25T14:48:00.004-06:00

I have a son.

Wow...that's an amazing sentence to type. Well I do and he is just the best thing ever. Seriously, sliced bread has nothing on this little guy. Childbirth is a deeply personal experience, so I wont be posting the thousands of little details that made it so extraordinary for me. But strangely enough, the song that comes to my head when I think of those first few moments my baby was drawing breath is "Some Enchanted Evening" from the musical "South Pacific."

You see, our little bundle was born in the early evening hours. Labor was long and the moment they set his slippery body on my belly is a bit of a blur (the last part happens very fast, as you mothers can attest to). But after they took him away to the far corner of the room to clean him up and check his vitals, I looked over in his direction and strained to sneak a peak between all the nurses' bodies.

And suddenly, like I was part of some old romantic story, everything around me went dark -- except the path of my sight to his, in which there was a glow. He was looking at me as I was looking at him.

I know, I know. Say what you will about infants not being able to focus their eyes that far in front of them. But we looked at each each other. His eyes were so wide, so gorgeous, so intense. I can't imagine ever forgetting that moment.

Some enchanted evening
You may see a stranger,
you may see a stranger
Across a crowded room
And somehow you know,
You know even then
That somewhere you'll see [him]
Again and again.

Some enchanted evening
Someone may be laughin',
You may hear [him] laughin'
Across a crowded room
And night after night,
As strange as it seems
The sound of [his] laughter
Will sing in your dreams.

Who can explain it?
Who can tell you why?
Fools give you reasons,
Wise men never try.

Morning has broken...

2008-08-19T05:22:00.002-06:00

I will miss feeling the tiny tidal wave inside my belly

I won't miss singing into the ears of someone I can't see

I will miss (believe it or not) my belly as community property

I won't miss end-of-term doctor "exams"

I will miss unsolicited back and foot rubs

I won't miss feeling like a watched pot

And I can't wait

A Brave, Un-Special World

2008-08-04T14:17:00.002-06:00

I saw a TV ad for the Special Olympics a few weeks back and it really made an impression on me -- partly because it was a great commercial and partly because I'm pregnant.

You see, I heard about a statistic, which was verified in this New York Times article. According to the May 2007 story, 90% of women who are told their child has Down syndrome choose to terminate their pregnancies.

It's honestly hard for me to think of anything I've read recently that's more disturbing and utterly horrendous than that. I don't like abortion as it is, but throwing away a human life over Down syndrome? Really? In this age of conservationism, there is nothing more wasteful.

I know everyone is different and has a different world view, but as a mother in waiting it's difficult to imagine what on earth I could find out about my unborn child that would make me not want him or her. That statistic makes me want to grab these women by the collar and say, "This is your child! THIS IS YOUR CHILD. If you're willing and ready to have one, does it matter how well it fits your idea of perfection? Exactly how conditional is your love?"

I defy these women to look someone else's Down child in the eyes and tell him he's taken away from, not added to, his parents' quality of life.

Some years down the road, there will be no more need for a Special Olympics -- not because we've eradicated birth defects, but because we in our infinite wisdom have decided these lives aren't worth living. God have mercy on us.

I know this post is super far on the serious side and emotionally charged, but you're dealing with a very pregnant lady, so I make no apologies. By the way, here's the ad:

Hint, hint

2008-07-29T11:37:00.001-06:00

I hope that by adding a link (below) to his burgeoning blog, Superman will be inspired to keep up the great writing.

Grabbing life by the horns

2008-07-28T20:23:00.007-06:00

The terms "grab life by the horns" and "jump right in" always conjure images of risk and reward in my mind -- positive images.

I'm not a thrill seeker in the bungee-jumping sense. But I believe in taking not-so-calculated risks in the way I live my life. Without them, afterall, I'd be seriously lacking in some grand rewards, none the least of which is my ab-fab husband.

Admittedly, I have little to no understanding or empathy for people who don't share my thinking in this area. The words "playing it safe" send unwelcome shivers down my spine. Why? What's the point? Especially when one's current circumstances leave so much to be desired. If you're unhappy at Point A and a happier Point B is attainable, why the heck aren't you moving in that direction?

I should have more patience for people who aren't like me; Lord knows all the long-suffering folks who have to put up with my own weird quirks. But it's just so difficult to grasp, this refusal to take chances and change one's situation. Sure, after talking to individuals like this, I find out they have taken risks in their lives -- who hasn't? But their years on this planet are better characterized by often unhealthy decisions that seemed safer at the time.

I think it must be closely related to the Martyrdom Syndrome: As you watch a good opportunity approach, it does so slowly, like a float in a parade. You have all the time you need to think up reasons for not jumping onboard. By the time it's right in front of you, your only choice (or so you think) is to wave and breathe a sigh of relief when it's passed. "Well, too late now."

That's no way to live.

Who am I to say what's the right way to live? No one, really. I only say it from experience, limited as it is. I've really screwed up a few times when I took a leap before looking. On the other hand, I can "safely" say some of the greatest parts of my life wouldn't be there if I didn't pursue the unknown wholeheartedly like a belly-flop off a cliff.

So jump on in -- the water is fine. But why take my word for it?

Year of the Underdog

2008-07-14T14:42:00.007-06:00

What an intriguing year it's been thus far...

