Breathe

No profound insight or deep meaning today. Just a quick update.

Brendan has been sick since last Monday. Fever of 103, general malaise. Doctor said it was a virus, he'd be better in 48 hours. Ha! He's still sick.

I started coughing a day or two later. Beckett awoke yesterday at 4 a.m. with the croup. I took him in to the pediatrician who determined he wasn't oxygenating. His oxygen level was in the 80s, so she insisted he be transported by ambulance to the ER so he could be on oxygen. Brendan and I rode along. Spent 8 hours in the ER before he was admitted. He has to stay again tonight.

I was coughing like crazy last night and having sharp pains in my ribs and feel like I have a weight on my chest. Saw my doctor 30 minutes ago who told me I have a sinus infection, bronchitis and walking pneumonia. Oh, yeah. And an ear infection. Fun stuff.

So, now I'm going to the grocery, to pick up my three prescriptions, and head back to the hospital to relieve my mother-in-law.

Say some prayers for us that we all recover quickly.

You Don't Pull No Punches

My friend whose baby girl died of SIDS last year is expecting a new baby. She's actually due in just over three weeks.

Last night, our Bunco group hosted a shower for her. It was so much fun. It was a surprise and so cool to see the look on her face when she realized what was going on.

I was one of the co-hosts and was tasked with doing something with champagne. So, below is a recipe I found that turned out to be very tasty. I'll share it. I'm not generally a fan of super-sweet punches, but this one is a little different.

1 can Cherry-Pomegranate juice concentrate (original recipe calls for cranberry juice concentrate, but I substituted this)
1 can Pink Lemonade
1 can Limeade
2 bottles Champagne
1 bottle white wine (I used a Riesling)
1 liter club soda

1 lemon sliced
1 lime sliced

Blend all in a punch bowl and add fruit slices. You can also add frozen strawberries or raspberries.

I made a puree of fresh strawberries and fresh mango which I then froze in some butter molds shaped like dogwood blossoms and floated them on top of the punch. It was a very pretty and refreshing punch.

Five for Fighting

I'm stealing this from Rennratt because I just thought it was pretty funny. It probably has something to do with being battered and bruised by my own five-year old who thinks I'm his personal jungle gym to climb on, jump on, tackle, kick, punch, or otherwise roughhouse with, all in the name of playing Transformers or Spider-Man.

19

I say, bring 'em on!

Further on Up the Road

Your Life Path Number is 22

Your purpose in life is to use your power for good Of all the life paths, yours has the most innate power. Your power lies in your vision, and you must recruit others to help you in this vision. You are able to be a great idealist, but you still have the practicality to get things done. In love, you tend to be a big romantic - but you also tend to keep your distance. You have a lot of potential, and it's sometimes hard to live up to. Sometimes you just feel like slipping into obscurity and doing nothing. You tend to be prone to dramatic emotions, until you step back and look at things honestly.

What Is Your Life Path Number?

You Never Give Me Your Money

I know what you're thinking.

You're right. I'm a sell out.

I have an advertiser. We're in a trial relationship for the moment. We'll see how it goes. If s/he doesn't leave the cap off the toothpaste or squeeze it from the middle and I don't annoy her/him by stealing all the covers in the middle of the night, we may take it to the next level. So to speak.

The ad (to the left), is for a new web site called Doing Fine that is supposed to celebrate the positive things in life, to be a place where folks share stories of what is going right in their lives as opposed to just bitching about the negative (as some of us - namely me - are guilty of doing).

It seems like a fine idea. I can get behind that.

So, please take a moment to visit them and check it all out.

And have a happy day.

Stormy Weather

We just had a big storm blow through. I don't typically fear storms, but this one woke me up, and for some reason made me a bit nervous. It was all big, gusty winds, lightning and thunder. It was raining hard, but the wind was so fierce that you couldn't hear the rain over it.

But as I was sitting here, reading other blogs, suddenly I realized I could hear birds singing. And the patter of soft rain. Such a hopeful way to begin a day.

How lovely.

