Meow Musings

Cue the next chapter

2011-11-05T09:19:00.003-05:00

Change is the challenge we all face in this life.

How we respond says a lot about our character.

I'll no longer be blogging here or at momaha.com.

But I'm thrilled with my new site. Please follow me there - singlemomwithlove.com.

I'll be writing there, on close to a daily basis.

I hope to see you!

Much love.

Veronica

It'll change your life

2011-08-28T21:40:00.003-05:00

Today's Daily Truth is chilling. All of the text that follows is copyright Brave Girls Club:.

Dear Nurturing Girl,

It is often said that a good way to treat others that we love is to imagine that it is our last day with them...or our last day alive. But what if we tried instead, to live as though it is our VERY FIRST DAY with them?

Try to live this day as though it is the first time you have ever seen your child, or the love of your life, or your parents...or your beautiful friends. Look at them from head to toe...see them for what they are and who they are...look around at all that they are doing, and who they have become......work hard to make sure they know exactly how you feel about them. Work hard to be someone that they might want to have in their life.

After time has passed...we so often forget to see things that would normally leave us in awe. Things that are beautiful and miraculous and a complete gift in our lives are all but overlooked because we see them day after day. TODAY decide that it is the first day of your life...and walk into your life to see all of the gifts that are there for you. See your first glass of water, your first sunrise, hear your first song, see those freckles on the face of that little boy you love for the first time....notice the way someone shows their love for you...like it’s the first time.

We work so hard to go go go. Let’s stop today and see what is here already...what we don’t have to go anywhere to see. Let’s try to start seeing things that would blow our minds and touch our hearts and bring us to tears if we were paying attention....or if it were the first time it ever happened...or the first time we ever met.

Life is so beautiful, so full, so miraculous.

Welcome to the first day of your life!

xoxo

Being really honest

2011-08-24T11:37:00.003-05:00

What’s the one thing you’d change about yourself if you could?

(Yes, only one. Come on. You do not have 10 things that need to be different).

Mine is knowing when to shut up, or knowing when to not say something that I didn’t think much about before I said it.

Because sometimes when we say things, they end up meaning that much more to the person who heard them.

And then they’re really hard to take back. And when I didn’t mean what I said in the way it was received in the first place, well, then, it always make me think: a. Why are you so honest? and b. Why don’t you think before you speak?

And then there’s nothing I can do.

I know I said only one, but the second thing I would change is how much I worry about things. Little things become huge if left to ruminate in my mind, and then, yes, I slowly drive myself insane…

And the third thing I would change is how much I care about the little things.

This life is tough sometimes, right?

I know. Chill out. Only worry about what I can control. Live in the moment. Yada yada. I know.

But still.

Tell me I’m not alone. Your less-than-desirable trait, please?
This post originally appeared on momaha.com.

Dear gorgeous girl,

2011-08-19T09:38:00.002-05:00

(Today's Brave Girls Club Daily Truth is too perfect not to share):

Dear Gorgeous Girl,

Think hard, lovely you, about something that worried you 5 years ago...something that worried you day and night and night and day.....something that you weren’t quite sure that you could ever make it through, and that certainly you did not feel you had the tools to make it through at that time.

Yet, here you are, a brave soul...having made it 5 years down the path of your life, and somehow it all worked out...somehow you made it. It might even be so that you have stopped thinking about whatever that worry was until this very moment....because it seems so many lifetimes ago. You may even be giggling thinking about all of the time and energy that you spend worrying about that problem, because in hind sight, it seems so small now.

This is the way it is, dear friend. We waste so much time worrying. We worry and we worry and we worry.....yet, we have made it to today somehow. Can we give life more than that? Can we just try to TRUST that things will be ok, because they always have been...because here we are today, breathing in and out....perfect proof that we will be ok tomorrow too.

Let’s not waste any more time worrying. It IS going to work out...it is going to work out beautifully when all is said and done. It may be longer than we had hoped, and it mayb be in a different way than what we thought was best...but along the way there will be too many gifts of knowledge, learning and miracles to count that will get us through....it’s just the way things work.

Today is a great day to decide that enough is enough...no more worrying.
Life is a beautiful ride. Let’s enjoy it.

You are loved beyond measure.
xoxo

(Entire post copyright Brave Girls Club - if you haven't checked them out yet, do so!)

Doing it all over

2011-08-12T08:44:00.003-05:00

If you could do it over, would you?

If you could go back and change your mind, choose a different path, would you?

Do you ever think about that?

I know none of us would trade our children — not for anything, not for millions of dollars or a home on the beach or a perfect-all-the-time husband. Of course, not.

But what if we could go back to that boy we dated in high school and choose … not to date him. Choose to instead have more girlfriends or spend more Friday nights getting to know our parents … or getting to know ourselves. Reading more books, watching more classic films, starting a scrapbooking club or a bible study group or … anything else.

What if we could go back to that moment in college where we had to bite the bullet and pick a major? Would you still choose journalism? Or would you go that other route you’ve always wondered about, you know, that pre-med route?

What if your parents hadn’t split up? What if you’d stayed with your dad instead? Would you have the same friends, the same kids? Would you have married the same guy? (The uncomfortable answer to these questions is no.)

But we all take the life path we do for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. People come into our lives at the exact time they’re meant to, and then later, some of them leave. We make the choices we do for a reason. We deal with the fall-out from some of those choices because we have to. But every day we get a new day. This world keeps turning, no matter what we do.

I think our challenge – my challenge, at least – is believing this is all how it’s meant to turn out and being patient with the changes, with the bends in the road, without knowing the final destination.

This post originally appeared at momaha.com.

Brave girls

2011-06-30T08:44:00.003-05:00

Do you guys know about the Brave Girls Club?

If not, go there. Sign up for the daily e-mails. It's not spam.

Here was the daily truth today:

"One of the paradoxes of life is that sometimes the very best decisions have the most difficult consequences. And sometimes what is best is not what we want most. And sometimes when we want to feel peace, we have to do something that feels painful first. Sometimes, we have to do such hard things, and there's absolutely no other way.

"You can do it, though ... you know what is the right thing to do.. you know for sure in your gut and deep in your heart and a million signs have led you to what you are supposed to do. It still feels so scary, so difficult and so impossible, even for a very brave girl.

"Just know that most of the best things in life come after making the most difficult choices and doing the hardest things and taking the biggest risks.

"You really can do this ... and miracles are going to happen when you do."

Babies

2011-06-30T08:32:00.002-05:00

My goodness, they are tiny.

You forget. Right? Isn’t it crazy how we forget?

My boss, aka mom2lulu, had her third baby girl last week and she brought the new one into work the other day.

She even said to me, “You’re not much of a baby person, right?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, if I was or wasn’t. I like babies very much when they’re not crying non-stop for seemingly no reason. Yes, at every other time, I like them lots. When they’re crying those tiny cries, well, yes, I’d prefer an 18-month-old.

At any rate, I liked her baby a lot. She was so delicate, just a small bundle of coziness. Her skin was perfect, her brown hair was fluffy, she opened her baby eyes and just looked around the room - at the lights on the ceiling and all the strange faces peering at her.

I held her briefly – until she started to cry. And then Mom took her and all was well in her tiny world again.

It made me want one.

Which is out of the question for all sorts of reasons.

But still, my goodness, babies are sweet.

Do you ever get baby fever when you see a newborn?

This post originally appeared on momaha.com, the World-Herald's website for moms. (It's Veronica's full-time job.)

Bye-bye, baby tooth

2011-05-25T21:49:00.005-05:00

Rye lost his first tooth!

I'm so excited for him. He wiggled it out himself tonight, while he lay in bed. He opened the door around 9:15 and came to find me in the living room.

"Mom," he said, "I lost my tooth." And then he looked down into his hand and showed me the tiny tooth.

He had blood on his fingers and blood in his mouth, but he was smiling.

I feel like this is a milestone. And I'm actually mourning - slightly - the loss of that tooth that was in his mouth for so many years. That tooth that we've brushed and brushed and brushed. That tooth that helped him eat and helped him talk. That tooth that was a piece of my first baby.

Now, it sits in a plastic baggie under my baby's pillow.

(He did write a note to the Tooth Fairy, though, requesting to keep his tooth! That's my boy!)

Who knew my son losing his first tooth could be so exciting!? (And, yes, that is a permanent tooth already coming in behind).

Rye's 6th birthday party

2011-05-15T11:20:00.003-05:00

We had Rye's birthday party at the activities center at Mahoney State Park yesterday.

He had a GREAT time (read: sweaty mess of boyness after running and climbing and playing in those tunnels). I felt so blessed that he had so many friends there to help him celebrate. Truly, we are lucky.

Thank you to everyone who came and spent the afternoon with us.

Here's the birthday boy:

Here are some of the girls going through the tunnels:

Here's the G.I. Joe cake I made. Turned out OK!

And here's the party room before everyone got there:

I said to Rye afterward, "Wouldn't it be fun if we could have birthday parties every month?"

He said, "Yeah, but then I'd get old really fast."

So much wisdom from my nearly 6-year-old!

Unless you're really not paying attention...

2011-04-15T11:06:00.007-05:00

We're going to get a little smarter as we get older.

That's what superstar author Elizabeth Gilbert told me last month when I called her for an interview. She was in a hotel room in Idaho, in the middle of a speaking tour that brought her to Omaha last week.

I was so nervous in the days leading up to the interview that I started wishing someone else was writing the story instead. I do that sometimes: wish I could forsake what always ends up being awesome just to get out of the agony of the build-up.

But she was great and I was capable, if even confident and articulate. She thanked me for such thoughtful questions at the end, and that just about made my entire week.

She was what journalists call "a quote machine." Just about everything she said was wise and worded well and quote-worthy. Writing this story was challenging mainly in making sure I kept my voice, that I didn't rely too much on her words, that I let myself be the writer. (How crazy is that? Letting myself be the writer instead of ELIZABETH GILBERT!).

Anyway, here's what ran in the World-Herald. I'm pretty proud of it.

The influence of 'Eat, Pray, Love'

By Veronica Daehn

World-Herald staff writer

As far as Elizabeth Gilbert can figure, it was all an accident.

The author of the mega-successful “Eat, Pray, Love” just happened to write a book about her spiritual journey to find herself at the same time millions of women happened to be re-examining their own lives.

“When you're struggling with those hard questions about love, despair, God, the point of your life, you really feel like you're alone on an iceberg with that,” Gilbert said in a recent interview. “It turns out those exact questions were being shared by about 10 million people. Turns out my own personal drama is an extremely representable one.”

In her early 30s, unhappy in her marriage and her life, Gilbert left her husband and her new suburban house in New York. She ultimately traveled to Italy, India and Indonesia, where she sought spiritual guidance and healing as well as forgiveness. “Eat, Pray, Love” is a memoir of that journey.

It has sold more than 10 million copies, has been translated into more than 30 languages and was made into a major motion picture starring Julia Roberts.

Gilbert is still figuring out how to deal with all that success.

“I try to respect it and be grateful for it and keep a little tiny bit of distance from it,” she said. “There was nothing in my life that led me to believe anything like that would have happened.”

If she's lucky, she said, people will be asking her about “Eat, Pray, Love” for the rest of her life.

There's little doubt that its impact will be long-lasting, at least for many readers.

Mandy Horrocks, a 34-year-old Omaha mother, is just one of many women who read Gilbert's book at that accidental right time.

Normally too busy with her career to read, Horrocks bought “Eat, Pray, Love” in the Omaha airport on her way to a business meeting in Boston. She couldn't put it down.

“From the first lines, I just thought, ‘Oh, my God, this is my life right now.' I just really connected.”

Horrocks read “Eat, Pray, Love” in October. A week before Christmas, she left her husband. In February, she left her job, a career she'd had for 12 years — 10 at the same place. A sales manager for a financial services company, Horrocks didn't want to be “on” all the time anymore.

Before quitting, she told herself every day for a year that her career would get better. Put your head down and work hard, she said. She knew she could make herself do that.

“But then I woke up one day and thought, ‘Why am I making myself do this?'”

Taking a cue from Gilbert, she's no longer doing it. Instead, she's trying to figure out what's next.

As for her marriage, Horrocks said she and her husband were on their way to separating anyway. But reading the book gave her a little more faith, a little more courage.

“It just kind of confirmed and reassured me that things like that can happen and be OK,” she said. “It reassured me that you do move on and do what's important in your life.”

Women today have an added challenge, Gilbert said, because they don't really have older generations to look up to. Their mothers and grandmothers didn't feel pulled in so many directions because they didn't have as many choices.

Gilbert said: “I can't ask my mother or my grandmother how they did this because they didn't have the life I had. She didn't have to do the thing we do where we look down our street and there are 10 different women with 10 different paths and each one forced us to ask ourselves if we did it the right way? Was I supposed to get divorced and move to India?”

Women have enormous political and educational freedoms now, Gilbert said. And because they don't have generations of role models to learn from and follow, they're all pioneering their own way. (“Thank God for the blogosphere,” she said).

It can get overwhelming, but women have a responsibility to own up to their choices, even when it means they don't get certainty, she said. Women often second-guess their decisions.

“Let us not deceive ourselves,” Gilbert said. “This is a tricky time to be a woman. Almost every day, we have six doors we could go through. Choosing one always comes with the danger that you should have gone through a different door.”

So what about Gilbert's choice? Is she happy?

She is. She remarried (her most recent book, “Committed,” is all about marriage), and she and her husband live in a river town of 1,000 people in rural New Jersey.

She has a garden where she grows mainly flowers (the town has a wonderful Farmer's Market for vegetables, plus she likes to look out her window and “see a ridiculously pointless pile of beauty.”) She takes yoga at a local studio. She walks her dog, Rocky. And she's working on her next book, a novel about 19th century botanical exploration.

At ICAN, Gilbert will talk about the process of writing “Eat, Pray, Love” and surviving its aftermath.

She'll start at the beginning of her writing career, when she was 8 or 9 years old and writing plays with her sister (she wrote, produced and directed a 10-minute musical in the fifth grade). She'll talk about the creative process and how to live a creative life as long as you're alive.

She'll talk about failures, too — the 10 years she spent trying to be a writer but not getting published.

But now, she's Elizabeth Gilbert. She took this scary step, left her marriage, traveled the world, found herself and love, wrote a best-seller, has been on “Oprah” ... isn't her life perfect?

Nah.

“The world is a shifty, spinny, complicated place where nothing is promised, where nothing remains the same,” she said. “Just when you get yourself straightened out, there's everyone else to deal with, too — all their fears and issues. The degree of compassion that's required to endure it is mighty.