Last day

2008-07-07T14:39:00.004-06:00

Last Thursday was my last day at a couple of things: Babysitting The Little Smiler and working out at Gold's Gym (at least for the next few months). I said goodbye to TLS without any tears...most likely because I'd gotten them all out in bed the night before. I miss my little daytime companion; three and a half months was a good run and I can only pray his next caretaker loves on him even better than I did!

As with most things in life, the timing on both of these changes was divinely providential. No sooner had the first day after the holiday weekend dawned than pregnancy began to soundly kick my butt. The details aren't important, but I suddenly find myself the kind of immobile that prevents me from being either a great babysitter or a great gym rat. So here I stand--or sit, rather--on the home stretch and feeling fairly worthless. But I know the time that remains will fly, and that's just fine by me.

In the meantime, a little something to commemorate the things that helped occupy my spring and early summer.

Things I will miss about The Little Smiler:
• That face--how could anyone not miss that face?
• The way his mouth would contort into a "Wallace and Gromet"-style smile when he was overly excited.
• That he could just sit on my lap for an hour as long as sound effects were involved.
• His crazy cowlicks.
• Hearing him attempt to use our door knocker every morning.
• The unpredictable and instantaneous switch from minor meltdown to burst of laughter.
• Touching foreheads and giggling.
• Spontaneous, unsolicited cuddles.
Godspeed, little man!

Things I won't miss about Gold's for the next few months:
• Seeing just how much stomach my favorite showoff can display without giving away the farm.
• The old guy who sits at a reclining bike watching sports without moving a pedal the entire time I'm there.
• Being a captive audience to whatever VH1 crap "reality" show is playing on the single TV set in the lady's weight room.
• Spotting my husband lifting some obscene amount of weight--ouch!
• Not being able to break much of a sweat or burn too many calories because I'm pregnant--just seems unnatural at a gym.

If you like sports and breastfeeding...

2008-07-02T15:20:00.002-06:00

...you'll appreciate this blog. Finally Superman has flown into the blogosphere!

For the love of piles

2008-06-30T13:31:00.008-06:00

I am not a dirty person. I like spills cleaned up immediately, and I think it's gross when leftover food gets the corners of the sink or counter crusty.

But just because I am a clean person does not mean I am a "neat" person. I appreciate a nice file folder as much as the next guy. Over the course of my life, however, I have discovered that piles hold a special place in my heart.

I really, really like piles.

Exhibit A

This was SUPPOSED to be a box exclusively for the maternity clothes JEB graciously loaned me, so as not to mix them up with my own wardrobe. It has instead become a dumping ground for clothes that have been worn briefly but aren't dirty enough to wash. I have emptied and reorganized this box no fewer than five times because of my love of piles.

Exhibit B

This is how I generally keep my shoes. I know: ridiculous. In my defense, most of my shoes come from Payless or Goodwill, so I'm not overly obsessed with keeping them in pristine condition. Still, it's messy and, I admit, childish. But I really, really like piles.

Exhibit C

Even my papers get a pile, or "stack" to use a nicer word. Though my old desk at the office looked like chaos to passersby, I knew what was in every stack and how to find a particular piece of paper in no time flat. I much prefer this to folders and a hanging file.

I used to think it was just laziness. But it's not. There is something in my psyche that prefers this method of storage. Is it the lifting and sifting? Is it the illusion of more "stuff" than is actually there? Is it just the chaos, plain and simple? I'm not sure. But the love is there, all the same. This is my ode to piles, which drive my husband crazy and which I've tried in vain to control.

A few off-season giggles

2008-06-26T10:41:00.002-06:00

Q & A with child

2008-06-19T11:44:00.002-06:00

Being pregnant is not unlike being engaged. It garners you a lot of attention and a lot of questions. I'm a middle child, so the additional limelight is welcome! Though in pregnancy, one does get asked a handful of questions over and over again (When are you due? Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? Have you picked out a name yet?). Not that there's anything wrong with that; there are only so many topics that arise naturally. But just to spice things up, I thought of a new set of questions for the expectant moms out there.

• So...when did you conceive?

• If your baby is born a hermaphrodite, how will you decide its sex?

• Do you want the baby to get your husband's bone structure since you're a little on the husky side?

• Is whoever's taping the birth going to be positioned at your head or your feet?

• Is there a theme to these nursery decorations, or did you just pick whatever was left on the shelves?

• Any hemorrhoids yet?

• Did the doctor miscalculate your due date, or are all women as big as you at this stage?

• Am I invited to the shower?

I'm doing something I haven't done in years:

2008-06-16T15:46:00.007-06:00

I'm watching the NBA finals. Neither my husband nor I have a horse in the race, but it's been fun seeing the so-far-successful efforts of the Celtics to topple the Lakers (we feel about the same way for the Lakers as we do for the Yankees or Cowboys -- which is not affectionately, to say the least).

One thing that's been getting to me during the series so far is this inexplicable expression Kobe Bryant gets on his face. It's kind of like a grimace but also kind of like constipation. What are we to make of this look? Are you mad, Kobe? Happy? Incredulous? Confused? Arrogant (ha!)? Or maybe you really are just constipated? Help us out.

I have no idea. At any rate, judge for yourself. I know it shouldn't affect the way I feel about him as a player...but it kinda does.