Nature does wonders for the soul.

Falling Slowly

Awards shows don't make me cry. Lots of things make me cry. But not superficial celebrities.

Last night, watching the Oscars, I cried.

The sheer joy and awe at performing his song at the Oscars that shone out of Glen Hansard's face moved me to tears. And the giddy yet shy smile on Marketa Irglova's face while she was playing piano and singing fairly shouted, Can you believe this?! We're really here. Doing this! Wow!, while at the same time it conveyed her obviously sweet and earnest disposition.



The song was amazing. So perfectly said and beautiful. So hopeful. So right. Sung so passionately. And played on that obviously much-loved guitar that Hansard plays. Oh! It just all made me so happy. It was just so right. My joy at their winning Best Song made me clap and do a little dance where I sat. I mean really! I can't imagine better people winning. It's such a redeeming moment for genuine artists, a group of like-minded friends could create a work of art, a movie, and put it out there and have it lead to genuine recognition for their efforts.

As a writer and as the wife of a talented and hard-working musician, the friend of many other working artists in various genres, it gave me great hope that real art created by real, thinking, feeling individuals (as opposed to song-writing hacks hired by studios and labels to throw some words and notes on a page and hand them to some hand-picked pop-tart and mashed together with ProTools and pitch correction software) is still being recognized at that level.

Yay for the little man and woman!

I also loved both of their speeches and I swear...Jon Stewart will now and forever have a special place in my heart for bringing Marketa Irglova back on stage to give her acceptance speech after being cut off by the producers. And I daresay, hers was one of the finest, most inspiring speeches I've ever heard given on an awards broadcast. In fact, I was so moved by it that I want to share it with you in case you did not see it yourself:

Hi everyone. I just want to thank you so much. This is such a big deal, not only for us, but for all other independent musicians and artists that spend most of their time struggling, and this, the fact that we're standing here tonight, the fact that we're able to hold this, it's just to prove no matter how far out your dreams are, it's possible. And, you know, fair play to those who dare to dream and don't give up. And this song was written from a perspective of hope, and hope at the end of the day connects us all, no matter how different we are. And so thank you so much, who helped us along the way. Thank you

Irglova also wins double-Dawn points by using one of my all time favorite Irish expressions, fair play, which basically means congratulations.

And just because his speech was pretty special too, here's what Hansard had to say in his speech:

Thanks! This is amazing. What are we doing here? This is mad. We made this film two years ago. We shot on two Handicams. It took us three weeks to make. We made it for a hundred grand. We never thought we would come into a room like this and be in front of you people. It's been an amazing thing. Thanks for taking this film seriously, all of you. It means a lot to us. Thanks to the Academy, thanks to all the people who've helped us, they know who they are, we don't need to say them. This is amazing. Make art. Make art. Thanks.

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Of course, it's all just made better for me by the fact that Hansard is Irish, Once was shot in Dublin, and I'm a sucker for Irishmen.

I feel like I've just awoken or broken free of a fog that was shrouding everything I've done for the last 36 hours or so. After getting very little sleep on Valentine's night, I had another rough day and night of it all yesterday. Thankfully, school was out so I didn't have to rush to be anywhere and was able to sleep until 7:30 when Beckett was up for good. I also had the blood drive yesterday, which went well. When I was there from noon until 2 p.m. we had already collected 20 pints and that wasn't counting the five or so of us who were there at the same time. Not too shabby.

