Five Years Ago

I was hanging out on the ninth floor of a hospital, holding, feeding (painfully - afterbirth pains while nursing number two - yowzers!) and sleeping with my one day-old son.
I know some new mothers can't wait to get out of the hospital and home with their newborn, but I think my favorite experience of the entire birth is the calm after the storm, when there is nothing to do but receive visitors, recover, and enjoy the new beginning.

Of my three birthing experiences, Sammy's was the closest to "normal". It was Sunday, January 26th 2003 and Jay was on call and already away at the hospital. My mom was with me for this very scenario. Seth's labor was fast and unpredictable and I was paranoid that I would go into labor while Jay was working (which they seem to constantly be doing their intern year) and not have a ride to the hospital or a place for Seth to go.

We had 9:00 church and I believe there was primary business I had that day because I was running late preparing things and my mother walked to the church ahead of me with Seth. In a rush, I power walked the short distance a few minutes later, my bursting belly feeling tight and burning the entire time.

As I entered the chapel, my mother and several others were cleaning up vomit in the pew where Seth had thrown-up. My mother took Seth home and I, sweaty and annoyed, went and got some more paper towels.

While I was cleaning up, a woman in my ward noticed my grimaces and asked me if I needed her to drive me home. I laughed and said that I lived close enough to walk but thank you but she wouldn't take no for an answer. Not wanting to do battle in the chapel, I accepted her offer and was taxied the 0.1 mile distance home.

I came in and sat down in my blue, leather recliner and had a contraction, nothing too painful but very tight. I sat there for about an hour, nonchalantly timing these "tightenings". As they were coming about every five minutes and for about a minute's length each time, I called Jay and told him that I thought I was in labor.

He quickly drove home to pick me up and we headed back to the hospital together. From there, I labored for about another hour (while Jay went in and out trying to fulfill his call duties), feeling determined to have the baby without an epidural,as I had done with Seth, but a little panicked because I didn't remember labor hurting quite so bad. Jay reassured me that I'd still be a superstar even with the epidural and I consented.

Talk about birthing luxury! I felt very calm as I could feel the tightening contractions but no pain. When it was time to push, I boldly requested a mirror which was an offer that irritated me while I was in the throes of pain delivering Seth. Never having actually witnessed a birth (we missed the week in the birthing class when the video is shown), I watched Samuel Jay enter the world.

Kind of gross, but...beautiful too, in that bloody and freakishly bizarre way. Samuel's labor was my longest, clocking in at five and a half hours start to finish, but he was thoughtful enough to come in time for the Superbowl. If we were superstitious or prone to punish our children with inappropriate names, we'd have named him Keyshawn, who played for the triumphant Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Thankfully, we aren't those kind of parents.

I don't have easy access to old pictures here, and this was one of the earliest pictures with Sam with a digital camera. I think he's a little older than a year here. He was and is, such an easy laid-back boy.

For number five, we had an all day celebration including donuts (a rarity in our gluten-free home), a trip to the museum of ancient life where we watched a 3-D dinosaur movie on an IMAX screen (although I had to watch the last fifteen minutes in blurry 2-D because Henry threw my glasses down a few rows) and watched the boys pretend to excavate, and a party with family at Chuck E. Cheese. Sammy reveled in his new gifts which included several nerf guns, a whole lot of new lego sets and a new magnetix set.

Gluten-y deliciousness

Jay fights back by making his own special kind of muffins. They weren't too bad.

I love this picture despite its yellowness. I love this man. I love these boys' father.

Seth and Henry play paleontologist

Sammy does too

Cousin Adam hit the jackpot on one of the games. Almost 300 tickets oozed out of the machine with which he was able to trade in for a plastic mug. Like Ebay says, it's better when you win it. Kelly can't help herself:)

Best friend/cousin Matt and the birthday boy

Another gloriously decorated gluten-free cake by Lucy. I'm thinking of starting a business.

I love how excited he got by the free candy Aunt Sarah threw into the bag along with two nerf guns.

Big hugs for everyone as a thank-you

The competition heated up when Jay shot some hoops.

Kelly attempted to crown herself queen

But I think Clark triumphed

It was crazy busy and anytime the kids could actually play on something was a relief.

Just trying to stay out of the gaming frenzy

Sam and creed play the dinosaur racing game

And this guy stayed true to form requiring a personal escort the entire night. Even with an escort, I think he managed to slip away undetected at least four times. The crown looks natural on him, don't you think?

Happy Birthday Sam-I-Am. Sammy Sosa. Samuelson. Sambone. Samuel Jay.

Book Review #50 - A Thousand Splendid Suns

For the last two months I have been putting off reading this book. For starters, I bought the book at an airport in Taiwan, which meant it didn't have a due date which meant it took a backseat to many books that I didn't have the luxury of reading whenever.

Additionally, because I've heard so much about this book already, I almost didn't want to read it at all. I've heard that it's depressing, that it's not as good as The Kite Runner, and that it's basically a novel about the brutal treatment of women in Afghanistan.

You know when you read a book or see a film that has had great reviews and you finish feeling disappointed because it didn't live up to the hype? My experience reading this book was the complete opposite. I loved it. I didn't feel the message of the book was one of brutality or depression, but of hope and the toughness of the human spirit.

There are plenty of awful scenes to lend credence to its reputation. While the story's time frame spans thirty years, the main focus of the novel are two woman, a generation apart, whose lives cross as they become the wives of the same man, Rasheed. The elder, Mariam, was born to a servant woman out of wedlock and is raised in banishment, ignorance and eventual rejection during the years the Afghani government was controlled by the communists. She finds herself forced to marry a much older man after her mother commits suicide. Laila, fifteen years younger and raised by intellectual parents, enters the marriage under much different circumstances. Alone after a bomb destroys her home and kills her parents, and pregnant by her childhood love who has fled the country, she marries Rasheed in a desperate attempt to save her unborn child.

The writing engrossed me. Much like the Kite Runner, Hosseini magically puts the reader in the city, neighborhood and house of his characters. Much to his credit, I found myself torn between wanting to yell at Laila to hush up, so that she'd avoid another beating, and kicking Rasheed myself, because he is a despicable brute.

Mariam, one of the most tragic characters in literature, makes this book what it is; a story of love and strenghth. She, who didn't have an easy day in her life, allows herself to be touched by the love of Laila and her children. In return, she performs the ultimate act of love and saves a family.

I appreciate Hosseini's portrayal of a part of the world that is under so much scrutiny lately. Afghanistan, and the city of Kabul where the story takes place, have a long history of wars and occupations which result in a great chasm between different ethnic tribes, Islam, economic classes and gender. Hosseini uses this novel to tell the story of Afghani women and the hardships that face them with each regime change.

As a woman, I feel blessed to have been given confidence and opportunities. I truly cannot imagine what it would be like to live under the conditions the women in this book live under. I am grateful to be born to the family I was born to and in a country which allows me to live the kind of life I choose.