“But unless you're really not paying attention, you're going to get a little smarter as you get older.”

Such a big girl

2011-04-04T08:39:00.003-05:00

Certain things must happen for a child to fully grow up.

They must master skills like tying their shoes, zipping their jacket, blowing their nose, brushing their teeth, using the potty, going to sleep on their own in a big kid bed. Playing at a friend's house without Mommy there.

Also: eating cereal with milk. With a spoon. All by yourself. (What? This isn't on your list?)

Paige is apparently now a big girl.

And I'd say she's pretty pleased about it, wouldn't you?

Her big brother yesterday went to a Nebraska baseball game with a good friend and his mom. I sent him with money and a juice box, temporary substitutes for me. He had a great time and I was excited for him to get to go. The independence he's gained this year in kindergarten definitely signals that he's growing up.

But he has yet to eat cereal with milk. So his little sis has got that on him at least.

We're on vacation this week! Happy week to all of you, too.

Maybe

2011-03-16T19:53:00.000-05:00

Maybe at least it would make a good story, I told my son.

I was hoping.

Not that this story is awful by any means. More … irritating, I guess, than anything else. But also kind of funny.

My son, who turns 6 in May, takes gymnastics twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays at 5:30. This week, though, his mom is running a St. Patrick’s Day 5K on Thursday, so we sought out a make-up gymnastics class for him last night.

We arrived, true to form, about a minute late. He ran in, while I parked the car. I gave him clear instructions to look for his teacher and head straight in to join the group.

When my 22-month-old daughter and I made it in, I immediately walked to the window to make sure my son had found his class.

Just about right away, I knew something was wrong. For one, he was almost a foot taller than the other boys. Second, he also seemed to be joining the group mid-class. They were on the bars already. Normally, they’d be running laps for a warm-up.

I asked at the front desk. Yes, the class my son should be joining starts at 6:30, not 5:30. I checked my phone for the time: 5:36 p.m.

Ugh. Lesson: Always double check what you think you know.

I gathered my children and headed for the car. Both said, “Where are we going? What are we doing?”

The truth: I hadn’t a clue. But I knew we weren’t staying at gymnastics for the next 54 minutes, just waiting. We live far enough away that it didn’t make sense to go home either.

We hadn’t eaten yet and the kids had already requested pancakes for dinner, so I decided we’d go to the nearby breakfast restaurant. Perfect. Dinner taken care of and time wasted!

Then I saw my son’s feet. I hadn’t made him wear shoes. He takes them off as soon as he gets to gymnastics anyway, why bother with tying them? No shirt, no shoes, no service. Awesome.

So we drove. We drove until Mommy saw a thrift store. We went in, my son barefoot. I told myself the fact that my son didn’t have shoes on and we were going in to shop at a thrift store didn’t mean anything about my financial means, despite appearances to the contrary.

Goldmine: Above a rack of clothes, I saw a pair of kids’ sneakers. They were white and royal blue and off-brand.

I’m also pretty sure they were girls’ shoes.

But they fit. So we bought them.

And then we ate a speed dinner of pancakes at the nearby restaurant. Because by the time we got there, I had to ask the waiter to please rush our order.

Finally, we showed up to gymnastics – again – a minute late.

This post originally appeared on momaha.com.

Days like these

2011-03-14T12:18:00.003-05:00

You ever had one of those days where everything feels hard? At least harder than it should be?

They usually start in the morning. I burn the waffles. I spill the sippy cup as I'm pouring the juice. I can't find one of my daughter's shoes.

My son doesn't like the choices of pants in his drawer. He wants the pair of pants he wore two days ago and can't understand why they're not clean. It's not like he wore them yesterday.

My daughter trips on her blankie or an errant toy (book, movie, shirt, fill in the blank really) that's been left where it shouldn't be.

I wake up with intentions to shower but then run out of time. I can't find my toothbrush - it's probably hiding out with my daughter's shoe.

We leave the house late. My son can't find his hat. Or his gloves. Or his library book. My daughter cries for her sunglasses to be on her face right that second, MAMA!! Even though it's cloudy.

I forget my lunch that I actually took time to make on the kitchen counter. Again.

We hit every red light. There's no easy place to park to simply drop my son off at school.

I try to fight the urge to swing by Starbucks. I don't have time, I should save the money. I swing by anyway. And the drive-through is eight cars deep.

I keep on driving, wondering what's next...

These sorts of days.

Anyone with me?

This post originally appeared on momaha.com.

Princess Paige

2011-03-02T12:44:00.003-06:00

It's amazing how fast our babies grow. Last year at this time, my baby girl was still very much a baby. A baby with personality, yes. But still more baby than toddler.

A year later, Paige is talking better than most 21-month-olds, has transitioned well to a toddler bed and is just overall a joy to be around.

Of course, we love all our children with all our hearts, but she is extra special (so is her brother!).

Here she is in her new princess toddler bed, which a week later she is actually sleeping in.

Last weekend, she helped me make pancakes. I love this picture.

Here we were playing outside a few weeks ago. It was windy but warm enough to be out for a little while. Love that attitude.

And though she was a tad under the weather here (runny nose, mainly), she still looks beautiful.

Pockets

2011-02-12T08:49:00.002-06:00

I want pockets like Micah.

So I'm sticking my hands down my pants.

How cute (and SMART) am I?

(Thank you, Jessica, for the photo).

Snow day (x) two

2011-02-02T16:13:00.003-06:00

Today was the second snow day. My kindergartner was out of school again, I still felt sick and my toddler was still as rambunctious as ever.

No one cared that Mommy still had to work, even if school was called off, even if she felt sick.

No one cared that we hadn't been out of the house since Saturday. (Today is Wednesday, mind you).

No one cared that I was out of coffee.

Snow days would be a lot more fun if a. we could get of the house and if b. I also got the day off from work. Think how much fun snow days would be in the summer?! Swimming, riding bikes, trips to the park!

Snow days in winter, especially on days when the driveway isn't shoveled and the wind chill is below zero, are no fun. You can't even really go sledding.

The day turned out just fine actually. And, yes, I'm exaggerating the awfulness above. I took the kids to daycare, I went to the doctor (I have a sinus infection. Bring on the antibiotics!) and made a quick stop at the gym before returning home to work, in peace and quiet. I got a lot done.

And now I'm going to get my babies, with the renewed sense of how much I love them that only a small break from them can bring.

And tonight after they're in bed?

A glass of wine and an Internet search for cheap tickets to Cancun.

Putting the baby girl to bed

2011-01-19T12:02:00.002-06:00

I've made it more difficult than it should be.

I never stopped rocking her to sleep. And now she's 20 months old and used to the cuddling. So to get out of it, I know what has to happen. Laying her down, kissing her goodnight and then putting up with the crying.

Doesn't sound fun.

I made another mistake a few weeks ago, though. I added a step to falling asleep. Nice work, Mommy.

It was right before Christmas and my beautiful daughter wouldn't go to sleep.

She was overtired, and she was crying. I turned off the lights and we sat down to rock like every other night, but this night she wouldn't stop crying.

I tried hushing her, rocking faster, covering her up with a blanket but nothing worked. Really, she just needed to fall asleep.

I tried singing. "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" got a, "No, Mama!" "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" got a similar response, as did the ABCs.

On a last-ditch whim, I tried "Jingle Bells."

It worked. Hallelujah, the child stopped crying! And within minutes, she fell asleep.

Relieved and a little proud of myself, I sneaked out of the room, my baby resting soundly. "Jingle Bells," I thought. Who knew?

Well, about four weeks later, I want to chuck the lyrics to "Jingle Bells" right out of my brain. Know why? Because I've had to sing it EVERY bedtime and nap-time since. Every single one. And if I stop after five or six rounds because, I don't know, I'm TIRED, I get, "Mooore Jingle Bells, Mama. MOOORE Jingle Bells" in a sort of whiny little girl voice.

So then I sing more. I've started whispering it and only singing the chorus, in the honest hope that she'll get bored and ask me to stop.

No such luck. Yet. At least she falls asleep ...

Until I decide to stop rocking and singing all together. Oh, boy.

Read more from me daily on momaha.com.

O, Christmas tree

2010-12-12T08:55:00.003-06:00

Every morning when I get my baby girl from her bed and we go out to the living room, she says, "Oh! Christmas tree, Mama!"

And every morning then, I plug in the three strands of lights and light up that big tree we chose ourselves.

We got the tree last weekend from a tree farm called Santa's Woods. It was low-key and awesome, though bitterly cold.

We took a tractor-pulled hayrack ride out to the trees and then another smaller one pulled by two Clydesdales out to more trees. We chose as quickly as possible, mainly because it was so cold. I'd bundled Paige up in layers and joked that she was like the little boy in "A Christmas Story" who can't put his arms down.

It must not have been enough, though, because she still started crying from cold out in the field.

We sat by a campfire for a few minutes after choosing the tree and got mini candy canes from a friendly Santa.

They strapped the tree to the top of my car for us and away we went. Rye and I decorated it the next day, while Paige took her nap.

The best part is how much my kids love this Christmas tree. It's already got me worried about how I'll soothe their sadness in a few more weeks when it's time to throw the tree out.

Oh well. Until then, we're enjoying it to the fullest.

I ran 7 miles through the November cold WHY?

2010-12-01T11:21:00.006-06:00

This is why:

This was me at the end, fingers frozen like Popsicles, feet numb like nubs.

HAPPY.

You can see it, right? That smile is the look of accomplishment, of "Holy hell, I just did that. And I did FINE!"

The idea of running Living History Farms each year scares me to death. Seven miles of running, NINE creeks to cross. Many hills to climb. Lots of mud. 8,000 other runners - many in costume and whooping and hollering.

This was the second time I've run it.

I enjoyed this time more than the first, I think. It felt, somehow, easier. Somehow, I was tired at the end but not at exhaustion. Never did I think, "I can't finish."

Instead, I dove straight into that frigid water up to my thighs at some points and trudged across those creeks. I let complete strangers help me up the muddy embankments a couple times.

I did it.

Just do it - the Nike slogan - used to be one of my mantras during my jock-ish years of jr. high and high school.

I think it's one we can live by our whole lives.

Check out these legs:

Now, who wants to run with me next year?

Happy 1/2 birthday!

2010-11-18T10:30:00.004-06:00

It wasn't difficult.

It didn't take much time, money or advance preparation.

But the half birthday celebration I put together for my babies yesterday was well worth it.

We had store-bought pizza that I cooked in the oven.

We had a bouquet of balloons that cost $8 from the grocery store's floral department.

I made cupcakes, from a box and a jar.

I gave some to Rye to bring to Paige's daycare as a treat. He said, "Thank you, Mom!" as he carefully carried in the covered Tupperware container after school.

Paige and Rye had cupcakes there before coming home to our little party here.

I bought candles for 88 cents.

Grandma and Aunt Ashley and Uncle Justin came over.

We sang "Happy half birthday, Paige and Rye" and afterward Paige quietly sang "Happy birthday!" to herself in the long, drawn-out way toddlers pronounce their words.

It was genuinely fun.

Here's to celebrating half birthdays. Because they're only a kid once.

(Afterward, Paige took all the candles that'd been thrown on the table and stuck them into her cupcake, wick down. Loved it!)

Beer and Bagel 2010

2010-11-07T13:00:00.002-06:00

I ran the 2010 Beer and Bagel Run this morning. It was awesome!

I did not have any beer afterward, but many of the nearly 1,500 runners who finished the race did. What can I say? I didn't feel like drinking at 9:30 on a Sunday morning. Honestly, though, I almost went to get a glass, just to mark this particular running milestone off my list. If I wasn't going home to take care of a toddler and a 5-year-old maybe I would have.

At any rate, the race was at Quarry Oaks Golf Course near Ashland, Neb., a four-mile run on a perfect November day. I was so cold at the start that I was shivering, but I quickly warmed up, and my legs felt good.

Much of the course was on a trail through the woods, some of it was on the golf course itself. There were many hills. I quickly remembered that this girl hates uphills, loves downhills. Why doesn't everyone just fly down the hills? That's how I make up time after my abysmally slow climbs up. Or that's what I tell myself.

I finished 377th out of the nearly 1500 runners. Not too bad. My time was 35:40, also not too bad for a true cross country course and my first race since January.

I'm glad I did it. Though my legs might tell me otherwise tomorrow.

And, boy, could I use a nap right about now!

(Wish I had a picture, but, alas, still no camera).

Happy Halloween

2010-11-01T12:30:00.004-05:00

Look at that kitty and her big brother, Donatello.

Trick or treating was fun last night.

But I'm pretty sure Mommy loved it more than the kids.

What can I say? I like dressing up. I like trick-or-treating. I like hanging on to every last second of October.

November came anyway, though. This morning. Here we go, winter. Bring it on.

Growing up heroes

2010-10-24T09:35:00.003-05:00

I just found this Web site, Growing Up Heroes.

It's awesome.

And so simple.

Superheroes. Pictures of real people dressed up as superheroes, long ago, when they were kids. There is such a fun, vintage feel to this site.

I mean, look at this. How great is this Ewok picture?

And this?

Love it.

I smell MEAT

2010-10-23T08:30:00.003-05:00

We stopped at Hy-Vee after school yesterday and driving through the parking lot, Rye said, "I smell something."

I looked around. Yes, he smelled meat on the grill. I told him that.

"Oh," he said, "what kind?"

Sausages, hot dogs and ribs, I told him.

"But what animal is it?" he said. And I was proud.

"Pigs," I said.

Silence.

I could tell he was thinking about this, about the fact that people eat animals.

As we got out of the car, he asked, "But not all animals are killed, right? Some animals get to just live, right, Mom?"

I told him that, yes, some animals like cows and pigs and chickens get to just live but that most of them are raised to become food.

We passed the giant grill with the racks of ribs and fat sausages sizzling. We both looked and then went on our way. What else can we do?

We will never, ever live in a world where animals are not killed for meat. I know this. My wish, though, is that we could get to a place where those animals are treated humanely, where they are not raised in pens too small to walk, where they are not overfed and pumped with hormones, where they do not live in their own feces, where they are not tortured.

I don't think that's a lot to ask.

I didn't tell my 5-year-old all that. For now, I'm OK with the fact that he understands why we don't eat meat. Simply, in his mind, because we don't think it's a nice thing to eat animals.

It feels like heresy sometimes in the heart of the Midwest, in an agricultural stronghold like Nebraska, to oppose eating meat. But it also feels like the right thing.