It was kind of a zoo with kids all over the waiting room. The Red Cross provided a cake as well as the normal Nutter Butters (my favorite thing about giving blood!) and Cheese Nips, and there were actually people who had just come to donate who ended up doing it in Claire's honor.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I've never reacted well to giving blood. I usually bruise severely, as in from the elbow to the shoulder. This time, I barely bruised at all, but it took over 30 minutes for them to drain me and they had to keep readjusting the needle. My arm hurts from the elbow to my fingertips, especially when I clinch my fingers for any reason. I was also exhausted. I felt as if I could just fall asleep standing up last night. So, naturally neither boy slept well although Scott helped me go to bed early. The boys or at least one of them was up at 1 a.m.; at 3:00 or so I had to get Beckett a bottle. Then, Brendan ended up in our bed and at 4:00 a.m. started whining because he was congested. I moved him to his bed and tried to sleep with him, but he woke up whining again at 5:30 and stayed up. I tried sleeping in the recliner in the living room, but he kept talking to me, so finally I left him there watching Banana Splits or whatever other nonsense is on at that time of the morning and went back to bed until 6:30 when Beckett started crying. I tried to ignore him, hoping he'd find his way back to sleep, but Brendan showed up at my bedside to tell me his brother was crying and that I needed to get him up. Finally, I caved in and cried while I was changing Beckett's diaper because I haven't felt this tired since Beckett was born and I had yelled at Brendan to leave me alone and I hate the way being exhausted changes my personality and makes me mean.

Thankfully, Beckett went down for a nap around 10 a.m. and while Brendan watched a video and played trains, I got an 1 1/2 nap while Scott ran interference for me. Then, later both boys took afternoon naps and I had a luxurious soak in a hot bath using all the delightful Aveda products Scott lavished me with for Valentine's Day.

I felt like a new woman. Now, both boys are asleep; Scott and I are watching the NBA Skills competition; I'm cozy in my new jammies; and hopefully tomorrow will be a new day.

Blood and Chocolate

I feel like I could sleep for a week. Maybe two.

I didn't go to bed until after 1 a.m. Beckett was up from 3:00 until 4:00. Then, I remember being up from 4:45 or so until almost 6, but I don't remember why. Brendan? Beckett? Our dog who frequently needs to go out in the middle of the night?

Am I losing my mind?

Anyway, today was our blood drive in honor of our friend's baby. I was at the donation center for over two hours waiting, watching other donors' kids, and donating. My blood flows slowly for some reason (I wonder if this would keep me from bleeding out in the event of an emergency?), so it always takes me twice as long as anyone else to give a pint of juicy red goodness.

We got home and with both boys either napping or playing quietly I slept for 40 min. The only reason I awoke then was Beckett's crying to be rescued from his crib.

If I sat still for 3 minutes and closed my eyes, I'd be asleep. It's so tempting.

I have also been starving ever since donating. No appetite at all beforehand, but now I could eat a big chunk of red meat. And chocolate. Thankfully, we have a new Greek restaurant that delivers so we'll be having takeout Gyros for supper. And then there are the truffles Scott brought us for Valentine's Day. Yum. Not the healthiest, but oh so easy. And it should quell my hankering for red meat.

Hopefully both boys go down easily and we can relax and watch the episode of Lost we missed last night and go to sleep early. Oh to dream.

Boys

Wow.

My friend Suzanne just sent me this and it makes me feel bad. I love, love, love my boys. And by having sons, it has opened up an entire world to me that I wouldn't know had I only had daughters. But I've never quite been able to shed the sense of loss or failure that I feel over not having a girl. I never even realized I wanted a girl until I didn't have one. I feel guilty, of course, for saying these things. That somehow by admitting it, that it lessens the love I feel for my boys. I've always thought that God must feel I didn't deserve a girl, that somehow I'd just fuck her up the way my mom did to me. Stupid, huh?

Anyway, Suzanne sent me the article below. I'll try to find and post a link to the actual story later.

from the UK Telegraph

Boys 'lead to more post-natal depression'


By Rebecca Smith, Medical Editor
Last Updated: 5:58pm GMT 13/02/2008

Women who give birth to boys are more likely to suffer post-natal depression than those having daughters, a study has found.



Having a son is 'more likely to reduce quality of life'
Research carried out in France found three quarters of women who were diagnosed with severe post-natal depression had sons.

Even if the mother had not been diagnosed as depressed, having a son was significantly more likely to reduce their quality of life compared to mothers of girls, according to the research which was published in the Journal of Clinical Nursing.

A team of researchers led by Professor Claude de Tychey, from Université Nancy, France, studied 181 women from a community where there were no cultural pressures about the sex of children.