Miram and Laila didn't have the opportunities or support that I have. And yet they survived. They endured and they reached out to others, despite their circumstances. In this, Hosseini redeems all of Afghanistan by showing these two women's humanity. He shows that in a place whose beauty was written about in a 17th century poem, where "One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs and the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls" is a city that can become illuminated once again.

Book Review #49 - What Came Before He Shot Her

I could write A LOT about this book. Mainly, how much I disliked it. Elizabeth George is probably my favorite crime novelist. I love her Inspector Lynley/Havers books. The first tragic flaw of this book is that neither characters are in the book.

In a nutshell, George takes her last book, With No One As A Witness, and writes a very, very long book with all the background for the criminal in that book. Yes, it humanizes the criminal. Yes, it paints a stark and awful background to the horrors of poverty and neighborhoods that breed crime. But the book becomes part of the horror as it goes on and on in its detail about the ugly.

In the end, there is no beauty to save it. I was just glad to be done with it. It was a hard book for me to read and I feel a little betrayed by George. If you like her too and haven't read this book - don't. Spare yourself the torture.

Book Review #48 - Mrs. Mike

This wasn't on my list of scheduled reads but while I was in a bookstore last month to purchase a book for a Christmas exchange, I saw Mrs. Mike on the shelves and felt compelled to buy this much beloved book.

I'm often asked what my favorite book is. I always answer that I don't have one; there are many books I love but they are too different to say one is superior to another.

I have changed my mind. Mrs. Mike is my favorite book.

A coming of age story set in the Canadian North in the year 1907, Katherine Mary O'Fallon, a young woman of 16, goes to live with her uncle somewhere north of Calgary as treatment for her pleurisy. There she meets Sergeant Mike Flannigan, a Mountie who has "eyes so blue she could swim in them." They are eventually married after a brief (but fantastically romantic) courtship and she follows him by dog sled to the arctic wilderness to live among the fur traders and Indians.

I love this book for many reasons. Most importantly, as a book, it's my first love. Mrs. Mike was the book that made me realized how much a book could move and stick with me for years. I rarely re-read a book, but I believe I've read Mrs. Mike five times now. Each time, my stomach swoons when Kathy and Mike fall in love, I laugh when Kathy covers her daughter and Mike spanks Kathy instead, I cry when the unimaginable happens and I sigh as I close the book, thinking the line at the very end is one of the best ever written.

Another reason I love this book is that it's based on a real woman's life who the authors met before writing the book. I'm sure it's juiced from the reality, but even the skeleton of the story is moving.

I can't claim that it's the best written book. It is simple in structure, dialogue and description, but as I've read more and more over the years, and compare it to other literature, I believe the style matches the story perfectly.

It's the kind of book I can't help but promise that anyone who reads it will love it. But I also know that with our diverse personalities and preferences, it wouldn't be true. Like a biased mother who adores her baby, I don't think I'd enjoy anyone pointing out the flaws of this book. Perhaps its eyes are too close together and the head oddly-shaped, but it's my baby, and I think it's the most beautiful thing in the world.

Look What Now Got Me Into

I love comments. I really do. Not the number, really, although any feedback is nice, but the ideas and validation are what really keep me coming back for more.

A few of yesterday's comments created today's post.

Barb replied: "I have decided the no-extra-charge classes at my gym are the solution. Avoidance of public humiliation pushes me harder in those classes than when I'm on the elliptical."

Melanie concurred: "I agree though, I didn't push myself nearly as hard when I worked out on my own. But like Barb, I did push myself in all the kick boxing classes. I didn't want to look like a wimp in there, ha!"

Carlo mentioned it: " i had a few months to get up to speed and then i jumped into the group classes"

Amber dittoed: "I ditto the class suggestion. I work so much harder in a class and at least at the gym I used to belong to they were 'free' with your membership."

I've been setting weekly fitness goals as a result of my word for the year - Now. One of the goals was to attend a class at the gym. I think it's been over five years since I've attended one and once you're out of the system, it's quite intimidating to jump back in.

My intimidation has several sources. First and foremost, the exact point of the group class. I actually have to work out in front of others. This includes breathing (who wants to be the hardest breather in a group?), learning some sort of routine, finding a discreet location that minimizes the number of people who have to witness the adjusting of my underwear and the usual requirement to respond to a teacher's insistence on yelling something out loud during the work-out.

Most of these intimidations are new. When you're in shape, you're not worried about keeping up. You know you can out kick, out step, out lift your neighbor. And you certainly don't worry about being the only one to stay with the "level one" move while everyone else bumps it up a notch to "level two". Underwear fit better and, of course you yell. Isn't that the point? Boo-ya!

In spite of of these reasons, and many others, my word took me to a class Tuesday night. A class called BodyCombat. Yes, it was exactly that class.

There were two instructors. Both young and nubile, both wearing fingerless gloves that made them look legitimate and tough and both requiring me to yell things throughout the workout that made me giggle. I'm not sure how to type out the "woot woot"s and "hu!" with each kick and punch. But imagine the sounds coming from the gut and in some imitation of a martial arts movie.

It was a good workout but bouncy! All the shuffling and pretend jump roping and high kicks really got me moving - and not always in a good way. The routines invariably stumped me. Me - a girl who used to learn the fly girl routines on In Living Color - could not come up with a jab-jab-jab-jab-two count hook-two count uppercut-leg pump reach-legpump reach-jumpkick-land (pause)-shuffle-shuffle-shuffle. Not once. I was never on the right leg when it came time to jumpkick and then shuffled the wrong way. Every time.

Whenever I looked in the mirror, I felt aghast that this uncoordinated looking woman, who was all elbows and bounce, was me. When did I lose my ability to remember an eight step routine?

I know I should go back. Face my demons and the ladies in gloves once more. I might even get the jumpkick this time. Better yet, I might try "level" two.

Just wanted you to know. I'm out there "now"ing.

Life in the Village is Pricey

I love using other people's talents. Particularly when they possess a skill I do not have or have not developed. I think it fits in with the "it takes a village" doctrine. I cannot, nor will I ever be able to fix a car. Well, maybe if I take a class and spend umpteen hours underneath a hood but that's not the point. There are already people who know how to do that. I'll use them.

Besides, as a rule, I think most people enjoy sharing their talents. Something that requires extreme effort and thought on my part might easily be done, and happily so, by someone else. Really, it's a win/win situation. I get better/prettier/faster stuff/service/knowledge and they get paid.

That's right...paid. As in....giving them money for their work.

Here is when the problem arises.

By rite of religious belief, I've been taught to be self-reliant. I'm on board with that most of the time for most things. However, I believe exceptions can be made in the name of good taste and level of quality.

There are some services I would love to pay someone to do for me because, usually, the quality of my life would improve. I need and want their help not because I am lazy and needy (well...mostly not) but because my time on this earth is finite and sometimes I need help.

I failed to mention in a previous post about working out with a trainer that I was not paying for her services. The gym offers two free hours to any new member, no doubt hoping the customer will be so impressed with the free service that they'll eventually agree to pay for it.