So that is the path we will continue on.

This morning's moment

2010-10-20T10:14:00.004-05:00

I was eating Frosted Mini-Wheats, legs crossed on the living room floor this morning, while Paige danced to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on TV and Rye sat nearby on the couch.

It was the time between the rush to get everyone ready for the day and the rush to get out the door.

Rye said, "Grandma Hazel is 91."

I have no idea what made him think of this at that moment. Perhaps, Mickey and friends had just counted by 10s to 100.

I nodded that yes, she is 91.

He said, "She says she's getting old. She already is old!"

I called her just Hazel. He questioned that. "Hazel?"

Her name is Hazel, I explained. He furrowed his brow. "Oh, I thought it was Grandma Hazel."

Well, you call her that, baby, I said, because she is a grandma. She's Daddy's grandma. She's your great-grandma."

And then it was silent for half a minute.

Rye said, "Do you have a great-grandma, Mom?"

And isn't this sad? I had to think about who that would even be.

"No," I said. "I don't."

I don't even know my grandma.

And so I'm thankful again this morning that my babies have extended family who love them, that my son has a great-grandma who he's seen and hugged and knows, that he has grandparents who care.

Today's wisdom

2010-10-19T11:36:00.007-05:00

"I saw that pain is part of beauty - that inside of all that music, all that love, all the moonlight and sunlight, are shafts of pain, and we are meant to bear it all."

-- "The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder" by Rebecca Wells

In this scene, the girl's mother is dancing in the moonlight with her husband and her children. She is frail and just about all the way broken. Her hair has fallen out and her breasts have been ... removed.

Though it is January, she is barefoot. So that her feet can touch the cold ground, so that she can feel alive.

Pain and all.

One last time.

Perhaps the pain that is all too true in this life makes the good times, the beautiful, pure and true times, all the sweeter.

That is my wish.

She's so cool

2010-10-07T23:29:00.001-05:00

Look at her. How precious is she?

Paige Emerson, 16 1/2 months.

My favorite movie EVER

2010-09-16T14:47:00.002-05:00

I was 5 years old and couldn't sleep. Outside my bedroom door, I could hear the muffled voices of my parents and the hum of the television.

It was too much for me to resist, for some reason, on that night.

I went out to the living room. Immediately, I saw the plate of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, a treat we never had, on the coffee table. My eyes were fixed.

I really wanted one.

My parents gave in, and I snuggled onto the couch between them, the frosting too sweet for words.

Five-year-old me couldn't have asked for anything better - until she realized what was on TV.

I didn't know what it was, but just as instantly as my tummy had rumbled for those cinnamon rolls, my mind (my soul) was glued to that television.

On the screen, a teenager was driving a DeLorean at 88 miles per hour through a mall parking lot.

A wild-eyed scientist had just been shot. "Run for it, Marty!" rang in my ears.

Yeah.

This was my introduction to "Back to the Future." And I was head over heels in love.

I still am.

The movie that captured my heart 25 years ago turns 25 years old this year.

To celebrate Marty McFly's trip back in time to 1955 (where he accidentally meddles with his parents' romance), the flux capacitor, Doc Brown ("Great Scott!) and all other things "Back to the Future," Omaha's Film Streams theater is showing the movie for almost two weeks.

Starting tonight.

Yeah. I'm going to need to get a babysitter for this one.

Soon.

And maybe multiple times.

School crushes

2010-09-02T10:11:00.004-05:00

He's only 5.

He's only in kindergarten.

Yet, a few days ago, Rye had a note.

From a girl.

I saw him smirking in the backseat after I picked him up from school.

"What are you smiling about?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, and quickly pretended like he hadn't been staring at the small piece of paper in his hands. In fact, he tried hiding that piece of paper, as if I hadn't already seen it.

I couldn't see what it said, though, and this really got me. Oh, how I wanted to see what was on that tiny rectangle!

I let it go, though. I'm trying to realize that my kids are their own people and they are allowed to have feelings (and all sorts of other things) that they don't have to share with Mommy.

I didn't say I like this very much, but I do realize it's the case.

Later that night, after dinner, Rye was lounging in the living room, watching a movie. I noticed he was holding onto the same small piece of paper.

My curiosity got the best of me.

I pretended to be cleaning up the living room. Really, I just wanted to see what was so important about that note.

On one side, someone had drawn stars and smiley faces. On the other side, someone had colored and written her name:

Chloe.

I smiled.

And I bit my tongue.

Even though I desperately want to know who Chloe is (and what her parents do, if she has blonde hair like Mommy and how this relationship began - recess? gym? hand holding during story time?), I let it go.

I chose instead to be happy for my little boy, that he had a new friend who liked him well enough to draw him a picture.

A picture that made him happy.

Isn't that what we all want ultimately? Happy kids?

Right now, it's enough for me.

Moments to hold onto

2010-09-01T08:06:00.003-05:00

I bought the box of Cheerios months ago for my daughter, who is now 15 months old.

She never really wanted any. Yet, still the box sat, largely untouched in the kitchen pantry. She might change her mind, I thought. Better keep it.

When I began packing for our move a couple weeks ago, that box of cereal moved to a Rubbermaid tub on the kitchen floor. Paige has enjoyed the new "toys" that have surfaced on her level in that tub. There, she discovers such treasures as pens, flour, half-eaten bags of tortilla chips, aluminum foil and cereal boxes.

Last night as I finished dinner, Paige was playing in the kitchen.

I heard it first. The sound was a bit like sand being thrown onto the sidewalk or rice being shaken in its container.

I turned my head to see Paige, upended cereal box in hand, several Cheerios on the floor.

I had plenty of time to react. To yell, "No! Paaaige! Don't do that!" (Can you almost hear me saying that?).

But I didn't.

I laughed.

And then she dumped the rest of the cereal out.

All of it. All over the floor.

And as those tiny circles of cereal that I don't blame her for not liking rained down on my floor and scattered throughout the dining room and the kitchen, I laughed even harder.

This moment, for whatever reason, I chose to enjoy. And it wasn't a conscious decision either. It was just what came out.

I loved it.

And as I sat there smiling, watching the crumbs stick to my daughter's feet as she ran across the field of cereal she'd planted on my laminate, her laughter was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard.

I realized that these moments are worth laughing about.

I realized that these moments will be gone too quickly.

I realized that before I know it my babies' evenings will be filled with things like baseball practice and homework and phone calls or (dear God help me) Facebook.

These babies might not always want Mom around to laugh with.

I realized, as I stared at all that cereal, that this was a moment to hold onto. Like that lock of hair from their first haircuts.

To keep in my memory as not a mess to clean up but a time we all laughed together with nothing else alive in that room but each other.

I'm famous, part II

2010-08-31T10:16:00.005-05:00

The Today Show chose to post my blog about filling Rye's backpack on their Web site!

It was published there yesterday. My thanks to BlogHer for pitching it to them.

Please check the post out and consider leaving a comment.

Copy and paste: http://community.todaymoms.com/_news/2010/08/30/4993456-hes-starting-kindergarten-what-i-really-want-to-put-in-his-backpack

Or click here.

I could get used to this.

What else should I write that others will really like? I'm taking suggestions. :)

I shouldn't need a husband to buy beer

2010-08-26T11:08:00.006-05:00

I just needed strawberries.

So I stopped at Hy-Vee, on my way to get my little all-grown-up-all-of-a-sudden boy from school.

I went in, skipped the shopping cart and found the strawberries (for Paige and Rye). I also decided to get fruit snacks (a treat for Rye) and Corona Light (a treat for me).

My hands full, I went to the cashier with the shortest line. I was happy she was older, so we wouldn't have to bother with a manager coming over to scan my beer and take my money.

The woman in front of me was paying when I came up and set my items on the conveyor belt. She had a daughter about Paige's age in the cart who I suppose was cute. But she wasn't as cute as my kid, and the cashier was ALL OVER HER.

Even after the woman had paid and was on her way, the cashier who I was waiting patiently for wanted to know the little girl's name.

Come on, I was thinking. I have three things. Just let me pay for them. I don't even need a bag. I checked the time on my cell phone. 17 minutes until school was out.

Finally, the cashier pulled herself away, saying, "She's a CUTIE!"

I sort of nodded.

Ring me up, I pleaded silently.

I pulled out my credit card, ready to swipe it through the machine when she read my total.

The cashier rang up the strawberries and the fruit snacks and paused when she got to the Corona. She leaned over the counter in between us and looked at my left hand.

Then she looked at me.

"I'm going to card you. Do you have your ID?"

Yes, I did, of course.

"I'm 30 years old," I said, and handed her my license.

She scanned the beer and gave me back my license. I slid my credit card and put it away.

I was in a hurry to go. The cashier held onto my beer.

"Do you need one of these?" she asked. She was holding Hy-Vee's Wedding Essentials magazine.

Are you kidding me? I thought. Uh, no, I don't need your magazine filled with overpriced bridal gowns, flowers that only die and rings that cost way too much. I'm completely over centerpieces and tuxes and glasses etched with the couple's name, too. And if you had any clue what the last year of my life has been like, lady, I sure hope you wouldn't be flashing that magazine in my face.

"Nope, I sure don't," I said. "I just got divorced."

Now, give me my groceries and let me leave, I wanted to add.

She smiled sadly at me, judging me, it seemed, and finally let me go.

Tip number one, Hy-Vee cashiers: A ring on my left finger doesn't prove I'm old enough to buy beer. If you're going to card a customer, please base that decision on her face, not her marital status.

Number two: Please, please don't assume a ringless finger means a woman wants to think about marriage. Trust me: Brides will find your magazine if they want it.

Just scan my groceries, and take my money.

That's all I need you to do.

There are plenty of others in this world to make me feel bad about things. I don't need you added to that list.

I'm famous

2010-08-24T22:14:00.002-05:00

I'm on the front page of BlogHer today!

Check me out there, and leave a comment please! Thank them for posting me. It's called SYNDICATION.

I'm excited.

Click here to read me there.

He was fine

2010-08-11T22:48:00.003-05:00

I told you he would be.

I knew he would be.

Still, I had to see it for myself. I had to see him come striding out of those doors after the first day of kindergarten ended yesterday with a smile on his face, a sort of pride in his step.

About lunchtime, I started counting down until I could go get him. One hour and 15 minutes.

It wasn't soon enough.

I'd done fine dropping him off. I'd actually loved the whole process. We all woke up as usual, had breakfast and got dressed. I was careful about making his lunch. I wanted it to be perfect.

I made sure he knew how to open the plastic sandwich bags I'd put his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and sliced strawberries in.

I made sure I packed the right kind of fruit snacks. I discreetly cut a small piece of construction paper into a heart, decorated it with an Iron Man sticker and wrote, "Rye, I love you! MOM." I stuck it in his lunchbox, too.

It was the second thing he told me when I picked him up from school. It was a, "Hey, you surprised me with that, Mom! How'd you slip that one by me?!" sort of comment. I loved that he loved it.

The first thing he told me: "We had TWO recesses today!"

That's my boy.

Before the end of the day, I learned he and the other kindergartners had been loud at lunch, a boy in his class named Simon had gotten hurt but no one knew what happened, his teacher had read a story about going to kindergarten and he'd had graham crackers for a mid-morning snack. Oh, and they counted to 10.

But he didn't learn anything new. Not yet, he says.

Still, he made it. He did it. He was fine. He liked it.

Kindergarten schmindergarten.

And you were worried.

And he's off

2010-08-11T13:08:00.003-05:00

Today, my baby went to kindergarten.

And in 51 minutes - yes, I am counting - I can go get him.

I can't wait. I need to make sure he was OK. I need to ask how lunch went. Could he get the baggies holding his peanut butter and jelly and strawberries open? If he couldn't, did he ask for help? Did he do alright in the bathroom? Did he make a friend? How does he like his teacher? Did he learn anything today? When is P.E.? What about music? Were the kids in his class nice? How was recess? What did he play with? What are the names of the kids who sit at his table? Did his teacher read any books? What did he do with his school supplies?

Did he miss me?

What anxiety?

Hey, I haven't even cried today. (That's because I cried for hours last night. I wish I was kidding.)

I go back and forth between knowing that my child is nothing but ready for this next step in his life, that it's exactly what he needs to continue growing and thriving AND from feeling like I want to cling to whatever strands of blonde hair I can grab ahold of to keep him from growing up - and away from Mommy - any faster.

What can I do anyway, though? Except cheer him on as he goes out into this big, wondrous world.

Here's to you, my baby boy. Go get 'em.

Re-introducing Veronica Daehn

2010-08-11T09:04:00.002-05:00

Getting divorced is not an easy thing.

Every aspect of it actually is awful. Emotionally, it's the hardest thing I've ever done. It's not what I set out wanting. It wasn't ever part of my life plan.

But it is done now, and I want you to know the girl who came out on the other side.
Her name is Veronica Daehn. She is a mother of two beautiful, smart, charming, fun children who she wouldn't trade for the world.

She is a journalist. A friend. A daughter. A sister. An aunt.

She is the owner of one cat, who is not for sale. Ever.
She is not the Veronica Daehn who graduated school with a 4.0. Nor is she the Veronica Daehn who won awards for things like hustle and spirit in athletics. She's not the Veronica Daehn who couldn't take a joke. She's not the Veronica Daehn who tried hard at everything she did.

She's just not that girl anymore.

She is changed.

This Veronica Daehn is older, wiser, less naive, more realistic, more understanding, a better friend - and she's working on her patience.

She is less involved in things that don't matter. She's stopped trying to impress people. She's working on not caring what others think (this one is hard).
She has regrets.

This Veronica Daehn knows we don't always get what we want - and she's stopped striving for that.
She is working on forgiving herself. She is working on forgiving others.

And overall, this Veronica Daehn is happy to be back, as a hybrid of the girl she once was and the mother she now is. She's paving her path as she goes, a bit more carefully this time, much more wisely, she hopes.

She's taking things as they come, perhaps a bit more skeptically.

Perhaps a bit more happily.

She hopes.

These are the things I'd really put in his backpack

2010-07-29T15:51:00.008-05:00

My son starts kindergarten in less than two weeks.

I won't even get into how fast the time has gone, how I can't believe he'll be in school, real school, not just preschool or daycare.

Instead, I'm trying to focus on looking ahead and being excited about all the amazing things he's yet to experience.

