Death by Chocolate

In the last week I've consumed more sweets than in the past several months combined. I have attended two separate Thanksgiving dinners, one UCF football game, one birthday/anniversary party, one baptism brunch and one book club meeting, where I've eaten pumpkin pie, pecan pie, trifle, pumpkin cake, red velvet cake, vanilla cupcakes, cinnamon rolls, egg nog ice cream, a vanilla ice cream bar, berry tart, chocolate drop cookies and shortbread. Usually I've taken much more than a moderate serving, and had leftovers on other days besides.

I expected that the holidays would introduce more than the usual calories and sugar to my diet; what I didn't anticipate was just how many desserts would be available, and how low my threshold of self-control would be. Being pregnant, I'm hungry constantly, and dessert beckons at every turn. My pregnancy weight gain so far has been on a healthy track, but the week-long binge does not bode well for my next appointment on Monday. I'm not particularly looking forward to stepping on the scale.

Last night I laid awake, guilt-ridden and vowing to throw out the remaining ice cream, pie and cookies and replace them with fresh fruit and vegetables. During this time of year, and with the abundance we have at our disposal, it seems there's always a reason to celebrate something with a sugary confection. Most of the year, I don't allow myself to purchase ice cream or cookies, and I rarely bake desserts. It should be clear why these measures are necessary for me, given this past week's track record.

No, I haven't yet thrown out the remaining desserts in the house.

More volatile than the stock market

There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.
--Longfellow

The range of Eowyn's mood swings has been taking its toll on me. It's been difficult to keep perspective on it. On days when she wakes up from her nap cheerful and easygoing, all is right with the world and I feel blissfully happy to be a mother. We laugh and sing while we pretend with her baby dolls, read books, and play on the swings. I cook dinner without incident while she pretends to cook, too.

But--it feels more often than not--other days she wakes up in a delicate temper. Tickling might make her scowl, or she'll throw her books in frustration. She cries to be in her swing, then cries to be out. She clings, screaming, to my leg as I attempt to provide our dinner. She clamors to be held, then protests to be put down again. Those days, I count the minutes until her bedtime, when I can have respite from the emotional energy it takes to handle her.

After she's in bed (and often through the long afternoon) the self-doubt and finger-pointing begin. What am I doing wrong as a mother, that she is like this? Why can't Christian be home before 8:00 to help me? Is it because he just doesn't care enough about us? The evening often plays out with fits of crying and venting of anger and frustration on an unsuspecting husband.

At this moment, I can see clearly the ridiculousness of the situation. Eowyn is like a prairie field, covered in bright sunlight one minute, the next minute tossed by a tempest which leaves as quickly as it came. But when I'm in the middle of the storm, it is just so difficult for me to remember that there is ever a beginning or an end to it.

I'm praying for perspective and grace.

One of the reasons I'm looking forward to Christmas

In these pictures, Eowyn is playing at the stove, complete with oven mitt. She has become very intent on pretend play, and can occupy herself with such play for long stretches of time. This is quite remarkable, from my perspective as a mom who had taken her daughter for a mini-shadow. I'm excited for Christmas, as I'm hoping to give her a play kitchen and perhaps a little grocery cart she can push (you may notice in the background a laundry basket--it has various objects inside--because she loves to push her toys around the house).

In the bottom picture you may also notice that Eowyn's face is in less than pristine condition. Over the course of a week, she fell into the corner of the coffee table, tripped and splat on the sidewalk twice, and antagonized Rizzo into snapping at her cheek. Her face is now the worse for wear.

A dog's life

Poor, poor Rizzo. Since the birth of Eowyn, she has moved far down the totem pole of my attention and affection. And as she ages, she has grown more...incontinent. Let's just say I'm looking forward to a time when I can have rugs in the house without them getting peed all over. When I can lay a clean bath mat on the floor, reach to grab a towel, and turn back without discovering fresh pee on it. When the smell of dog urine doesn't threaten to assail my nostrils at unexpected moments.