I'm their gal. This fits right into my philosophy of life. You do something better than I do? And it's something I'm not currently performing at superstar level? I would happily pay you for your help. I include personal training in this philosophy because I think it works and when you're in the business of losing weight and becoming more healthy, why not pay an expert to help you with your goals?

Because they charge too much. And you thought that was a rhetorical question.

I told myself I'd take my two free sessions and run before being sucked into their hard sale spiel, but, instead, I loved the workouts and brought the subject up myself! My trainer pushed me WAY harder than I ever would myself and even when I wanted to quit, I couldn't. There was some he-woman standing right next to me that, for some disturbing psychological reason, I wanted to think highly of me. So I squatted and I lunged and I twisted and I pushed and I lifted and I balanced and I... loved it.

So much that at the conclusion of our second session, I asked her how much more training sessions would be (this is why I don't watch those TV infomercials or allow myself to open the door to people selling boxes of delicious fruit...I'm such a sucker!).

She replied, "Sixty dollars per session. Or, you can get a packet of 12 session for six-hundred dollars."

I have no intention of belittling the hard-working professionals of the fitness world. But, I don't think charging that much is justified. The day-care, a room away, charges me two dollars an hour to protect and entertain my children. Someone else, by virtue of having a nice body and going through a few months of training for a certificate, gets to charge me thirty times that because I'm fat and I need someone else to tell me how many reps I have left or what exercise I'm doing next?

I don't understand how this business model fits in with supply and demand. I didn't ask this trainer how busy she is, so maybe it does fit and trainers everywhere are all crazy busy and making millions, but it seems to me that if they simply charged less, they'd have more clients filling up more hours of the day and it could actually be a career instead of some fit person's way to make extra cash. But that's just a large lady's opinion. And I clearly don't quite get "it" anyway.

Alas, no trainer for me. Today, I went and attempted to remember the moves and weights and sequences and only made it forty minutes before I was at a loss of what to do. I was sweaty and got my heart rate up but freely admit that I was no where near the level I was with the trainer by my side.

I have no point, because I couldn't afford one even if I thought the price was fair.

Here are some other things I want but can't afford.

A chef. I'm not demanding. Once or twice a week would be plenty.

A personal shopper. Especially for the grocery store. But I wouldn't even mind someone running into Old Navy for me to see what the good deals are.

An interior decorator. I recognize a nice design, but certainly can't come up with it on my own.

A housekeeper. For every reason imaginable.

A nanny (but not full-time. Just someone who was always on call so that I'd never have to go through the dreadful experience of trying to actually find someone to babysit).

A make-up artist. My thirties are doing all sorts of things to my face that I'd rather have concealed or disguised.

A thank-you card maker. I've managed to hire this out a few times. I love purchasing cute cards others have made. I suppose it might help if I also hire a thank-you card writer, so that they actually get used. I'd hire a mailer as well, due to my post office issues, but I think it could fall under the job description for personal shopper. Bonus.

There's my village. Of course, I can't afford to live in it, so I'm in the double-wide ten miles down the road writing a blog post about it.

SPT - What's In A Name

I haven't done SPT in a while now, and feel a bit like a poser right this second, but I always have this urge to defend the name of my blog so when the opportunity presents itself....I must post.

My first blog post was about the title of my blog but the quick story is my french pen pal wrote it as a post script on one of his letters. It became a phrase I used with my friends when I was young and hyper (that's right....WAY back in the day). I, like many, many others, had no idea what blogging would become and mainly wanted something unique and un-googleable. It worked! I don't think anyone has put all these words together in a sentence to search for something yet!

So, while it's not really "who I am" or "what I do", my blog name is probably here for the long haul. And, if you don't look at it too closely, it sort of grows on you;)

A Sports Analogy

Seth went back to school today. I can't decide if this year-round schedule is something I like or not. And I really can't tell if it's something he likes or not. Last night, as I reminded him that it was actually a school night, his reaction was one of fear and surprise and he had to hold back tears. Although I have little doubt that when I pick him up from school today he'll be back to flashing his "rock on" hand signs that his buddy Ethan and him constantly give to whoever is watching, I can't help but think that perhaps this starting and stopping and starting again, all within the same school year is hard on their tender souls.

Regardless of how Seth feels, I feel fantastic! I don't want to be the mom that only wants her kids to be gone, but after a month of cold-weather-living-on-top-of-each-other togetherness, I think some space every day is a good thing. On top of that, I find that the daily taking and picking up from school routine gives a schedule to plan around.

This last month, I feel like I've been playing defense. Every day is free to be different, and because it was Seth's "vacation" I felt awful if there wasn't at least one fantastic element to it. Luckily, there was a lot of built in festivity. Christmas (obviously), all the snow (which led to a couple of sledding trips and one snowmobiling adventure, but, sadly, no skiing yet), a brother's birthday and a road trip.

But there were lots of days in between where I cringed as I mentally counted the hours of Wii play time. Although the way Seth plays, it truly is the equivalent of an all day trip to an aerobics class. The kid does not stop bouncing. Me...I've found the remote works perfectly well from the couch:) I know, I know....not the point.

I think all the defensive play took my mood hostage and for the past three of four days and every chance I've had to write something, I've felt a slight negative spin work its way into my journaling. I feel like there's been plenty of that on the ol' spasm blog of late, so I refrained. Besides....I promised.

BUT, some good things have been happening:

• dinner with Dana and her husband Aaron on Friday night at Flemings Steakhouse. Very delicious, especially the Flemings potatoes and very expensive. But they do validate your parking. So that's something.
• I had my second workout with a personal trainer at the gym. I didn't document my first experience but in summation, I threw up once we were finished. It's possible I over did it. As a result, there was some slight dread going into number two, but when I arrived at the gym, I saw my trainer just beginning a session with someone else. Disappointed but ready to use the gym nonetheless, I headed upstairs to the treadmills and pushed myself to some newly acquired itunes beats. After thirty-five minutes, I headed back downstairs to do a few reps on some random equipment and the trainer caught my eye and mouthed, "I'll be with you shortly" while holding up a finger. Uh-oh. Thankfully, after sixty brutal minutes, my body pulled itself together and kept its dignity. Of course, I had to "fall" onto the toilet for the next few days, but I feel fine now.
• Jay and I took the boys to the U of U/BYU men's basketball game at the Huntsman Center Saturday afternoon. It wasn't the most exciting game in memory, but even Henry was manageable at the game this time. As much as I love football, its hard to beat less than two hours in a climate controlled environment. Oh...and beating the Utes on their home terf!
  
• dinner with Dining Divas on Saturday night at Em's restaurant. It is such a cute restaurant. It reminded me of Luna's or Twigs in Spokane. Something smaller and quaint and great for the gabbing.
• Blogger Lindsay took some family pictures for us on Saturday morning. Very unfortunately, my three children decided that being outside without a coat on for more than five minutes was akin to dunking them in ice water. Once the tears started, there was no distracting any of them and the photo session was promptly over. If we were perfectly photogenic, those fifteen minutes would have been plenty of time, but I fear we need more options. Here are some of her pictures.
  

