Facebook offers the opportunity to revisit the past, to see and catch up with people that have gone missing from your life for 10-20 years, if you're of a certain age. When I went to college, we relied on snail mail to sustain friendships, and unfortunately, the effort was tough for a lot of people to sustain.

So there are some people who I've really been thankful to reconnect with, people who I regret ever having lost.

Yesterday, I got to revisit some people I worked with about 15 years ago, one of my first "real" jobs in Chicago, and it was a little weird for me. "Seeing" these people brought back these feelings, not about them, but the way I felt about myself at the time. I was working a job I didn't like, but feeling compelled to try and excel at it (impossible). It was a time of my life where I felt out of sorts, but instead of acknowledging it, I tried to push it aside, and looking at these people brought it all back. There's a specific experience that encapsulates the whole thing. One day, I left work, and fell while crossing LaSalle. If you're not fluent in Chicago, it's a really, really busy street. And they were repaving it, so the surface was grooved, and so when I fell, I shredded my pantyhose and my knees. I'm all bloody and yucky, and I just fell in front of probably hundreds of people, and one person asked me if I was ok. I said I was, aside from my pride, and I had to ride home, hurting, hot and uncomfortable (it was summertime), on a packed bus where everyone ignores you, but more than anything, pretty embarrassed.

It's August, and although not warm-warm, it is still clearly a summery day, but I bought the kid a sled today. It was super cheap, at a resale shop, so I snapped it up. I put her in it when I came home, and pulled her around the yard. She made a new sound, really loud. I can't wait til it actually snows. I like hauling around in the snow.

After really just ignoring her for these nine months, the beagle has awakened to the possibilities of living with a baby. I think this change of heart was precipitated by the Cheerios that now fall from the highchair.

I wonder what that's like, to be so obsessed with food, and one day, food falls from the sky?

So yesterday I got a kind of nasty email from someone on ebay. I sold her a carseat, and it hasn't arrived after almost two weeks.

Hey--I know, I wouldn't be happy, either, but the thing is, I am not *personally* responsible. Like, I'm not here hanging onto the carseat. I don't see any reason to be personally unpleasant, ESPECIALLY since I apologized (out of empathy--again, I don't see how my personal shortcomings--and I have many--resulted in the non-delivery of this package) AND I offered to return her money.

But it's like what she wants is for me to suffer. Like, an appropriate response on her part is to hope I get cancer or something.

I've scored some great stuff on ebay, but I feel like there's been a little shift from regular people selling their unworn cashmere sweaters to people who are hardcore about the business aspect of it. People are also pretty anal about these ratings, the feedback. The woman is threatening me with bad feedback--gasp! Whatever. Get a life.

I'm watching Project Runway. I am possibly the least stylish person who loves fashion--and I'm watching a guy covered with tattoos cry with Tim Gunn. What I like about Tim and Heidi is that they are honest without treating people inhumanely. I hate watching people humiliate and make other people suffer.

SPOILER ALERT
Ok, are you effing kidding me? Lindsay Lohan is on Project Runway? She's a freaking train wreck, and I say that based strictly on her clothing choices. One word: leggings. More words: she designs a line of leggings. (Although, how much design goes into leggings?) I don't feel like there's anything about her sense of style I want to incorporate into my own, or that qualifies her to advise others. Ugh. This is disappointing.

None of the designers are standing out for me yet. It's early. I'm not feeling their joie de vivre yet. I think the winner always has a joie de vivre.

Oh, I think the guy who cried is going to win this one. He made it work!!

I don't look good.

In fact, if I was to be very honest, I'd probably say that I look kind of bad. Maybe even the worst that I've ever looked. Although I lost the pregnancy weight, I'm carrying the Nestle Tollhouse Cookie weight. And I often need to remind myself to stand up straight. Hauling around the kid can do a number on your back, and I catch myself slouched into a psuedo-hunchback position.

My belly was never really flat, but after years of (expensive) pilates, it was ok. I was at peace with it. And a C-section just effed it all up.