This weekend, I plan to take him to buy school supplies. The school provided a list. He is to bring:

- 4 boxes of crayons
- 1 pack of Crayola markers
- 2 boxes of tissues
- 6 white glue sticks
- 1 plastic school box, no handle
- 12 #2 pencils, sharpened
- 1 bottle of Elmer's glue
- 1 pair of headphones
- 1 large backpack

We'll get those items, of course, and I'll help him fill his new backpack with them. Then on the morning he leaves me for the first real time, I'll help him get that heavy backpack on his shoulders.

I'll walk with him into school. I'll make sure he finds his room, meets his teacher.

And then I'll leave.

I don't even like the way writing that sentence feels.

While his backpack will be full of crayons and glue sticks and markers and tissues - the things we were supposed to send with our kids to school - these are the things I really want to send with my first-born, my baby:

-- Confidence. The gift of believing in yourself is bigger than anything I could ever wrap and put under the tree.

-- A sense of humor. Things don't always go the way we want. This is hard to accept, especially for us first-borns. But it's good to be able to laugh them off.

-- Courage. My biggest fear is that my little boy will need help and will be too scared or too shy to ask.

-- At least one friend. Please, God, let him make him a friend. None of us deserves to be alone.

-- Love. If I could, I'd stuff all the love I have for him in a little Ziploc bag, seal it tight and put it in his pocket to carry forever.

-- His blankie. It's the best substitute for Mommy. And it actually would fit in his backpack, if he'd let me pack it.

-- Curiosity. I want him to know everything there is to know about this world. Not just reading and math but about faraway places and great leaders and big ideas. I want him to ask questions. I want him to get excited about learning. I want him to be smarter than me.

-- Me. If I could, I'd smoosh Mommy up into a tiny action figure version and I'd slip myself into his other pocket. I'd be there just to listen or give him a little hug when he needs it.

But I know as well as you: He won't need it. He'll be just fine.

Also find this post on momaha.com

Beep beep

2010-07-18T18:58:00.003-05:00

One of the cutest things my daughter says now is "Beep beep." Try imagining a 14-month-old just learning to talk saying this phrase with an upward inflection at the end, almost as if she's asking a question.

"Beep beep?"

It's what she calls her belly button.

And I LOVE it.

A few weeks ago, I touched her belly button and said "Beep, beep!" She giggled. So I did it a few more times.

And now it's stuck.

"Paige, where's your beep beep?"

And she immediately looks down to find it and push a chubby pointer finger into it. Often, she'll say "Beep beep?" and then look for mine.

Today, we went swimming and she got a little frustrated when her one-piece suit did not allow easy access to the beep beep.

(The other really cute thing Paige says now is, "Rye Rye?"

Her brother. She's almost always wondering where he is. It's like he's her north. Without knowing exactly where he is, she isn't quite complete.

Also love this. How could a mama not? )

Us

2010-07-09T16:34:00.002-05:00

Our most recent family picture.

(Thanks, Jenny!)

At least I'm second

2010-07-03T14:29:00.003-05:00

Today, my 5-year-old said, "Blankie is my favorite person."

He's had this blanket, which is now much more of a thin, well-loved piece of cloth than an actual blanket, since before he was born. I bought it on clearance at Target for something like $8.99.

Who knew then what an investment I was making?

Five years later, he still sleeps with it. Every. Single. Night. (The picture above is what his blankie looked like before he loved it to death).

So he tells me his blankie his favorite person and I say, "What? More than Mommy?"

He smiles that smile and says, "Yep!"

Of course, I asked him where I rank.

He told me I was next, and I'm OK with that. At least I'm the first real person, right?

Rounding out the list is, in order, Paige (his sister), Daddy, Grandpa, Grammy and Papa (they go together), Grandma, Ashley and Justin (his aunt and uncle, my sister and brother), Daphne (our cat) and finally our house (which we are selling. Awesome).

I didn't realize he had a list of favorites, but I suppose we all have people or things we enjoy being around more than others.

He's lucky he has such a list of people (and one very important thing!) to love.

Moving is about as much fun as ....

2010-06-20T10:33:00.004-05:00

feeling fat, being sick, having to work late?

None of that is fun, surely not moving.

Though I don't know when exactly we'll move, I've already started the awful process.

Packing.

It's harder than you think to take everything you own - EVERYTHING - and put it in a box.

I can't do it without going through my things and deciding what I no longer want or need. We just started this process a few weeks ago and already a quarter of my garage, at least, is filled with things I'm going to sell or give away.

Purging feels great.

But there's so much still to go.

It's overwhelming.

Yesterday, Rye and I were downstairs in the basement and I just looked around said, "Wow, we have so much stuff."

He looked at me and said, "I know."

Wish us luck.

Sunday mornings

2010-06-13T10:12:00.004-05:00

How awesome are they?

The kids and I have just been hanging out. It's great because we're each doing our own thing, but we're all right next to each other. And our things will intertwine. Rye will show me something and I'll listen. Paige will bring me a book and I'll read it. She'll find a ball and we'll throw it. Rye will tell me a story and I'll listen. Then we'll go back to doing our own things for a bit before our moments intertwine again.

I am tired but content. We woke early today. I got coffee. I made the kids breakfast. They each had two chocolate chip waffles. Throw in peaches for Paige.

It's so nice to not be in a hurry. I spend so much time running around. I long for more simplicity. Today I'm getting it.

And even if it's just for one day - or even just part of a day (we do have to go to one of the big-box stores later today for things like diapers and milk) - I'll take it.

***

Do you like my blog's new look? I do! It needed a change.

***
Product reviews. I'd like to start doing them, from time to time. What products would you like to learn more about?

And, yes, Paige had a birthday, too...

2010-06-10T21:28:00.004-05:00

(So I'm a little late with Paige's letter. Two kids on back to back days is a lot to ask for heartfelt letters. Anyway, here we go.)

Dear Paige,

You are simply the sweetest child.

You are quick to laugh, to smile, to make me smile. I seem to love you more every day, if that's even possible.

I always wanted a girl. I wouldn't trade your brother for ANYTHING. But my life wouldn't be complete without you.

Who else would I play dolls, house and dress-up with? What other little girl's nails would I paint? Whose hair would I braid? What little girl would run and play and spin and look up at the clouds and dream with me?

You will.

There is just something about little girls. And you, sweet Paige, are as sweet as they come.

Sure, there are times when all I want to do is put you down. When my arm aches from holding you. When it'd just be so much easier to put butter on Rye's waffle with two hands. But then you tilt your head to the side and look at me with those big blue saucers and I melt.

And then you ask me to turn on the music and I do and we dance. Music has always calmed you. As a newborn, you liked loud and rockin' Pink. I loved that. The music and the bounce in my arms would put you to sleep in minutes. We'd spend many evenings dancing in the kitchen, me holding my little baby, while your brother and your dad played in the other room.

And now in the car when there's music you toss your head from side to side, that silly look-at-me-mama! smile on your face the whole time.

I love it.

You are brave and curious and questioning everything. "This?" you say and point. And then I tell you. "This?" And so on.

You are also sensitive. Airplanes scare you. You don't like loud noises. You don't like strangers. You like things as you know them. I don't blame you.

You're empathetic. When Rye cries, you know something's wrong.

And there is so much more, sweet girl, that makes you who you are. I can hardly believe that your first year has gone by so fast.

Hold on, mama, right? I certainly don't want to miss it.

Happy first birthday, my sweet baby! I'm so lucky to be your mom.

I love you!

Mama

On your fifth birthday...

2010-05-25T22:02:00.004-05:00

Dear Rye,

I remember those first few weeks after you were born. The long nights. The quieter but equally long days. The endless breastfeeding. The crying.

The complete newness of it all.

I wasn't sure either one of us was going to make it.

I remember thinking, "This, too, shall pass" and "It's got to get better. Someday, he'll be 2. And that will be fun." I may have even spoken those sentiments out loud, to your dad, to convince him. And me.

But it got better. Of course, it did. I got better at being your mom. You chilled out a bit. And then my whole world revolved around you. I thought about little else. I did little else. I always wanted to be with you. Every second.

I took you to the Children's Museum and to the zoo. We played in the sandbox in the backyard. We went for long walks at night, all three of us. You were silly and crazy and in love with construction trucks and macaroni and cheese and "choo-choos" and The Wiggles (OK, I might have forced The Wiggles on you, just a bit).

Every time you were sick, I wished it could be me feeling miserable instead. When you ran into the corner of the upstairs bathroom door on your first birthday and split your forehead open, I felt AWFUL. And when you had hand, foot and mouth disease on your second birthday, I felt almost sick myself. I remember finally getting you to eat a very soft waffle, toward the end of your party. Those ulcers in your mouth looked awful.

I've smiled with you more times than I've cried, of course. I've laughed at you, with you, tickled you, held you. When we made light sabers at your third birthday party and superhero capes at your fourth, it was so special to see you with your very own friends. Somehow, my baby was old enough to have his very own friends.

Last week, you turned 5. I can hardly believe we've come this far.

You are simply so grown up. You are sensitive, you aim to please, you are the most empathetic kid I know. I'll never forget when years ago you cried when Clifford had to move to the country to live with Emily's uncle (we loved that book) or when Jackie Paper stops going to play with Puff the Magic Dragon (even I cry at that part of the book/song).

You have been my helper this year with your little sister. You realize when Mommy needs something and most of the time you just do it.

You are absolutely Paige's favorite person in the world. No one can make her laugh or smile like you.

You are kind and thoughtful and articulate and intense and emotional. A bit like someone else I know...

Rye, you will always be my special boy, my sweet boy, my first baby.

Even when you're more grown up than you are now.

I love you, my baby. Happy 5th birthday.

Mama

Is there anything better than a chocolate chip waffle?

2010-05-02T23:53:00.002-05:00

Not for these two.

They're in little-kid love.

How much do I love this?

Yeah, a lot.

If I could be ... all the time

2010-04-26T23:07:00.004-05:00

The courthouse is an awful place.

I decided this today as I went through the metal detector to stand in the center of a tall, square, bustling room with courtrooms on each side, a stairway at one end, a hallway at another and no clear sign telling me where to go.

Eventually, I found it. I went up and looked around and then asked for help.

Finally, I handed over my papers, my hands shaking, and I tried to offer the woman a weak smile. Really, though, I looked everywhere but at her. And I tried not to lose it, right there in the middle of a normal afternoon for everyone else. But an absolutely abnormally awful afternoon for me, no matter which way I keep trying to twist the kaleidoscope.

Filing for divorce costs $157. I made a photocopy of my Wonder Woman check before I turned it in. I don't know why. I don't ever want to look at it.

I tried to listen as the woman told me to hang on to certain papers I'd thought I needed to turn in today and I tried to look at her as she told me where to go next - but it involved more than one step and I had to ask her to repeat the directions and the name of the place and even then I'm surprised I remembered.

I thanked her, quietly, and then I walked away, out of that dreary, cubicle-laden, messed-up customers office. And I went downstairs, papers all out of order now, took a left as she told me and found another office with another office worker who I also couldn't look in the eye.

After 15 minutes with her - and her supervisor, who maybe could tell I was just about to lose it - it was all I could do to make it to the bench outside the door without my grief escaping in guilt-ridden sobs.

And then I couldn't move. The people - the lawyers in suits, the elderly woman in a wheelchair, the tattoed black man, the women who passed as if they didn't care nobody ever noticed them - moved quickly past me, in both directions. Time, for me, seemed to stand still. It was one of the most surreal moments I've ever had. It was as if I was in a dream, or that I wasn't actually even me.

I went home, and the house smelled like cat pee. For the first time ever. I don't know what to do about it.

I went to the gym where I went through the motions of a workout. I never found my groove.

I went to Hy-Vee where a man was cleaning the carpet in the entryway where the carts live. The smell was pungent and harsh, and I held my breath on the way back out a little bit later.

At home now, there is too much quiet. Rye is with Dane. Paige is asleep. Every now and then, her breath catches tiny, soft moans. Right now, the sound of the portable heater is hissing through the baby monitor.

Daphne is sleeping next to me on this old, tattered couch that I wonder if I'll always have.

I am so tired. And so is my broken man. Now, he says, he can find happiness.

I hope - someday - I can find peace.

All dressed up

2010-04-21T16:46:00.002-05:00

Just because, Paige got to wear this pretty dress the other day.

And the sun was shining, so what better excuse?

I think she likes it.

Why is show and tell only for school?

2010-04-14T11:41:00.004-05:00

This blog originally appeared on momaha.com, the World-Herald's Web site for moms.

Last night, I helped Rye assemble an all-about-me package for preschool today.

We looked through old pictures and thought about what toys or objects were most meaningful to him. We also answered questions like "When I grow up I want to be ..." and "I'm happy when ..."

He ultimately chose four pictures, which we glued to a piece of brightly colored cardstock. They are photos of his family: Mommy, Daddy, Paige and the kitties.

And he chose to bring a little bouncy ball that he really likes (I questioned this choice, but hey, what do I know?) and a rock that he got while hiking with his dad in Colorado last week.

He debated bringing his blankie, which let's be honest if there's one item that means the world to him, it's that tattered piece of fabric. But I understand why he didn't want to bring it. It's almost too personal, in a way.

This activity, of course, made me remember how excited I was the few times in school I got to bring items for show and tell.

And as we answered the questions, it made me think how I would answer them. Why is it kids are the only ones who get to participate in all-about-me days?

So here we go. Play along. Humor me.

1. I'm happy when ...

2. The funniest thing I ever saw was ...

3. When I grow up, I want to be ...

4 I like ...

5. My hope for the future is ...

6. Items I would bring to show and tell:

Kitty love

2010-04-08T20:46:00.002-05:00

How sweet is this?

I like these

2010-03-16T21:15:00.002-05:00

Jenny took these. Because she's awesome.

Ah, they are 3 and 4 ... KISSING?! At preschool?

2010-03-16T16:06:00.002-05:00

Just when did preschool turn into "Melrose Place"?

Seriously.

Rye, who will turn 5 in May, goes to preschool three mornings a week. Also in his class are two friends from daycare.

They have known each other most of their lives.

Last week, though, all heck broke loose. Rye has a girl kissing him. At preschool. ALL OVER. Or so I hear.

One of his daycare friends can't marry a girl at daycare because last week it was decided he would marry a girl at preschool instead.

This boy also isn't allowed in the club started by two other boys at preschool. A clique? Already?

And Rye and his other friend from daycare officially last week broke off their friendship.

What is going on? Seriously! I remember a girl in my preschool class taking a bite out of my thumb once, but I was not engaged to be married, nor was I kissing on a hot 4-year-old!