Happiest Baby on da Block

2008-06-12T15:28:00.001-06:00

Needless to say, Superman and I will not be utilizing this soothing method (nor do I condone it -- but this is pretty funny).

Things they won't say about Lois when she's gone

2008-06-09T13:09:00.003-06:00

She rarely copied other bloggers' posts.

She got a handle on her boy-craziness early in life.

She was extremely disciplined.

She was a tough-as-nails, outgoing child who thought sensitivity was for pansies.

She preferred outside friends to the company of her family.

She didn't have a clear idea of whom she wanted to marry before she met Superman—and even then, because of her cautious nature, it took her a long while to figure out he was "the one."

She lacked the tenacity to set her sights on something and really go for it.

She took sides quickly and rarely tried to see things from another perspective.

She knew how to hold onto every friend she made.

She much preferred the idea of a career to motherhood.

She never tried to milk the negative aspects of her middle position in the birth order.

She refused to judge people by their driving abilities.

She had phenomenal self-control with no hint of an addictive personality.

She married right out of college because she figured her husband was as good as anyone.

She didn't put much stock in religious faith and avoided any discussion of the issue.

"I know both how to be abased and I know how to abound..."

2008-06-03T10:42:00.002-06:00

...both to be full and to be hungry."

These are the powerful words of Paul the apostle. Have I learned these lessons? Not entirely. But Sunday at church, my eyes welled up with tears as we sang the song "Blessed Be Your Name," and I remembered a very specific time I sang the words two-and-a-half years ago:

Blessed be your name / when the sun's shining down on me
when the world's all as it should be / blessed be your name
Blessed be your name / on the road marked with suffering
though there's pain in the offering / blessed be your name

You give and take away / you give and take away
still my heart will choose to say / blessed be your name

In December of 2005, Superman and I were still newlyweds and $2,500 had been stolen from us. It was just before Christmas. Living in a modest apartment on journalists' salary, having months before dropped $2,000 on a surprise transmission repair for our newly purchased car, it was quite a blow.

The Sunday after we lost the money, our church music leader picked that song for the congregation. I knew I had to sing it, even though they were some of the hardest words I've ever uttered in a song. Warm tears rolled down my face as my voice cracked: "You give and take away / you give and take away / still my heart will choose to say / Lord blessed be your name."

Fastforward to June 2008. My husband has just accepted a new job with a better salary and better benefits. He at last gets to leave "the temple of doom" and, hopefully, for the first time in years, enjoy his job. My heart overflows with gratitude when I think of his hard work being rewarded and when I touch my belly to feel a strong, healthy baby: "Blessed be your name...when the world's all as it should be."

Once we learn to both abound and to suffer need, to be full and to be hungry, the real challenge is never changing the song in our hearts. "Every blessing you pour out I'll turn back to praise / and when the darkness closes in Lord still I will say / Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Her orange Crocs won't be forgotten

2008-05-31T22:21:00.005-06:00

*The entry below was written by a very special guest blogger -- my husband (a.k.a. Superman)*

Alice loved "Animal Planet." She'd watch for hours, now and again commenting on the size and speed of the creature on the screen.

Alice rocked orange Croc sandals with an orange-and-white checkered button-up shirt, as well as a straw visor — yes, orange in color. Three guesses regarding her favorite hue.

Alice loved Magnolias, even though she rarely could remember what they were called.

Alice enjoyed smiling, laughing, looking out her large window at the trees outside, being read to and going for strolls — more like rolls.

Alice loved her bunny rabbit figurines. She even offered me one of them, for my pending baby. I politely declined.

Alice didn't take any guff. We shared that trait.

Alice's eyes shone brightly, as did her smile. She used these to her benefit while telling me vivid stories about life on the farm, things she'd heard somewhere — she couldn't recall where, which frustrated her — and the joy of raising children.

Alice cherished the story of Ruth and Naomi. She only remembered bits and pieces, so when I read the passage to her, she was overjoyed.

Alice often proclaimed her appreciation for God and his sweet, sweet love.

Alice lived 87-plus years before succumbing to various health problems a little more than a week ago. I only knew her from our several weekly visits together at the assisted-living facility where she resided. I wished I'd known her longer. Our short friendship meant the world — to me.

I will never, ever forget those orange Crocs.

Sarah might have laughed at this, too

2008-05-28T10:27:00.005-06:00

Snippets o' fun

2008-05-22T10:26:00.003-06:00

• Here is my song de jour: "Love is the Protest" by Jars of Clay (click on it in the player after you scroll down a little)

• "American Idol" voters finally get it right (I don't vote, but I still appreciate a choice well made)

• More eloquent than mine, a review that captures what's missing from the movie "Prince Caspian"

So you think you can...improve on Lewis

2008-05-19T10:10:00.004-06:00

Turns out you needn't be jealous of my opening-night "Prince Caspian" viewing. The movie was a letdown.

I had such high hopes after the release of "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" -- it was so beautifully done and true to the book. On the other hand, "Prince Caspian" the story is frequently unrecognizable in this film, and sometimes even laughable. It starts promisingly enough with professor Cornelius abruptly waking Caspian and putting him to flight. But as the minutes pass, any keen-eyed Narnia fan begins to see C.S. Lewis' quite capable story dissolve.