I used to be quite the dog person. I could identify many of the different breeds, and even what kind of breed it was--toy dog, working dog, etc. Rizzo herself was treated tantamount to my own offspring.

The night Eowyn came home, that all changed. Rizzo's spot by my side in the bed was forfeited without mercy, since Eowyn slept best those first few months by nursing in bed at night. So often ignored or pushed away, Rizzo ceased following me from room to room or curling up next to me on the couch.

I can see, intellectually, that this is sad, yet I'm not sad about it. My love for Eowyn and the priority of her needs are just so much greater to me. Rizzo is now a creature to be tolerated, cared for adequately, and shown moderate affection when I'm not too tired to do so.

Christian, or course, thinks this is monstrous. Rizzo will always be the original princess to him.

Her spot in the sun grows smaller

And they call it a "game"

Perhaps you've seen Penny Arcade's comic on the subject. Apparently, Mega Man 9 has an old-school draw that I simply can't relate to. I can understand the nostalgic pull of Mario, of course, and ancient RPG's make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Heck, I even get the pull of Kirby and Sonic. But Mega Man was not a game I ever witnessed as I peeked around the doorjamb to watch my brother play (if he caught me watching him play video games, he'd beat me up, since he sought to extinguish any bit of my happiness that he could). It was not a game I played myself.

Christian recently downloaded it on the Wii, and is enjoying it immensely, or so he assures me. At first glance, it seems to me to be a cross between Metroid and Mario, but far more difficult and far less forgiving. I sit by him and watch as he dies over and over. Much sighing and cursing can be heard. Rows of spikes, which inflict death at a mere touch, loom everywhere. Gaping holes of death must be crossed via blocks that appear and reappear according to some infernal pattern. Checkpoints, and extra lives, are few and far between. When you die, you must start all the way back at the beginning.

In order to progress, you must memorize the layout of each level with agonizing precision, from the firing patterns of the enemies to the timing of the swinging platforms. If you manage to make it to a checkpoint, you likely have only one life left, meaning you will very soon be going back to the beginning again. Progression, as you may guess, is maddeningly slow, especially compared the quick pace of most current-gen fare.

Clearly, there's an appeal to this game that I'm missing. If I'm playing a game, it's for escapism and stress-relief. This game would have me pull out my hair in frustration. It's the kind of game I expect to be forced to play as punishment in a POW camp. "And you're sure you're having fun, Christian?" I ask repeatedly. "Definitely!" he replies immediately.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

The weekend before last, I attended the UPC women's retreat. This was my first time away from Eowyn overnight, and I was struck by a surprising sadness in the days leading up to the retreat. I was startled to realize just how much I would miss her, and how much I worried whether Christian would feed her well, change her diaper enough, pay her enough attention and get her to sleep without too much trouble. I cried a fair amount! When it came time to leave, I choked up again. Fortunately, gabbing with the other girls in the carpool helped distract me quickly.

I was under the misconception I would get more sleep while on the retreat. Instead, I struggled with a bout of insomnia and found myself listening for Eowyn's cry in my sleep even though she was nowhere near. Still, spending time away, completely free of responsibility for her, was quite nice. Chatting with other adult women without distractions was amazingly refreshing.

As it turns out, Eowyn survived just fine without me. I'm not as indispensable as I believed. She ate and slept peachy for Christian. She didn't mope or otherwise appear to notice much that I was gone. And that's...really...great...hmph.

A guest post

Since my mom writes about me so frequently, I thought I should take the time to share a little bit about myself, too. First off, there's my name, Eowyn. I'm cool with it. My mom and dad mostly use it when they want me to quit wandering off into the neighbor's yard. I usually take it as a signal to run faster. Otherwise, mom calls me 'baby', though she often uses 'sweetie' in a strange, strained manner, as in, 'oh, sweetie, please don't dump your milk on the floor!' Now, dad calls me 'sunshine' in the morning, even when I'm screaming and refusing to get my diaper changed. Dad's great!

