How Old Am I?

Someone asked me that tonight, and I was pretty sure I was 33, but then I said, maybe I was 34.
"What year were you born?" Kat said.
"'75."
"Then you're 34. I am too."
Me: "Really?!? 34? I would've said I was 33."

I'm still not convinced I'm 34. That sounds pretty old to me. I can't possibly be 35 next Feb. I might be 33.

It's really weird to come to a point where you don't know how old you are when people ask you. I mean, my mind is just on other stuff, like, my slow cooker, the ten pounds I wanna lose, my baby, my husband, my family, my books, all the baby toys I want to buy, and my friends.

The other day when I was picking up Lebanese food, someone overheard and said, "Oh, you must me a young mom!" (I was showing pics of my baby to the lady who works there.)
Me: "Really? I'm not that young. I think I'm like, 33, or 34!"
Stranger: "REALLY?!? You look like you're in your 20s."
Me: "Um."
Stranger: "It must be that new mom glow."
Me: "I guess so! 'Cause I'm kinda old."

Stuff like that happens to me all the time- strangers saying totally weird stuff to me. I live for it. I love it.

It's one of my hobbies, going out to see what weird stuff I can make happen. The post office is a pretty reliable place to go for that. Click here to read full entry.

Dumb Daddies, Trendy "Bad" Parents, My Obsessiveness, I'll Shoot You Dead

I enjoyed this guest post on Lisa Belkin's New YorkTimes blog Motherlode, which is a must read for parents who want to keep up on the latest buzz and controversies in the (urban/suburban) parenting world. "Neanderdad" seems to portray a clueless daddy whose 3 year old can care for the new baby better than him. Or, as readers posted in the comments, is it more a commentary on moms who "overparent"- whatever the hell that means. I'm defensive about that because if there is such a thing as overparenting, I do it. "Can you monitor his poop while I make my oatmeal?" I've been known to ask my husband. But that just makes sense. Either he does a huge, loud, dramatic poop, or he doesn't, but I want to know so I can stop waiting for the poop explosion (because it happens every morning) and get on with my day. (Of course, my husband refuses, and sputters, "No, I will not monitor his poop! Get out of here!" Oh, we have some laughs in this household. And some tears.)

The latest buzz is about being a "bad parent" being trendy- like, saying your kids don't rule you, and not letting your baby take over your life. All I know is, this baby is my angel, and I'd shoot any of you people dead if it came down to a choice between you and my baby. You know, like if a crazy killer made me choose. That's the kind of things new moms lie in bed thinking about, by the way. I would not shoot your children, but I'd shoot you. Like, easily. Like, it's a good thing this is a gun-free household, because I'd do anything for this baby.

But I understand the idea of not being a slave to your kid- I just wouldn't want anyone to think I'm a "slave" if like, I always want to give him what he needs. My husband advocated "balance" on this issue, and I said, "Have you ever known me to be a balanced person in anything? Remember when I took that writing class in the summer, and afterwards, you asked me to never take a class again?" I totally ignored him for a month while I hunched over my laptop obsessively researching and editing- interrupted by a couple freakouts about not finishing pieces in time.

I was also completely obsessed with my nephew when he was first born, so to think I wouldn't obsess over my own kid, well, that's denying a facet of my personality. Obsessing over things is my thing. It gives me great joy to leap into a subject, sometimes to the exclusion of other things. When I started my blog, I worked on it full time. When I was into healthy eating a few years ago, I was really into that. And my baby is way cooler than a salad. I want to enjoy this time with my baby before I have to go back to work in January, so if I take it to an extreme occasionally... it's because I feel pretty strongly about him.

But, I do understand that I still need to spend time with my husband. But come on, you do have to admit, a baby's babyhood is pretty precious and quickly evolving, and an adult, well, if you miss a month of them, you don't miss that much. Like, my desire to visit my middle sister every few months- it's not exactly to see her. (No offense, A.) I can talk to her on the phone and get in great conversations and keep up with her life. I need to see her children, who grow and change so rapidly that I could sob just thinking about it. Missing so much of their childhood kills me. My sisters being far away, do I like it? No. Can I deal? Yes. My niece and nephews being far away, can I deal with it? Not really. Having my own kid now distracts me from the despair I feel at not seeing them enough, but if I think about it, that deep sadness is there. So, I try not to think about it.

What am I blabbing about? Oh yes, my obsessiveness. And, being a slave to your kid vs. being a "bad parent" who doesn't let their kid rule their life. My point is that if I seem obsessive about my baby, it's because I know how much I'm going to be missing when I go back to work in January. It might be making me a little crazy, but I don't think I've ever been a very balanced person. That's part of my charm.

You know, balance does sound pretty good. Appreciating your kid, and enjoying them, and meeting their needs while enjoying all the other parts of adult life. Maybe I'll get there when he's like, two. Right now I am really enjoying toting my precious little package around... every second of every day. Click here to read full entry.

Awake Early: Me and Magritte

Original post date= 10/15. I have a room in my house, an addition on the back that has windows on all three sides. It's like an enclosed deck; it's all windows. As sunrise is getting later, I get to be up to watch it get lighter. I love that because it means I'm up early, in the comfort of my own home, getting stuff done- I consider blogging to be productive.

This morning I crept out of bed, crept into the kitchen- I have to creep to avoid waking the dog, who'll want to go out, which will ruin the flow of my morning writing- and looked out the back window. Perfect timing. Sun nowhere near up, but creeping from behind the trees- making a blue background that backlights the trees to make them black. My neighbor's kitchen light was on; someone was awake with me. That's my kind of morning. If it's not summer, I'll take fall, with a crisp in the air, black trees, and sun on the way.

The line between night and morning reminded me of my first few years of teaching when I'd get up early to go in to get ready. Getting off the highway at 6, 610, 630 am, especialy in the winter, when it was officially dark, and entering the neighborhood near the school, I felt so grateful to the few houses with lights on. That meant other people were awake, and it made me feel less alone.

Working from home this year, I'm glad I'll get to experience more mornings like this. I'm a morning person, so what to some people is a terrible thought- waking up before sunrise- makes me feel like I'm starting my day off right.

Maybe this is why I loved the Magritte paintings I saw in Rome. He's famous for the picture of the man in the black bowler hat with the apple over his face, but he also has incredible paintings of houses and trees that are backlit just like this morning. He somehow captures that perfectly, and it's one of the many reasons (speaks French, has odd ideas) that Magritte is my favorite painter.

Thank you to the husband, who just walked the dog. Click here to read full entry.