Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Best of luck to Erinberry today as she undergoes IUI

No, for those lucky enough to be ignorant of such things, that's not Intense Underground Iceblocking. Rather, it's Intrauterine Insemination. If I were still pregnant, I'd shower you with baby dust.

Good luck, Erinberry!

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Toddler babble

I went "on holiday" as some say and took the kids to my folk's house for a four-day weekend. Beach, zoo, party, Disneyland, and a butterfly garden. I left Hubby at home to put a swamp cooler in the garage and took a friend. We got sunburned. My knees hurt. We didn't get home until after midnight after an infant-induced long drive home. It was wonderful. I must do this again.

So, little A said a few classic lines while there. First, she is a reluctant potty-trainer. S at five months uses the toilet much better than nearing-three A, who finds thirty-one different uses for toilet paper other than its intended profession. It can be tiring, so I left her in the loo alone for awhile. After more time than an attentive parent would like to admit, I checked in on her to see if, as my family often says, she had fallen in. She had! She said, "Mommy, I fell in! But I put soap on my butt!" as if that made it all ok.

On the road home, we were discussing what letters words started with. N, newly five and reading more and more every day, mentioned that Tomato (infant daughter's nickname) starts with "T." A replied, "Star starts with Patrick!"

If you are not a fan of square, panted sponges, you can not appreciate that comment enough.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Odd news from Addis Ababa

Lions Save Kidnapped Girl

As much as I may complain about our current President and his boot-licking Toadies, I'm very glad I don't live in Ethiopia. I can't imagine living with the knowledge my girls have a greater chance of being kidnapped and brutally forced into marriage than graduating from college. I can't rely on the kindness of lions.

As a biologist, I don't buy the "mewling kitten" theory behind these lions' behavior. Cubs from another pride or defeated sire are usually killed. But, still, it's got to be nice for that girl and her family knowing lions protected her, for whatever reason. Nothing like having a huge cat on your side.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Merry Meet and a Happy Solstice to all!

I'm taking off work tomorrow for fun, sun, and ritual.

I love Solstice-time. Waking up at first light, watching the sun go down, fires, sage, etc. I always try to make a special meal, but inevitably I have so much to do in the day we're lucky we eat at all. Must do something tonight so we have something to eat tomorrow.

How could I not spend a special day with the likes of these girls at home?

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Happy Summer, all! (or Winter for those Below!)

Friday, June 17, 2005

Alpha Mom

RebelDad pointed me to this story about Alpha Mom. (Edited to add original credit to Miriam)

It's long, I knew I didn't have the time to read it, but like a train wreck, I couldn't look away. Since anyone reading this is probably also short on time, here's a synopsis: High-powered uberacheiving Manhattan Mom and Daddy have a baby. Unexpectedly, the baby needs attention, suddenly Mom can't take a shower, and she panics. A cadre of help is hired, lots of studying about parenting ensues, and AlphaMom TV is born. The message of the network programming is: Moms can be in control and do it all, but don't worry if the rest of us do it better than you do. Daddy is considered clueless about parenting and is essentially an arm trophy for Mommy.

So many things about this article rubbed me the wrong way. First off, I must admit my prejudices. Since I'm in no financial position to hire nannies or night nurses, or even to get that manicure Alpha Mom pines away for but doesn't have time to get, I have a hard time mustering sympathy for this woman. I admit it, I'm reviewing this from a biased position.

Second, the article starts right out saying how little Ryland's birth was all planned out. Lucky lucky you who gets to do that... I really hate it when it is assumed babies can be planned and nothing ever goes wrong. Then, after reading the article, I was left with the distinct impression that were something to go wrong with the plans or the blessed event itself, it was all because the Mommy failed to be in control. Just another bias I have against Alpha Mom that I should be up front about.

Yet, my own prejudices aside, the article makes her out to be a walking contradiction. She has started a network to advise parents (well, from what I've gathered, really just moms) on how to raise their children to become over-acheivers with (what appears to me to be) attachment parenting overtones (I like that part), yet she herself has hired help to do all of that instead of doing it herself. Instead, she gets satisfaction of being a "wonderful parent" by allowing her two-year-old son to smear icing all over her shirt. Daddy has no say in any of the parenting because Mommy has to be In Control. The whole network is all about being The Boss in your life and controlling everything and everyone around you.