washing my face with lots of soap

I would say that my greatest talent is creating incredible messes. My favorite media for these creations are cereal, copious amounts of water, soap, sometimes even my own pee. My common activities include yelling at the top of my lungs just because I can, refusing to eat food that I wolfed down eagerly the day before, and pooping when I really ought to be napping. I love to try and dress myself, though I must admit that I often get so angry at my pants I start screaming. Those things just won't cooperate!

attack of the pants

I love to read books with Mom and play in the sink. I like to pretend to cook things, and I like to use my crayons to write on things I shouldn't. My favorite words are 'uh oh' and 'oh no.' Dancing is another favorite activity. I like to change stations on the radio until I find music I like, and I insist that Mom dance along with me. Hey, it's good exercise, and just plain fun!

Fashionista

Having just stepped out of the bath, Eowyn models this fall's newest fashion trend (an EB original, of course). She calls it, 'Mother's shirt worn sideways. Sort of.' Get in on this style before it's soooo 5-minutes-ago!

Dressing is a new favorite realm of discovery, as you can see.

Cuddle time

Eowyn's not much of a cuddler. It's not so much that she doesn't like to be held; she just rarely stops moving long enough to actually lay her head against you and hug you. We cherish each kiss and hug, which she rations out meagerly. Christian gets even fewer than I do, since she is such a momma's girl. Her willingness to stop and hold onto Daddy the other morning therefore merited documentation. That Christian was actually wearing a shirt at the time was another factor. I think he is wearing a shirt in less than 10% of our pictures of him. He wears a shirt perhaps less than 10% of the time that he is home. You may surmise that, to my chagrin, Christian is averse to non-necessary clothing when not at work.

Price Reduced

So, our slipping home value is another worry that keeps me up at night. How much has it slipped? Let's say, close to 30%. That's a whole lotta money.

Some of my poor friends and family (sorry, Anna! sorry, Mom!) hear me lament this nearly every time we're together. It's one of those things that forms a cold, hard lump in the pit of your stomach and won't budge. As they say, hindsight is 20/20, yada yada. But I wish we had been just a teensy bit more patient when buying a home. As it was, we broke a lease just to get into this place. Having just moved from California, where home prices were mind-blowingly out of whack, this house felt like a steal at the time. We wanted to 'get in on the market' before it was too late. Result: overpaying, even at the peak of the bubble.

Things like our recent re-pipe escapade lead me to fantasize about the brand new home we could have bought now, complete with brand new pipes and a shower that doesn't leak into my daughter's bedroom. The impending sale of my parent's home, the home I grew up in and which my mom would wish upon me if she could, also makes me wistful for what could have been (more room, stunning neighborhood, etc....).

I try to remind myself about the good things we do have, and I am grateful for them, really! We have a good home with adequate space in a good neighborhood, the one where Christian grew up. Things could be much worse. Unfortunately, the lump in my stomach won't listen to reason.

One-Stop Folk Harp Shop

Though I rarely play anymore, folk harps, and folk harp music, remain one of my keen interests. I thought I'd share some of my personal highlights from this musical subculture.

If you'd like to see folk harps which are stunning works of art, check out Thormahlen Harps. Unlike pedal harps--the kind of harp you may be familiar seeing in large orchestras and which is usually built from maple--folk harps are crafted from all kinds of luscious-sounding woods. Cherry, walnut, mahogany, bubinga, koa--and maple, too. The wood and craftsmanship in Thormahlen harps is beautiful to behold. Koa is my personal favorite. It's also the most rare and expensive.

Likely one of the most popular folk harp makers is Dusty Strings. I never had a thing for them, but I mention them for completeness.

My own harp is a Blevins Encore in walnut. Blevins are plain but good quality. Their no-nonsense construction makes them half the price of other quality folk harps, though we're still talking a couple grand for one. Blevins makes a boggling 66 different models of harp.

If you'd like to check out some Celtic harp music but don't know where to start, I highly recommend Kim Robertson's work. Unlike some folk harp music, which can tend quickly towards the monotonous (due in part to the harmonic nature of the instrument), Kim's music always provides variety. On Searching for Lambs, she ranges from exotic contemporary compositions (like Maya's Return, a personal favorite) to sweet love songs, cheerful dances and sad laments.

