Freakin' Evil Bird

thrasher, originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

I dig birds. I have two bird feeders and a bird bath in our yard to attract a variety of songbirds. I planted red trumpet vine to attract hummingbirds. Nature is my friend.

That said, there is a freakin' brown thrasher living somewhere in our yard that I want to kill. Evil bird.

Every day for the last week when I let our sweet orange tabby boy, Mao, go outside to lounge in the sun or stalk chipmunks, this bird tries to attack him. When s/he isn't swooping down to pester him, the bird sets on a perch about two feet away and nags him with an irritating chirp that sounds like someone flicking their tongue against the back of their teeth. It will literally fly around the house to follow him if he tries to go from the backyard around to the front of the house. I can hear it over the TV or music it is so loud. I want to kill this bird! That chirp has become the single most irritating sound on Earth to me.

I'm sure it's a new parent and only wants to protect its young. I should relate to that. If my sweet kitty, who is a notorious killer, did in fact kill one of this bird's new offspring, I would feel sad and be angry at Mao.

However, my darling cat is innocent until committing an act of Darwinian brutality. So far he hasn't done that. To this bird or its young.

I never root for my cat against smaller animals. Except rats. But this time I find myself hoping he will get angry enough at this bird to put an end to its annoying chirping.

Of course, the day my kitty boy trots through the door with a limp brown thrasher dangling from his mouth, I'll be out searching for the abandoned brood of baby birds, hoping there's something we can do to save them and cursing my cat for his evil ways.

Sick last night, Sick the night before...

Many moons ago when I was in college, we had a drinking song that we used to sing on occasion. The lyrics were as follows:

Drunk last night, drunk the night before,
Gonna get drunk like we've never done before,
'Cause when I'm drunk, I'm as happy as can be,
'Cause I'm a member of the Scott family.
Oh, Scott family is the best family.
The best family in all of Germany.

From the highland Dutch to the lowland Dutch,
From the Rotterdam Dutch, to the goddam Dutch,
Glorious, glorious, a whole keg of beer for the four of us,
Glad there aren't any more of us, 'cause one could drink the whole thing.
Damn near!
My eyes are dim (are dim)!
I cannot see (can't see)!

Then, i don't really remember the rest of the lyrics. I'm not sure anyone knew them. All of our drinking songs had been handed down over the decades, one class to the next.

Anyway, for some reason, every time someone asks me how I'm feeling, I just keep thinking of this song, except in my mind I'm hearing, "Sick last night, sick the night before..."

This morning sickness is really taking its toll on me. I am miserable. And not too happy about it all. The only thing that seems to be soothing my stomach is Coca-Cola on crushed ice. I get sick if I'm hungry. Sick if I eat too much or the wrong thing. Breakfast is the worst, but I can get sick any time of day really. I've definitely thrown up more the last three weeks than I have in the last three years.

And speaking of throwing up, I think I need to go now.

A Terrifying Pregnancy Side-Effect

Since I was twelve, I have suffered from migraine headaches. My mom had them, too. And my grandmother. I remember how debilitatingly painful they were. They usually started in the afternoon and by nightfall, I would be moaning in agony, clutching my throbbing head and running down the hall to throw up in the bathroom. I remember my grandmother applying camphor compresses to my head, turning off all the lights, and sitting with me in my darkened room. Eventually, my mom took me to the doctor and he diagnosed me as having migraines and prescribed Midrin, a pain reliever which provided great relief and sleep, blessed sleep.

I had migraines off and on throughout junior high and high school and once or twice in college. As a young adult, they picked up again once I had a series of stressful jobs that didn't pay nearly enough. In 1999, they picked up again. I was planning my wedding and had just been promoted to Director of Marketing for a high-tech firm. My neurologist wrote me a prescription for Imitrex and wrote the headaches off to stress. A month or two after my wedding, I went off the Pill and hadn't had another migraine until last night.