But, I feel great. Maybe even the absolute best that I've ever felt. I just feel very optimistic. I feel a bit more energetic. Just very, very good.

And I guess I think it doesn't really matter if I can't remember the last time I washed my hair. The kid always looks pretty good, as in clean, happy, well-fed, in proper fitting and comfortable clothes.

I don't admire that tendency to put everyone else first. Mothering as martyrdom is boring. I signed on for this program with almost complete knowledge, so I'm not trying to court sympathy at all. It's just a the odd co-existence of extremes, to look so yucky but feel so good. And as she develops a little independence, I'm sure I'll find more quality time with my mascara.

Since she's napping, though, I think I'll start with a shower.

The fun thing about being a parent is how one minute, you're chock full of deep thoughts about the meaning of life and the wonder of it all, and no less than two minutes later, you can be, "Oh, come ON!"

It think it's funny, anyway.

Mostly though I'm kinda befuddled lately, because I feel like I should be doing *more.* She is in constant motion, and I feel like I'm not providing a proper outlet for it, besides making sure the living room can be navigated. I guess I think there's some kind of gymnastics class geared for this kind of thing--and I say that knowing that there isn't.

You know that early morning hour when you're sort of awake, but decidedly not, and information and events are filtering through that veil of "I do not want to be awake"?

There was some confluence of sound--a perfect storm of the different fans and sound machines going--that woke me up, and made me think that someone was blowing their hair dry. The most likely candidate was my father, who leaves for work at 4am. And I thought, is he really blowing his hair dry? He has *some* hair, but not that much, and I was thinking probably 2-3 minutes of hair dryer is plenty.

I was getting kind seriously irritated after about 20 minutes. I thought, old man, you've got to be kidding.

I don't know how long this went on before I entertained the notion that maybe no one was using the hairdryer. And I was really sleepy, and I wanted to return to sound sleep, but couldn't because I was irritated. Over nothing. What a waste.

I'm feeling sort of tired.

It's about 7,000 degrees outside with 99% humidity. Not really, but July was so cold, it feels intensely warm out there.

My father attempted to shoo the rabbits out of the garden by weeding it properly, but the sole baby bunny out there has learned how to stay away from the edges of the garden, so he decided to leave it be. The beagle is still obsessed with it, and spends most of her time wearing a path around the garden hoping against hope it will foolishly happen out within reach of her lips.

Seems like there are a lot of garage and yard sales around here. I think people who are getting low on resources are gathering up their stuff and trying to sell their stuff to other people in dire straights.

Do you want to know what goes through my mind at between 1 and 2:30am when I am holding a really cute baby who inexplicably all of a sudden just wants to sleep in your arms, as opposed to all the all-night long sleeping she'd been doing all by herself in her own crib?

I will tell you. I think, "I bet I could get a lot of money for this kid on ebay. She's very cute, and some people are desperate for this."

I came across a recommended parenting information website: babble.com. I think the design blows. It's hard to figure out what's content and what's advertising. And if they could squeeze any more advertising on the page, I'm sure they will. I persevered, though, and read a couple of essays. One was good, and there were a few snarky features like 50 Moms We Hate.

The second article I read kind of left me "meh." It was an essay about a childless woman who convinced her friend with baby to go hiking with her. The childless woman offers to leave the baby with the sitter, but no, the other woman insists, and offers to hike with the baby. Well, alright, says mom.

Turns out, the childless woman is a jerk (self-proclaimed), and hiking with a baby on your back is hard work. I don't know what this essay had to offer by way of insights or new information. I thought it was kind of an odd choice for a parenting site.

Found a blog that is supposed to be funny, Crabmommy. I didn't see the humor in the few entries I read, but I'll go back. She hasn't posted in a while, so maybe the author was just wasn't feeling it and took a needed break.

The Bookworm is possibly the best thing about Elkhart, Indiana. It's a used book store that's been up and running for . . . maybe close to 40 years. I know my mother's been going for over 30. I don't understand the system--you bring in some books, you get credit, and it works out so that basically whatever you buy is pretty cheap. I think I paid 50 cents for a book last week.