Insomnia

It's one of those nights. In the light of the street lamp, the leaves of the trees shine with water and heave sickly in the howling wind. Something about the design of our eaves in particular make each gust sound like the ghost train is pulling into the station. The restless moaning keeps conjuring the same fear to my mind: flooding. Is it an irrational fear? Probably. But I just picture the radar images of Fay, parked over the state and dumping endless bucketfuls of water on us. Christian tried to reassure me that the little lake behind our house makes it less likely that we will flood, since the excess water has somewhere other than the foundation of our house to flow into. When you're lying awake at 4:30 at the morning, those reassurances fade.

My night started out well enough. I fell right to sleep, but was awoken a few minutes later by Christian's elbow, which was repeatedly knocking me in the head. Yeah, he tends to fidget in his sleep. I eventually fell back to sleep, but it took me a while. And now I'm up, 5 hours later. At least I can pass some time by writing aimless blog posts...

And the 2008 Curmudgeon Award goes to....

....my neighbor, an older gentleman whose car gained this recent addition to the bumper:
At first, I wasn't quite sure what this message was supposed to mean. As far as I can interpret it, he really doesn't like tailgaters. So much so, that he felt it necessary to plaster this sentiment in large white letters across his entire rear bumper. I suppose if you're determined to be cranky, a small yet rude bumper sticker just won't cut it. There's no sense in doing things half-way, right?

It's either that, or a lot of people have been pestering him about air travel.

Solid Food Adventures

My approach to Eowyn's eating has always been a bit unorthodox. Even now, she eats more food than I care to admit while running about the house. Often I'm just glad if she comes back to me for a bite or two before she's off running again.

This situation evolved out of a desire not to push food on her. I wanted eating to be a generally pressure-free, pleasant experience. Perhaps I was afraid of becoming a parent who must engage in all kinds of theatrical antics, cajoling and sighing in order to get her little one to eat. This fear, along with my initial participation in La Leche League meetings, led me to a "baby-led feeding" approach.

I started Eowyn on solids fairly late for our culture (around 7 months). From the beginning, I gave her finger foods that were firm enough for her to pick up and feed herself, but soft enough to mash easily between her gums, like strips of banana, avocado, sweet potato and very ripe peach. I never really did baby cereal with her, though I would make her oatmeal and cream of wheat later on. In all, I was happy with how this approach worked out. I never bought any baby food; I would just give her fresh fruit and soft cooked veggies that we had on hand and which she could feed herself. I also gave her very soft cooked meat, like chicken and pork, fairly early on. As a result, she became proficient at feeding herself, and didn't reject chunky textures as some babies do who are used to the smooth puree of jarred baby food. She progressed at her own pace, and I didn' t feel I was forcing anything on her (though I must admit that I did worry alternately that she was getting too much or not enough solid food).

Here are the websites I consulted the most for starting solids:
La Leche League: Starting Solids
Kellymom: Starting Solids

Of course, this approach is just one of many. Ultimately, you must do what feels right and healthy for you and your child.

Eowyn eating avocado at 7 months old

A beautiful performance, tarnished

Did you happen to see the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games? I hadn't given much thought to watching it until my mother-in-law turned it on. Immediately, the performance was riveting. What looked like hundreds of boxes, representing the invention of movable type, flowed up and down into patterns, shapes, and the Chinese character for 'harmony'. At first I marveled at the discipline of the men who must certainly be lifting the boxes in precise rhythm. But as the segment wore on, I became convinced that only machines could be moving the boxes at such length and speed. When, at the end, men appeared from the boxes waving enthusiastically, I was amazed. I nearly cried from the beauty of it.