This one was a doozy. It started with the classic migraine aura symptoms. I had spotty, fragmented vision and felt a little disoriented. It started while I was cooking dinner, including our favorite Robert Redford dessert. Scott came home, I sat and chatted with him while supper cooked, then I returned to finish up supper, feeling a lot better. Within about 30 minutes, I began to feel totally disoriented and confused. I was trying to write a note to a friend and realized the words I was writing were not the words I was thinking. I tried to speak and I couldn't make my tongue do what I wanted it to. I realized I was experiencing a form of aphasia and I began to freak out. I managed to tell Brendan's little friend Haley to go home and went back upstairs to get Scott. I didn't want to freak him out, but I was terrified. I thought I was having a stroke.

I managed to get the words out, very slowly and painfully, to tell Scott I thought I was having a stroke. He then took me through the tests to see if I was having a stroke: lift both arms above the head, smile, repeat a specific sentence. I didn't have any trouble with any of those, so we ruled out stroke pretty quickly. I began to feel less confused, less disoriented, so we went downstairs and ate dinner. By the time we were finished eating, the headache had started and I was pretty incapacitated.

Scott did a great job taking care of me and Brendan and helped me get him to bed. Then, we relaxed and watched Prison Break and 24 and went to bed and cuddled, thankful I was alive and for the time being, not the victim of a stroke.

Why Can't There Be One Right Way?

I wish there were one right way to parent to ensure each and every child comes out feeling safe, loved, appreciated, wanted, smart, talented, and unique.The things we all want to feel.

If this were the case, the day we give birth to a child, the hospital would simply hand over The Parenting Handbook and we'd all know exactly how to stimulate, educate, inspire, discipline, and grow perfect, healthy kids.

Unfortunately, the closest most of us get to any kind of teaching in the arena of being parents is by doing what our parents did. In my case, that's not going to work.

My mom was selfish, critical, mean-spirited, and angry. I was, as they put it back in the Sixties, a Love Child, never quite as good, ashamed, afraid, misunderstood. I don't think my mom hated me, but I think she had to warm up to the idea of loving me, and ultimately the way she expressed that love was in trying to control everything I did. If I did something wrong, she would explode in a fit of terrifying anger. I was definitely afraid of my mom. Afraid of what she could or would do to me and afraid of what she might do to herself.

My whole life I have battled my own expressions of anger, to the point, that I had mostly learned to swallow my anger with the people I love and let things that drove me crazy slide because I loved them.

Then, I had a child. And in my efforts to guide and teach him, I've found we are two stubborn peas in a pod, and as parent, I feel the need to assert my dominance over him. It's my job to help him turn out okay. He gets a ton of love and affection, praise for all the good things he does. And, he's a little spoiled. I do things for him that he should probably be doing for himself now. But I'm aware of that, and working to correct the problem areas.

Unfortunately, every now and then, I blow my stack. I yell, stomp my feet, and act in a way that I know must be very scary for him. It's all usually over in a matter of seconds, then I apologize, and try to explain why his behavior made me angry. The last two instances involved his intentionally spilling his yogurt all over his puzzles after I had expressly told him not to spill his yogurt and refusing to pick up his trains and put them into the box where we keep them. I asked him several times and finally lost it. What's really frustrating to me about his refusal to clean his room is that his preschool teacher is constantly telling me what an awesome job he does picking up toys at school. She says she doesn't even have to tell him to do it. So, I know this is a power struggle and as parent, I feel it imperative that I win the battle. Problem is, I don't know how.

Obviously, blowing up isn't the solution. I don't know what is. And that's very disheartening. I should know my child better than anyone, know what motivates him and what doesn't.

A few nights ago, Scott and I were discussing it and he says he doesn't understand how I can lose my temper with Brendan. He also says he thinks I'm too critical, that I am way more critical than his mom ever was of him or his brothers. In my mind, I'm criticizing B's behavior, not him. Scott thinks two and three-year olds can't discern that difference. Maybe he's right. I hope not.

The only time I've actually criticized my son was when I told him he was being a baby for refusing to sit on the potty. And I told him I'd take away some big boy privilege of his if he didn't sit on the potty. It didn't work. Again, a major power struggle and I'm at my wit's end. I felt horrible after that day and didn't even mention the potty for a whole month.