One of the other moms last week said, "Are you as intrigued as I am about the social goings-on at preschool? Each day I can't wait to hear the latest. It's so funny, but I have to act serious, you know, because to (my son), this stuff is really serious."

I only hope it all stays in check. They've got so many years ahead of them where things will seem serious!

Rye, for his part, has announced he's going to marry the most beautiful girl in the world: His baby sister.

This post originally appeared on momaha.com. Click here to read more from me and other mom bloggers.

Loveys

2010-03-13T14:50:00.005-06:00

Paige will be 10 months old on Thursday.

This week, I'm pretty sure she found her first "lovey." This is my friend's name for the stuffed animals her sons love best. They are the ones they take to bed with them and in the car on trips. They are the ones that make wounds heal faster and tears dry quicker.

You all know what I'm talking about.

Rye has a blankie. I put it in his crib with him when he was a baby and he latched on. The poor blanket is thin and ripped and probably on its last days. It has been everywhere with us - on road trips, on airplanes, on hikes, at restaurants, to the movies, you name it.

The blanket even apparently has its own gender. We forgot to bring it to daycare earlier this week and when Rye realized it in the car, he said, "We forgot Blankie!"

I told him we weren't turning around to get it. And Rye said, "But I need him."

Him. It's like they are friends.

So Paige has fallen in love - and fallen hard - with our cat, Daphne. Anytime the cat walks into the room, Paige makes this sound of excitement and hurriedly crawls over to her. Daphne is the nicest cat ever and just lets Paige hug her.

The hugs lately, though, have become tighter and longer. I'm careful to make sure my baby isn't hurting my favorite cat, but still, a few times I've been surprised Daphne tolerates all that attention. Why don't you just walk away, cat? I sometimes wonder.

After letting Paige hug and squeeze and kiss (yes, I know) the kitty for about 10 minutes the other night, I had an idea.

I opened the toy box searching for a small, soft plush kitty Rye had abandoned long ago.

When I found it, Paige's eyes grew wide, she smiled that toothy grin and she immediately put that stuffed animal to her left shoulder and tilted her head to give it a hug.

I melted.

It was the most adorable thing I've ever seen. And it was the first time Paige has shown much interest in a toy.

She didn't let go of that plush cat either. Not while I gave her a bottle and not when I laid her in her crib.

I covered her up and watched as she snuggled her head into what I'm pretty sure will be her lovey.

This post originally was published on momaha.com. Click here to read more mommy blogs by me and others.

Laughter in a bottle

2010-03-09T09:00:00.002-06:00

If I could bottle this laughter and let it out in small doses as I need it over the years I would.

How precious is she?

How soft is that sound?

If only she could always laugh like that, even as life hurls itself at her.

BFFs

2010-03-05T13:29:00.002-06:00

Growing up, I had many friends.

But I had one very best friend.

Her name was Jenny, and I would have lived at her house if I could. We had sleepovers. We watched movies. We tried to save the princess. We went to Girl Scout camp. We worshipped the same boy band. We rode our bikes to the pool. We played kickball in the street. We once attempted to break the Guiness world record for time spent on a teeter-totter (yes, I was inspired by that episode of "The Brady Bunch"). We did EVERYTHING.

These are her kids. How precious are they? (Jenny, by the way, is a photographer based in Seward, Neb., who takes BEAUTIFUL pictures. Click here to go to her photography site).

As we got older and entered jr. high, we started to grow apart. I was into sports and being involved. She was more low-key. We started circling in different groups.

By the time we got to high school, we never hung out. There was no ill will; we just didn't spend time together.

When I moved to Omaha in 2005, I was 25 years old. I'd just had a baby and I found out that Jenny lived just down the street. I also learned that she was pregnant.

We reconnected, and it was so nice.

Was it the same as when we were kids riding our bikes to the pool or playing soccer in the street or telling ghost stories in a tent in her backyard? No. But we had all that to draw on, to base our grown-up relationship on.

Read more about female friendship here.

Believe it

2010-02-15T09:36:00.003-06:00

It's Feb. 15, the Winter Olympics are going, Valentine's Day just passed and it's snowy and cold and awful outside.

My babies are with their grandparents until tomorrow (that will be FIVE days they will have been gone. Ugh), and there's still so much change.

But I think for the most part I'm happy.

How about that?

There's more work at work than I have time to do and there's more work at home than I have the energy to do.

There's a book club book I haven't started.

I still haven't learned how to cook.

Christmas lights are still up on the house.

The cats need rabies vaccinations.

We're almost out of diapers AGAIN.

And I let myself get stressed with all this more often than I should.

My car is nearing 73,000 miles (yikes! Really?! Didn't I just get that car?) and I'm more than 1,000 miles overdue for an oil change.

It's been since Wednesday that I've worked out already.

And it's been how long since I've posted here?

It's all going to be OK, though. I always say that.

But now - at least this morning - I believe it.

Sleeping in Mommy's bed

2010-02-04T14:06:00.006-06:00

So everyone knows the change we're going through at my house, right?

Daddy's gone.

A roommate and her son are in.

For the most part, the transition is going smoother than I ever thought it would.

While things aren't easy, we all seem - dare I say it? - happy.

Rye smiles, laughs, plays. We snuggle. He helps out around the house. He is just a good, nice, beautiful boy.

Until bedtime.

It's not like he gets ugly then ... he just gets needy.

And he has come up with a million reasons why he can't sleep in his bed.

More times than I am proud to admit lately, I've caved and let him sleep with me. Last night, he said, "I promise this will be the last time ever that I sleep in your bed."

Uh, yeah, right.

I've been doing blog entries just about every day on momaha.com. I wrote about this topic there, too, today and asked others to share their stories.

What are your experiences with this? Leave your comments here! And check out momaha.com here.

Look how beautiful she is

2010-01-24T21:37:00.002-06:00

Have you ever seen a more gorgeous baby?

I mean, really.

Look at those baby blues.

I see her everyday. And still. Looking at this picture takes my breath away.

Not my neck of the woods

2010-01-07T20:00:00.005-06:00

I spent much of my day at Regency Court, a high-end shopping center where I do not belong.

The stores there are places like Pottery Barn, Ann Taylor Loft, White House Black Market and Anthropologie.

The merchandise basically rocks. It's high-quality, stylish, trendy, nice stuff.

But I could never in a million years buy any of it. It's not just kind of expensive. It's super expensive. Like $900 for a twin bed at Pottery Barn Kids expensive.

Also, the clientele? I don't look like those women. Those women push designer strollers and carry shopping bags from places like Borsheim's and Williams and Sonoma.

(An aside: Anthropologie totally and completely rocks. Today was my first time there, and oh man. That I loved it all so much makes the fact I can't buy anything there all the more painful. This afternoon, for example, I found a cute, vintagey orange dress. Loved it. Price tag, however: $90 - and that was the sale price. The dress above? $158.)

So while the shopping center is way nice and I am so grateful to have been given the opportunity to promote momaha.com (the World-Herald's Web site for moms of which I am in charge) there, it will be better for my bank account if I stick to places like Target and Kohl's.

But I can keep dreaming about those dresses.

Brr...

2009-12-14T06:57:00.002-06:00

It's SO cold outside lately.

I so hate it!

Paige was bundled up on this day to go with us to the Christmas tree lighting at Village Pointe.

She looked really cute.

Didn't she?

Anyway, apparently it's 4 degrees this morning (with a forecasted high of 7!) and icy.

Awesome.

Flip flops and Christmas lights, boo-yah

2009-11-30T21:38:00.003-06:00

We decorated the house for Christmas Saturday.

It was warm enough for flip flops. (Yes, I'll wear sandals even when I shouldn't. But Saturday I was actually totally comfortable!). And for capri yoga pants that came to my mid-calves.

This rocked my world.

So Dane scaled a ladder to the roof where he hung lights and did the annual gutter cleaning ("two birds with one stone," Rye likes to say), and Rye played with "guys" in the leaves I half-heartedly raked (yes, I know. Long overdue. I still haven't actually picked up those piles of leaves, however. Ahem).

And Paige and I just sort of well, hung out.

It was awesome.

The weather mainly is what made it awesome. I don't remember ever hanging out in the yard while someone else hung Christmas lights on the house. Nor do I remember wearing flip flops while decorating the tree.

I'm so not complaining.

The older I get, the less I like cold weather. I remember being in second grade and being the new kid in class - again - having just moved to Nebraska from Texas but having lived in Wisconsin until I was 4 proudly telling people that winter was my favorite holiday. Summer be damned! Who needs swimming pools and popsicles and suntans and sleepovers and baseball and everything that I now think is great (well, I could leave baseball)? Who needs that warm-weather stuff when you can wear snowsuits and build snowforts. Humph. Not that second-grade version of me.

Now, yeah, now I could leave winter waaaaaaay far behind.

Not my choice, as long as I live here. So. I'll take the flip flops day I got Saturday.

Think the kids liked it, too.

Yes, that is a leaf in her mouth ... She was fine.

Too long, once again

2009-11-22T13:18:00.002-06:00

It's been too long once again since I've written anything here.

Work is crazy, but in a good, good way. I've got this new job and it's stressful yet exciting. I like it, really. A lot. There's a lot of potential there, and I hope we pull it off.

Life outside of work is still crazy, but in a strange sort of way feels better than it has in a long, long, long time.

I still don't have any answers. I still don't know what the heck we're all doing. I still feel very much like the only thing I can do is get up every morning, get dressed and be on my way. Get through the day. Do the best I can while I'm getting through it. Look ahead to better, more confident times.

Hope I make the right choices. Not just for me. For everybody.

Smile a little more. Do what I can.

Anne Lamott says 80 percent of life is just showing up. Maybe she's right. I'm going with it, for now.

Happy Thanksgiving week. Be extra thankful this year.

momaha.com

2009-11-12T12:05:00.004-06:00

I got a new job at work.

It's totally cool.

I'm in charge of helping start -- and then leading -- a Web site for moms. It's called momaha.com (pronounced mom-aha), and its name is a take-off of the World-Herald's main Web site, omaha.com.

Anyway, moms, check it out! I'll keep a blog there, as will a few community members and newsroom staffers. Also, you'll find discussion groups/forums, recipes, children's activity ideas, a calendar of family-friendly events, directories to places good to go with kids throughout the city, info on what restaurants are kid-friendly and much more.

I'm seriously excited.

You can go to momaha.com now and see a static "splash" page. The content should be up and interactive by early to mid-December. That's when you should check back.

Also, check us out on Facebook and Twitter now (Just search for us on Facebook. Be sure to become a fan please!).

World-Herald photographer Kiley Cruse took these photos of me and the kids earlier this week. Thank you, Kiley!

Happy Halloween!

2009-11-01T10:27:00.002-06:00

I had a little pumpkin and the Wolverine for Halloween this year. Both were adorable. And Rye, even though he doesn't like candy, said he had a GREAT time.

Here's just a few photos.

I love this one of my little pumpkin!

And here's us at Rye's preschool Friday morning. They did a craft, then paraded through the hallway, and mommies and daddies got to come. It was pretty cute.

Finally, here's the two, on the porch, right before the trick or treating extravaganza began. The moon was full last night, too, an added bonus.

Austin, part two

2009-10-29T23:09:00.003-05:00

I took this photo of Katie at a concert last Thursday. It's my favorite image from the trip. I think she looks so beautiful and so happy.

Tecate and I were introduced. I like it. And I refuse to pronounce it correctly. Te-Cate. Like a true Nebraskan.

We went for a hike the first day. It involved crossing a shallow stream. That stream turned into a raging river two hours later - thanks to rain runoff - when we had to cross it to get back. I got to swim. Katie and the dogs eventually found a better way.

Austin

2009-10-24T11:01:00.003-05:00

I'm in Texas.

Austin, the little blue oasis in a big red state. I saw that on a T-shirt yesterday.

It is, basically, awesome.

I just got done running, on a shaded trail that starts just down the block from where I'm staying with my friend, Katie, and her husband, Bryan. We've hiked. We went to a concert. We've eaten. We've seen a movie. Today, we're going to drink some more (wineries, out somewhere nearby in the Texas hills).

Tomorrow, already, I go home. Why do the good things in life go so fast? And the bad ones, well, sometimes, they seem to never end.

I am anxious to see my babies, though. Last night, I started thinking how I missed them. They are safe and fine and loved and being pampered by grandparents this weekend. But I still miss them, those little pieces of me.

I'm listening to this song now. "Sometime Around Midnight" by a group called The Airborne Toxic Event. I know nothing about them. But I'm in love with the song. It's about seeing a girl at a bar or a club, sort of. It's actually about so much more than that. But I can't, right now, really do its meaning much justice. So just listen to it.

I'm going back out to the Austin sunshine, to soak it up while it lasts.

Long ago and far away

2009-10-08T21:41:00.003-05:00

There was a time, when I first started this blog, that I thought about possible blog entries just about everywhere I was.

Rye would say something cute or surprising, and I'd mentally make a note to blog about it. Or I'd meet some interesting person or see some thought-provoking bumper sticker and think to myself: Blog. Entry.

But this past year has ripped any ability for me to think about things as unimportant as blog entries totally and completely from me. While I enjoy having a blog (and please don't kick me out wonderful BlogHer ad people!), it has become one more thing I'm not doing a very good job at.

And because of the turmoil in my personal life, the blog also just seems so secondary, so trivial, so not honest. I mean, how many of you want to read about the daily arguments? The broken possessions? The broken people?

Yep. None of you.

Me either.

I want so badly for everything, everyone, to somehow be OK.

The for sale sign has gotten easier to see. The emotions most days I can keep in check.

I feel like I'm waiting for what's next. Like we are all sort of holding our breath.

I'm ready to exhale.

Right now, the rest of Nebraska is watching the Nebraska football team play Missouri. I was on Facebook a little while ago and status updates said things like "I don't understand why we don't run!" and "I can't see Bo Pelini on the sideline!" I was happy to find recent pictures my friend posted of her new house instead.

I'm not anti-football. In fact, I think people should indulge their passions and their interests as much as they can. I think adults should get what they want - within reason, without others getting hurt - as often as they can. I mean, life's too short, right? In a few weeks, I'll be 30. Rye's been asking me if he'll be at my birthday. By this, he means my party. Tonight, I finally told him I won't have a party. I envy those adults that do still have birthday parties. I'd like to. But, you know, it's just not the same as when you're a kid. Plus, I'm not sure who would come.

I've decided to begin celebrating my children's half birthdays this year. On Nov. 17 and 18, we will have birthday cake and candles - and, yes, they can make a wish (never limit the number of wishes a child can make!) - but instead of presents, we will donate some of their forgotten toys. I completely stole this idea from my childhood best friend, who is the mother I'd like to be.