Then the rest of my dear family joined us. At the end I still felt like crying, but for a completely different reason. Christian and Josh took every opportunity to rant maniacally about the evils of communism and its manifestation in the ceremony. Each flourish of a dancer or measured movement of a Tai Chi master became a subversive message about the 'motherland'. The music and commentary were drowned out by the din of their ranting and our loud pleas for them to be quiet--pleas which were completely unheeded, as you might have guessed. I suppose they enjoyed the irritation they caused us more than anything.

There's a time and a place for anti-communist ranting, don't get me wrong. I just didn't think it was right then.

Mrs. Hyde

Pregnancy has made a certain problem of mine much worse. Namely, my tendency to morph into a volatile monster when hunger hits. Acquiring food becomes my singular goal. My hands shake; I get lightheaded and weak. I snap at Christian for any perceived slight and simmer with anger at the world.

I'm always surprised at how quickly my foul temper abates after I've eaten something. Within minutes of ingesting a high-protein snack, I feel like a new person. The sun shines again and I realize there's more to life than a turkey sandwich (though it may be a yummy, well-crafted sandwich with spinach, tomato, and red onion....mmmm).

During pregnancy, I find that I must eat at least every two hours or risk the perils of low blood-sugar. When I was pregnant with Eowyn and still working in an office, my schedule was thus: wake up and eat breakfast; eat snack on the way to work; eat snack upon arrival to work; eat snack before lunch; dream about lunch; eat lunch, etc. There were a few morning meetings which disrupted this precarious schedule and which almost resulted in me passed out on the floor. My coworkers quickly learned to hand off any extra food to me. Approach me in my cubicle at any point in the day and I invariably had crumbs on my shirt. One of my newly hired coworkers asked if I was always so obsessed about food. Though I felt a little ashamed, she became pregnant herself later on, so I'm sure she understands in hindsight.

At home with Eowyn, the situation is both better and worse. I have easier access to food, but I'm often too busy taking care of Eowyn to remember to eat it.

Fans, glorious fans!

This post by Erin M. really made me laugh! It also made me think of my sister's son, Seth. He too developed a keen interest in fans, starting around Simon's age. Meredith would call it an obsession. There was a time when, wherever he went, he needed to have every fan in the place turned on as high as possible, asking, 'can't they go any faster than that?' He loved looking for fans on outings. His favorite store was the fan store, also known as the fan department of Home Depot. He would regale you at length about fans he had seen at Grandma's house and friends houses. Meredith made him a little book filled with pictures of fans. One day, the arrival of a home improvement catalog advertising fans kept him occupied for (seeming) hours.

Meredith grew concerned that his love of fans would interfere with other aspects of his social development. Over time, his interest grew to include anything that spins, like wheels and tops. And eventually, he moved on to obsess over other things, like pop-up sprinklers. So it worked out in the end--he's an intense little kid, and you just gotta love his tenacity!

Thanks for sharing your fan story, Erin.

Let the games begin

There's several video games I'm looking forward to very much this year. Of course, since Blizzard is developing two of these games, I may not actually get to play them until Eowyn has grandchildren. It's hard to complain too much when Blizzard has such a great track record of releasing games with precision-tuned gameplay.

Diablo III is top on my list. It will be great fun to play this one co-op with Christian, as soon as we put our second computer back into working order, that is. I still have fond memories of watching Christian play the Diablo II beta.





Next, I'm looking forward to Final Fantasy XIII. Hearing that this game will no longer be a PS3 exclusive is a big relief--I wasn't especially looking forward to purchasing that doomed ship just to play this game.


The last game I'm excited about is Starcraft II. But who isn't? That one speaks for itself.

Sea Baby

One day when Eowyn was 7 months old, I wrote this poem about her as I nursed her to sleep. I'm not claiming it's any good, but it came from the heart.