I don't want to be my mom. Who does? So, why is this such a struggle for me? I love my son more than my own life. So, why can't I find the right ways to encourage and motivate him to do the things he needs to do? I'm not trying to change him.

I don't want to crush his spirit, dampen his defiant nature, or discourage his persistence. I do want him to sleep at night. Clean his room. Respect adults. Listen. Be nice to his friends. Share. Love. Keep his brilliant sense of humor. Use the freakin' potty and be out of diapers before school starts in the fall. That's it for now.

I don't think that's so much to ask. So, why do I feel like a horrible mother? Hopeless? Like I can't do this? And Good Lord! If I can't do it with the one I've got, what the hell am I going to do when I have another?

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's Off to Work I Go!

For a couple of years, I have been struggling to find enough freelance work to bring in enough money to pay for a few of life's luxuries: health insurance and health care, haircuts for me and the boy, a manicure every now and then, clothes, babysitters so Scott and I can get out once in a while. I'm very lucky to be able to stay at home, but it has meant cutting back on a lot of the things I used to take for granted. Because Scott is self-employed, health insurance has been our biggest financial burden and headache. I worry about it a lot. And I pray about finding work so that I can help take some of the strain off my husband's shoulders.

Mostly because finding freelance work is a full-time job in and of itself and I have a young child and a house to take care of, I've found that I rarely have the time I need to find the work I need. I have a few regular clients that keep coming back, but that means one or two projects a quarter.... Not really enough to meet the goals I've set for myself.

Well, suddenly, and thankfully, out of the blue the work is starting to come in. I've got two articles I'm writing for a relocation magazine, plus another possibly on the horizon. Another magazine, Atlanta Dog Life, hired me last fall to write a column about dogs with jobs, but after writing my first article, I was told their funding didn't come through and they were putting the magazine on hold. Two days ago, I got a call from the owner of the first dog I "interviewed" who told me that she had gotten a call from the magazine about advertising. So, I called up the editor and she told me we're back in business and they definitely plan to have me write for them, though I'm not sure if I will still be writing the same column or not.

Now, here's the most exciting event of the week. And the most flattering. Renee Palmer who co-parents Miss America, the first dog I wrote about for ADL is also co-owner of Camp Woof, the open-play boarding facility where we board our darling boy, Cooper. Renee's partner, Patsy McGirl, is the other co-owner. They're awesome and foster a lot of rescues. And Cooper loves staying at Camp Woof.

Anyway, Renee called me yesterday to ask me if I might be interested in authoring a children's book about one of their dogs. It's a long story and I can't go into all of the details, but ultimately, part of the proceeds from the book would go to fund scholarships for disadvantaged African-American students from our community.

I'm so excited and so flattered to be asked to do something like this. Granted, I have no experience writing for children, but I've actually been thinking about it some the last few years. I figure I can try.

So, I'm just very thankful today to have so much wonderful work on my plate. Even though I am still feeling very sick and very tired. I'll just do my best and muddle through. Thank you, God, for all these wonderful blessings raining down upon me all of a sudden!

I'm Sorry, So Sorry

Okay. Having had all day to think about this, I realized I don't know why I was so intensely angry over a small-minded person acting in a petty manner.

I realized that I, too, was being petty in expressing such vitriol toward someone I barely know just because we don't see eye-to-eye on a particular subject.

So, I'm sorry I subjected y'all to my anger. I'll try to do better next time.

Rockin' the Suburbs

Man, am I pissed!

I am the co-president of my neighborhood association, a job I took thinking it would be a great way to get to know my neighbors and possibly network a little. I was crazy. This unpaid job sucks.

I have neighbors who call me to complain because someone else's dog is barking. Because someone drove through their yard. Because one of their neighbors had a party and cars were parked up and down their street. They all expect ME to do something about it. Are they three? Do they really need mommy to resolve their arguments?

Now, get this! We're an older (30-years plus), well-established neighborhood. Maybe 5% of the residents are the original owners of their homes. Our homeowner's association dues are only $20 a year. A pittance.

