I've read 87 books so far this year. And yes, I have a list. My New Year's resolution last year was to start keeping track of what I read, because someone would often ask, "Did you read Book Name Here?" and I never knew. I read too much to remember what all I've read. I used to frequently get a book home from the library or bookstore and get about 10 pages in only to realize I'd already read it. So I started keeping track. (The list is in my Palm. It makes me feel cool.)

I'm a voracious reader. Have been as long as I can remember. I was reading Harlequin romances at 7, Steven King by 10. It's what we had around. I don't ever recall kids' books, even Nancy Drew or something at that level. (Though I checked out Benjy's Doghouse for Emma recently and was thrilled to find I knew the entire book. I don't know if I read it to younger kids as a babysitter or had it myself, but I felt an immediate connection. It was magical.)

I have always read. When I was a kid, I read while I ate, while I bathed, while everyone else watched TV. I read in the car. I read walking through the grocery store. I read while people fought and when I wanted to be somewhere else.

Books were my window to another world. Not always a better world, but a different one. I read whatever I could get my hands on. My mom, grandma and grandpa and an uncle were constant readers, so I had their books to choose from. The Steven King, Tom Clancy, detective stuff came from mom. Grandma read all the bodice rippers. Grandpa, the Westerns. Uncle Gary, sci-fi.

I sometimes didn't know what I was reading, but I'd plow right through anyway. I had a huge vocabulary (one of my mom's favorite stories is of me about 7 or 8, pointing out that "Holiday Inn has shrimp cocktail whores-da-vors." I'd never heard hors d'oeuvres said aloud before).

Emma has a library of more than 150 books. Maybe that's a little insane for someone under 3. To my credit, I'd say less than a quarter of them were bought retail. We frequent Friends of the Library sales. And many were gifts. But her grandpa just purchased a huge bookshelf to house her collection --which had been scattered in baskets, on the bottom of her changing table and in a pile by her bed. We check out 10-12 library books every week or two. We read three books before every nap and every bedtime, plus scattered through the day. And she does a lot of "reading" on her own, too (plus paging through Mommy and Daddy's books ... how will I handle that when she can read?). She sees us reading constantly, too. I want her to understand what a wonderful world reading can open for her.

I don't really read to escape anymore. Well, not as often, anyway. I read for the joy of words. For the glimpse into a world I've never known. For the thrill of the chase. For the beauty I can find. For the life I'm glad I didn't have. For the knowledge I can gain. For the laughter.

And as much as I want Emma to love books, I mostly read just for me.

Yesterday, Emma was having serious issues going down for a nap. We did all of the requisite routine, and then 10 minutes later she called me. "I'm ready to get up now!" I explained she hadn't yet gone to sleep and left her.

Ten minutes later, again, "It's time to wake up!" We had the same talk. (The good thing is, we have a reward system in place for going to bed/nap easily. If she doesn't request extra books, cuddling or songs -- and this sounds bad, but we give plenty, trust me -- she gets a sticker when she wakes. So each time I came in, we discussed singing another song, but she'd then say, "No, I want a sticker.") So I leave.

Fifteen minutes later (in which I was sure she'd actually gone to sleep), she calls again, this time with a potty request -- the one sure way to get out of bed. And she does need to go.

When Emma thinks you're mad at her, she often pipes up with an "I love you!", a knock-you-down hug, an "It's OK!" or even just a distracting, "Hi." But she's learning the art of a compliment, too. So while I'm sitting on the edge of the tub, impatiently waiting for her, she decides to make nice, from toe to head.

"I like your socks."
"Um, thanks."
"And your pants."
"Thanks."
"And your sweater."
"Thanks."
"And your contacts."
"I'm not wearing contacts."
"Then where are your glasses?"
"I was trying to sleep, too."
"Oh. When I get back to my room, I'm going to go straight to sleep."

Thank god.

This one is also up on DotMoms. If you're not reading it, you should be.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly when I decided to become a Jew. It was a given that I'd convert -- I'd pretty well promised that to Adam's family before we got married. It was important to them that I do it at some point, and as I didn't really have a religion of my own, I said I would.

So it was always something I knew I'd do. But then, at the beginning, I thought I would do it for them. And if I'd converted before the wedding, it would have been for that reason only.