Sea Baby

Skin of crushed pearls and soft rolling sand
Dimple dunes, driftwood-smooth
Golden sea-grass hair
Blue nautilus eyes and pink coral ears,
each chamber opalescent
Your feet are the plump, round velvet of a sandpiper's belly
Brown feather eyelashes rest on speckle-egg cheeks
I am the wave that rocks you to sleep, the wind that whispers 'I love you'
Dream sweet sea dreams
Until morning rays stir still waters
My little sea horse, drift away

Eowyn at the beach when she was 7 months old

Pregnancy Woes

Babies are wonderful, and I'm looking forward to the new little one who will join our family next year. It's just the matter of growing the baby inside my body that bothers me. Oh, and then somehow moving the baby from inside my body to the outside world--that's another small hurdle, but I'll worry about that later. During this first trimester, my main problem symptoms have been ridiculous amounts of fatigue, the constant vague feeling that I might vomit, and needing to pee in the middle of the night. Insomnia has also been a recurring problem, hence the creation of this blog. I know that as pregnancies go, I could have it far worse (such as constant severe nausea for all nine months), so I am quite grateful for the relative health and ease with which I have carried this babe so far.

At my last dentist's appointment, my hygienist told me that she had discovered she was pregnant after being married to her husband for 20 years. She had always been told that she was unable to have children, but now she has a 6-month old baby girl. Now, even if she had gotten married at the age I did, she would still be 40 when her babe was born. She asked me to imagine the kind of lifestyle change that entails after being married without children for so long...I know that I can't.

I was that mom

Yes, I was that mom. The one who bought her daughter a sack full of popcorn on her way into Target, banking on the salty morsels to keep the babe busy as she browsed leisurely in the aisles. I was the one whose child dropped a trail of popcorn kernels wherever they went, as if they were rehearsing a joint audition for the lead roles in the next production of Hansel & Gretel. I was the one who gasped in alarm when her daughter overturned her cup of popcorn on the floor in close proximity to several Target red-shirts, the mom who glanced furtively over her shoulder and then attempted to walk casually down the next aisle as Red Shirt Girl told Red Shirt Boy with a sigh, 'Don't worry, I'll get it.'

I'm not proud of what I did. I'd like to say that I'm sorry, Target red-shirts, for the extra work I caused you that day.

I completed a shopping trip in relative peace, my little girl's appetite ruined for the rest of the day by ingesting nearly half a bag of popcorn, her sweet little lips puffy from salt. Was it worth it? Hmmm.....

Good Morning, Mom!

You know it's an inauspicious start to your day when you go to retrieve your daughter from her crib in the morning and the first thing she does is hand you some of her own poop.

Yes, you read that right. Gross! Still, I found my self saying, 'um, thank you, sweetie.' (It's an instinct for me to reinforce her any time she hands me something willingly).

Her BM was so profuse and powerful that it managed to come up the front of her diaper. It was on her sheets, it covered her blankie, it defiled her stuffed animals. She had it smeared on her face, her clothes, her hands and her feet.

Cleaning her up was a team effort for Christian and me. And yet, it didn't really bother me. Not that I enjoyed it, but if you had told me two years ago that I would one day be cleaning up a poo-covered toddler and assorted poo-covered accessories with nothing more than feelings of mild inconvenience, I probably wouldn't believe you.

Ah, the blinding power of love.

Learnin', Disney-Style

Eowyn has recently reached a point where TV fascinates her. Before, she was mostly oblivious to it. I naively hoped this was a more permanent trait. Now, the TV exerts an irresistible compulsion on her. When it's on, her eyes glaze over and she stands transfixed next to her Cheerios depository (formerly known as the coffee table). Fortunately this only lasts for about 15-20 minutes at a time, though I know it will only increase as she gets older. I have discovered it's both a good and a bad thing. There are times when a 15-20 minute respite from her role as my shadow is quite useful, such as when I'm cooking dinner. Still, it's all too easy to turn on the TV when I'm too tired to engage her full attention.

Even so, there's been a few things I've learned from watching children's television with her, largely from the Disney Channel offering Little Einsteins. Here's a sampling:

1. Animals of all kinds communicate through sounds like orchestral instruments
2. Rockets may be powered by patting your lap vigorously
3. One may open a secret door in Egypt's Sphinx by playing a selection of Mozart on a harp
4. The moon likes to hang out at the peak of the Matterhorn in Switzerland
5. The top of the Space Needle in Seattle is razor-sharp (dangerous for runaway balloons)

In a perfect world...