And they started a good bookgroup. It's very casual. There's no assigned reading. We just talked about what we were reading, and what we might recommend. It was good. Very good. Just needed some chocolate chip brownies or something, which is very easily fixed.

I stayed up late reading Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and got up early with my trial-sized human. And again, that's what I thought was going to slay me, that lack of sleep (even though I stayed up voluntarily). But it's not bad. It's easier because she's always so freaking happy in the morning. And when she sees me, it's like she doesn't realize that we sleep in the same room. She's just ecstatic to see me, like, yay! It's you again!

I do sometimes ask her if she isn't sure she couldn't use another couple hours of sleep? But no, she's always ready to start the day. If she's that excited to get up and cruise around the living room, I figure the least I can do is get up promptly.

I sometimes feel like I ought to be doing more; like I should be taking Ava out and about; like we should be enrolled in some Mommy-n-Me classes. There should be playdates or something. She doesn't play, yet, but I still feel that pressure. I think it must be a vestige of my type-A overachiever student self.

I am going to sign up for a class this fall, either a music class or a water class at the Y, but other than that, I don't think she needs much else.

We sat out in the yard for a long time, just watching the dogs, looking at the sky, just being together, just taking it all in. It's hard to believe that's enough, it's so simple.

My daughter is wearing pajamas with snowflakes on them on what are easily the hottest days she has ever known in her short life. That's the kind of mother I am.

Pajamas have become a bit of an issue since she's started crawling and pulling herself up. Her legs get pulled up out of the legs of the footie pajamas, inhibiting her ability to move, which frustrates her enormously. My job, as her parent, is to help her. Her job, at 8.5 months, is to crawl and pull herself up. So I don't care what are on the jammies, if they fit properly and she can self-locomote in them.

I bought a few new pairs this weekend, too. There weren't a lot of footy-free jammies for girls, but there were lots for boys, so I picked up some boys pajamas, and my mother actually protested. One pair was $4 for a great set of super soft cotton long-sleeved shirt and pants. I don't care if they're for little boys.

Again, the kind of mother I am.

Also, girls pajamas are in light pastel colors which look filthy when she's been crawling around on the floor with the dogs. Such is life with dogs and a small child. Another point in favor of boy pajamas.

Unless you're a mother, what I'm about to tell you will sound ridiculous. It sounded ridiculous to me before I had a kid. It still sounds faintly ridiculous, but, I feel it nonetheless.

I didn't want to go to the movies because I wasn't sure if I wanted to leave the child for the just-over-2 hours a movie would entail.

I know. Dumb. I was leaving her with my parents--her grandparents!--and yet, I hesitated. Should I?

I made myself go because even though I wasn't exactly feeling it, I knew it was good to get out of the house for a bit. And, it was. It was like charging my batteries, and I think it was all the better because I didn't wait til I was at the end of my rope.

So my sister took me to see Julie & Julia, which was like icing on the cake, because I've read both My Life In France (Julia's autobiography) and Julie & Julia, the book on which the movie is based. It felt a little long to me; towards the end I seriously thought about suggesting to my sister that we leave early.

Again, sounding kinda ridiculous to my own ears, I just don't feel like I have a lot of extra time to waste. My priority is the kid, and 99% of the time, my preference, too. So, it's got to be something pretty outstanding to spend time away from her. This wasn't over two hours of outstanding. Not bad, but not outstanding.

So, a friend of mine from college is off to Italy for three weeks without an agenda, itinerary. I think she has a little list of places within Italy she intends to travel to, and a longer list of things to eat and drink.

When I read about her plans, I instantly pictured myself and Ava (a little older) doing something similar. One of my mothering goals is to show her a bit of the world, and I expect that she'll do the same thing for me. And, I can with absolute certainty that one of the benefits of becoming a mother later for ME is that I've had the chance to wander around the world on my own, and I'm at peace with staying put for a while. I have some patience, some understanding of a longer view of things. I don't want to travel much with the kid right now--for her, a trip to the bookstore is as interesting as Italy would be--but someday we will.