Everyone looks o.k. but me! I've got some weird squint open mouthed thing going on.

I can't believe she got any of the boys that didn't have snot and tears in them. I think she may have been talking to Seth about the Wii right now to get this somewhat normal face.

• Sammy never smiled. But he's cute no matter what.

This is actually my favorite picture of all. Isn't Lindsay talented?

• I left our best family picture out so that you'd have to go check out her photography blog if you're interested. I like the one of us squatting and will print it out for a frame in addition to this one of Henry, so it wasn't a complete bust.
  
• Henry got really sick on Sunday. Maybe it was due to his twenty minute exposure the previous day without a coat (although my microbiology background knows this can't be. Viruses don't get picked up from cold air) but by 1:00 when it was time to go to church, we knew he shouldn't be around anyone (because my microbiology background tells me that viruses can and do get spread by sick boys touching toys and books and coughing on poor nursery leaders). While I normally wouldn't put any illness into a list of good things, a blessing from his dad and his Uncle Clark turned an almost trip to the Emergency Room (his bad cough kept getting worse and he has a history of drama) into a clear runny nose on a happy boy the next day. Oh....and that was after a silent and deep sleep through the night. A miracle for everyone.
• Yesterday, I saw 27 dresses with my sisters (cute show. I like Kathryn Heigl) and then had Jay's brother Clark and his wife Stephanie over for dinner and games. Jay discovered he can make a really yummy Chile Verde and it's become our company-over-for-dinner meal. I think we have the beginning of a beautiful tradition in the works here.
  

With school resuming and switching back to offense, I've managed to get a bunch of stuff done today:

• I finally went to the post office to mail a package to my sister in Canada. I've had it since well before Christmas and lately I've been avoiding her like my visiting teaching supervisor when I haven't done my visits for the months. As much as I hate standing in that drab line and overpaying to ship something across the border (aren't they still our friendly neighbors to the north? Where's the love and trust?), having that package out of the back of my van gives me my confidence back. I am no longer completely lame.
  
• I got all my shopping done for Sammy's birthday this Saturday.
  
• I took my ring in to be fixed. The back of my platinum band got cut about a month ago and I took it off so that it wouldn't pinch my finger. I have no idea how, but the metal was cut clear through so they have to solder it back together. I'm excited to wear my diamond again.
• We're getting closer to getting a diagnosis for Henry. I've been reading a book and feel strongly that he does indeed have a speech disorder. I've been able to reflect back on other clues that might help shed some light on why he's not talking. He's never had a good suck reflex (it used to take him hours to drink a bottle) and he has a hard time swallowing food that doesn't almost dissolve by chewing (like meat). I think he might have some actual physical issues with talking. But, I think there are some cognitive and attention things as well and today, he scored low on his audiology test. He also has an ear infection, so the results aren't wholly valid (he has a retest in a few weeks), but it might be another piece of the puzzle. As scary as it is, it feels better to be doing something about it, then doing the "wait and see."
• It's a Matt day! Sammy has a buddy, Henry is taking a necessary nap and I have time to blog.
  

Offense and defense are both parts of the game I love called life, but it's nice to have the ball back in my hands. Play ball!

Last Whiny Post - I Promise

for at least two days. Consider it your weekend.

I don't have much time, so my rush is your new best friend ('cause I could go on and on and on and on......and on), but I wanted to write this in the moment, because in a couple hours time, I'll talk myself down from this high horse.

But, come on....I just got my third calling.

Third.

I live in Deseret.

Given, one calling is ward organist and I only do it every other month. Another is Activity Chair and I only have to perform my duty every couple of months (but when duty calls...it is the worst kind of duty). And now choir accompanist.

The thing is, I go to choir anyway. So, it's not like this huge extra time burden. But I go because I like to sing. La-la-la-la-la. And I can always miss if it's not good for me (which I've actually been doing a lot of lately.)

I shouldn't begrudge. I'm a firm believer in giving back my time and talents to the Giver or what's the point.

But, doesn't anyone else in my ward believe this too?

Sing It, Donny and Marie

Or for you uptown folks, you can enjoy the more subtle but moving rendition of The Road Not Taken from Frostiana.

Background music in place? O.K.

Last fall, while I was driving through Idaho on my way to visit my sister, I saw a couple out and about on their property on their four-wheelers. Not riding for pleasure, although they seemed happy enough, but more like they were getting a job done or seeing to things. The woman wore a simple white t-shirt with some silk screen design and jeans and the man wore something equally nondescript.

I imagined her going back home to start dinner. She'd wash her hands with dial soap, because who needs the fancy fruit smells and then she'd get out her old pots and pans to heat up some pork and beans with a side salad made of iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing. Later that evening, she would sit in a La-zy boy rocker while watching wheel of fortune and working on some sudoku puzzles.

"I could be that girl," I thought. Not, "I want to be that girl" or "I'm so glad I'm not that girl" but an acknowledgment of familiarity and comfort.

That image has come to my mind several times since then - how I could be that girl but I'm not. I've thought about how we are all made up of these different parts and we're all a little bit "something" and a little bit "something else."

I think I'm a little bit country. And a little bit hippie. And a little bit intellectual. And a little bit materialistic. And a little bit party animal. And a little bit recluse. And a little bit conformist. And a little bit non-conformist.

I could wear wool socks with hiking boots and a Patagonia vest and go au naturel. I could also easily zip up some snazzy black boots with a black wrap around dress, straighten my hair, apply some smoldering eye color onto my eyes and hob nob at a fund raiser.

I'll happily take my little bits and fit in everywhere and no where but the struggle emerges when it comes to choosing a place to live.

The last week, I've spent the better part of four days driving in and out of most of the possible neighborhoods in the community where we will be moving. I thought I'd find my fit. I thought whatever "little bit" meant most would step forward and become a "little bit more".

But that didn't happen. I entered one neighborhood with nice established houses and Subarus and SUVs all over the place and knew I could live there. I entered another with new houses with all the latest features and knew (well...more like wished) I could live there. I drove out to where the farmland was and saw the acres of open space and knew I could live there with a dog (outside) and a horse with a small barn that held our snowmobiles and boat. I drove past historic mansions that were built during the mining heyday of yesteryear and knew I could be the proud owner of one of the few. Other neighborhoods filled with windy streets and houses ready for a remodel would not be a stretch for me. Nor would the secluded house in the trees several miles up the canyon.

I thought I'd know more. Actually I do. But knowing more doesn't make it any clearer.

And just to thoroughly confuse your musical palate, will the real slim shady please stand up, please stand up, please stand up.


Please?

O.K...Now I Know

Parenthood. There is no instruction manual. Sometimes I'm more than fine with this and enjoy my independence and opinions.

Other times, all I can do is mutter "blast" and "damn".

What do you do when your two year old can't talk? At all?

I've been sitting on the fence for awhile about what to do. Consult a speech therapist? Wait until we're settled? Wait until he's older? Wait because doing something seems like I've failed?