...my sister, Meredith, and I would live down the street from each other, and my sister-in-law Christy would be in the same neighborhood, too. We'd watch each other's kids and share meals. We'd go to our respective homes when we started to get tired of each other. We'd hang out for no good reason.

In the real world, I've just recently become on "hello" terms with one (1) of my neighbors, after living in this house for three years.

Anyone else longing for village life?

My little neat freak

Eowyn, at 17 months old, has discovered the appeal of orderliness. Sort of.
Her recent activities include:

• taking cornflake remnants off of the coffee table (left there by daddy, si claro) and placing them in the trash.
• eagerly emptying her snack bowl onto the floor, running to the dishwasher, opening it, pulling out the top rack, placing her bowl inside, closing the dishwasher door.
• ferrying the clean silverware from the dishwasher to the drawer. Doing the same for dirty silverware.
  
• putting dirty clothes in the hamper. Putting clean clothes in the hamper.
• helping me put wet clothes in the dryer. 'Helping' me put dry, dirty clothes in the dryer.
• fighting with mommy over the broom and the swiffer (her new favorite toy is a child sized broom. The swiffer has also been permanently reduced to mini-height).
• running away with my rubber gloves and dish towels.
  

Believe it

My house is immaculately clean--you won't find weeks-old mystery spots on my floors. No dust blankets my shelves, and there are no decrepit food crumbs attracting bugs in cracks and corners. Each one of my closets, cabinets and drawers is scrupulously organized. The paint colors in my house work perfectly with my carefully chosen furnishings and wall-hangings. I maintain a full-fledged vegetable and herb garden, from which I regularly prepare delicious, healthy meals. I never eat half a pepperoni pizza in one sitting. I love all of the clothes in my closet. I regularly get pedicures. I never have Eowyn watch TV for an afternoon because I'm too tired to give her my full attention.

None of the above statements are true. (*sigh*)

Must-have

Unable to sleep in the middle of the night, I turned to internet surfing. By and by I stumbled across the very thing that will solve all my problems, if only I can acquire one. Oh yes, say goodbye to my endless inner laments about dirty floors: It's the iRobot Scooba! This is my gift wish.

Not cut out for the "corporate world"

Sometimes I wonder how my life would have turned out if I'd made different choices. Like if I hadn't gotten married at twenty. Or if I had decided to pursue that study-abroad program in Spain instead of getting engaged. If I had actually submitted that application to University of Florida instead of just thinking I had. If I had somehow stayed in California and actually found a job related to the graduate degree I spent forever acquiring. If I had not had a baby.

I don't regret my life. I love my husband dearly, and my daughter is more precious and beautiful to me than I would have ever thought possible. I'm thankful for the many things I have--a nice home to live in and the valuable opportunity to be home with Eowyn and help her grow every day. I'm grateful that I've been lucky enough not to make too many stupid choices. I'm grateful that Christian is such a funny, rational, loving person. I'm grateful that we're have a modicum of financial stability, and so many choices for our personal entertainment that it's staggering.

All that doesn't keep me from wondering about 'what-ifs'. Meredith and I have talked about this and both agree that we're just not cut out for the 'corporate world'. I think it's because the two main characteristics of my life over the years have been timidity and laziness (call it lack of self-discipline, to be more gentle). Also, a fear of being alone and a need to feel loved. I'm not a driven person. I just want someone to hug, who will hug me back. That doesn't keep me from wondering about all my lost potential.

I'm 27 and having a mid-life crisis.

Now, I'm a blogger

Well, I've succumbed to the urge to blog, finally shuffling into line along with the rest of America. I've resisted for a while. It's seemed an... interesting... past-time: sharing one's random thoughts with a random public, and assuming (hoping?) someone cares. Both voyeuristic and vain. Yet I wake up too often at night with thoughts that won't let me sleep, often wishing I could just write them down, get them out of my head, and get on with my precious slumber. I hope this blog will help. Probably, it won't.