It seems strange to post a *SPOILER ALERT* for a movie based on a book, but if you are interested in seeing it and wish to be surprised by its ineptitude, by all means stop reading now (though I'll try not to give away the farm).

• Aslan barely makes an appearance 'til the end.
• The High King Peter is reduced to an angsty, insecure teenage boy always looking for a fight.
• Peter and Caspian are caught up in a fierce and jealous rivalry.
• There are two (very) long battle sequences, which not only aren't in the book, but only serve to take up time.
• There is no atmospheric "feel" of a magical world.
• In favor of an invented all-out war near the end, they left out any lovely imagery of the girls riding with Aslan to reawaken Narnia.
• Much of Lewis' sharp banter has been replaced by George Lucas-esque dialogue.
• Caspian and Susan kiss.

Yes, I left the real zinger for last. Let's just say if I were Douglas Gresham (Lewis' adopted son), I'd want my name removed from the credits as producer. The very barest bones of the story are intact -- Caspian is the true king of Telemarine descent who must rally old Narnians in hiding to his cause. But with all the added teenage drama, manufactured conflict and a script I could have written in 7th grade, how worthwhile is what remains of the story?

Do yourself a favor and read the original, beautiful tale by one of the most prolific authors of the 20th century. These books have millions of fans all over the world for a reason: They're good. And unlike "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, they are short and concise enough to be left pretty much alone (as was "LWW"). The authentic story of "Prince Caspian" is about faith, courage and breathing new life into a land that had all but lost its magic. I'm not going to let filmmakers reduce it to a dumbed-down Disney channel special about getting over jealousy and learning to work together. Blah. That's what "High School Musical" is for.

Friday potpourri

2008-05-16T14:45:00.002-06:00

First, some news that's good:
American Red Cross Vindicated in J&J Lawsuit

Second, I'm going tonight. Jealous?

Of interest to good journalists...or anyone with ethics

2008-05-14T14:56:00.002-06:00

Check out "A Pulitzer-nominated newspaper, ladies and gentlemen"

Just for "kicks"

2008-05-12T13:07:00.003-06:00

It's seems a little narrow-minded to describe in-utero baby movements simply as "kicks," when it's clear there's a lot more going on in there. So from my pregnancy experience in the last couple months, I've put together a list of baby moves -- as I see/feel them. My little bean has a lot of restless energy:

• The classic soccer kick
• The conga line
• The morning calisthenics
• The bend-and-snap (think "Legally Blond")
• The Chorus Line high kick
• The Cowardly Lion fisticuffs threat ("Put 'em up, put 'em up")
• The rolling-down-a-hill simulation
• The drum roll

These moves and more have earned my child the nickname "Restless Energy Baby" by his/her Marmee. No doubt I will be adding more to the repertoire as the big day draws closer.

Even puppies are going green!?

2008-05-09T13:58:00.002-06:00

Talk about overdoing a trend...

Stranger days

2008-05-08T13:17:00.003-06:00

I have been a little on edge lately. A couple weeks back, I saw a movie preview that really creeped me out -- and it was just a preview. Even so, I couldn't get some of the images out of my head and found myself sleeping that much closer to Superman at night and keeping the apartment more shut up than usual.

Then a funny thing happened.

Yesterday afternoon I made the rookie mistake of opening my door to someone I didn't know. I have no idea why I did this. All my years of common-sense training failed me and I turned the knob even though I had no idea who the person in the peep hole was. It turned out to be a kid selling magazine subscriptions. He was non-threatening enough, but still taller than me. Not my smartest moment.

Then later in the evening I had to make a run over to Walgreen's. As I was walking back to my car two teenage girls, who had been smoking outside on a bench, asked if I would give them a ride home (actually only one of them asked -- the other one looked shocked and embarrassed by her friend). I said "sure" without hesitating. So they hopped in my car and I drove them down the road a bit as we made small talk. They were very nice and expressed their gratitude.

It was only on the way back to my own home that the two incidences struck me as funny. I talk to strangers all the time at grocery stores and what not. But it's different to open your front door to them or to give them a ride home. But I did both. In one day. And you know what? No more weird thoughts about that stupid movie! It's almost as if God used the strange circumstances to help me conquer my fear.

Do I condone doing things like this when you're all alone? Absolutely not. But please believe that I'm a firm believer in intuition -- the "gift of fear" -- and would have done neither of these things if I felt the slightest hesitation in my gut. I didn't feel the gut thing, though, which is why I view the whole thing as providencial in a way. So there you have it. My strange day with strangers took away my fear (for now) of strangers in strange movies.

Dark cloud over a sunny day

2008-05-05T20:46:00.002-06:00

Poor Eight Belles. These stories are so sad. There's interesting coverage of it here.

And so begins the parade of "I'll Nevers"

2008-05-01T13:23:00.003-06:00

They tell you never to make absolute declarations because it invariably locks you into doing the thing you just swore never to do. Mothers-to-be I'm sure are a tragic yet shining example of this truth...

"I'll never let my child speak to me like that."
"I'll never give in that easily to my child's demands."

So I try to avoid statements such as this in the company of current moms -- not for fear or sealing my hypocritical doom, but mainly because I get sick of jaded mommies snapping back, "That's what you say now. Just wait 'til you have your own!"