Oh, woe to her when little Ryland goes to school and is not invited to some popular kid's birthday party. She already had a breakdown when he wasn't accepted to her pre-school of choice. Double woe to Ryland for suffering the wrath of Mommy because he wasn't invited to said party and thus corrupting her power. Triple woe to Ryland's future wife (or life partner) for having such a controlling MIL. And a huge dark cloud for Daddy, who has nothing to do with the raising of his son - not from wont of desire.

May I get on my soapbox for a moment? DADDY'S ARE NOT INEPT CAREGIVERS! DADDY'S CAN MAKE GOOD PARENTS! BITE ME to anyone who says otherwise. What kind of child are you raising when you are showing and telling him or her that half of his gene pool is an idiot? That in a relationship, one person needs to be in control? RebelDad also mentions a new reality television program Meet Mr. Mom, about families where Mom goes away for a week and Dad is left in charge; hillarity ensues as he bumbles it all. Please visit his website for more discussion, as I'd just be parroting him here. Geesh.

One last snort about this subject, coming from a working mom's perspective. Alpha Mom is a working mom, but we don't see eye-to-eye on this. Working and being a parent is hard. So much time spent away from my children, wanting to be a part of so many of their early experiences because all too soon I won't be a large part of their lives anymore. Worrying about them now, and their future. Fretting over mistakes made and mistakes that will be made. Running scenarios through my head late at night, trying to think of the perfect answer to life's troubles from not being invited to her first school dance to what to do when her boyfriend pushes her to have sex. I WANT to be there for them. Alpha Mom says that's what she wants, I think, but she doesn't do it herself, she hires others to do it. She puts in over 100 hours a week in the office and gets upset if she gets more than four hours of sleep a night. Ok, that works for some folks, I'm not going to deny parents solutions that meet everyone's needs. But she puts up this unrealistic goal: Do it all, give your child the best, work hard, play hard, take care of yourself. She thinks she's doing this, but in my eyes, she's missing the "brass ring" she was looking for - she's missing out on raising her child, and sharing that joy with her partner. And she's advocating this impossible ideal out there to other moms, who see that brass ring and want it and everything else as well thanks to Alpha Mom marketing. She's deluding herself, and she's deluding all those new, scared, panicy moms as well.

I have enough guilt already about being a working mom. I don't need Alpha Mom to pile on any more, thank you.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

This post was removed

Because it made me feel, and look, like too much of a slacker. And although I appreciate the humor of The Church of the SubGenious (praise Bob), I'm not so much of a convert to be a true Pink Boy.

Let's just say I'm feeling very unproductive, and it bothers me.

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

The Master would be pleased...

Warning! Geek alert!

Before the days of The Daily Show and Fairly Odd Parents, the only reason to have cable television, IMHO, was to see Mystery Science Theater 3000. One of the most infamous movies ever spoofed was "Manos" The Hands of Fate. And now, Entertainment Weekly has seen fit to call it the Worst Movie Ever Made (thanks to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me on NPR for informing me of this.... and for the record, Hubby, who heard the program, would have gotten every question right). BTW, that's June 11, 2005 show, for when the "this week" link gets bumped as time goes on.

Now, the Mads might disagree with EW, as a year or so later, they described Skydivers as, "Like Manos, but without the lucid plot." But it was painful. I remember the first time I ever saw it, having pot-luck brunch with fellow-fan friends (I believe Audrey brought a tasty french toast with almonds). When it was over, we turned and stared at each other, speechless. But, as time passed, it did come to be one of our favorites. Kinda like spinach - it grows on you. Or, rather, maybe it's more like kudzu in that respect.

All said, I still hold that Ro-Man / Robot Monster is the worst movie I've ever seen.... no, wait, Cyborg is really the worst movie I've ever seen, but Ro-Man didn't make any pretense about being a big-budget blockbuster.

But darned if I can't wait for Rhino to release the MST3K DVD of Jungle Goddess. Ahhhhh, good times, good times.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Warping Mom

I just had lunch with the kidlettes and Hubby. I go home, nurse S, play with the girls, eat a bit, have a chat, then return to the monotony that is The Office.

N has been telling me that S cries when I'm gone. A Lot. Now, who knows what A Lot means to a five year old. A Lot can mean the tiniest spot of bell pepper in her dinner, or A Lot can mean more than the sixteen kids she wants to invite over for a tea party. But, to this working new(ish) mom, any sentence including the words "crying" and "baby" is A Lot.