Today, I got an e-mail from a guy in the neighborhood who does nothing but complain. Today, he's complaining because the neighborhood association has plans to make a banner to hang on our front entrance congratulating all the 2006 high school graduates who live in the neighborhood. He thinks the kids' parents should pay for the banner. He also suggested that if the neighborhood association paid for it that we should exclude anyone who didn't pay their $20 dues.

A freakin' banner only costs about $75 or $100 dollars to make. Cheap! This dude told me that he thinks the dues should only be spent on things that benefit everyone. He fails to see how this does.

Dude! Does it not benefit you to be a nice guy once in a while? Or how about the fact that it makes our neighborhood look like a warm, friendly, caring place to live?

What a total jerk! I'm so mad right now! I just don't see how people go through their lives being so selfish!

The thing is, this guy always wants to do our neighborhood directory and have his hand in different projects we do. That's all about to change. If he's going to be so selfish, I don't want to use up any of his precious time or resources. I'm going to seek out other volunteers. People who are happy to be involved and do things that benefit everyone who lives in the neighborhood.

Jerk!

Wake Me When It's Over

I loved being pregnant with Brendan! It was so cool!

This time, I'm miserable. I'm sooooo sick! I don't recall actually throwing up with Brendan, though I felt plenty ill. Today is the fourth day in a row that I've lost my breakfast. The rest of the day, I have simply felt horrible and get really nauseous every time I get hungry. I'm trying to think positively, to remind myself that all of this is a good sign that there are lots of hormones all doing their job and the nausea and exhaustion I feel are signs of a healthy pregnancy progressing normally.

Of course, sleeping is the only thing that helps me. Sleeping is brilliant! I wish I could sleep and sleep and wake up at the end of the first trimester, brimming with energy and good health.

Annie Get Your Gun: The Easter Bunny's Here

Sometimes it's amazing to me how different members of the same family can be. One of Scott's brothers is a hunter. He goes deer hunting or at least he used to. I'm not sure he has time to anymore now that he and his wife have four kids. Still, he has no issue with guns.

We do. We definitely don't believe that kids should have toy guns to play with, especially realistic looking cap gun rifles like the one the Easter Bunny left our three-year old nephews Easter basket yesterday.

Scott and I were both very concerned about Brendan being around kids playing with guns, pretending to shoot each other and kept him isolated from his cousins so that he wouldn't see it. Scott and his brother argued over why three-year olds shouldn't be playing with realistic-looking guns and especially playing games where they point them at someone and fire. His brother never got it. Both his brothers think we're liberal hippie freaks anyway. Still, his other brother and his wife never let their kids play with guns. Unfortunately, neither of them spoke up.

We took Brendan outside to play and were debating whether we should leave or not. I was just going inside to say my peace when I realized the guns had been put away.

The thing that really got my Irish up, and Scott's as well, was when our five-year old niece went upstairs and told Brendan "I'm going to shoot your Daddy!" No one corrected her or thought there was anything wrong with that at all. Thankfully, Brendan doesn't yet know what it means for someone to get shot. When I asked him if his cousin had said something scary to him, he said no and seemed fine.

It's sad, really. We had just gotten to a point where Brendan was really enjoying being around his cousins. Unfortunately, our values are too different from those of my in-laws that we're not comfortable having him play with them.

At least he has friends, though I'm sad that he might never have close ties to his cousins like his dad has.

Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Judged

I have a really hard time with this. I want not to judge others and usually I don't. However, when my own insecurities get piqued, I often find myself pointing the finger before it can be pointed at me.

Today was one of those days.

I took Brendan to the park after school. We picked up Chick-fil-A on the way and I was looking forward to a picnic and playing in the sandbox, maybe chasing him around the meadow for a bit of exercise. Unfortunately, the idyllic afternoon I imagined was not to be.

She was there. Alpha Mom. I hate Alpha Mom. Alpha Mom talks more and louder than any other mom in the park. Alpha Mom only packs the finest organic foods for her picnic and looks at your Happy Meal with a curl of the lip.

This particular Alpha Mom droned on and on and on about the kind of beach house she wants to buy in Florida. But not in Destin. How trashy! No, somewhere less redneck. Then about how the McMansion she and her husband built is just too big, with its five bedrooms, three-and-a-half baths, finished basement, and office. About how she and hubby rent out the first house they owned to (gasp) Katrina survivors! About her wedding in Key West. About how all her friends are asking her and her husband to renew their vows next year on the 10th anniversary and have a huge party in Key West. About how friends of theirs didn't get their two-year old into the same elite Montessori school her daughter attends.