OK, I get that you should not pretentiously vow to never make mistakes. We all make mistakes. And even the best-intentioned parents mess up and do the thing they never wanted to do -- you will at some point let your child speak to you like that and you will at some point give in that easily to his or her demands. But does that mean we moms-to-be can't have some semblance of standards? Should we throw the baby out with the bath water and forsake lifestyle declarations altogether simply because not all of them stick? Sounds a lot like the sex-ed argument to me.

But I still proceed with caution. Even though I was tempted two weeks ago at church to remark, "I'll never let my kid hit me with string cheese just because he's ready to have it opened for him," I had to rein myself in. Because I might be so distracted and fed up one day that I let it slide when my son thwaps me with a dairy product. Yet there are a few "I'll nevers" I'd like to see through:

• I'll never allow my children to have a TV in their bedroom(s).

• I'll never force my children to speak to or wave at someone they're unfamiliar with, even if I know them well.

• I'll never go back on a threat of discipline.

• I'll never accept the word "whatever" as a complete sentence.

• I'll never make excuses to the babysitter for my children's bad behavior, but will instead simply apologize.

• I'll never let my children get away with deflecting a compliment in the name of humility; I'll teach them to simply say "thank you."

• I'll never tolerate whining.

There you have it. Not too lofty, Lord willing. What about other mommies? What sorts of "I'll nevers" did/do you have?

Why complain?

2008-04-29T10:11:00.003-06:00

This weekend I had the opportunity to volunteer at our church's food pantry. There are few things I've done more humbling and more gratitude-inducing. Even those of us who aren't viewed as "rich" in this country are in reality far richer than we acknowledge. Experiences like the one I had make almost a more powerful impact than footage of shanty towns in developing countries -- these are people in my own backyard struggling to make a life for themselves.

Do I have to line up once a week for free food because the rest of my money went to paying bills? Do I have to choose between a semi-nutritious diet for my family and putting gas in the car? No. Thank God. And yet, even if I was forced to do those things, I must also force myself to be grateful for what I have.

There is only one poorest person in the world and only one richest; if you're not either of them, that means there's not only someone who's always better off than you financially, but there's always someone worse off. Wherever we're at in life, we ought to be thankful for the good things we've got. Evie the singer taught me that as a child, but I need frequent reminding:

"Why complain about the way that you look
Why complain about the scolding that you took
Why complain when so many cannot run
Why complain when you're having so much fun

Just be thankful for the good things that you've got
Oh be thankful for the good things that you've got
The good things that you've got are for many just a dream
So be thankful for the good things that you've got

Why complain about your clothes and your shoes
Why complain about your teacher and her rules
Why complain when so many have no home
Why complain when you have one of your own"

Proof positive that baby stuff has gotten cooler over the years

2008-04-25T15:00:00.004-06:00

Oh yeah, it's going on the registry.

My first baby shower

2008-04-23T09:52:00.006-06:00

This last weekend, Superman and I traveled to his neck of the woods to visit "the fam." My thoughtful mother-in-law threw me a delightful baby shower -- the first I've ever attended in my honor! Though it was difficult to restrain my competitive prowess (no respectable woman in my family leaves a shower without game-winning spoils), so as not to horde all the baby gifts AND prizes, the evening was very pleasant. Mother Superman left no traditional stone unturned, and I love her for it.

UPDATE: "Like a Piece of Meat" -- Desperate tight-pink-shirted woman has downgraded, not to a short shirt or outerwear sports bra, but to a white top that she ties/tucks INTO what is quite obviously NOT a sports bra. There is some phrasing on it that I can't quite make out because of the, um, stretching (ahem). So ya. That's my new view from the back-row bicycles.

Don't you think it's odd...

2008-04-17T09:30:00.004-06:00

...that picking out new glasses requires you to try on frames without the benefit of corrected vision? Odd indeed. The shop lady looked taken aback when I picked them up after they were done --with my prescription inside-- and exclaimed "Oh, they ARE cute!" At any rate, these are my new specs. Not to be confused with my old specs, which, though similar, were not Nike brand. Now at last my eyes will be fast!

Self-addiction

2008-04-14T09:59:00.004-06:00

Yesterday at church I was challenged. And what's church without a little challenge? This time it came from my brother who was giving the sermon at the local church where he's youth minister. The teaching was taken from the story of the good Samaritan. It's one many of us have heard a hundred times in as many different ways. But I saw it from a slightly different angle this particular morning.

We the congregates were asked to ponder whether the thing that prevented a priest and a Levite from helping the beaten man on the road to Jericho was simply asking the wrong question: "What will happen to me if I stop to help him?" The question they should have asked, and presumably the question our Samaritan example did ask, was "What will happen to this man if I don't help him?"

It's the simple yet profound conundrum of our human race. There is no shortage of excuses when it comes to not helping someone in need -- many of them very good excuses, in fact. But this isn't just about a stranger by the side of the road in physical peril. It's about your friend, your neighbor, your co-worker, your sister. One thing it's certainly not about: you.

I generally consider myself a kind person and thoughtful friend. Well, at least that's how I come off. In my mind, however, exists this funnel-like object. Acts of love and caring come pouring down and I am happily drenched in them. But in a dry season, I position that funnel in front of my eye and see the wide world as a bevy of blessings that ought to be swishing and funneling toward me. This is particularly true in my friendships.