She seems perfectly happy when I come home for lunch. Ok, she's usually asleep. Sometimes she has a sweaty back - then I know she's been crying A Lot. If she's sniffling in her sleep, I know it's been a very bad morning. Breaks my heart. Makes me almost wish I worked too far from home to come home for lunch. But not enough to foolishly make that wish.

Hubby says she does fine now. She only cries five to ten minutes before she falls asleep. WHAT? I don't cry-it-out. I co-sleep, for goodness sake. Crying more than 30 seconds for an infant is too much in my eyes. Babies cry for good reason, it's their only way to communicate.

The devastating thing here, you see, is that she's crying because she wants ME. And I'm not there. She cries for five or ten or apparantly more minutes because Daddy can't give her what she really wants. He's a great Daddy, but he's not Mommy. Whatever that means, it must mean A Lot to my infant daughter. It's not his fault she cries, it's mine. And I can't do a damned thing about it.

I like having a Hubby as a SAHD. I much prefer it to day care, because I get a full report on how they are doing, I know someone is always there for them and not distracted with someone else's kid, I have care for them when they are sick, they can make spur-of-the-moment plans, heck... forget the logistics, I simply like my kids being with family. I know day care has its benefits, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with parents putting their kids in day care. I just happen to really appreciate our arrangement.

But some days... more than I care to admit... I wish it were different. I wish I were there for every tear, every boo boo, every smile. Or it were someone besides Daddy holding her as she cries, so I could pretend that it really isn't all my fault.

Anger management

Yesterday, after she dropped a backgammon game on S's little infant head, I had a talk about anger with A. Although she was upset she hurt her sister, A said she was crying because we were angry at her.

We talked about how it doesn't usually feel very good when we're angry, and it doesn't feel good when we make other people angry. And then I thought, no, sometimes it does feel good to make other people angry. I tried to think of a good example instead of a revengeful answer, and couldn't come up with anything very appealing.

And then I saw my Yahoo news today.

Ya' know, if Cheney doesn't know anyone who likes Howard Dean, that proves that he either has no connection with America outside of his gang of hoods, or he is such a control freak no one dares disagree with him. I say it's both.

Give 'em Hell, Dean! You're bringing out their true colors! You make them angry, make them react instead of spin, get them on their heels for once, and there may be hope. Thanks!

Sunday, June 12, 2005

The Low-Down on Downing Street

Erinberry brought to my attention a second memo damning again Pennsylvania Avenue and Downing Street's famed residents' plans to create reasons to invade Iraq. Please visit her website for interesting discourse on the story.

I'm going to go off on a tangent (surprise!) about all of this and note that the information about the wool being pulled over America's eyes is coming from yet again a British news source. The should-be-infamous Downing Street Memo was first reported about by the London Sunday Times this May. Yet, it wasn't brought out in American media circles until last week, when a Reuters (UK) reporter dared to ask a question about the Downing Street Memo at a joint press conference with Bush and Blair. And now, for the third time, a British news source, the Sunday Times, reports about a briefing paper written in 2002 (we invaded Iraq in March of 2003) that discusses the need to make an illegal war look legal...

"...The briefing paper, for participants at a meeting of Blair’s inner circle on July 23, 2002, said that since regime change was illegal it was “necessary to create the conditions” which would make it legal..."

Now, stop. I know some of you are thinking, "Well, yeah, of course, these are British documents, the British are going to find out about them and report." Ok, I can see that line of logic, but where are the American press when they ARE reported on?

Ummm, a month after the first memo was reported about in the London Sunday Times, the US Press is still ignoring it until a British reporter "coups" them at a press conference. Hard to really call it a coup, since it was old world news by then. Now, this latest paper is published, but all I find in mainstream American news about anything related to pre-war planning is a memo about how the US had no viable post-war plan. No duh! I linked to the Yahoo story, from The Washington Post. I also reviewed CNN, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, New York Times, and just for kicks Fox News and the Colorado Springs Gazette.

Of course, there are lots of other stories that need to be reported. The Jackson trial, runaway brides, and the President's ipod selections. But we're talking about treasonous behavior (or should I say behaviour) by our Commander in Chief. Sorry, Jacko fans, but I think that's more important than what Mr. One Glove will wear to his verdict.