Oh! And I learned that Parker, her five year old, is "going to end up in politics, or journalism, or maybe...sales. She's just such a go-getter!" Blech! Is that my morning sickness or am I gagging on my disdain for Alpha Mom!

There was more. She didn't shut up the entire hour we were in the same park. And the whole time she was lording it over the Wannabee moms in her cohort, she was perched atop a lawn chair while everyone else relaxed on the ground on blankets.

When I see a Queen Bee and her hive, it just makes me feel like I'm in hell, uh, I mean, high school, all over again. Don't get me wrong. I'm part of a moms club. We're all friends, but we're all just a lot more relaxed. No one's judging anyone else in our group and none of us are trying to prove ourselves worthy of another's friendship or presence.

Bottom line: Alpha Moms and cliques just piss me off.

Pregnancy Brain: What a Long, Strange Week-and-a-Half It's Been

Since getting confirmation of my pregnancy, I have basically had almost no free time to write and when I have, I have either a) been too fuzzy-headed to get my thoughts together to write (they're not joking about the "cloud of pregnancy"); b) too exhausted to write; or c) too busy entertaining Brendan who was on spring break from preschool and decided to officially stop napping. Ugh!

I think the thing I hate most about pregnancy is what it does to your head. I mean, in just a few weeks I seem to have lost half my brain cells. I feel stymied mentally and physically, it feels like someone stuffed something in my head. Clearly, I have lost all power of articulation because that makes no sense. It suffices to say that I have a "cloudy" feeling and just can't get it together.

Yesterday, I forgot that I was responsible for sending the snack to Brendan's preschool. When I got there to pick him up, there was a note on his backpack asking me to send in pretzels and raisins today. I felt horrible. All those cute little two and three-year-olds sitting around waiting for their snack and getting none. Sad.

Actually, the school has back up plans for such events. Thankfully, I'm not the first mom to whom this has happened. I still feel like an idiot.

And wouldn't you know, I can't remember any of the other crazy things I've done the last few days? Pregnancy brain in action!

Yay! We're Having a Baby!

I went to my GP and he confirmed that I am pregnant. He said that the faint line was probably just because it was so early. I was convinced it was because the baby isn't growing and thusly, there isn't enough HCG present to produce a darker line. Doc thinks I conceived later than I thought and am about a week behind where I thought I might be.

He also reassured me that nothing I've done so far should have had any impact on the baby. S/he will only have just implanted a week or so ago, so not as big a deal as I thought.

I'm relieved. I know there are thousands of things that could still go wrong. We've lost a baby with a chromosomal defect, so I know the kinds of things that can happen even if you do everything right. It's still so early, I could have a miscarriage. I know I shouldn't tell a soul. But this secret is too good to keep.

For now, I don't want to worry about any of that! I want to be happy and embrace the tiny new life growing inside of me. I want to be excited. My husband, by the way, is thrilled. And that makes me very happy.

Oh! Yay! I am just giddy with joy now. I'm turning the worry button off for as long as I can. I'm going to take a power nap. Then shower. Then we're going to our monthly neighborhood dinner party with six other couples while the kids stay with sitters at one of our homes. I'm going to drink fizzy water with limes and eat fondue and laugh and celebrate this wonderful life.

And I can't wait 'til my friends ask me why I'm not drinking wine.

Two Pink Lines and More Freaking Out

I tested again this morning. Same result. A second line so faint I wonder if I'm imagining it. I'm waiting until my GP's office opens and then calling to see if they can do a blood test today.

I went online last night and read all the horrors of FAS. Ninety-nine percent of what I read said that no amount of alcohol is okay at any point during pregnancy and if you drank before you knew you were pregnant, you're just going to have to wait and see what kind of damage you did to your baby. I barely slept last night.