My human condition mingled with past hurts has led to a shameless self-addiction. "Why aren't they calling ME?" "Why aren't they checking up on ME?" How backward. How narrow. Every one of my precious friends is going through her own unique challenges. She may not be bloodied on the side of the road, but her heart might be wrung or her spirit exhausted. How could I know if I don't ask?

Lord, grant me the strength to turn the funnel around and use it as a scope to target the people I should bless, and let all the gifts you've given me come flooding through to reach them.

Of sitcom mommies on the down-low

2008-04-08T14:32:00.008-06:00

I know I'm not the only one who thought it was comical when TV sitcoms would attempt to camouflage the pregnancies of their leading ladies. Clair Huxtable almost always had grocery bags in her hands or was sitting at a desk when Phylicia Rashad was pregnant. But she was lucky because her belly was about the only thing that looked pregnant about her.

Not so for Daphne Moon. When Jane Leeves was with child on "Frasier," she showed it everywhere. But since pregnancy didn't fit into the plot line, the writers came up with some over-the-top stress-related weight gain. It was quite something to behold -- how many pounds this dainty Brit could pack on in a season.

Carrie Heffernan took a similar route. "King of Queens" wouldn't be "King of Queens" with a baby in the mix, so Leah Remini's condition also was not addressed on the show. And it was like watching a balloon inflate. Except this time the writers were smart enough to not even address the unaccounted-for weight gain. And why should they? As if people in the real world don't bulk up and slim down without cause? Geez, Hollywood, cut a girl some slack.

Alas, I am learning quickly that when it comes to pregnancy, I'm no Clair Huxtable. There will be no sticking me behind a counter and calling it good. I am doomed to the same pregnancy fate as Carrie and Daphne. Of course my frame wasn't as petite as theirs to begin with, but you get the idea. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will be roughly the size of a house for the duration. (When I told my almost 5-year-old nephew this, he laughed, and reminded me that's impossible -- "but people can be as big as dog houses." How true.)

How do you not love Ross?

2008-04-07T15:54:00.002-06:00

Here's your "Friends" fix for the day...priceless

It has been determined

2008-04-04T13:43:00.003-06:00

I would not like to live in the Land of the Teletubbies. It just raises too many questions...

• Why does Tinkie-Winkie need a purse when there's no place to shop?

• What happens to the baby who lives in the sun whenever it sets?

• Can I watch any TV programs other than the ones that appear on their bellies?

• Whom do I take orders from -- the narrator or the lady who calls out "Time for Teletubbies"?

• What exactly is there for me to do when the Teletubbies return to their abode? Do I bunk with them?

• Would I be limited to eating only Tubby Pudding?

• Will Tinkie-Winkie, Bipsy, La La and Po even understand my complete sentences?

• Would I be required to wear the same color day after day and attach a shape of some kind to my head?

• Can I please leave?

Like a piece of meat

2008-03-31T11:30:00.003-06:00

One of the inadvertent byproducts of belonging to a gym like Gold's is that you observe women in all shapes and sizes (men too, of course). Many dress appropriately for a good workout -- supportive top, comfortable pants or shorts and sneakers. But it's the women who look like they're getting ready to be judged in a wet t-shirt contest that really catch your eye.

And why shouldn't they? That's the whole point, right -- to catch your eye? Some women are less subtle than others in their efforts. Take, for instance, the 40-something with a petite frame and large chest (natural I'm sure) who wears the same tiny white shorts and tight, pink top night after night with "IT GIRL" emblazoned across the front. Classy already, right? It gets better. Suspiciously, I've observed (from the back-row bicycles) that most, if not all, of her weight exercises are some sort of upper-body, opening-of-the-chest set of reps. Can't imagine why...can you?

Women like this used to infuriate me. Now they really just make me sad. This is their lot in life, to catch the eye of men. What men? It doesn't seem to matter. They just want to be looked at. But that's the end of it. How many of these men will actually make a move and ask a girl out? And do the girls even want to be asked out? In many cases, I think the answer is no to both. Because that's not the point. Getting looked at is the goal.

Isn't that ridiculously sad? Think of it as a buffet in your break-room at the office. You may be filled to the gills from the sack lunch you just ate, but once that picture-perfect pile of donuts catches your eye or you see a stack of delicious deli meats and cheeses, you'll do a double-take. As a passerby, you may not want to reach for that cheese puff, but you'll gaze for a moment and maybe even think about it. And why shouldn't you? That's the whole point, right?

Some of you women at my gym are the edible and visual equivalent to these tasty dishes (pun intended). Do you realize that any breathing man -- or woman, for that matter -- will take particular notice when your goods are on display? Human beings have eyes. We notice things that are out of the ordinary. It doesn't mean we want you or want to be you. It means we're not blind. If this is truly your sole source of affirmation in life, that's your prerogative, sad as it is. But if, on the other hand, you don't want to be treated like a piece of meat, then stop presenting yourself as one.

Baby nickname round-up

2008-03-26T11:08:00.003-06:00

Here's how "the fam" lovingly refers to my in-utero* bundle, whose sex we do not know...

• Marmee/AKA Grandma: Ingrid or Grace Kelly (depending on the day)
• Aunt Molly McGee: Pagoda
• Uncle K: Colossus Reighton
• Daddy Superman: Sweet Pea
• Mama Lois: Little Bean

Any others I'm missing, fam?