Did you know that speech therapy is rarely covered by insurance? Unless it's "medically caused" which, apparently, does not include children who aren't learning how to talk without having been dropped on the head. I don't understand. How is verbal communication any less important than a child who can't hear, or see or move? So, that was another reason. Do we go ahead with therapy when we know we'd have to pay out of pocket?

Thankfully, a kind person at primary children's hospital referred me to the school district where payment is based on a sliding scale. A specialist came to our house today to evaluate Henry and see if he meets the criteria for this program. He scored less than 1 percent on the verbal reasoning and verbal expression parts.

He qualified.

I know he's only two, and that we caught it fairly early on. But, it wasn't until Jay was home for several days in a row over Christmas that his concern became my concern. I was the one who was willing to "wait and see". And I'm the momma! Mom is supposed to know.

Which I think I did. But I wormed my way out of it with all of the slick reasoning. It took Jay and this woman to make it clear to me that my sweet little troublemaker needs some help.

Blast and Damn!

My Three Sons

Aren't they cute? And don't they match the blog perfectly?:)

We're A Go!

Suitcase full of clothes that is more than likely missing one critical item? Check. *I only packed one shirt for Sam. I packed four pairs of pants. Argh!

Toiletry bag full of make-up, hair supplies, razor, toothbrush that is more than likely missing several critical items? Check. *Missing eyeliner, powder brush, brown lipstick, shampoo and conditioner. Went to walmart and now I'm dazzling again.

Snow clothes with a high probability of a little glove getting lost in the shuffle? Check. *I made it here with everything! Except I also packed Jay's gloves so that he had to go buy some new ones.

Movies, books and toys for the drive (and headphones so that I don't have to listen to TMNT more than once)? Check. *Batteries in headphones were dead and I didn't have any AAAs. Decided to listen to my ipod instead but my ipod wasn't fully charged and died after two hours. Not only did I listen to TMNT in its entirety, I also was favored with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and Backyardigan's Super Spy. Fun for the whole family!

Comfy chocolate brown velour travel pants on? Check. *No problems here! I love my comfy pants!

Three kids? Check. *They're still around.

New (old) cell phone after breaking my last new (old) phone after losing my new (new) phone? Check. *New (old) phone couldn't be activated before I left town so I am off the grid. It's a little empowering....and quiet.

And we're off! All is well. I'll be back on Tuesday!


edited original posted dated January 10th, 2008.

O.K. Snow. Enough.

I love winter. I love snow. I really do.

I also love to travel.

The snow is ruining my plans. I want to be gone.

But, I also want to be.

(sigh)

Book Review #47- The Emporer's Children

Taken from the title of a book one of the character writes called The Emperor's Children Wear No Clothes, this book undresses three thirty-year old friends in New York. Marina Thwaite - the beautiful and well-to-do "it" girl who is once again living with her parents, Danielle Minkoff - a smart and somewhat successful TV producer who has an affair with Marina's father and Julius - a gay man with extremely complicated motives, are friends from college who have the advantages that graduating from an elite Ivy League university, as well has knowing influential and important people give them. They live the enviable life of having made it in New York.

The "emperor" seems to be the intellectual elite played by Marina's father, Murray Thwaite: a respected, liberal, and wealthy man who has spent the majority of his life writing "truth". This truth is applauded, awarded and revered by most, as he a champion to the poor, the honest and the brave. It isn't until two men come to town, his own nephew, Fred "Bootie" Tubbs, and Ludovic Seely, an ambitious Australian aiming to launch a new magazine, that his title of truth-teller is challenged.

I didn't think the book jacket's description adequately described the book. The story is complicated and at times, parts of it seem irrelevant to the whole - particularly Julius's part. In fact, as I read this immediately after Plainsong, I couldn't help but think it was the same story only in a much glitzier city with much glitzier characters. The book matters only so far as the characters matter.

At its end is New York's and America's tragic 9/11. Most of the character's trajectories are altered by this event. Except, perhaps, Murray Thwaite - the actual emperor - whose existence remains mostly unchanged.

The subject matter can be ugly, the characters pompous and infuriating, but the book still sparkles because Clare Messud writes the satire so convincingly. Claire Messud is the person in the crowd (although you have to assume this is her own crowd she's shouting at) watching the parade declaring, "But they're not wearing any clothes!"

Book Review #46 - Plainsong

The first page of this book has a definition of the word plainsong. It is:

"any simple and unadorned melody or air."

I appreciated this book more than I liked it. The author, Kent Haruf, writes with a vividly clear but simple prose about a small town in northeastern Colorado, a couple of hours from Denver, whose occupants struggle with their choices, their relationships and their opportunities.

Kind of a universal story, honestly, but in this setting - so sparse and empty - Haruf managed to develop characters that I felt like I knew. Perhaps it's growing up in Montana, where there are small towns to spare, but his book had a realness to it that felt uncomfortable to me. I had teachers like Tom Guthrie. Men who taught because it was a job, not because they were particularly suited for the profession. I was aware of girls like Victoria Roubideaux, young and troubled (in this case pregnant), misfits from the small town core.

There are many characters throughout the book, some better developed than others. Tom Guthries' sons, Bobby and Ike, who want more than either of their parents are able to give them. The McPherson brothers, old bachelors who live alone on a farm. The teenage redhead, who frightens me and makes me angry until I realize he mirrors the attitudes and behaviors of his own parents. Maggie Jones, who is the poorest developed and thus the most likable. As the book approaches its halfway point, their lives start to intersect rather than orbit. Even as the intersections begin, lives aren't drastically changed or made better. There is some growth and a hint at tenderness, particularly when the old McPherson brothers take in Victoria, who is alone and pregnant at 17.

When I finished the book, I snapped it shut and shouted, "Why do I read stuff like this?!" Days later, I still feel melancholy about Holt, Colorado and its inhabitants who seem to have so little going for them.

As frustrated as I was by the end, because there was no resolution of conflict, no great triumph or lesson learned or bridges crossed, I can quietly nod "well done" to the author for staying true to the apparent purpose of his book. This is a story of "what is" more than "what happened."

It is a plainsong.

Genesis

Every story has a beginning. Jay and I just started Disc 1 of Heroes last night and I was inspired by the title of the pilot episode.

Henry's started two years ago today. As he is something of a superhero (or at least has superpowers...which, someday, will be controlled and used for good), I thought knowing his beginning might bring some understanding to our current situation.


It's Sunday night and I'm sitting on the couch with my mom. West Wing just started at 8:00 and although I haven't watched the show since Rob Low left, my mother still watches it and I sat in for the camaraderie. I feel a very strong contraction and grimace. My mom notices my scrunched up face and asks if this contraction is different than the trillion other contractions I've had since she's been there. It is and I mention that this might be it.