In addition to the daily glass of wine I have with dinner, there have been a couple of occasions in the last two or three weeks where I drank three glasses because we were laughing and talking and having a good time and I got carried away. Then there's the 1/2 dose of Nyquil I took about a week ago when I had a bad cold and the Mucinex I've been taking at night for the nasty cough I haven't been able to shake. And let's not forget the boatloads of coffee and Coke Zero I drink every day.

Everything I read last night said that even if your child escapes the low birth-weight and facial deformities associated with FAS, he or she will have behaviorial and learning difficulties and end up abusing drugs and becoming a juvenile delinquent.

I know there are countless stories of women who drank casually or socially throughout there pregnancies and had perfectly healthy normal babies and many who say that you only have to worry about FAS if you drink heavily throughout your entire pregnancy. But, I can't help but worry. How much would it suck if I did something to cause harm to my baby and I could have prevented it.

Damn, damn, damn.

Butting Heads with God

As a mother, it drives me nuts when Brendan wants to do something that I know he can't quite handle on his own. He and I are two stubbon peas in a pod. As much as I want to help him, he yearns to do it on his own. And he will pull away forcefully, shouting "NO! I DO IT MYSELF!" All the while, I'm getting angry and frustrated because I know it will go much more smoothly/cleanly/efficiently and faster if I help.

Clearly, I know I'm wrong. I know that he has to do things on his own to learn, but because I'm stubborn and impatient and want things done my way, I often find I can't help myself.

Today, I think I must know how God feels as I'm coming at him in the same stubborn, angry, and reproachful way Brendan reacts when I try to help him.

I'm not very good at being open to God's will, though I'll be darned if He doesn't just go ahead and keep asserting it anyway. I want to feel like I'm in control. I want to make the decisions that affect my life. It scares me to feel like someone else is in charge, even if I know deep down that's the case.

Right now, I'm kind of freaking out. I may be pregnant and I'm not ready. Theoretically, I'm ready. I'm ready to say, "Hey! We're trying to get pregnant with our second child" and to enjoy the process that takes us there. I'm ready to have a couple of months with negative pregnancy tests and a sense of disappointment that ultimately gets overshadowed when I actually get pregnant in the third month of trying.

I'm not ready to have gotten pregnant when we weren't trying. It scares me. It's happened to us twice before and both times ended in miscarriage.

I know that if I am pregnant, I should be thrilled and delighted, especially considering all the women who would give anything to be in my shoes. And I will be happy and excited to have another baby, a sibling for my darling boy. But, what about all the things that can go wrong with any pregnancy, even in the best of circumstances. Imagine being 36, someone who has a glass of wine to unwind every night, and who has a never-ending allergy attack and has been popping cold/sinus/cough medicine for the last two weeks to keep from hacking up a lung.

I'm not happy. I'm petrified.

And of course, along with all of this is the beating myself up over how I'll be responsible if something goes wrong. That it will be all my fault if something goes wrong.

I wish I could just let go of my fears and worries and just trust God. Why is that so hard?

Well, Hush Your Mouth!

I am bursting at the seams, I am so proud of my little fella!

As we were leaving preschool today, his friend Emily's mom stopped me. She said that her daughter has started saying "Yes, Ma'am" and "No, Ma'am" all of a sudden. When she questioned Emily as to where she had learned to say those phrases, Emily said, "Brendan."

I'm just so happy he remembers to use his manners at school. For a long time, I felt like I was constantly reminding him, but suddenly, it seems I rarely need to.

Of course, I was shocked that a parent had to ask her child where she learned to speak to an adult respectfully. I didn't say anything, but she must have felt my unease for she quickly said with a shrug, "We're not from the South, so we don't talk like that."

Well, hush your mouth, Cornbread! I bet you don't drink sweet tea, either. That's okay. We still love you, Sug!

I Can Feel It Coming in the Air Tonight

The PMDD, that is. All day today I've felt dazed, anxious, worried, tired, sad. I cried when I heard a story about Improv Everywhere on This American Life. It's comedy. It's supposed to make one laugh. But the founder of the group, Charlie Todd, said what I thought was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. I'm paraphrasing because I can't remember the exact quote, but basically he says his aim in life is to make people realize that we should expect magical things to happen in our lives and not merely rely on movies or TV to give us the magical, the beautiful, the wonder-ful moments that we'll never forget.