*Thanks, Molly, for the gentle nudge that I'd used the phrase "in-vitro" instead of "in-utero." Chalk it up to Mommy Brains! And Girlfriday, Chipper makes a fine addition to the pot of nicknames :)

Barefoot and pregnant

2008-03-24T14:17:00.003-06:00

Well, it's official: I'm a housewife. And so far, not desperate.

Last week was a flurry of last-minute duties and stressful afterthoughts. But Wednesday at about 7 p.m., I had successfully packed up my desk and cleaned off my computer at work -- a professional editor no more.

Today I am in my pajamas, babysitting an adorable 6-month-old boy and organizing my freelance work for the week. What a difference a day (or five) makes. And no, those aren't my legs and feet in the picture.

It's amazing, really, the sheer amount of stuff one accumulates over four years at one job -- thousands of iTunes files, hundreds of e-mails, dozens of mementos. Saving some but purging the others was both cathartic and surreal. It's a whole section of my life (a 40-hours-per-week section) I don't have to think about any more. This will definitely take some getting used to. But I'm up for it. And I'm excited about the opportunity to practice nesting before my own adorable bundle arrives this summer.

Thank you, God, for working this out. And thank you, Superman, for being supportive enough to let me try. Until next time...

After these messages...

2008-03-17T13:11:00.002-06:00

..we'll be right back. I'm working on tying up loose ends from "the big leap" and will be back in blogosphere soon! In the meantime, I'll be listening to U2 and Enya while slow-cooking corn beef and cabbage. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

:(

2008-03-12T08:37:00.004-06:00

Why, when you're one of the most beautiful and likable women in Hollywood, do you alter your looks at such a young age? In interviews, I've heard Courtney Cox Arquette talk about her insecurity with growing old. But she just looks so different now that it makes me sad.

A Dumb New World

2008-03-11T08:56:00.003-06:00

By now you've probably read the news story about how a California court is essentially trying to criminalize home-schooling. Yes, it's as ludicrous as it sounds and no, the ruling won't stick. I read a satire on thespoof.com today that paints the ridiculousness better than I can.

Check it out here

Leap of faith

2008-03-07T14:38:00.003-07:00

Yesterday I took a leap -- a big one. A leap that will turn my career and daily routine on its head. It was nerve-wracking, it was scary...it felt great. So today I am thinking of "Joe Vs. the Volcano" and the more-profound-than-it-seems line that comes right before the end:
"You jump and then you see...that's life."

Breathe it in, breathe it out

2008-03-04T10:00:00.005-07:00

So many people are baffled by the rampant violence in this country. Just today there's yet another headline -- this time six people (including two children) were killed in Memphis. Yesterday I read about an entire family that was gunned down because the parents didn't approve of their teenage daughter's boyfriend. How many mall shootings have there been in the last year? We hear about school, and even church, snipers far too frequently.

It's got to be about more than guns.

I can't say what it's all about, but I can tell you what's not helping: Our obsession with violence. Sex used to be the sensational visual overload of choice, but now it's graphic violence. Crime shows (of which some are more guilty than others) are the highest-rated on TV. And blood-soaked dramas seem to make critics choice lists year after year.

No, I'm not blaming violence on the media. They can be no more at fault than guns. It is, afterall, people who pick up their weapons and decide to strike. I also know violence has prevailed on this planet for centuries upon centuries. But the tone and volume of the violence is different now even than when I was a kid. Have there always been twisted criminals wreaking havoc on people in disturbing ways? Yes. But the "twistedness" and coldness feels more commonplace now.

These fictionalized portrayals can't be helping. We breathe the recirculated air of violence and wonder why it fills some people's lungs like a cigarette drag. Is it any wonder that the more graphic horror movies get, the more unspeakable these real-life crimes seem? Are all of these criminals' imaginations that incredible, or do the images they inhale introduce a whole new brand of terror into their minds?

Viewers: Stop watching these disgusting atrocities on film. Filmmakers and TV studio execs: Stop making them. We see enough of this junk in the news. Do we REALLY need to watch it in our downtime? Let's think outside the box and support entertainment that doesn't have to resort to gallons of blood loss to portray drama -- they're not the same thing.

It's time for some fresh air.

Back-row bicycling

2008-02-28T14:23:00.004-07:00

I belong to a gym. Gold's, to be exact. I never thought I'd be a Gold's girl, but I happened to marry a very physically fit man who had such a membership and got me on for a steal. So I work out ... sometimes.

Last autumn I enjoyed working up a sweat and trying to shed some pounds. But the goals change somewhat once you're expecting. I have to make sure my heart rate isn't too high, and I'm working too hard if I can't finish a complete sentence without getting winded. So the stationary bike has been my friend of late. At this particular gym, there are two rows of bikes on the second level.

The hands-down, No. 1 advantage of riding in the back row is that no one can see what I'm watching on my personal cable screen (because who would want to exercise without TV, right?). From the back row, one gets to look at everyone who walks by and look at what all the folks in the front row are watching on TV. Then, of course, one can inevitably pass judgment on said people for their poor viewing tastes. "Really? 'Flavor of Love' is what motivates you to pedal like the wind?"