I hold off on making an announcement to Jay since he's already been involved in 2 false alarms. Five minutes pass and I feel another powerful contraction. These are definitely the real deal, so I alert Jay that I think it's time to go to the hospital. I don't call my Dr. or his office because it's #3, it's Sunday and they usually make the call at the hospital (although my doctor lived just around the corner and told me at every appointment that if I needed a ride or anything, to simply call). Besides, I'm not totally convinced they wouldn't send me home.

You'd think with #3 that you would be more confident about real labor vs. false labor but at 40 weeks I was in unfamiliar territory and unsure of anything (Seth came at 37 weeks and Sam at 38). As we're en route to the hospital, I have a few major gutbusters and think I might die. The drive to the hospital is about 15 minutes and by the time we arrive, all I want is an epidural.

We pull in and park in the emergency room parking log and walk into the building. Jay finds a wheelchair in the front lobby and makes a move to get it but I ignore him and start down the hall. However, the Labor and Deliver wing is new and really quite a ways from the emergency room. About 20 ft into the hallway I double over with pain. Two radiology techs that know Jay see us and run to get me a wheelchair. Jay pushes me the rest of the way and I'm totally that woman with one hand covering her eyes and the other on her belly, moaning.

We arrive at Labor and Delivery and the nurse at the front desk informs us that there isn't a clean labor room at the moment and to wait in the waiting room while they prepare one. We sit on a hard, round couch in a room that has several vending machines, a play area for kids, a T.V. playing a football game and several other people that I will describe as loud, vulgar and hyper. I get through each contraction by focusing on a speck of dirt or paper on the carpet and counting. Jay rubs my back and tries to get me to a happy place but the obnoxious crowd is causing quite a scene at the vending machines, playfully punching each other over candy bars and completely ruining my groove.

Twenty minutes pass and finally a nurse instructs us to follow her to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. We stand up off the couch and I have a contraction. She waits with us while the white hot pain subsides and then we follow her to a hallway. As soon as I start walking I have another contraction. I manage to get to the bathroom and enter and lock the door (habit - public place). I immediately have another contraction and lean on the sink until it passes. On the toilet, it seems impossible to command my body to pee. After a couple of minutes of trying I feel enormous pressure and know that I need to push. I pull the distress cord next to the toilet and start screaming "the baby's coming!" (Jay will argue that what came out of my mouth was much less intelligible).

Of course, the door is locked and the nurse and Jay are yelling at me to open the door. It looks so far away but I don't want to have the baby in the bathroom by myself, so I manage to stand up and walk the wall over to the door. The nurse yells to someone that "she's having this baby now!" and someone finds a stretcher. As they push me into a delivery room, I see the fluorescent lights go by on the ceiling. But my instinct to scream and yell takes over and I tell anyone within earshot that I need to push while uncontrollably bearing down.

Somebody holds my legs together and we make it into a room that I realize is not prepared. They roll me onto the hospital bed so that I am on my hands and knees and several nurses work at getting me undressed. Despite my pain, I feel awkward, exposed and a little bit humiliated. The nurses are looking for the equipment and calling doctors. One resident is assisting a C-section and the other never answers the page. My doctor is on his way but there is no way I'm going to be able to hold off having this baby for 15-20 minutes.

All I feel is an uncontrollable urge to push. I'm completely panicked. Nobody understands how impossible it is for me to "not push" and I feel frustrated and alone. I'm also scared because I physically cannot stop pushing but the nurses tell me that there is meconium and I need the NICU team there so I really need to wait.

Jay recognizes the utter chaos and takes over. He grabs my face with his hands and tells me to "stop yelling" and that I couldn't push. I don't know why but him doing that helps me to refocus enough to listen to a nurse who instructs me to pant. Panting keeps me from pushing and I hear Jay say, "I'm a doctor, get me some gloves."

The NICU arrives fairly quickly and I get the green light. It really doesn't hurt to deliver without an epidural, it's just really intense. Pressure, effort, feeling...all heightened. At 9:27 pm, Henry is born. Jay delivers the placenta and finally my doctor arrives to take over and Jay gets to be husband and dad. Without a doubt, Jay was a star and gets a lot of credit for remaining calm and professional. Of course, he didn't have a baby coming out of his nether regions either, so weigh that in as well:)


We knew Henry had the drama gene (who he got it from is debatable. O.K...he got it from me). He hasn't disappointed. Two years later, and he still has to have his way for pretty much everything, and the rest of us are left bewildered, stunned and tired. But, this little man, who has so much personality, so much ta-da... is one of the lights of my life.



Happy Birthday Big H. I love you.

My Word for 2008 - Now

I don't know if this is THE word, but it's the one that keeps sticking.

Ironically, the two words bouncing around my brain all week have been "patience" and "now".

I don't think I'm an impatient woman. But, there has been an electric current going through me lately that wants a fast forward button- to speed up time and be beyond all of this discomfort.

The discomfort of wondering if our family is complete or not. The discomfort of giving up the things I love to do because they are physically hard or the discomfort if I choose the alternative. The discomfort of knowing in the long run we will be more than comfortable if we continue to be smart and patient, but feeling jealous and immature all the same when I see others getting it now.

Here I am, on the cusp of the rest of my middle-aged life.

Do I focus on patience? For change. For possession.

or now? Which, ultimately...is all I really have.

The best time to go to the temple? Now.

The best time to mail that package? Now.

The best time to go to the gym? Now.

The best time to get my visiting teaching done? Now.

The best time to apologize? Now.

The best time to wake up? Now.

The best time to call a sister? Now.

The best time to reach out to others? Now.

The best time to enjoy my children? Now.

The best time to strengthen my marriage? Now.

The best time to get rid of my bad habits? Now.

The best time to become the person I know is inside me? Now!!

This will be a struggle for someone who can always rearrange a schedule to avoid getting up uncomfortably early, to go to the post office (tomorrow? next week? never?) or to finish a book. Someone who can justify putting things off...and off... and off until the relevancy of the thing is gone.

But the point isn't to do things the same. The point is to do things better.

Get ready....here's me pushing the publish button.................now.

A Ripper Weekend - Fair Dinkum!

I'm feeling Australian because we went to the Outback twice this weekend!

O.K...so I totally had to google Australian Slang to come up with that title...and I'm still not sure it's right. But I think it means:

We had a great weekend. Honestly!

Friday, Jay and I met our old friends Doug and Jenny at the Outback for dinner. The last time either of us had seen each other was seven and a half years ago, when Doug and Jenny arrived at our doorstep with their two little kids in tow, to stay for a month so that Doug could complete an away rotation in Colorado. I had a little tot as well, but as Jay was off in Portland doing his own little study abroad, I left on a month long odyssey that same day.

I wondered a little how it would be to hang out with people I haven't seen in nearly a decade, but whose lives I keep up to date with on an almost daily basis. In case you're wondering as well, it's incredible. No awkwardness, no catching up with eight years of life events - just fun right out of the starting gate. It makes me wish the two of them were closer. Hopefully, it won't be another eight years before we get to hang out together again.

A great bloke and sheila!

Good times.