That melted me.

Somehow, though, I have managed not to lose my temper today. I've also kept my panic somewhat in control. I'm hoping it's because my self-prescribed regimen of vitamins and minerals(B-complex with C, a prenatal vitamin, Calcium with Magnesium, Flax Seed Oil, and Lysine) and exercise is helping.

Of course, it could be that I'm pregnant. I'm not late. Much. But I also don't feel the way I usually do before my period.

So, we'll see in a day or two when either I know for sure or I work up the courage to take a pregnancy test.

Guilt and Sorrow

Brendan came up with something pretty cute today. He has begun to name inanimate objects. His blue bouncy ball is Snuggly. His lamp is Shiny. And the imaginary elephant who lives in our family room is Stevie. And all the while I celebrated his creativity today, my insides ached with guilt and sorrow. Guilt for having a beautiful, healthy little boy whom I take for granted or get frustrated with because he's three and doesn't do all the things I think he should. Sorrow at learning two of my dear friends lost their baby boy at 20 weeks gestation.

Scott and I have lost a baby to miscarriage. It was in the first trimester and we reeled from it. I can't imagine how much worse it is for our friends. I am stymied by the shock and sadness of it and feel at a loss for how to help them. I pray I can find some words or kind gesture that will lessen their pain the slightest bit.

He Hate Me

Actually, Fate hates me.

I started a book club for my MOMS Club chapter five months ago. I've been to exactly one meeting.

I've read every book. I've reviewed book club questions on-line, pondering how I would answer them. I've thought about what the major themes of the book were and how I related to each character. One month, when there was a long waiting list for the book (The Sunday Wife) at my library, I checked out the book-on-tape version and loved it. Joan Allen narrated it and I loved listening to her soothing, beautiful voice.

But, in the end, even getting to hear Joan Allen reading a decent novel was disappointing when, in the end, I never got to talk about it with anyone.

Every month I tell the other women in the book club that I'll be there and every month something goes wrong to prevent me from coming. At this point, I'm sure they think I'm lying. Twice, Scott was sick and I didn't think I could leave Brendan with him. Once, I forgot to tell Scott and decided it wasn't fair to spring it on him at the last minute. And tonight, Brendan fell just as I was about to walk out the door. He scraped his back on our brick hearth and was really upset. By the time I got him calmed down enough that I could put him down, it was 30 minutes into our meeting time. I knew that if I tried to leave, he'd freak out again, so I gave up.

Why doesn't Fate want me to talk about good books with other women? Oh, well. At least I'm reading. It could be worse.

This Makes Me Sad

I heard this story on CNN this morning and it really made me feel sad and guilty. I remember when Andrea Yates killed her children. Like everyone else who has never had a child and suffered from post-partum depression, I was shocked, disgusted, and I judged her. How could a mother harm her own child? I just didn't get it.

And really, I still don't. However, having given birth and suffered from a lengthy and severe bout of the baby blues, I come a lot closer to understanding than I ever did before. There were moments after Brendan's birth when I felt like I was literally going to come out of my skin. I felt like I didn't even know myself and I felt like my son deserved a better mother than I was capable of being. Still, it never crossed my mind (thankfully) to hurt him.

I'm lucky. I happen to be very open about my emotions, though I was more guarded than usual in sharing my negative feelings after the birth of my son. I was conflicted. On the one hand, I knew I should be overjoyed at having a beautiful, healthy son. On the other, having a child was a major shock to the system! For all our planning, we had no idea how difficult it would be having a newborn and how isolated we would feel, especially me. My mother had died two years before Brendan's birth and it hit me like a ton of bricks. The one time in her life when a daughter really needs her mom and I didn't have mine.

Still, I had a loving husband who tried hard even if he couldn't fully comprehend what I was going through. I had a mother-in-law to give advice. And most importantly, I wasn't trying to deal with five children all under the age of six. My body and soul had time to recuperate without being assaulted by another pregnancy too soon. My husband didn't coerce me into leaving my career and then tell me I could have nothing to do with our neighbors or other members of society. I wasn't forced to homeschool my children because my husband was afraid of having our children influenced by modern society.