Of course, then I wonder if some of the front-row folks are self-conscious at all about the judgments irrational people like me are casting on them. For instance, would that guy be watching "American Idol" if it wasn't for me seeing back here? I saw him linger on a few family-friendly options for a few moments before settling on some cage fighting match. "It's OK, buddy. You can watch 'Super Nanny' save the day. Your secret's safe with me."

Who's to say I'm not watching a thought-provoking presidential debate? No one. Ha!

Separated at birth: Oscar edition

2008-02-25T11:15:00.005-07:00

Javier Bardem and Jeffrey Dean Morgan

Am I the only one who thinks so?

Horton Hears a Fetus

2008-02-19T13:36:00.003-07:00

Yesterday on "Oprah," the cast of the new animated feature "Horton Hears a Who" came on to discuss the new film. The episode was pleasant, but what I kept thinking about was the first time I heard the Dr. Seuss classic.

If you're not familiar, it's about an amiable elephant who happens to hear the tiny cry of a microscopic "Who" in a spec of dust. Whoville, we learn, is in trouble and Horton takes on the role of protector. Of course his fellow jungle mates question the Whos' existence. "“Why, that speck is as small as the head of a pin. A person on that?…why, there never has been!”

But Horton believes and stays true to his post, and eventually he's exonerated when all the Whos join their voices to be heard at last by a skeptical kangaroo. There's this beautiful mantra repeated throughout:
"I’ll just have to save him. Because, after all, a person’s a person, no matter how small ...
"I can’t put it down. And I won’t! After all, a person’s a person, o matter how small”

The tiny little hearts that beat inside their mothers' wombs are clear and strong as a tympani drum if you're listening well. I know because I have one such heart beating in my own belly. Yes, I am going to be (really already am) a mother for the first time. I have begun my second trimester and couldn't hold the news in any longer for fear of bursting ... and because it's difficult to want to blog about anything else! I am overwhelmed with hope and joy for the future of my family, and can't wait to meet the little soul whose personality is already so vibrant and unique.

I went in for an ultrasound four weeks after conception -- four weeks -- and heard my child's heart beating. No "mass of cells" I've heard of can do that. I never realized you could hear a heartbeat that early, but you learn something new every day. And like Horton, if we don't take the time to really listen, we'll dismiss some of the most vital signs of life. I know that beating heart is in a person, afterall -- a person's a person no matter how small.

The sweetest sound

2008-02-13T09:28:00.002-07:00

The sound of a thousand pens hitting paper and a thousand more fingers typing on cold keyboards. Ah, television -- I've missed you so...

Thought of the day

2008-02-08T15:04:00.000-07:00

Does grape juice make you feel guilty?

Enjoying a refreshing glass of grape juice makes me feel like I raided the Communion table at church and am gluttonously feasting on the elements.

Tag -- I'm it

2008-02-07T13:02:00.000-07:00

Posh Mama tagged me to write six random things about myself, so here we go...
1. If I could get paid to study Biblical apologetics, I would do it.

2. I majored in journalism and minored in political science.

3. From the moment we started dating, I had no doubt Superman and I would marry.

4. People who can't carry on a proper conversation tend to drive me crazy.

5. Almost any footage of someone tripping or falling over cracks me up.

6. I love that I have lots of Scottish and Irish blood running through my veins.

Happy Super Fat Bionic Tuesday!

2008-02-05T13:07:00.000-07:00

Well when you say it like that, it sounds like some sort of superfluous event translated crudely from another language, when it's actually about three separate things.

"Super" because some folks whose votes really count get to cast their primary ballots today. I am not among them.

"Fat" because it's the day before Ash Wednesday...but I guess if you're overweight, pretty much every Tuesday is fat.

"Bionic" because today my mother is getting her second knee replaced. She, if anyone, deserves a nonfictional "Bionic Woman" title. The metal and screws in her lower limbs could set off a metal detector 3 miles away. We love you, Mom! Good luck :)

Is anyone else feeling uninspired or just plain tired in this pre-general election election? Months ago I hungrily followed it like the NFL season. Now I find myself knowing far more about tactics and polls than I do about candidates' actual positions. That's like knowing what sort of padding or sock color a football player likes best, but not knowing how he plays the game. Type "voter guide" into a search engine and see the mess that comes up.

And I have no clue who I'd vote for at this point.

On this fine, Super Fat Bionic Tuesday, I also find myself looking forward to Thursday night, when again I can join my friends on "LOST" Island. I can't believe there are only eight to watch, but I'm trying to see the silver lining and think of it as at least a great way to curb my football season withdrawals.

"You got no fear of the underdog...

2008-02-04T10:38:00.000-07:00

...that's why you will not survive" (spoon)

Funny bone

2008-01-30T09:26:00.000-07:00

You know how every once in awhile, something little will strike you as funny and you can't help but grin? Here's a couple from the last week or so.

Labeling babies' and toddlers' clothing by months makes sense...most of the time. At the store last week I happened on a "baby's first Christmas" jumper. The size was 24 months. Hmmmmm. Riddle me that!

Then the other night, as our heater came on for the bajillionth time this winter, I was finally able to identify the sound it initially makes. The loud popping/puffing sound (which prompts my brother to ask "Is that the Lord"?) is none other than a flame spurt warning from the Fire Swamp.

One week to go

2008-01-24T17:12:00.000-07:00