All the women were aged 19 to 40, with 52 per cent of the total giving birth to boys and 48 per cent giving birth to girls.


A third had signs of post natal depression when interviewed one to two months after the birth and nine per cent had severe symptoms.

Prof de Tychey said: “When we launched our research, our main aim was to study the effect that gender has on PND.

But the overwhelming finding of the study was the fact that gender appears to play a significant role in reduced quality of life as well as an increased chance of severe PND.”

They also found women who had given birth to a boy reported lower quality of life scores in 70 per cent of cases compared with women who had delivered a girl, regardless of whether they suffered from post-natal depression. In women who did not have depression, mothers of sons had lower quality of life scores in nine out of the 10 categories.

“These figures show very clearly that having a boy resulted in lower quality of life scores in all cases” says Professor de Tychey.

“We also discovered that being a first-time mother had no effect on quality of life scores.

Women had the same general scores regardless of whether the recent birth was their first or second baby.” The study also found that women who had a daughter as their first child were more likely to have a second baby than those who had a boy first.

Prof Tychey said: “Previous studies have shown that women who live in cultures where greater value is placed on sons are more likely to suffer from PND if they give birth to a girl.

“However, we believe that this study – carried out in a French community where women didn’t face cultural pressures over the sex of their baby – is the first to show that women who give birth to boys are more likely to suffer from severe PND and reduced quality of life. Further research is needed to find out why this happens.”

I am Superman

Brendan has been coming up with so many cute and funny things lately that it has been hard to keep them all in mind when I want to share them.

First, he has a really funny thing he says and I've started saying it around here at home because I think it's really hilarious. Sometimes I'll ask him to help me out by taking something to his room or to hand something to his brother. If he already has his hands full, he'll say, I'm sorry, Mommy. I can't...I'm full of hands.

On Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, he came home from pre-K and announced that it was King Martin's birthday, leaving me with an image of a smiling MLK wearing a crown and blowing a party horn. He learned a lot about MLK between his actual birthday and the day we honor him. His class saw two films about him and went to a special assembly. When school was out on MLK Day, I made French toast for breakfast. Realizing I had no powdered sugar to go on the French toast, I put green sugar sprinkles on it instead. Brendan was excited and I told him it was a special treat for MLK day. A few minutes later, Brendan is screaming for me. When I came back to the kitchen, he tells me, Mommy, Beckett's eating my Martin Luther King French toast! This time the image that came to mind was a piece of French toast with MLK's image on it, like the Mary toast.

His most recent act of interest has been to come up with his own superhero identity, complete with an archnemesis.

As we were driving a few days ago, he told me that he is really Glue Guy. His superpower is glue. He can shoot glue from his fingertips to stop bad guys and he can use his sticky fingertips to climb. He acquired his superpowers in class one day when he accidentally spilled some magic glue that he had found in a cabinet on himself while doing an art project. It turned him into Glue Guy.

His archenemy is Gorilla Guy. Less than 3 feet tall, Gorilla Guy, aka Beckett, stalks and chases Glue Guy, stealing his things and smearing the remnants of his favorite food – bananas! – all over Glue Guy's stuff.

I must say, I was duly impressed with my proto-geek's imagination. His love of all things super and his imagination just make me think there's a career awaiting him in the world of comics. And that would be just fine.

Creep

After Meredith Emerson's murder and the revelation that a potential serial killer had been roaming throughout North Georgia the last few years, self-defense classes popped up throughout the Metro like mushrooms in March. I think there were a lot of one-off classes designed to just give the attendees a few basic ideas of what to do if they're attacked.

This past Sunday, I had the pleasure of attending a real martial arts-based self-defense class taught by a black belt in Tae Kwan Do. My friend Barrett has been attending the class for a few weeks now and asked me to go with her. I loved the class and am eager to go back. The instructor's focus seemed to be very much on empowering the women in the class and helping them to believe in their own abilities to defend themselves should they find themselves in a dangerous situation. I am eager to go back.