I marvel, constantly, at what mothering has done for my outlook. I thought so many things about being a mom, but I didn't know how loving someone so much would infuse everything I do with hope and possibility. I thought I'd really be strung out, at the end of my rope right now--the other night she was up at 2am, why, I don't know. Just up!--but instead of irritating the hell out of me, my response was more of an "Oh, jeez." Offer some love and consolation, and an hour later, we're all back to sleep (all = both of us). It just isn't nearly as exasperating as I thought it would be. Yes, that's the best way of describing it. I thought this would be more frustrating for me, to not know exactly what her needs are, but it turns out that her needs at this point are somewhat predictable, and my response to the uncertainty contributes to the outcome.

Based on an experience at a restaurant today, I will also tell you that one of the better parenting ideas I've had is to always carry an extra little outfit with you. Lots of people do this, so I'm hardly the brainchild. I do it because I thought, what's the worst-case scenario, and how do I prepare for it? You see this people in restaurants and stores with children who are absolutely howling, and based on the temperment of my child, I know I can avoid that about 90% of the time with some advance planning.

Ok, I just found my cell phone, which has been missing for about a week, and it was in the front pocket of the diaper bag. I thought I'd looked there about 15 times. Duh.

The bunny carnage continues.

I can't fault the beagle for being herself. And the reason rabbits procreate so prolifically must be in part because they aren't very bright. They seem to have developed no real ability to locate and avoid predators.

Nevertheless, my elderly father and I are trying to run interference. This morning, though, the beagle snatched another tiny bunny, and my father and I chased her around the yard a bit before quickly realizing that the deed was done.

It's reminding me of Watership Down, just a bit.

A mother rabbit has made an unfortunate choice in real estate.

That's what we say around here when an animal has moved her brood into our yard/garden area, which doubles as the beagle hunting grounds. My father has found other bunches of baby bunnies and had to relocate them (without touching them) safely out of reach of the beagle.

These baby bunnies are in the garden, which is fenced, but the slats are wide enough that the beagle can poke her head in. I think a bunny must have been wandering around the little patch, and got within reach of beagle lips (and jaws . . . ), because beagle withdrew from the garden with a bunny in her mouth.

I was standing at the back door when I realized what was happening. "Oh, no! She has a bunny!" And I ran out to the garden, realizing that by the time I got to her, surely the bunny would be fatally wounded, and then was I going to have to figure out a way to humanely dispose of bunny?

You have to know the mother in me winced mightily at this.

What ensued wasn't really comic; my father and I both chased her around the yard, but she actually ate the bunny. Woe were we.

I was also afraid that a raw, furry bunny wouldn't settle so well in her stomache, and that we'd be seeing bunny again, but beagle seems to have kept it down.

There are still rabbits out in the garden, and other than putting up more fencing to prevent her from pushing through the slats, we don't know what else to do besides hope momma bunny counts her bunnies and decides she's better off in another yard.

I've misplaced my cell phone somewhere; the battery is dead, so calling it is useless.

I also haven't found my eyeglasses yet.

And I'm irritated because I've wasted too much time and mental effort arguing with idiots on facebook. What drives me nuts is the way people post these politically inflamatory messages with the assumption that everyone thinks the same way. It drives me nuts, and why am I letting it drive me crazy?

We're listening to You Are My Little Bird by Elizabeth Mitchell. I downloaded it from emusic.com. I found a few recommendations there for children's music, including Dan Zane, and I really like it.

I can't quite bear the braying, relentlessly insistent music for children. If I had to listen to an entire CD of the music installed in some of her toys, for example, I think my nerves would be frayed to the point where I'd be a really bad mother. (It's all I can do sometimes to be civil to other people in the room when the tv is on, not because the quality of programming is so bad--it is--but because of the commercials.)

Left to myself, I prefer quiet. And, a lot of times, we hang out and enjoy some quiet, but I think she also enjoys music, and also enjoys listening to me (try to) sing.

Let me insert here that I am a repository of almost-useless facts that I repeat like this, "I can't remember the specifics, but I read something about how it's good for kids to [insert something, like, listen to their caregiver sing to them]."