Later that night, Jenny and I took off to Kneaders to meet up with some more bloggers while Doug stayed and took on Madden Football with Jay at our house. If you've read Jenny's blog, you might not believe it, but she was kind of nervous to meet all these new people. I couldn't believe she could be, since everyone was coming to meet her, but I remembered my own feelings showing up at a blog party the first time in July. It is scary.

There was a fun group gathered that night, and it really is a wonder that these people who I have no reason to know, other than that they have the same notion to share with the world their lives on the internet, have become such delightful friends. Every meeting just keeps getting better and better.

Clockwise from left: Annalisa, Michelle, Hannah, Jill, Jana, Jenny, Lindsay, Amy, me, Crystalyn

The rest of the weekend, we've been spending the majority of our time with Jay's family as Kelly and Jerry blessed their new baby girl today. Yesterday, most of the family went to the Outback for an early dinner (4:00 pm. Yes...senior citizens are we. Sometimes you just have to do it in this eating out mecca where wait times on weekends are insane) Afterwards, we hung out at Kelly and Jerry's house and discovered a few toys that our boys seem to need.

Jay with his parents

Nerf guns. You can have any ideology you want, but if you have boys...it might change.

Kelly is one of the best aunts out there. Here she is, getting crazy with the kids even though she just had her third baby. I am so not the fun aunt.

Because she dishes it out so well, she gets a lot of it from her brothers.

Henry loved his cousin Matt's new race track.

Just a bit of a traffic jam at the bottom

And here is adorable baby Sara - the guest of honor this weekend

I love when family is in town and the group gets together. I love when friends come to town and we get the chance to reconnect face to face. If this motivates anyone (ahem...I mean you), then so be it. You have my numbers.

Irony

i-ro-ny (n)
1. Incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs

Yesterday, there was much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth because I never made it to the gym.

"Why in the name of all good things did you declare your new gym-ness to all the world?" I cried in my head, with much woe.

"One day! Your gym streak lasted for one day?!" I continued to chide myself.

Of course, I always thought (but somehow knew that it wouldn't come to fruition) that I'd go in the evening when Jay came home. But then, Jay came home weary and there was the season premier of Law and Order on the DVR to watch and then I had to go to bed early so that I could get up early to go....to the gym.

It didn't help that yesterday was a one of Henry's finest. In the morning, he stepped on a tube of hair conditioner whose contents squirted out across the hallway and floor. I didn't even remember to take a picture before I cleaned it up.

About an hour later, I heard an very scary sound. Henry was gagging which led to vomiting which led to this sweet surprise to clean up.

Sorry...this is kind of gross.

Yes, he had a nickel in his mouth. I share this not to incriminate myself, because I am well past that stage, but because Henry is far beyond the point of "baby-proofing" a house.

"You could try harder," you might (probably) think.

True. We could. We should. But he's like a bloodhound for mischief. It'd be a full time job and I've already got one of those. Several, in fact.

So our days go like this, dancing from one disaster to the next and it usually ends with something like this happening.

Into the rice. While I was vacuuming elsewhere. There's that word again.

I took about ten pictures while he walked towards me crying and needing to know I still loved him. I do...but, that was good jasmine rice!

This morning, I didn't get up early to go the gym. The alarm sounded and I shut it off. Shocking...I know, but in my defense, I didn't get a good night's sleep. You see, Henry got his hands on our sleep number bed's remote control and after several hours, I noticed that my back hurt. A back shouldn't hurt when one possesses the mighty sleep number bed and I realized that my side of the bed was hard as a rock. I looked, briefly, for the remote control but knew if the numbers had changed then they had been changed by remote. And if they had changed by remote, then the remote had been in Henry's possession. Who knew where it would be.

When I finally got out of bed to look for it this morning, I found it by the laundry room and checked my sleep number. 90. I normally sleep at 40. No wonder. Jay sleeps at 70 and his was on 20. He didn't sleep well either.

I decided that, today, I would get to the gym no matter what the cost. At 9:00, I loaded all three boys into the van, filled out the necessary forms to leave them there for an hour, and made my way up to the cardio machines upstairs.

To alleviate the massive amount of boredom I experienced the first day of my gym-ness, I brought a book with me. Thus, I began the elliptical movement of my legs with my book shielding the awful clock that ticks so much slower when working out.

Determined to refrain from constant checking, I went as long as possible without even a glance. By my cell phone time (a little irony - but at least it doesn't have a second hand), I had gone about 14 minutes when I finally lifted up my book to check my stats.

Still blinking on the control panel was "push quick start to begin". I'm such a pro.

I made my way over to the treadmills and walked for 25 at a 15 minute/mile pace and continued to read. I know it's not the best workout, but I could get used to 40 minutes of reading and exercising at the same time. I didn't want to stop. But I did.

I lifted some weights, did some ab work and made my way back to the child care center to pick up my three little amigos.

First words out of the caregiver's mouth were: "Henry is such a good little boy. He kept walking around with me to help me pick up. What a sweetheart!"

Does anyone else see the irony in this?

Looks like I've truly run out of excuses.

My Scorecard

I am a part of a startling statistic. I signed up for a gym membership. Are you chuckling? Or slowly shaking your head? Please...not the eye roll. Although I deserve it, I wouldn't have signed up if I didn't really want to use it.

I get the cynicism. I don't have a great record with gym memberships.

1992-1993: YMCA. One treadmill, one stairmaster and a whole bunch of smelly gym equipment in an underground bunker. Also included for the fitness stars, an indoor track about a tenth of a mile in circumference. Yeah...kind of like the cartoon.

I went because it was free. I was a lifeguard there so occasionally, when feeling the need to lose the twenty pounds I always felt I needed to, I'd enter the dungeon and start turning right over and over again. Overall score: 3 out of 10 for actual usage.

1993 - 1995: RB during school and Crossroads fitness when I lived at home. You can't blame me for not really using the RB. Does anyone remember BYU issue? The shorts...uncomfortable. Unwearable. Plus, they displayed your size. I did try it a few times and got caught on the stairmaster next to a girl trying to sell me Amway. No thanks.

Crossroads was fine, except I always ran the risk of bumping into some guy...depending on the year there was always at least one I was trying to avoid seeing me in spandex and stretchy clothes. As I managed to stay fit, I'll give myself a 4 out of 10 for usage, but I think it's generous.

1996: Golds Gym. By far my best year. I was an animal. I'd go twice a day somedays. They had this slide class that I was into (I wore little booties and basically went side to side on a slippery mat for an hour. I can't fathom that being something I'd be interested in now). I don't think it's an accident that it's the year I wooed Jay. What can I say? The guy caught me on an upswing. Overall score: 8 out of 10.

1997-1998: The walking around campus and occasional jog around Provo's square blocks membership. Not my best effort. I gained the first significant chunk of my decade long weight gain, and haven't felt cute since. Overall score: 1 out of 10.

1998-2002: Bally's Fitness. I went through several highs and lows. I went fairly regularly before I was pregnant with Seth and then started going back consistently when he was one. It had free child care and I even managed to have a complete stranger say to me once, "I just wanted to let you know that I can see a difference in you from a couple of months ago. Just keep coming!" as she cheerfully and tonely walked away from me. I think I went back after that, but certainly not as often. Overall score: 5 out of 10.