Especially since yesterday, I thought I might have cause to use my newly acquired, but limited knowledge of self-defense.

After picking Brendan up from school, I took the boys to Target to pick up some Valentine's goodies for Brendan's friends. While we were shopping, I noticed a strange-looking man staring at me as he walked toward us. He passed us, then I noticed him turn and begin following us. When I stopped to look at some shoes, he passed us and stopped within sight and kept glancing over at us.

I didn't want to freak out at that point and we kept shopping and I didn't notice him again until we were leaving. Suddenly, he came out of nowhere and began following us again. It was like he had been waiting around the exit for us.

So, he followed us out of the store and my first thought was landing a kick in the center of his chest. My next thought was finding someone to tell. As I was debating going back into the store, I saw two young men who had just parked next to my car coming toward the store. I stopped them and asked if they would mind waiting on the sidewalk until I loaded the boys in the car. As soon as he saw me talking to these two young man (who I think thought I was the crazy one), he turned and went in the opposite direction. I was so flustered that I left my shopping bag in the cart on the sidewalk and had to go back for it.

As I was leaving, I saw a security guard patrolling the parking lot and told him what had happened and he said he'd check it out.

Maybe I overreacted, but maybe not. It's just like when Barrett accidentally popped the instructor in the nose with her knee while he was demonstrating a technique. It was a little uncomfortable at the moment, but perhaps that pain saves her life one day. If my discomfort and embarrassment at seeming paranoid keeps Creepy McCreeperson from Target -stalking someone else, I've done something positive.

Faces & Names

I really want to like Brendan's pre-K teacher and not be critical of her. I definitely never criticize her in front of him and I encourage him to like her.

But I swear, she's driving me nuts.

Seven months into the school year and she is still calling him the wrong name. She calls him Brandon instead of Brendan. When she writes his name, she spells it B-R-E-N-D-O-N.

Usually, in the mornings, I'm rushing. This is my fault. But, most mornings, I don't get to take my shower and dress in anything nicer than sweats until after I get Brendan to school and Beckett down for a nap. The days when I do shower, dress nicely, and do my hair and face before going into the school, the teacher always makes a big deal over my appearance and tells me that I should always wear makeup. I get it. I know I look a lot better when I'm done up. Don't we all? But I think it's kind of rude to tell someone that and to tell them that as often as she has told me.

I asked her if I could bring cupcakes to the class for Brendan's birthday. His birthday was on Saturday and I asked if I could bring cupcakes on Monday or Tuesday. She said either day would be fine, just show up right after naptime. So, on Tuesday morning, I told her I'd be back with cupcakes that afternoon. But when I showed up she acted totally surprised and even asked me if I had told her I was coming! ARGH!

The thing is...she comes across as being very sweet and friendly. I just don't know how to respond to her. So, I just take it. But I feel like my son is getting shafted by being in her class and I don't have high hopes for the rest of his elementary school career if this is how we're starting off.

I wish I could volunteer in the class more to get a feel for how things are on a day-to-day basis, but with Beckett I just can't. What would I do with him?

Maybe I'm just overreacting. I don't know. I loved school, but I know that bad teachers or teachers who did not respond well to me always made me insecure and made me hate going to school. And I know not every teacher is going to like my kid. What's weird is that this teacher seems to love my kid. She always tells me how sweet he is and how good he is. He never gets into trouble.

I suppose it's just my high expectations that a teacher should be able to pronounce and spell a name that is not that unusual. She manages to pronounce and spell Kaif correctly. Is Brendan really that hard?

Sick of Me

I hate being overemotional.

I used to think I was just a really passionate, caring person. But now, I wish I could be more analytical and robotic by nature.

Anyway, I really think that having this low-grade sickness, sinus infection, crud, or what-the-hell-ever it is for the last three weeks while taking care of two boys who've slept irregularly for the last three weeks (although it has improved dramatically this week! Yay for sleep!), has taken its toll and also contributed to my spaz-fest.

I mean, really? Who sits around thinking about being alone when they could take joy in their friendships, their partner, their beautiful children, their wonderful life.