Ironic how the new Thomas Paines of the day are now British.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Rationalizations of a two-year-old

Little A just came up to me:

"Mommy, the bubble gum came out." [of the package]

"Did you take it out, or did it just magically come out?"

"It opened. it came out, and then it closed."

"Did you open it?"

"Yeah, but I closed it."

A few minutes later, big sister N says, "A, stay out of the bubble gum!"

A replies, "Ok, but I'm just looking at it."

N: "Ok, that's alright."


I think these two will be partners in crime.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Bring out the bhurkas

Kathy pointed me to this idiot discussing how disgusting breastfeeding in public is. He even compared it to urinating in the mall. Ick.

I babbled on in a not-so genteel way in a reply to Kathy's post, but I laid awake thinking about this, and woke up thinking about it, and came to the conclusion it's not about doing something nasty in public. It's about his comment, "...But for guys, it is nigh on impossible to switch from breasts as something sexual to breasts as take-out-food..."

Yes, that's it. Women shouldn't breastfeed in public because men, specifically this male in question, can't keep thinking about sex anytime they see a boob. Well, don't look in the mirror too much, Pal, or you'll never make it in to work.

Ok, so men think about sex. Newsflash: so do women. Hey, just because I think nearly any man looks sexy in a tuxedo doesn't mean I'm not going to let the groom wear one at a friend's wedding.

Now, I'm not an expert on religiously-doctrinated garb, but I'm assuming bhurkas (in my pre-dawn state, I was thinking "sherpas" and knew that was wrong ..... must be because I think Sherpas are sexy, too) are around to cover any femininity that may peek through, thus saving men from "impure" thoughts. They are then, I'm assuming, sold as a good idea to women as a safety measure, since of course it's all their fault if a man thinks impure thoughts. You know, "the rapist is the victim, not the raped" train of thought. If someone wants to wear a bhurka, all power to her (or him). But don't expect me to wear one simply because some nasties can't repress violent tendencies. That's one reason why I'm learning to kick butt. (Edited to add, since I realized I never got to my point:) Similarly, I'm not going to starve my baby for a couple of hours just because someone can't help but think "impure thoughts" when I nurse her. I think her needs to eat far outweigh anyone's need to stare.

To drone on and on about the subject, you see more cleavage at a football game (cheerleaders, topless man-fans, and Super Bowl half-time shows) than you do on most nursing moms. Heck, you see more on modest one-piece swimsuits than you do on nursing moms. It's not the boobs that brings the Prude out in him, I think, but the act of someone sucking on said boobs. I can see only two reasons this Ninny would be so upset about this: 1) it isn't him or 2) he's an incestuous pedophile who can't control his urges.

In conclusion, I'll make it real simple: We're mammals. Get over it.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Oatmeal -it's the right thing to do

Well, at least for a working and pumping mom. After several days of declining results from expressing breast milk, I made myself have a bowl of oatmeal this morning. Suddenly I got a decent bag of milk this morning's pump! Ok, for some moms, five ounces may not seem like a lot, but it's better than the 2.5 or 3 ounces I've been getting the past few days.

Could be coincidence, maybe not. I'll definately be hearing Wilford Brimley's voice in my head for the next few days, though, as I investigate this hypothesis.

Eat up, S! Momma's bringin' it home!

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Work rant

Please, when providing me edits to make to my coverages, don't say it's "ready for {my} edification." I'm not proselytizing or cannonizing my data, thank you.

Also, where did all my pens go?

I need a new job. Somewhere nice. Trees, water, basements, sanity....

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Bill Moyers - a true patriot

Gosh, he can sure say it like it is! (Thanks to Quaker Ranter for sending me on the path to find that transcript.)

The speech is long, but worth reading. Some memorable excerpts include:

... Without a trace of irony, the powers that be have appropriated the Newspeak vernacular of George Orwell’s 1984. They give us a program vowing no child will be left behind, while cutting funds for educating disadvantaged children; they give us legislation cheerily calling for clear skies and healthy forests that give us neither, while turning over our public lands to the energy industry. In Orwell’s 1984 the character Syme, one of the writers of that totalitarian society’s dictionary, explains to the protagonist, Winston, “Don’t you see? Don’t you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of thought? Has it ever occurred to you, Winston, that by the year 2050 at the very latest, not a single human being will be alive who could understand such a conversation as we’re having right now. The whole climate of thought,” he said, “will be different. In fact, there will be no thought as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking, not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.”