2002-2005: 24 Hour Fitness. It was close to our house and I was raring to go. I bought and paid for a three year membership the first day I went in. I found out I was pregnant with Sam a week later. Child care was $2/hour/child and we were really poor. I think I went less than ten times total. Overall score: 0 out of 10.

2005-2007: YMCA. This time the facilities were new and surrounded with wonderful natural light. I joined for their cheaper swimming lessons and free child care. But it was a 20 minute drive and I found myself MAYBE going once a week. Even Andrea and my commitment to running together didn't get me there. And sometimes, Henry wouldn't stop crying and they'd come find me to tell me I had a needy child. Overall usage score: 2 out of 10.

December 31, 2007: XCEL Fitness. I've got six months to prove myself wrong. Obviously, I've got a lot of self-doubt here. But also hope. I don't have to let those past failures dictate how I behave today. And I don't have to let another gym steal my money. I am dedicating the next six months to brining up my average. I'm going for the 10!

Now, how do I find out if they have a slide class?

Book Review #45 - March

I rarely buy books. This is true for several reasons, but if I'm ever missing, you'd have a much better chance at finding me by looking in library rather than a bookstore.

However, last month, for Blogger Bookclub, we had a book exchange and I found myself in a bookstore perusing the shelves. First of all, I could quickly change my borrowing ways if I were forced to walk through a bookstore every day. I loved it! So many rectangular shapes that wanted to be slid off shelves and bent open. I found myself off task and reading the jackets of many a book.

Which is precisely how I found this gem. Booksellers tend to pimp their bestsellers by displaying their front covers as opposed to the binding, making it easier to catch the buyer's eye. Right at my eye level was the book Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks. I surmised that it was about the plague and while that wasn't the type of story I was looking for, placed right next to it was Brooks's second, and equally acclaimed book: March, a 2006 Pulitzer Prize winner.

It is the story of Peter March, the absent father of Meg, Jo, Amy and Beth of Little Women. Much more up my alley, I replaced Year of Wonder back on the shelf and walked around with March until, ultimately I found an altogether different book and placed March back on the shelf too (I ended up walking out with The Emporer's Children, which I have yet to read.)

Not forgetting about my interest for March, I used my old-faithful-tried-and-true method of attaining books and placed a hold for the book from the library.

I think I should have bought it. It's a great book. Clever, poignant, informative, inspiring, heartbreaking, interesting and historical, Brooks takes Louisa May Alcott's famous Little Women, and writes a parallel story about their father's experience during the same year. Little snippets are taken from Little Women, and it's as though you can see that famous play happening in the background in each scene. Sort of like Wicked and The Wizard of Oz, only more serious and important. After all, Peter March wasn't out flying on a broom, he was trying to serve the Union troops in the United States own Civil War.

Brooks bases Peter on Alcott's own father's journals, just as Alcott based her Little Women on herself and her sisters. Bronson Alcott, and his fictional representative, Peter March, are part of the intellectual elite who reside in Concord Massachusetts alongside their contemporaries, Walden, Thoreau, Hawthorn and Brown, who each make an appearance in the story. Idealistic abolutionists with Quaker leanings, March leaves his family to support the union's cause to end slavery and finds great conflict between his inner values and his outward actions.

Brooks writes exclusively in the first person and as a result, I, the reader, was able to understand Peter March as he was, as he wanted to be and as he failed to be. He is a fantastic character. My only complaint with the book is that she abandoned Peter for a few chapters and wrote as Marmee, his wife, when he lay sick with fever. She eventually returns to Peter's voice, which gives the story the resolution it needs, and while Marmees' thoughts are equally moving and necessary, it made the ending a little choppy.

Despite that lack of continuity, I enthusiastically recommend March. It will force you to examine your own viewpoints about war, education, race, marriage, courage, pride and love.

Last Call for 2007

1. What did you do in 2007 that you’d never done before? Traveled in business class. The strawberry juice was delicious.



2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? No. I wanted to send Thank-you notes promptly every time one was merited and I didn't get that done. That and the annual weight-loss goal.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Yes. My sister-in-law Kelly. And several friends who I won't name in case I forget someone and look really lame;)

4. Did anyone close to you die? No.

5. What countries did you visit? Thailand and Myanmar

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007? A permanent place of residence.

7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? June 21st. We left a beloved city and beloved friends.


8. What was your biggest personal achievement of the year? Singing with the Bach Festival Chorus

Me and the conductor, Gunther

9. What was your biggest failure? Not losing any weight.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? I had my appendix out and then had an allergic reaction to the anti-biotics afterwards.



11. What was the best thing you bought? Jay's little Volkswagen Passat. So much better for him to drive than that old truck.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration? Definitely Jay's. He kept his nose to the grindstone to study for boards well beyond what my fleshy honker could have endured.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? Britney Spears. Not really depressed, but why do rich, talented and lucky ladies behave so badly when the world watches them?

14. Where did most of your money go? We paid off our car and all of our credit card debt with the money we made off of our house. Not a small chunk of change but it's awesome being debt-free (minus the school loans, of course.)

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Wow. Three reallys. I'm trying to not disappoint. Probably the trip to see my parents with my sisters. It was a great experience. Really great. Really, really, really great.


16. What song will always remind you of 2007? Gwen Stefani's The Sweet Escape. It's always on at least one radio station here. Those "whee whee"s grate on my brain!

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? 
b) thinner or fatter? 
c) richer or poorer?
A. Sadder. Moving is harder than I expected.
B. Fatter. I didn't think it was possible, but I proved otherwise.
C. Poorer. No moonlighting this year! That hurts a bit.
Man..those answers aren't the way you want to end a year!

18. What do you wish you’d done more of? More hikes. I love them but never do them anymore.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? Laundry. It continues to overwhelm me.

20. Did you fall in love in 2007? I don't think people fall in love. I think people love and I did.

21. What was your favorite TV program? So You Think You Can Dance.

22. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? I honestly don't think I hate anyone. So, no.

23. What was the best book you read? Wow. I read 68 books last year. I think the best would be East of Eden. Suite Francaise is a close second.

24. What was your greatest musical discovery? I don't make musical discoveries. I just decide if I like what Jay has downloaded or not. But, I'm glad The Killers came out with a new album. Read My Mind has kept me happy for months.

25. What did you want and get? A new camera that takes the picture quicker.



26. What did you want and not get? My car detailed. I should just go and get it done regardless. My van carpets have more stuff spilled on than I care to think about.

27. What was your favorite film of this year? Becoming Jane.

28. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? Went to a movie, lunch with my sisters, a water park with the family and dinner at The Outback with Jay. I turned 32.


29. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? I feel like a broken record, but to have followed through with my weight loss goals would have been a great accomplishment.

30. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007? Momiform.

31. What kept you sane? Family and friends. Blogging. And reading.