Adam and I spent a couple of years celebrating both Jewish and Christian holidays, to whatever degree Easter eggs and Christmas stockings are Christian. I started reading books about Judaism, attending holiday services and mostly thinking about Judaism. And it just clicked.

I'd never really gone looking for religion, but my paternal grandparents were firmly Baptist. The experiences I'd had with that -- even getting caught up in the moment and being "saved" at Falls Creek, a summer camp -- had never sat well with me. (There's lots more here for another time.) I wasn't allowed to ask questions or think for myself, but was supposed to accept what I was taught.

As I started my studies, I immediately identified with the Jewish people. They had the same sort of mindset I had. Most importantly, I didn't have to set aside my curiosity, my cynicism, my skeptical nature. I could question all I wanted.

I started conversion classes in August of 1998, after spending a summer reading a wealth of Jewish literature, traditions and history. (I didn't know until after I was through the class that the rabbi didn't get everyone a reading list. But when I went to see him in May, gung-ho and ready to start, I was told classes didn't start again until the fall. I was heartbroken. Here, I'd made the decision to do this, and I had to wait three months to get started. He sent me home with a huge list of homework, and I was thrilled to study.) Everything I learned in the class made sense. We often talked about the history behind the Torah -- what would have been going on not only at the time the stories were taken place, but also when they were written, hundreds or thousands of years later. I wasn't asked to accept the parting of the Red Sea as a miracle, with an all-powerful God opening the way for the fleeing slaves. We talked about geographical and weather phenomenons that would've made it possible.

I could detail all of the reasons that Judaism was right for me, but as one of the things I love about Judaism is the "no proselytizing" edict, I won't. It's just been on my mind since watching Jesus, Mary and DaVinci this week. It was sparked by the "heresy" raised The DaVinci Code, which I have to say I loved. And the book does come up with some wild theories (I still keep saying, "it's just a novel") about Jesus, the Catholic Church and more. But the idea that anyone can know, without a doubt, the truth about what happened thousands of years ago doesn't work for me.

I'm just glad to have to have the freedom I have to question, to doubt, to form my own opinions about my religion.

Adam and I caught a lot of hell when we chose to move back to Oklahoma. We both graduated from OU and moved away together, but we were back within a year. There is no place we'd rather live, and only a couple that we'd seriously consider leaving our lives for. Today, I helped, in a very small way, to shape our future here.

This morning, I participated in Oklahoma's EDGE, "economic development generating excellence." And it was oddly exciting.

Public forums were held at 29 locations across the state to discuss a summary of recommendations provided by 23 "expert teams" on a variety of topics about Oklahoma economic development. Gov. Brad Henry was at the OU location and it was telecast to the other locations (we watched Chancellor Paul Risser at Southeastern Oklahoma State University and Commerce/Tourism Secretary Kathy Taylor at OSU-Tulsa).

The idea, Henry said, was for us to "lock arms and lock steps and move this great state forward." The 200+ people at the Norman forum split into groups of 20-30, and we discussed ideas of strategic investment, increasing Oklahoma's talent, managing infrastructure, enhancing health and culture and organizing government agencies.

I recorded the ideas of our group, and each set of notes from across the state, plus any sent in online, are going to be sent back to the steering committee to consider. The recommendations aren't set in stone yet, and this was a chance for the average Oklahoman to comment on -- and even change -- upcoming policy.

My group had a lot to say. We talked about highways -- those made of concrete and those made of wires. We talked about enticing young professionals to Oklahoma (not surprisingly, I had a lot to say on this subject), raising families, showcasing our culture, amenities and low-cost of living and fighting our image as a backwater state. There were a lot of innovative ideas, and we had a chance to put even more on the table. Some big problems -- smoking, obesity -- weren't shied away from in the report we reviewed, but other bigger ones -- alcoholism, substance abuse, teenage pregnancy -- were ignored. So we brought those up.

I can't claim that I understood everything (could you define "tax increment financing"?), but I learned a lot (email me for a TIF explanation, if you want one). And I felt very energized to be a part of a discussion about the future of my state.

Emma is very much a creature of habit. Her days are filled with routines, and though we've got a little wiggle room in some of them, many are set in stone. Those things we do at bedtime are very firm, and even if we're out late, she'll insist that we carry out the rituals.