And, in the midst of the looming house sale and the apartment search and the move and everything else that will come with this big, gigantic leap into the unknown, I'm looking forward to my little ones' midway birthday celebration.

I think I'll get balloons.

Blue eyes

2009-09-27T13:43:00.003-05:00

We went to an outdoor wedding yesterday.

There was a fountain, classic fall weather, trees and some neat cool steps.

Here we are before the ceremony started.

The reception was at an art gallery, and it was cool.

Did the stroller and the baby fit in? Ah, not really. But I only felt a little out of place. We had a good time.

A Sunday in September

2009-09-13T16:03:00.004-05:00

Somehow, it's September already. Nearly mid-September.

Rye picked apples straight from the tree in Nebraska City on Friday. And we're doing a story about just that family activity at work.

I can't believe it's time to pick apples already.

Before I know it, we'll be able to go to pumpkin patches - my favorite fall activity. And it'll be my birthday. And that will mean I'm 30 years old.

And you can imagine how I feel about that.

Today, anyway, we went to a water festival, which really wasn't that spectacular. They billed it as having lots of children's activities, but really they didn't. Instead, it was booth after booth of people with literature to read about their group or pencils or rulers to give away. They did have canoe rides, but I couldn't really take a 4-month-old on a canoe.

It was nice to be out in nature anyway, though. And see the lake shining in the sun through the trees and walk with my kids through grass that scratched our ankles.

And smell the scent of sun-drenched skin when we finally got home.

Here's to the start of fall, my favorite season.

And here's us at the festival:

Girl power

2009-09-07T15:45:00.002-05:00

I have a Wonder Woman T-shirt that says "Girl Power" on it.

And this weekend, that's totally how I feel.

It's just me and Paige, doing whatever we want, whenever we want. Without any boy telling us what to do.

We've been shopping. More than once.

We went running.

And we've listened to loud music. Of course.

We've gone on a few walks. We've taken a few naps.

And it's been peaceful and nice. Just the two of us.

I am looking forward to seeing my first baby tomorrow night, though. Boy and all.

Little rocker girl

2009-09-01T20:14:00.002-05:00

My baby girl loves music.

Perhaps she will grow up to be a rock and roll star. Or maybe she'll grow up to be a groupie. Maybe she'll be Maria coming from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand. Maybe she'll want to meet a boy who looks like Elvis.

Probably she'll be none of those things.

But her love for music right now is pretty darn sweet.

Sunday afternoon, for example, I knew she was tired. Yet, she wouldn't let herself fall asleep. I put her in the swing, which usually always does the trick. She fussed and squawked for 10 minutes or so in there. I was finally about to take her out when I thought I'd try music.

One minute of Wilco and she was out like a cat in the sunny spot on the carpet.

Most evenings, she and I retreat to the kitchen where I plug my iPod into speakers and turn it up loud. We listen to Wilco and Death Cab and Pink and that one Tilly and the Wall song that's really great. Last night, we put it on shuffle and heard Tracy Chapman and Carly Simon and New Kids (ahem) and Clay Aiken (AHEM) and a few others. It puts her to sleep within minutes. Every single time.

It's great for me. I get a baby that not only stops crying but lays so at peace in my arms that I sort of want to never let her go. And I get to listen to music, loud.

Rock on, baby girl.

First day

2009-08-23T17:57:00.003-05:00

Rye started preschool last Monday.

We were nervous and excited for it, and the day went fine. The highlight, I think, was the little mouse game which has a song that goes like this: Little mouse, little mouse, are you in the (insert color here) house? You have to hear Rye sing it. It's very cute.

Here's another picture from the morning, right before we left to go.

The lowlight of the day was the face plant Rye took onto the sidewalk when being picked up from daycare that evening. The fall involved blood all over his face, I'm told, and an hour or so of worrying about whether he needed to go to the ER or some urgent care clinic for stitches.

Here's what he looked like that night before bed. Like he got beat up, right?

He didn't end up going for stitches, and almost a week later, he's doing fine. He still has a gash on the very top of his forehead but for the most part he's all better.

And he's a preschool veteran now, too, with three days under his belt.

A beautiful bouquet

2009-08-12T07:51:00.004-05:00

Rye went to get the newspaper from the driveway for me one morning this weekend.

And he came back with these. Picked carefully and held in his little-boy hand just so, these dandelions - to me - were anything but weeds.

And then he went to color, spread out with ease that can only be truly found on a weekend morning.

My children's laughter

2009-08-06T17:05:00.005-05:00

Being an adult has hit me hard this year.

I will be 30 years old in about two months. To show for it, I have, first and foremost, two beautiful, healthy, intelligent children that sometimes I can't believe I helped create.

I also have a job that I like, that fits me well, where I feel I am respected and valued.

I have a house and a car. I have a few close friends.

And I have a husband, who I've really messed things up with. I shouldn't write about things like this here, in a public forum like this, but all 10 readers of this blog probably know about our issues anyway. And it just seems, I don't know, less than honest to this blog (which I started nearly two years ago as a chronicle of my family's life) to continue ignoring it.

Neither of us knows what to do exactly - or maybe we do know but don't want that to be the answer.

This whole thing, it's so adult, so raw, so unbecoming. It's made me want to run away, get in the car and drive west and not stop until I get somewhere that feels far enough removed. It's made me want to scream. It's made me want to just throw in the towel on everything. It's made me psychoanalyze myself, my childhood, my parents, my relationships. I've lost friends. I've felt very, very alone.

And I don't know where or when it all ends. Or how we even get to that finish line, or if it's one I even want to cross at all. Isn't the status quo easier after all?

I've come to realize there are things I want in this life that I will most likely never ever have. They just aren't meant to be. They're not possible. And they are, if I let them be, heartbreaking and awful. I know there are things other people want that they will also never ever have. I hate this.

Through this all, my children are here. And I want better for them. But I can't make the world perfect for them. I can't make our problems just go away. I just can't. I am flawed. And I am sorry for that. But I love them just the same. Those kids. Those perfect little ones who have done nothing wrong ever. Who deserve better.

Paige laughed for the first time on Thursday. It was the happiest sound I've heard in a long, long time. She is 12 weeks old on Monday and this laugh Thursday was giggling, little girl giggling, not baby cooing. She was laughing at me and Rye. We were pretend fighting. I was pretending to kick him while holding her and he would pretend to jab me with a toy knife (which was actually a tool from his play toolset) and then roll around on the ground and I would pretend to step on him. And she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the whole wide world.

Rye's laughter - pure, honest little-boy laughter - has always been like magic. How can I not smile when he's so at ease, so full of life? And I felt the same way about that sound coming from Paige. She is so tiny, yet she is still capable of laughing.

And so maybe it is with my children's laughter that I will get through this very adult time in my life. Maybe it's those giggles that I will hold on to forever, despite - and in the midst of - everything else.

Oh, the places she'll go!

2009-07-30T11:00:00.003-05:00

My baby girl, at 2 months old, is ready to get going. I can just tell. She's ready to move. Enough of this being carried and held and swaddled and strapped in a car seat and a swing all the time. Work, legs, work! she's saying. Let's start this running routine.

I am kidding about the running.

But I do think she's anxious to go places, see the living room sights, on her own.

While she is nowhere close to being able to move around with any sort of efficiency on her own (she can't even roll over yet), she has figured out how to flip herself completely around in her crib and how to move herself around on the floor with her feet. She just sort of digs her heels in and pushes.

It's pretty awesome.

Look what she can do. She started out this morning under the activity bar playmat thing. This is at least a quarter-mile she's traveled, right?

And here's a close-up of her happy look-where-I-went-Mommy face.

Someone should have told me

2009-07-15T09:05:00.002-05:00

Alright, stay-at-home moms of the world, help us maternity-leavers out, would you?

It's been eight weeks and two days since I've been on maternity leave. Yes, this means some days I don't change out of my jammies until 3 in the afternoon and it means showers happen about every other day. I don't necessarily like those two things. But it's just the way it is. Today, I did get dressed before 9 a.m., but I'm wearing a running T-shirt and shorts. And my glasses. Not sure how much that counts.

Anyway, I never realized that besides taking care of the infant there are other things with which I would be tasked during the day. Simply because I'm at home.

Number one: Answering the door.

Working full-time, I hardly ever heard our doorbell ring. That was nice, I now realize. Because the people who ring that doorbell during the day only want to bother me. Most of them want me to give them money.

A girl in her mid-teens stopped by last week with a pitch that was less than impressive. Her story was that her softball team had qualified for nationals in Orlando, Fla., but in order for her to compete she had to raise $2,000 or some ghastly amount by TOMORROW. So in return for my donation she would be of my service for an entire day. I could use her to mow the lawn (this is what most people choose, she said), but she doesn't do windows. At one point, she whipped out some pledge forms from her back pocket and handed them to me, as if they meant something. There were different levels and numbers written by them. And nothing was fully clear. This is the common theme among people who come to the door, I have learned. They want to confuse me!

Another very nice, very chatty college student came to the door recently hawking early learning books. She did not ever tell me she was selling books, however. Instead, she said she was going around to all the families in my neighborhood who had children about to start school in our district to give them early learning tips. Did I know so-and-so down the block? She'd just been to their house, she said, and they'd welcomed the tips. (Softball girl, by the way, asked me if I knew her grandfather who she said was a sheriff and lived on Orchard Street. I have never heard of Orchard Street, nor do I know her grandfather). I asked college girl if she worked for the school district. No, she said, she's an intern from Oregon. She attends Oregon State, and would I have five minutes for her to share these tips with me? Well, alright. I don't want my poor child to be at a disadvantage because I turned away the spunky blonde with a backpack from the West Coast. But then as we sat at my kitchen table, I realized: she is selling me something.

Are you trying to sell me something? I asked.

Oh, yes, she said. Books!

Me: Oh, I'm not going to buy any of your books.

And then she left. She even said she hadn't meant to be sneaky. Really, college girl? Because you seemed pretty sneaky.

Another door-bell ringer wanted to come in and clean my carpets FOR FREE! Really, no strings attached! Why would you clean my carpets for free? I asked (no one else is pulling a fast one on me!). Turns out she wanted to sell me a vacuum. But I didn't have to buy anything, she kept saying. Uh, no thanks. Just go away.

And then yesterday. It wasn't a salesman. No, it was much, much worse. It was a woman from the county assessor's office who had just a few questions about my house. Two bedrooms? she asked. No, I said confused, we have three bedrooms. She made a note on her clipboard. Two bathrooms? she asked. No, I said, we have 2 1/2 bathrooms. Another note. Finished basement? she asked. Yes, I said. Another note.

About three minutes after she left, I realized just how mad my husband was going to be at me. For telling the truth. But I don't want to pay higher property taxes either. I wish my common sense or quick-thinking skills were just a little bit quicker.

So, stay-at-home moms, I salute you for not only raising those kids but answering the door. My skills still need some polishing.

The Fourth of July

2009-07-08T09:56:00.002-05:00

I have never been much of a fan of the Fourth of July. Blowing stuff up just seems sort of dangerous and expensive to me.

But Rye was exposed to at-home fireworks this year, and I'm pretty sure it was love at first kaboom.

So we indulged his new passion with such heavy hitters as sparklers, snaps, Roman candles and these ground bloom flowers on crack that spin up into the air. I'll admit those were cool.

Summertime

2009-07-01T15:41:00.003-05:00

So this summer is the first time since I was 14 that I haven't had something I had to do.

Sure, I have to take care of the baby. But it's not the same as having to go to work (or volleyball two-a-days, as I did the summer I was 15).

I like summer. And the weather this week has been just about perfect. Warm but not too hot. Sunny. No clouds. Little, if any, humidity. Cooler nights. If the weather was like this in Nebraska all the time, this might just be a way cooler place to live.

Might be.

I was trying to think about my favorite summer memories this afternoon (I've got time on my hands, you see). And I'm not sure I can come up with an accurate favorite summer memories list.

I can think of generalities, for sure. Things like fireflies, sprinklers, bikes, swimming, flip flops, Popsicles, sleepovers. There's lots more.

Specifics, I don't know. Is it possible to have one favorite summer memory? I always have a hard time narrowing things down to one favorite experience or thing. You know, top five lists? I always seem to have some sort of caveat.

I remember the summer I was 5 playing until dark in the sandbox my dad made in the backyard. I remember being terrified of the June bugs that gathered around the back porch light above that sandbox. I remember waiting for the ice cream man outside that same house in Norman, OK. I used to like to get bomb pops. Simple. Yet exciting. I also remember occasionally getting some sort of snowcone that had a gumball at the bottom. My friend of that era and I used to have picnics in her grandma's backyard, too. The meal consisted almost always of Saltine crackers with butter on them. Her grandma would put two crackers together for us, forming a gross sort of sandwich. I liked them at the time, though.

Later, when we'd moved to Nebraska, I have lots of memories of riding my bike to one of the two city swimming pools (where I'd lifeguard throughout my high school and college summers). Jenny and I rode our bike to one of those pools every day one summer. The summer either before or after third grade, I think. Often, we would go to her grandma's house either before or after the pool. Her grandma always offered us Squirt. Jenny and I wore goggles at the pool. We liked to dive for pennies. But sometimes, the lifeguards would tell us not to do that. Jenny also had a slip and slide, and we went to Girl Scout camp together at least two summers, if not more.

In junior high, I spent countless days at my bff's house. We'd sleep late and then I'd wait (usually impatiently) while she took an excruciatingly long time to get ready. Then maybe we'd ride our bikes to McDonalds or maybe Valentino's or maybe just nowhere. We played softball two summers. I was not good. But like with everything, I tried really hard.

As an adult, that first summer in Grand Junction, Colo., is probably the best I've had. It was all just so new and so exciting. And it was a cool place to be.

In Omaha, I guess I associate the various road races I've done the past couple years with summer here.

I wonder five or 10 or 20 years from now how these summers with my children will fit into this haphazard sort of summer memory album.

What are your favorite summer memories?

'I know why the caged bird sings...'

2009-06-23T13:36:00.005-05:00

Since Little Kitty died, our other cats have not been outside.

Nor will they ever go again.

It's sad. I feel bad for them, but I think they're getting used to it. They don't spend their days meowing at the back door anymore - or at least not as much. And it seems they've given up trying to escape whenever someone comes or goes.

Instead, they've settled for staring longingly out the window, pawing at mosquitoes and mewing at birds taunting them on the other side of the glass.