So I have tried to find some music that is not only listen-able, but that I can sing along to.

While we're listening to Ms. Mitchell, Ava is cruising the living room, practicing standing up, crawling, hanging out with this and that (toys, the fringe on a throw pillow, etc.). She sometimes comes over to me, as if for a check-in hug, but I can only hold her for a minute before she squirms away.

It's about time for a nap, and there are a bunch of things I should do: fold laundry, throw another load in, unload the dishwasher, run the vacuum, probably wouldn't hurt to do a quick clean of the bathroom. But I think I'll finish my coffee, and fill the little wading pool for a post-nap dip, and see what I have time for after that.

The truths of self-awareness sting a bit.

Somewhere along the line, I figured out that the qualities I most despise in other people were the same qualities I intensely disliked in myself. Top of the list: being judgmental. Regardless of politics or religious convictions, that I-know-better-for-you-and-am-smarter-than-you quality just drives me wild. I hate it in others, and I hate it most in myself.

So it's always an unpleasant surprise when I find myself in the middle of judging someone else.

I caught myself again this morning because I read something on a single parent website that was nagging at me. Someone had posted quite a bit, responding to someone else's question about dating, and then posting the question, "How Do You Mend A Broken Heart"?

And I'll just be honest, I was irritated. How is your broken heart germane to being a single parent? And, how can you be a good parent when your focus is on your social life, your clubbing, your single status?

But the biggest question is, why does this bother me so much?

When I was alone, I felt like my shortcomings were pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I suffered for my mistakes, and I know I irritated some friends and family, but now the stakes are much higher. I have a daughter, and I view myself as a steward whose actions will speak as loud as my words, if not moreso, and I have little to show her in matters of the heart. Neither a frantic bar-and-internet based search for love nor my current approach of complete disengagement are what I want to pass on to her. We want more for our children, and more than almost anything, I want my daughter to be capable of happy, healthy relationships.

And on that note, nap time seems to be over.

Bad News

I'm pretty bummed about this, but I'm out of the running for Mother of the Year.

I was holding Ava this morning, and she abruptly lunged for the exersaucer-thing beside us, and she fell off my lap.

I explained to the Mother of the Year judges that the damage wasn't permanent (probably), and that there wasn't even a scratch on her so you could even tell, but it turns out you're NEVER supposed to drop your kid.

I know . . . who knew?

So, like I said, I'm disappointed, but looking on the bright side, this frees up a lot of extra time for me. I don't have to be nearly as diligent in general, and I think I can probably dispense with some stuff altogether, like, reading to her. That's just me, making the best of every situation!

First of all, I'm feeling very pleased because I found a new carseat--one of the big fancy ones that will eventually convert to a booster, so this will be the last carseat I have to buy--for $30 less than Walmart, at Overstock.com.





And, if you've signed up with Upromise.com, and link to Overstock.com through the Upromise website, you get 3% back for your kid's college fund.





Yeah, by the time the kid gets to college the fund will probably just cover a semester's worth of books, but I'm taking the approach that every little bit counts.





So, back to the carseat (and again, if you would have told me two years ago that I'd be enthused about shelling out for a carseat, I would have said, cuckoo for cocoa puffs)--it seems very comfy-cozy. The kid fell very asleep in it, so I stayed in the car with sleeping beauty while my mother went into the grocery store for a bit. Someone had given my mother a box of books, and I figured I could find something to keep me amused for a bit. Lo and behold, the book the HBO series True Blood is based on was ready for reading:


I looked forward to meeting Sookie Stackhouse & Friends, but this book is terrible. It's really, really bad. There are plot holes you can throw a cat through. There are plot holes you can throw a herd of cats through, they're so big. Big, fat, huge, gaping plot holes that nearly render the "book" a series of non sequiturs.

But what's really perverse is that I finished it. I think the end of a good mystery should tie things up in a clever, but believable way; you should say, Oh! Ok! Yeah, wow! I did not see that--but now I see that, totally.

At the end of this book, I was like, whatever you say, because the plot got impossibly improbable a looooong time ago.