And I have been thinking about all those things.

I have felt on top of the world the last week or so. I am working on writing some articles to submit to various publications. I'm making new friends and building relationships. I'm in touch with a ton of old friends from high school (thank you My Space!) and my darling cousin who was like a sister to me growing up.

I don't know why I would spin out like that.

I'm sorry God. I'm sorry Universe. I'm sorry Scott. I'm sorry all my dear friends that I take for granted. I'm sorry my darling sons.

I promise to do better. To focus on all the goodness and joy. To be the person I want to be. Happy and grateful.

What Goes Down, Must Go Up

The problem with antidepressants is that when you've been on them long enough and start to feel great over the course of enough months, you then forget you need them because you're not focused on making yourself feel better. You just do feel better. Well, then you forget to take them one day. And a second day. And maybe even a third day and you still feel great. But then, you remember you haven't taken them and so you take your medicine, but by the point it's too late and you're going down.

Maybe not for long. But you are.

My panic and easy trigger last night is evidence of my forgetting to take my medicine for a few days. Even though I took it Thursday and Friday after having forgotten to take it Monday through Wednesday, it was too late. Being aware of what's going on though is helpful. At least for me. And it allows me to exert a little bit of control over my emotions because I'm able to tell myself that I wouldn't feel this if I hadn't forgotten my medication.

In fact, I already feel like I'm back on track. Hopefully, I didn't go too far off the rails and make too many others around me unhappy.

Give a Little Bit

On February 15 of 2007, friends of ours named T. and S. brought their beautiful new baby girl into the world. They named her Claire and she joined their happy, energetic family of five, that included two big sisters and a big brother. Just two months younger than my Beckett, Claire was a sweet, angelic, beautiful and quiet baby girl. I only heard her cry one time and then all it took was me cooing and talking to her to settle her down until her mommy could pick her up.

On April 19, 2007, T. and S. awoke to find that their baby girl had died in her sleep of SIDS. And so began the most gut-wrenching journey of their lives.

T. told me once that the only thing that gave her any real sense of peace or comfort throughout the last year was when she had the opportunity to attend a memorial service for the families of organ donors that was attended by the recipients of donor organs and their families. I have a vague recollection that she might have met a family that received one of Claire's organs. The knowledge that somehow someone was helped from all of it dulled the pain for a moment at least.

This year our circle of friends has been very intent on helping T. and S. get through the day that would have seen their lovely girl turning one. None of us can imagine their pain, but we would do anything in our power to lessen it. For weeks, we wondered and worried over what an appropriate and joyful celebration of her brief life might be. Then T. came up with an idea of her own. She said that if she were not pregnant (she's due on Mar. 21), she would like to donate blood in Claire's honor that day.

We couldn't think of a more touching memorial, so another friend – Carrie – and I have organized a blood drive in Claire's honor on February 15.

Blood supplies fall to critical levels at this time of year and here in Atlanta supplies are extremely low right now.

If you live in the Atlanta area, I encourage you to take some time out of your day on Feb. 15 and come to the Red Cross Donation Center on Monroe Drive.

There are two ways you can go about this if you want to participate. You can give your information to me via the comment form below and we will schedule the appointment and get back to you. Or you can contact Beverly Vicks @ the Red Cross 1-800-448-3543 option 1. If you have given, we or Beverly will need your first and last name. If you have never donated, we need your first, last, DOB and phone # to get you processed before the 15th. The donation will be given at the Monroe facility right off of the I-85 exit. If and when you call Beverly, tell her specifically that you're calling for the Claire Austin donation on the 15th of Feb. Please let us know if you will need someone to sit with your children there while you donate. Schools are out on this day, but we still want you to come.

We are hoping this will become an annual event. And even if you live in another city and want to donate on that day or around this time, let me know.

If you plan to donate, also please leave a comment even if you don't need me to schedule you. We'd like to let the family know how their experience has impacted others and the positive light that radiates from their darling girl's brief life.

Thanks.