I told one the other day that someday I'd even pet her again! As soon as this baby learns to walk. And I regain use of my arms.

One month old

2009-06-18T15:20:00.004-05:00

Dear Paige,

Today, you are one month old. (This means we survived the first month! Now, only 11 more until you are 1, which is when I remember life getting tolerable again. In fact, I'm already planning your first birthday party. It will be a giant bash, mainly to celebrate the fact your parents didn't kill each other over the course of this first year -- if, in fact, we don't. But I am getting ahead of myself.)

In this first month, you have started smiling. I'm not convinced they are actual smiles in response to anything other than gas, but they are smiles nonetheless, and every time you smile, my heart melts and I remember why being pregnant is worth it. You also make noises - lots of grunts and coos but also cries. Oh, you like to cry, especially in the evenings. And just in case you think I've forgotten about you sleeping peacefully up in your room, about 20 minutes into the slumber that might pass for a nap, you stretch those vocal cords and remind me that yes, Mommy, I'm still here! Helloooo!

And then I come get you. And then I figure out what you might like to do next. We've logged miles around the house and sometimes we venture outside. Last night, we went to the park with your brother AND we went to the grocery store.

You've also been a champion bottle drinker, and Mommy's boobs thank you for that. We're up to about 4 ounces at a time now.

And here's my new favorite skill of yours: Sleeping for seven hours IN A ROW at night. Boo-yah, Paige. You've been showing this move off the last three nights, and I'm hoping it's one that sticks around.

So far today, you've slept well (one actual nap, up in your crib without me holding you! This allowed Mommy to pay attention to her firstborn, who has taken to asking "Where's Mommy?" even when I'm right there. Today, he said, "I think you should put Paige back in your tummy."). We've also taken a bath, gone through four or five bottles and kept the crying to a minimum. Not a bad way to celebrate.

Right now, you are sleeping on the couch, propped up on a pink pillow, your little chest rising and falling with each quick breath. Every time I look at your toes, I wonder when I can paint them (tonight? tomorrow? at 3 months?), and every time I touch your hair, I think about pulling it back in a ponytail or weaving it into a braid.

But those things are down the road. And I can be patient. Because I know you'll never be as small and gentle (and yes, sometimes, ferocious) as you are right now.

And I'm trying to work on cherishing that.

Love,

Mommy

Four weeks

2009-06-15T14:41:00.006-05:00

Paige is four weeks old today, and it only took me this long to try putting her in a sling to sleep.

Should have tried it earlier.

My friend, Katie, gave me this really long piece of stretchy fabric with a buckle at one end when I had Rye. It comes with an instructional video that is absolutely necessary to figure out how to wrap this fabric around your body and then where and how to insert the infant.

I had forgotten how to do this obviously. I mean, it isn't essential knowledge to make room for in your head once the baby is walking and no longer needs to be swaddled as if in the womb to quiet down.

But I relearned how to use this thing yesterday and we're 2-2. Within 30 seconds wrapped in this cocoon each day, she's fallen asleep.

Great.

It looks absolutely ridiculous, I'm sure. But after being pregnant, shouldn't we be used to looking ridiculous? And the use of both of my hands, thanks to the sling, is priceless.

Paige

2009-06-10T10:39:00.005-05:00

Two days ago, my baby girl turned three weeks old. I remember when being three weeks away from my due date felt like forever.

In these three weeks, she has changed - it's incredible how fast they grow. And so have we.

It is harder having two children, like everyone says. I feel pulled in two directions much of the time. The guilt has increased. Time for myself has decreased.

But I try to remember, even as I'm awake for the third time in one night stumbling up the stairs with a bottle, that she'll grow up before I know it, before I even realize what hit me.

Jenny came on Friday for Paige's first "real" pictures. I think they're beautiful.

Strawberries in bed

2009-06-08T08:48:00.004-05:00

We've had a lot of change around here lately.

The new baby tops the list. But aside from that, our cat died, Rye turned 4 and Mommy stays home from work now, which has affected daycare dropoff and pickup routines and probably a host of other things including attitudes and outlooks.

This weekend, I got it in my head that the new room we'd talked about doing for Rye needed to happen now. I don't know why I am this way. But once I get an idea in my head, I have a hard time letting it go. So on Saturday, I touched up the paint in his room and purchased a twin headboard and bedding. On Sunday, we made record speed at one of the worst weekend shopping stops in the world - Nebraska Furniture Mart - and left largely unscathed with a twin mattress and box springs.

I'd been going non-stop since we woke up Saturday - shopping, cleaning, doing laundry, etc. - and in the middle of the afternoon, I paused in my flurry and noticed Rye laying in my bed, under the covers, face buried in my pillow.

I went and sat by him.

I offered strawberries.

And as we lay together in my queen-sized bed, strawberry juice dripping down his chin, we talked. Actual talking, not "what did you do at daycare today?" or "what do you want for lunch?" but meaningful conversation.

Questions like this: "What do you want to be when you grow up, Rye? What do you want to do for a job?"

His reply: "I want to write stories."

Me, genuinely surprised: "Oh. Like books?"

He nodded. "Like Lord of the Rings," he said.

I have no idea how he knows anything about Lord of the Rings.

I told him then that his parents write stories for a newspaper but that our stories are about real things, real people. We don't make them up. He said then that's what he wanted to do, too.

I said what moms are supposed to say to their little boys - that they can grow up to do whatever they want.

Then I mentioned maybe he'd want to help people by being a doctor.

His response: "Yeah. And doctors make a lot of money."

We talked for a minute or two then about whether money makes people happy and what does make people happy. We didn't come up with any answers.

I do know that no one lives happily ever after, at least not without some challenges. There are no white horses. And no one gets whisked off into the sunset.

Rye told me that afternoon he doesn't plan to get married. He is instead, he says, going to live with me forever.

And then he kissed my forehead.

That was about it for the conversation about stuff that matters. Strawberries gone, he requested Sun Chips (which, yes, I also let him eat in our bed, to someone's chagrin) and before long he got up to play and I went back to being busy doing stuff that really doesn't matter at all.

His room is done, for whatever that's worth. After 15 minutes in the bed that he declared "awesome" last night, he poked his head out of his room, called to me downstairs and asked me to help tuck him into his old, car-shaped toddler bed.

I did.

Change is scary. For all of us. Though most times, I think, it's probably for the best.

Still, there's no need to rush growing up. Being an adult is not all you think it's going to be as a child. It seems as grown-ups, we could all use a little more play, a few more stories, a bit more hope.

Here's the new room:

No, it's not on TV. It's actually my life.

2009-05-30T22:15:00.003-05:00

Amid the clutter on our kitchen counter today are two glass bottles. One is tall and dark - an empty bottle of $12 Pinot Noir. The other is short and clear with a lime stuck at the bottom.

I drank the Corona and the last glass of wine today. Around noon.

I know.

But I just felt like drinking.

The baby wasn't even crying. Not at the moment anyway. And she actually hasn't even been all that much to handle (not compared to her brother anyway, who basically screamed for 3 1/2 months. But of course that was probably because he was starving. Breastfeeding and a tongue-tied infant do not work. And should not be tried. Ever).

But back to the booze. I haven't felt much like eating. Nothing sounds good. And the tummy still needs some work. (I'm working on implementing the ab routine). But beer, after nine months without it, sounds good.

Don't think I'm a drunk. I'm not. Even without alcohol for that long, one "gateway" beer doesn't do a whole lot, if much of anything.

I sort of think I just want to drink it because now i can.

Hear me roar, land of the unpregnant!

Or maybe it is to cope with the crazy last couple weeks we've had.

I never wrote the whole birth story here, but the abbreviated version (mind you: I'm not very good at abbreviated versions) is this:

Sunday, May 17, was Rye's birthday. An hour and a half before his party, a neighbor came to tell me that another neighbor's dog had attacked one of my cats. Horrified, I ran through my neighbor's backyard and nine months pregnant hopped a chain link fence, pried this Greyhound's jaws off my poor cat's throat and then rushed her to the emergency vet.

I missed the first 45 minutes of Rye's party (and tonight, he said, "Why didn't you come to my birthday party?") and wasn't sure if my battered cat was going to make it.

That night (morning) at 3:30 a.m., I woke up with extreme low back pain and after 20 minutes or so knew I was in labor. All I could think: What about the cat? I was to pick her up at the emergency vet at 7:30 and take her to our vet across town. Dane ended up doing that, and while he was gone, Rye threw up.

Three times.

Paige's birth story will always include the detail of Mommy holding Rye over the kitchen sink so he could hurl while she endured a contraction.

The vomiting meant he couldn't go to daycare. So my mom came. From Fremont. Which is at least a 45-minute drive.

We made it to the hospital in plenty of time, however, and Paige arrived with no problem and much joy.

Little Kitty, though, ended up dying, alone overnight, at the vet's office Tuesday night. We buried her Wednesday, the day we came home from the hospital, in the backyard. Rye used his blankie at one point to wipe away my tears (does it get any sweeter than that?)

And as if that wasn't enough excitement for our little family, a few nights ago, we got to call 911. (Yes, I know, Mother, I haven't told you this yet). Paige had spit up in her sleep and seemed to be choking and really in need of help. She was obviously in distress but couldn't cry or cough or do anything. After a few minutes of this, I told Dane to call 911. So little Paige and I got to ride in an ambulance and spend five hours in the ER at Children's Hospital. She is fine, but they did chest X-rays and blood tests and for a while at least seemed concerned.

Her pediatrician the next day said the worst she has is reflux. We have medicine for that and instructions on how often to feed her and how much. She also has to sleep in an inclined position for 30 minutes after she eats.

This whole event, of course, means I'm terrified to leave her alone. So she's been sleeping in the car seat next to my bed.

And she really is doing fine.

But all this - does it justify the mid-day booze?

Cheers.

Bath time

2009-05-24T16:32:00.001-05:00

We got lucky with the smile.

And she didn't even cry during this first bath at home. I'll take that.

Rye's birthday

2009-05-22T15:54:00.003-05:00

Better late than never.

Rye's party on Sunday featured superhero cake and homemade capes. We also had wind, room to run and a park playground where bad guys didn't stand a chance.

Here are a few photos:

The birthday boy with his cake.

Opening presents.

Rye and his superhero friends.

I love this picture.

At home afterward, with his new Wolverine claws.

She's here

2009-05-20T16:14:00.003-05:00

Nearly two weeks early, Paige made her arrival at 1:29 p.m. Monday, May 18. One day after her big brother turned 4. She couldn't be more perfect.

Four years

2009-05-17T10:17:00.004-05:00

Dear Rye,

You are 4 years old today. How did that happen?

I won't say it feels like yesterday that you were born - because it certainly doesn't. We've all changed a lot in the last four years. Sometimes, I barely even feel like the same person who paid attention to every single detail of my pregnancy with you that long ago. I've learned that life isn't always going to be what we all want it to be, even if we are trying, in our own individual ways. Sometimes, it doesn't matter how hard you try. Things are just the way they are, and we just better get used to it. Parenthood, I've learned, is not what I thought it was going to be when I dreamed about having a child.

But I wouldn't trade it for anything. Because just as often as it's hard, there are those moments when you smile that unmatched smile or say something completely unexpected or hug me like you'll never let go, and I can't believe how much I love you.

The other morning, when Daddy was taking you to Jessica's, I was leaving for work in my car at the same time. And we looked at each other through the two car windows, you straining around Daddy to get an uninterrupted look at me, and you didn't stop waving, not until I had pulled out of the driveway and was out of sight. I didn't stop waving to you either, and I remember feeling like I was going to cry, lose it right there in my car as I drove down our suburban street, away from you. The guilt of working full-time and putting you in daycare has lessened substantially since that first awful day I dropped you off with a stranger nearly four years ago, but that day last week it all came back, fresh and raw and humbling. You are my baby, my first baby, and you always will be, no matter how old you get. I feel often like I should be there more, do more, try harder. But you are thriving.

So today, you have already asked me at least five times when we can go to the store to get a guy. Action figures now are your true love. And it is your birthday, so I will without hesitation take you to get a guy. A $10 piece of plastic that will make you happy.

You've done so much in the last year that it's hard for me to even begin to make any sort of list of those accomplishments. Your vocabulary, grammar and sentence structure are amazing. The other day you used "apparently" correctly in a sentence. And that is just one example.

You play on your own, sometimes for 30 minutes or more at a time. This is both nice and completely scary for me.

You'd eat Eggo waffles for every meal if I'd let you. Or macaroni and cheese.

You are independent, strong-willed, stubborn, determined - like someone else I know. You are also curious and sweet and smart and loving.

You crave information, activity, interaction, attention, new stimulation. I'm trying to keep up, and sometimes I do better than others.

But today, on your fourth birthday, sweetheart, I want you to know I love you more than anything else, despite the trying times, the not-so-glorious moments of parenthood.

You are everything to me, and I wouldn't trade the last four years for anything.

Happy birthday, baby.

Love, Mommy.

Introducing...

2009-05-12T08:00:00.002-05:00

Baby Paige's room (after a doctor's appointment Monday, I am 1.5 cm dilated and 50 percent effaced. Translation: I probably have to stick this thing out another couple weeks).

So. I'm trying to focus on the material things surrounding any baby's birth. Like the room. Which I got into order this weekend.

And at the request of a friend, you all get to see pictures. Dane says he knew we would someday have a girl when he chose this paint color nearly four years ago. I do not believe him. But I like the paint color even more now that it serves as baby-girl room purple, not just guest room purple.

Mother's Day (a day late)

2009-05-11T17:30:00.004-05:00

I got this card (a day early). Because Rye was so excited to show it to me when I got back from the gym on Saturday, how could I make him wait until Sunday?

Here is the front, princess picture, stickers, misspelled name and all:

and here is the inside (name spelled correctly). I love the list.

and here is the boy, jammies and all.

36 1/2 weeks

2009-05-05T20:44:00.006-05:00

I'm feeling as you would expect a woman who is hopefully three weeks or so away from having a baby would feel. Tired. Uncomfortable. Anxious.

But I know the end is in sight. And today my friend Jenny sent these pictures she took of me on Saturday. She was generous enough to offer, and she takes beautiful pictures, so how could I say no?

Here's a few of them, and I'll hopefully have a link for any of you who want to see more in a few days.

'That pretty dress'

2009-04-23T09:51:00.002-05:00

This morning, I was reading the paper while finishing my coffee at the table and Rye was munching a granola bar across from me.