Who knows what a fragile mind is capable of when assaulted by hormones, a multitude of children, lack of sleep, and there's no one to turn to? Now, I know.... Andrea Yates could have talked to her mother, a doctor, or gone to her minister. But, as someone whose family had a history of mental illness, I'm sure she was well aware of the stigmas associated with that. Without the loving support she needed at home, I doubt she was comfortable going to strangers or friends or family members and saying, "Ya know, last night I had the strongest urge to drown my children in the bathtub." Like so many other women, I'm sure she thought, "I can handle this. I'm the mommy and I have to be strong. What will everyone think if I tell them how I really feel." I imagine, too, that her fundamentalist faith urged her to rely as much on God as on the medication she quit taking with her doctor's approval three weeks before murdering her children, as well.

Yes, Andrea Yates did a horrible thing that I can barely even think about without physically cringing. She deserves to be punished, but she deserved treatment for her mental illness as well. We should all remember that she didn't do it by herself either. Russell Yates is equally culpable for helping create the environment that led to the death of his children. He may be celebrating his honeymoon and the start of a new life today as his former wife awaits the start of a new trial, but he'll have to live the rest of his life knowing he did nothing to prevent the deaths of his children.

And the rest of us who would so quickly jump to judge? Well, I'd say, there but for the grace of God go we. We should all be aware of that and do the things we can to make sure other moms suffering from PPD or the baby blues get the help they need. Call your friends and family members who've just had babies. Make or buy a meal and drop it off. Offer to take an older child to the park so mom can focus on a new baby. Stop by and watch the new baby once a week so mom can take a nap or a bath. Wash and fold a load of laundry for her. Run some errands. Ask her how she's doing and really listen. Don't judge her or patronize her if she says she's having a hard time since the baby came. Reassure her that she's normal and help her get the help she needs. If you think she's a danger to herself or her kids, tell her husband, her doctor, or someone else better equipped to help. Just be there and let her know you care for her and her child(ren).

It's a shame no one did that for Andrea Yates or her children.

Whoo-hoo! What a Great Day!

Admittedly, I have not been super-productive today, but I am having an absolutely brilliant day! Whooooo! Hooooo! Yeehaw!

Brendan woke at 3:00 a.m. as usual, but simply came and climbed into bed with Scott and me. We all went back to sleep almost instantly. I awoke at 6:30 and dozed off and on listening to NPR and CNN simultaneously (alarm radio and TV were both on) until 7:30. Got up, showered, dressed (including make-up) and was downstairs by 8:00. Brendan woke shortly afterward and demanded breakfast. He was happy with cereal, so that was fast. I made coffee and my own breakfast while he ate cereal and watched Blue's Clues.

While I tidied up the kitchen, B. played trains and had me come rescue him from the "mountain" a.k.a., the end table, every 10 minutes. Then, he played and entertained himself while I vacuumed both the upstairs and downstairs, put on a load of laundry, folded another load of laundry, made his bed and ours, and made a picnic lunch to take to the park. I also got some reading done in there. By 11:15 we were in the park.

It's a gorgeous, sunny, warm day. We played on the playground, blew bubbles, ate a delicious lunch (Brendan ate all his bell pepper and carrots! Yay for veggies he likes!) hiked on the awesome trails in the woods of the park, saw a waterfall, looked for turtles, fed the ducks, played on the playground again, then came home. Brendan wanted to have quiet time and was asleep within 10 minutes.

I did another load of laundry, listed two items on eBay, followed up on some e-mail, and best of all, worked out! A great workout that has me totally energized and feeling like I can get back in shape relatively quickly. I used to workout daily but then this fall when Brendan stopped napping, I fell off the wagon and have felt like ish ever since. If I can just make it a priority, I think within two weeks, I could be back to my old every day habit.

I may not have gotten much done, but I feel great! Now, I'm relaxing with a glass of wine, enjoying my blabbering on, Not that anyone gives a damn. But I do!

You have to savor days like this! Be thankful and share your joy!

Yay!