Goodbye Super Tuesday

Tuesday – Super Tuesday as it were – was something of an anniversary for me.

The very first time I got to vote was 20 years ago on the very first Super Tuesday ever. It was one of the happiest and most exciting days I can ever remember.

I walked from my house to the elementary school a block away after I got home from high school that afternoon.

I remember that it was raining, but still very bright outside. And it was warm.

I had been in that same gym in Vena Stuart Elementary School maybe a hundred times...going to vote with my grandmother, a die-hard Republican, and as a student there in kindergarten and third grade. I remember all the times I would go into the voting booth with my grandmother and tucked safely behind the navy blue curtain, watch her push buttons and finally pull the lever to cast her ballot. I remember the time a voting official told me I couldn't go in with my grandmother and she waved her cane in the air and gave him what for, telling him that I wouldn't affect her vote and that she wanted me to learn something about electing the people who control our lives.

The day I voted for the first time I felt as if I were carrying something valuable: my right to have a say. Something my grandmother would have had the opportunity to do when she was just one year older than I was when I voted. Born in 1901, she would have turned 19 the year women first gained the right to vote. I cannot imagine how thrilling that must have been.

And yet, I am thrilled each and every time I have the opportunity to exercise my right to vote. I was thrilled this week to learn that our regular babysitter, MD, was going to vote for the first time on Tuesday. I'm sure my glee over this knowledge seemed odd to her, but really, I was just thrilled to know that she had any interest in the political process. I am confident this girl had very strong reasons for casting her vote for a particular candidate and I am curious as to whom she would have voted for. I'm certain that she would not be the kind of woman who would simply vote as her parents tell her to vote. Just as in 1988, on a balmy Tuesday, I voted for the first time and broke with family tradition to cast my vote for my Tennessee homeboy Al Gore.

The first person to vote for a Democrat in my family in decades. And I've never looked back. If he were a candidate, I'd vote for AG in every election. My love and admiration for him has endured and only gotten stronger these 20 years. And even though I had a devil of a time deciding for whom to vote on this Super Tuesday, my love affair with the democratic (or federal republic) process has only gotten more passionate with time, and I was as excited to vote this year as I was that day way back in 1988.

Heart of Mine

I am still having trouble with the fact that my baby is five. More than I am having with my own recent age upgrade.

He's still as sweet as ever though. On Saturday night, long after the party was over. After the Spider-Man cake and chocolate ice cream. After the laughing friends and perfect presents. After we'd gone out to celebrate his uncle's birthday at a big restaurant where the waitstaff sang Happy Birthday to both Brendan and Uncle Greg. Late in the night, in the quiet and dark, I held Brendan on my lap while giving him a breathing treatment after a coughing spasm. As he nestled his head against my neck, he said, Mommy, I will always let you hug and kiss me and I will love you forever.

Am I blessed or what?

Of course, I will remind him of this moment when he's an embarrassed 12-year old, pulling away from me as I try to hug him goodbye in front of his friends.

And I will carry that moment with me, in my heart, long after he's 10, 15, or 50. He will always be my first son, my darling boy.

If you want to see more pictures from the day, they're here.

Too Much Time On My Hands

I'm quiz-crazy tonight for some reason. It feels like the first time I've sat down all day and I guess I just need some mindless entertainment.

You Are Right Brained In Love

Bit of a drama queen Peacemaker, first to end a fight Good at thinking up creative dates Tend to fall in love and get hurt easily Going with your gut instead of your head Empathetic and caring, sometimes to a fault Good at recognizing patterns in relationships Been in love many times, perhaps too many to count Wildly passionate and intense when falling in love Spontaneous with relationships, going with the flow Overly visual - can play back past dates like movies in your mind Roses, love poems, and stuffed animals are a good start to winning your heart

Are You a Right Brained or Left Brained Woman in Love?

Roam If You Want To

You Belong in Rome

You're a big city soul with a small town heart Which is why you're attracted to the romance of Rome Strolling down picture perfect streets, cappuccino in hand And gorgeous Italian people - could life get any better?

What City Do You Belong In?