We sat mostly in silence but then Rye said, "Why are you wearing that pretty dress, Mommy?"

It was about the nicest thing I could hear.

Because, being 35 weeks pregnant, I feel about as far from pretty as I can get.

It's not actually a dress, but the shirt is nicer and could be mistaken for a dress if you couldn't see my legs, which he couldn't.

Most of the time, this past week, I feel like I'm just trying to hang on to my sanity and a little bit of self esteem until this baby comes out. I'll never understand those women who say they like being pregnant.

But anyway, Rye's comment this morning helped. Even if he is biased.

Six weeks

2009-04-17T09:06:00.003-05:00

In six weeks, I should have a baby.

Or at least, please, God, let me have a baby. I do not know how women cope with their due date coming and going sans baby.

I alternate between feeling relatively fine and borderline miserable. It's strange - sometimes, even this far along, I sort of forget I'm pregnant. And I'm, like, really pregnant. Other times, even moving is uncomfortable.

Today so far is OK. But it's just beginning, isn't it?

Overall, this pregnancy has been better symptom-wise than the first. I've also been distracted with life and not so intently focused on the little girl growing inside. That's got to have made a difference, too, I think.

Last night, I was carrying Rye upstairs to bed and he said, "Where is your baby?"

I told him he was my baby, and he said, "No, your new baby."

I'm not getting a new baby, I told him, not wanting him to feel replaced, just another one. You'll always be my first baby, I said.

But she's still in my tummy, I reminded him.

I was thinking, as I looked in the mirror in the upstairs bathroom: How the heck could you forget she's still in my tummy? Look at it!

This must also be the point in pregnancies when random strangers feel compelled to ask when the baby's due. It happened twice yesterday - once in the elevator at work and once at the gas station after work. I know people are well-intentioned, but I'm not big on small talk and I also really don't want to talk to strangers about what's in my bulging tummy and when the ordeal that is labor is scheduled to begin. Ah, well. It's also not that big of a deal.

I've gained 25 pounds so far. Ahem. This is hard for me. I'm hoping to not gain more than 30. With Rye, I gained 35, I'm pretty sure. I also lost it pretty quickly. I'm hoping for that again as well.

And my goal is to run a 5K in early July. Even more reason this baby girl needs to come when the gestation calendar says she should.

Happy Easter

2009-04-11T16:36:00.002-05:00

Rye and I went to two Easter egg hunts today.

The first one, though, we missed the hunt. I know. Nice job, Mommy. But thankfully, several nice kids gave Rye a few of their haul, noticing we'd arrived as just about the last egg was picked up.

We actually had fun anyway. The hunt was at a park by a really nice lake, so we played on the toys and by the water for at least an hour. For the last 20 minutes or so, it was just us and some squawking geese on the water in the late-morning sun.

The afternoon hunt was more bountiful, as you can see in the photo, though it wasn't much of a hunt. The eggs were ready for the taking in an open patch of grass at a Catholic high school in town. But afterward, you had to turn the eggs in. In exchange, Rye got a bag of candy. I think he would have rather had the eggs.

I shoved four of them in my pocket.

Nice job, Mommy, right?

In my tummy

2009-04-10T20:31:00.002-05:00

Rye and I got a Max and Ruby DVD at the movie store tonight. While putting it on for him just now, I skipped a Blue's Clues preview.

Rye said, "That's Blue's Clues."

I said, "I know. I like Blue's Clues. Do you?"

Rye: "Yeah. That's Leona's favorite show." (Leona goes to daycare with him).

Me: "I used to watch it when Ashley and Justin (my brother and sister) were little. I used to live with them."

Rye: "Oh, and then you got big and moved to our house. Right?"

Me, smiling: "Right."

Rye: "But I was still in your tummy. Right?"

Me: "Uh, right."

Rye: "I was still in your tummy, Mommy, right?"

Me: "Well, we hadn't made you yet."

Rye: "Oh, so where was I? Was I in a different country?"

I laughed.

And then we watched Max and Ruby.

NKOTB, part two

2009-04-08T15:15:00.004-05:00

So Donnie totally kissed the girl next to me.

Yep. I'm not burying the lead, to use a journalism term. I'm getting that detail out of the way first thing. Because that is undoubtedly what I'll remember most from the New Kids concert in Des Moines on Monday.

I didn't even know about the show until the middle of last week - how I let that happen, I'm not sure. But I decided if I could get a decent seat, I should go. How could I not, right? This is the band, after all, for which I basically lived -- for, oh, I don't know, three years.

So I totally scored a fourth row seat for less than I would have paid for the ticket from the box office. Thank you, craigslist and overeager New Kid fan who upgraded her original ticket and had an extra.

Even better, though, was that I was on the end of the row on the left side of the arena. This normally would mean nothing. However, as my kiss detail may have led you to guess already, this meant everything to those of us on each row's end BECAUSE the New Kids walked right past us.

Yep. That meant touching. And, like, sharing air and being closer to these guys who I realize now are really just regular people than my 11-year-old infatuated self ever could have imagined.

Their trip down the aisle was a result of a three-song set the guys did on a small stage near the back of the arena. Afterward, they passed right by us to get back to the main stage. We knew it was coming because a line of arena security guards came and stretched a theater-style fancy rope between us and the aisle. As if all of us 30-something rabid New Kids fans were going to attack them or something. (Especially this gigantic, eight-month pregnant one).

Anyway, the girl in front of me, who when turned to face the aisle was actually next to me, is an almost-31-year-old stay-at-home mom of 8-month- and 20-month-old
baby girls. (She also has two other children including a 15-year-old, who she had at 16. And her husband has three kids from a previous marriage.) She had made these green and white Boston Red Sox caps for herself and her sister by gluing tiny rhinestones one by one onto the hat's front in the shape of the Red Sox's "B." She had also made green T-shirts that said "Face Time" on the front and "Round 4 - Tulsa, Omaha, Moline and Des Moines" on the back. This was obviously the fourth time they'd seen the guys.

This story is getting more detailed than anyone really cares, right? Sorry. I really liked this girl in front of me. She was super nice and chatty and just cool, and if I could look like her after I have this baby, I'd be way happy. If she didn't live in Manhattan, Kan., I'd have asked her out. Kidding.

So Jon came down the aisle first, offering high- (more like mid-) fives. I got one.

Then Joe came and then Jordan. Pretty sure I touched Jordan's arm.

Danny came (meh, who cares).

And then Donnie, who appeared to be walking down the aisle like everyone else. When he got to us, though, he stopped, sort of pushed the security guard aside and gave this girl a chocolate-brown hand towel he'd been using and kissed her. On the lips.

It was incredible, mostly because it was so unexpected. And it happened right there. And to a girl I sort of knew.

She screamed. "I got a smooch!"

I remember yelling, "Oh my God!"

Her sister gave her a hug.

Though it was weird - and it probably sounds weird to everyone who is not and never was a true New Kids fan -- this was a big deal. Those of us around her, I think, were genuinely happy for her. I was at least.

The concert continued, and it was all good. Jordan sang "Baby, I Believe in You," his shirt blowing in the wind of a fan, and the guys (like they were when I saw them in Omaha in November) were appreciative and happy and enthusiastic and genuinely seemed to be having a good time up there on stage.

I think performers don't do that enough these days.

So was a two-hour drive each way worth it?

Absolutely.

And I'm contemplating figuring out how long it would take to drive to Wichita this summer - the next time the boys from Boston will be nearby.

Super hero day

2009-04-05T15:41:00.005-05:00

How can you not love this costume?

The Star Wars shirt with the knight's mask and a cape that I'm pretty sure was made to look like dragon scales. Great.

Rye is in super hero mode right now, and I must say I'm liking that better than the Star Wars fascination that came before. He still likes Star Wars, he tells me, but just not as much. At least all those action figures won't go the way of the Thomas the Tank Engine trains just yet.

So never the one to deny anyone their object of obsession, I suggested we go to "Super Hero Day" at the Lincoln Children's Museum yesterday.

The coolest characters there weren't Batman or Spiderman. They were the Storm Troopers from Star Wars. They looked so real, they were almost intimidating.

The place was crazy, of course, filled with kids dressed up like their own version of Superman and Batman. Little caped crusaders running recklessly everywhere.

We were there about two hours and that was plenty for me. Rye said several times afterward how much fun he had. So that made the effort worth it.

We ate at Valentino's beforehand:

And here they are with the Storm Troopers:

Oh, Cap'n, my Cap'n

2009-03-28T16:14:00.003-05:00

At daycare last week, Rye did an art project using Cap'n Crunch cereal. He had never tried this sugary breakfast treat before and apparently it was love at first taste.

He requested to eat it at snack. They did.

And later that day, he matter-of-factly said to me: "Mommy, you need to buy some Cap'n Crunch."

So the next day, after daycare, we did.

He had it for dinner.

And then the love affair ended.

He's refused to have any of it since.

It's typical of my child. And it's also OK with me because, hey, someone's got to eat it now, right?

I think I know just the person.

And I think I know what I'm having for dinner.

(On a related Cap'n Crunch note: ESPN Radio's Colin Cowherd had a cereal bracket to tie in with the NCAA basketball tourney this year. Sadly, Cap'n Crunch lost in the Final, er, Flavorful, Four to Frosted Flakes. Are you kidding me? In my book, Tony the Tiger's got nothing on Cap'n. In the end, Tony went down at the hands of Honey Nut Cheerios. You can read more about the cereal contest here.)

My coffee mug

2009-03-18T20:58:00.003-05:00

I love this mug.

The newspaper I work for does this feature called "My Five" where once a week we pick somebody from the community and ask them to bring in their five favorite objects. It can't be a picture of their child or their cat meant to represent that person or pet; it has to be an actual object that has sentimental value. Like a childhood blankie. Or state track medal. Or guitar. Or something.

I don't know what my five things would be.

But this mug would make the list. I sort of love everything about it. The colors, the design, its shape. The fact it holds just the right amount of coffee.

I found it in a thrift store in Fruita, Colorado, a year ago. The weather was perfect, I remember, and we had walked to this thrift store from our friend's house just a few blocks away.

The store is big and has lots of the usual thrift store merchandise. A back room there, I recall, has lots of kitchen stuff including an entire wall of mugs.

I loved this one right away. It was part of a pair, and I almost bought the other one, too, but Dane said he wouldn't ever use it (and didn't really like it), so I put the other one back.

That's OK. I like having just the one.

And on mornings when this one's clean, I reach for it every time.

And, yes, of course, the coffee tastes just a little bit better.

So ... this is really what it's like

2009-03-11T14:34:00.002-05:00

Why doesn't anyone tell us, growing up, what being a grown-up is actually like?

Why not just tell us, "Kids, this is really how it's going to be." Maybe then we could prepare for the harsh realities of this world, instead of believing we can all grow up to be whatever and whoever we want, that all our dreams can come true.

I have never been a pessimist. But the older I get, especially this year of my life, the more pragmatic I seem to become.

Our dreams are just not as easily reached as all the teachers and coaches and others led me to believe. I'm not alone in feeling this way, am I?

I'm not suggesting that adults should stop encouraging kids to figure out what they want in life and strive for it; I'm simply saying they might figure out how to be a bit more helpful - and a bit more realistic - about it all.

Because while I've definitely got good - great? - things in my life now, it's not all sunshine and roses like I always thought it could be, if I just worked hard enough, got good enough grades, tried hard enough, pleased enough people. It just doesn't work that way, I'm realizing now. Because people are human. We make mistakes. We change our minds. We don't always have the answers (do we ever have the answers?).

Two of my friends were laid off last week. Another friend's husband was laid off more than a month ago. These people did nothing wrong. They deserved not an ounce the hand they were dealt. Rather, they worked hard, tried hard, showed up on time, smiled for the most part, did what they were supposed to do. Were these their dream jobs? Probably not. But they were their jobs. And it's not right for anyone to show up one day and have the rug pulled out from under them. Bad economy or not.

One of those friends has a blog. The other day, he said, this:

"Should you ever find yourself adrift in a sea of joblessness, it's important to stick with a tried and true routine to go about your daily affairs. You know, so you don't end up sitting around in your underwear all day and finishing a bag (or two!) of Doritos ...

"Anyway, you gotta get out of bed. Seriously. And you have to put pants on and pretend to be a grown-up."

That's just it. Pretend to be a grown-up. Most days, I feel like I'm just pretending to be a grown-up. Do I really know any more than I did as a kid? Maybe. Probably.

But dealing with the things grown-ups deal with - layoffs, pay cuts, mortgages, the commute, health insurance, having babies, making a marriage work, the list goes on - God. Who really wants to do all of that?

I don't really want to deal with those things. I just at my core want to be happy. I suppose the key is figuring out how to deal with those things and be happy at the same time.

It must be possible.

Right?

Baby growing

2009-03-01T22:13:00.006-06:00

13 more weeks of baby growing to go.

It's been a weird pregnancy, one uneventful as far as the pregnancy goes but filled with personal turmoil for completely unrelated reasons.

As I near my due date, I've been thinking lately how unfocused I've been on the little girl growing inside of me. It's so different this time than when I was pregnant before. With Rye, every second of every day I was consumed with the fact I was pregnant with a capital P. Only once - when the small newsroom I was working in at the time was focused on breaking a huge story - do I remember forgetting I was pregnant. And even then, it was probably only for a few hours.

This time, though, it's been sort of an afterthought, and I don't mean that to sound as bad as it probably sounds. There's just so much else going on. Am I thrilled to be having a little girl? Absolutely. I never really thought when I pictured how my life would go that any of what's happening now would be happening. But I never thought four years ago even - when I was at about this stage of my pregnancy with Rye - that I'd ever do this whole baby-growing thing again. That I'd ever be lucky enough to get to be mommy to a little girl.

What will she be like, this girl of mine? I try to think of it, but it's almost impossible for me to imagine a child any different than the one I already have. I think about how hard it's going to be to have a baby again (God, it's terrifying really), and I second-guess my decision to have another one. But then I think maybe she'll eat better than Rye, maybe she'll sleep better, maybe we won't have any issues. Maybe she won't cry as much.

That'd be nice.

But I know - without even trying that hard - that things will be hard and that every single second will be worth it. Just like it was last time.

"This, too, shall pass," was my mantra, I think, last time, during those first six or seven months. Will I have to remind myself of that again? Probably.

Will I be OK? Yeah.

Will we all come out the other side safe and sound? I sure hope so.

I have another ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow. I'm nearly 28 weeks along. Seeing the baby again - in the midst of a long, extra-cold winter - is something to look forward to, for sure.