Hear me: an unconscious people, an indoctrinated people, a people fed only partisan information and opinion that confirm their own bias, a people made morbidly obese in mind and spirit by the junk food of propaganda is less inclined to put up a fight, ask questions and be skeptical. And just as a democracy can die of too many lies, that kind of orthodoxy can kill us, too.


(in discussing his program NOW that he retired from about six months ago)
...the problem was that we were telling stories that partisans in power didn’t want told, and we were getting it right, not rightwing.

So much to say about this, so little time. Just wanted to get it out there.

If you find this article gets your blood boiling, do something about it

Friday, June 03, 2005

A word about my breasts

oooh, I shudder to think of the Google searches that may lead here from that title.

I just sat here for half-an-hour pumping. For those of you who Googled here looking for erotica, I'm not talking about what you may be doing right now. No, rather I'm a working mom with a nursling at home who needs her momjuice, so I hook two horns to myself and milk away, softly mooing on occassion but passing on the cud. Despite a double-action electric pump with variable speeds and suction, I managed to get a measly 3.5 ounces. Not enough to feed her this morning. Must eat more oatmeal.

The annoying thing about this, besides a hungry child at home, is that I carry around immense mammary glands. I'm not talking about D-sized eye-poppers. No, go further up the alphabet. Much further up the alphabet. Let me put it this way - it was a memorable moment the first time someone noticed my very pregnant belly before staring at my chest. On a barely five-foot frame, they get in the way even more than you might expect. At a self-defense class I'm taking, my opponent, after bending me over while practicing her attack, couldn't knee me in the groin or stomach because my boobs got in the way. They are so frusteratingly large, that if I have to have them this size, I'd like some sort of silver lining. Like getting a decent stash from these bovine moments.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Happy birthday to me!

Geek tip: if you stay up late enough on the eve of your birthday, you can watch your age in your profile change

Forty years old! Or is it fourty... hear that sizzling? It's my brain cells self-destructing.

Inconceivable to think I'd be this old when I was my girls' ages. My folks were in their early 20's when they had kids. I waited until I was of the dreaded AMA (advanced maternal age. Read: OB experimental lab rat), so I can't even imagine what my spawn are thinking about having a wizened grey-hair for a mother. Ok, S is probaby not thinking of it at all. As long as my boobs still work, she's pretty much not worried about it.

Ah well, I still have most of my hair, my hips work reasonably well, and I still have all my teeth that weren't pulled for orthodontia. And since my twenties were easier than my teens, and my thirties were so much easier than my twenties, I'm thinking my forties should be a nice frolic in the park. Ya' think?

I hope I get cake.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Five Questions

Thanks to Tulipmania for asking me five questions. I'll try to be as honest, and as succinct (LOL, yeah, right!) as possible.

1. Pick one of your most important strengths/traits that you hope to pass down to your daughters? Courage. Or, rather, attempted courage. I can still be scared out of my wits about all sorts of things, but I still try to beat Fear. I certainly don't always succeed, but I try. There is too much in life to miss out on if I let Fear control me, and I want my girls to realize this too. By confronting Fear, that opens the door to discovery, honesty, compassion, love, knowlege, creativity, gosh, everything really worth anything.

2. What's your favorite smell, sound, sight? The nearly-every-mom answer, which is absolutely true for me, is newborn-baby smell, my childrens' laughter (followed by "I love you, Mommy" at a close second), and seeing my kids really, truly happy. But that doesn't say much about me other than I really like being a Mom, LOL. So, non-Mommycentric answers would be: the smell of wet creosote after a desert rain, all the sounds of a thunderstorm (which used to terrify me), and a Fall sunrise over the desert (although northcoast California sunsets are just as spectacular)

3. If you could meet anyone and ask them one question....who would it be and what would you ask? Hmmmmmm. Well, there's the eternal question of Why? But there's some confusion over who to ask that one. Without giving it really deep thought,and picking what first comes to mind, I'd have to say I'd want to meet my first lost baby. I'd ask her simply why. That's a loaded enough question to probably answer all my confusion over life, the universe, and everything. I doubt the answer will be 42.

4. What belief do you think people have about PPD that is contrary to the reality of PPD? Ya' know, this is a hard one to answer while I'm in the midst of it all. It's so easy to let my paranoia run rampant with this question, with visions of my kids being taken away from me for being so loony. I have little honest fear that this will happen, I'm not seriously considering suicide, and don't ever think that harming the kids is the answer out of this. But publically admitting my difficulties and the horrible images that plague my mind during the worst times is scary. Probably downright foolish, paranoia or not. Were I to tell my boss I really need a day off because I'm so overwelmed that I'm having intrusive thoughts about throwing my baby into the wall, holding a pillow over her face, or flying my car off of a cliff, well, it will be greeted nowhere nearly as benign as were I down with the flu. It feels as if there is no middle ground with the general populace's view of what PPD is. Either it's just normal baby blues, get over it, or you're going to be one of those poor Moms on the news who did lose all hope and harmed herself and/or her kids. But, see, it's really so nebulous. PPD isn't about what we will do, I think it's more about what we will not do. NOT seek help, NOT help ourselves, NOT feel in control, NOT be motivated, NOT believe in ourselves, NOT give ourselves credit, NOT enjoy the fleeting time with a new soul, NOT be ourselves. Damn if I'm not near catatonic some days.

Anyways, I think one of the most misunderstood things about PPD for the blessedly ignorant is that it's a fleeting thing that is nothing to be concerned about. I say this from experience - that's what I used to think.

5. Do you have a favorite book from childhood? What's it's name and why was it your favorite? Define childhood! Hee hee. Early on, I loved Fox in Sox, because my Dad would read that to me nearly every night, and we'd hoot and holler over the tongue twisters and those silly beetle bottle battles. Later, Black Beauty and Misty of Chincateague, because I was your typical horse-crazy girl. Still later, My Side of the Mountain. Even though I had no desire to run away, I was in love with the idea of being so self-sufficient and creative (still am!). A tich later, The Killer Angels because I was a sucker for Civil War history, especially the battle of Gettysburg, and Chamberlain's charge down Little Round Top was oddly romantic. About the same time I read Tolkein, and my adolescent romanticism related to his stories as well, so I read and reread his works over and over again. I still love all of these books of my childhood, and have given them as gifts, at appropriate ages, to kids in my life. Then I found Vonnegut and Douglas Adams, and I've been down the happy reader's road of wry social commentary and unusual humor ever since!

If YOU feel like playing, here are Da Rules:

The Official Interview Game Rules

1. If you want to participate, leave a comment saying "interview me."

2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.

3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions. I will post your answers on my blog.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Giggles and shoes

A woke up this morning very upset that her sister stole her yellow shoe from her in her dreams. It was a sandal, decorated in some way, perhaps with flowers or ducks. She said it was like Cinderella.

Just how do you console a two-year-old about a stolen shoe in her dreams? Well, for one, you let her inspect the dreamcatcher hanging in the room to see if the shoe is caught in it. You also tell her that this means she gets the Prince. And, you do your best not to giggle.

Which brings me to gossip. Let's drag this out, shall we? My studyhall is the bathroom. My book of choice lays in wait on the tank for those few spare minutes I have each day (when I have them - I have been known to just plain forget to pee all day) to read a passage or two. My book of choice at the moment, often found under piles of Astronomy and National Geographic magazines, and a few books about airplanes and/or Ancient Egypt(Hubby's choice readings), is Queen Bees and Wannabees by Rosalind Wiseman (a very insightful book, although I think some types of girls are left out of it). I'm in the middle of the chapter about teasing and gossip. I may have a post later about the whole book, so let me just say that it says girls gossip - a LOT. And, yeah, they do. I'm finding the text a rather unexpected window into my workplace as well, where mostly the MEN gossip. Anyways, how do you defeat gossip in your dreams? Have you ever woken up from a vehment, gut-wrenching, get-out-the-lawyers dream fight with your spouse and had a hard time not being angry with him/her for a few hours? Ahem. Perhaps I've admitted too much.

But, in the true wonder of childhood forgiveness, A ran right up to her bleary-eyed sister and gave her a big hug (although she did tell N that she stole her shoe).

I hope that, were I ever faced with a shoe-thief who dared to steal just one of my shoes (which seems so much worse than taking the pair - I mean, taking both, perhaps you needed to be shod. Taking one, you just need to be shot!), I will take a lesson from my daughter.

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