Songs are an integral part of bedtime. We cuddle for two -- she listens to "quiet music," and we'll stay on the bed with her through the first two songs of the CD. (Just recently, she's branched out, and there are TWO CDs she'll choose from. None of her others will do.) Then Mom and Dad take turns singing. We went through a bad phase where she used every delaying trick in the book, and one of those was to refuse to pick a song or to turn down everything you offered to sing. Or she wanted something new every night, so trying to come up with a song with a kids' hook that she hadn't heard recently was tough.

Lately, though (throw salt over my shoulder, knock on wood, ward off the evil eye), she's been going down easily. We cuddle, one of us sings a song, and we alternate three renditions of Hickory, Dickory, Dock. (It has to be three. You have to count before starting the song.) Tonight, I got to pick the first song. We've been doing a lot of Puff the Magic Dragon and Joy to the World (Jeremiah was a kid-friendly bullfrog, after all), and I wanted something different. I knew most kids' songs (along the Row, Row, Row Your Boat vein) wouldn't cut it, so I started in with the Brady Bunch theme and a laugh.

I hadn't even made it to "All of them had hair of gold" before she stopped me.

"No, Mommy! Not that song!"
"What do you want me to sing?"
"Something else! A regular bedtime song, like the ones we usually sing!"
"OK," I start, but she interrupts.
"We don't sing STORIES!"

It took a beat or two before I got her meaning. "Here's the story ..."

I giggled all the way through Puff.

Nine times out of 10, Adam are on the same page with Emma. We handle things in the same way and rarely have to discuss it. (Granted, he mostly follows my lead. He knows I feel strongly about not spanking, limiting TV time and eating healthfully. Would he do things differently if he'd married someone else? Likely. But do I love the things he does on his own -- constantly expanding her mind, making her laugh and helping her to do for herself? Absolutely.)

Yesterday, though, we had a huge difference of opinion. (Read his version of events.) We were helping a friend landscape outside her condo, and Emma was playing near us. She darted into the parking lot, and Adam caught her. Did she need to be told she could get hurt? Surely. But Adam told her she could get hurt like Uncle Jesse had.

A few months ago, my brother was in a head-on collision. He's very, very lucky to be alive and no more hurt than he was. The truck he was driving had been in a wreck before, and the airbag didn't deploy. His head hit the windshield, and, it's unclear, but might've actually gone through it. He bit through his lower lip, displaced a number of teeth and had serious facial lacerations. One of his lungs collapsed and his brain swelled.

Emma saw him about 24 hours after it happened. He was helicoptered from southeastern Oklahoma to OKC, and I was the first person in the emergency room. I spent most of that day -- and a lot of the next two weeks -- in the hospital with him. By Day 2, my mom said he'd been cleaned up a lot. So when Adam and I went to visit, we brought Emma. Jesse has a daughter Emma's age, and they've never spent much time together. We knew Mackenzie would be there and were hoping the girls might play a little.

Bringing Emma to the hospital room was a bad idea. Jesse still looked very bad -- covered in bloody patches, with dark, black stitches holding his scalp together. He had tubes and wires running everywhere. Emma didn't even want to go in the room, and I can't blame her. I should've never taken her there.

For the last few months, she's talked about "Uncle Jesse," who she barely knows. She hasn't seen him since then, and I don't think really gets that he's OK now. She talks about what happens if you're in a car wreck, why you have to be careful driving and if anyone gets hurt, she worries it's "like Uncle Jesse."

So, I look over as Adam sat with Emma on the curb. She's really upset. I go over, she's clinging to me, crying, won't let me put her down. I ask Adam what he said, and he told me. She was freaked.

Overkill, much? Adam stands by what he said, saying Emma needs to understand that she could be hurt by a passing car. I agree she needs to know that. I don't think she needs to picture herself the way she saw Jess.

See what Adam has to say. And then, Email me.

Also, this post is up at DotMoms. Check out all of the other great content there, as well.

La Baguette, a local "authentic French bakery," has a new message on its marquee: "Low carb bread and cheesecake."

Um, the place is named La Baguette, right?

The whole Atkins craze amazes me. Yes, it does seem to be working for folks. And that's great. (I heard an NPR report that said Atkins' followers tend to eat less than those on a low-fat diet, because they fill up quicker on the fattier foods. It's been rebutted by the Atkins' camp, of course, but it makes sense to me.)

It's just a way of life I could never follow. Luckily for me, I couldn't gain weight if I wanted to (and trust me, I've tried), so it's not an issue. We're a high-carb family. We do eat some meat, mostly chicken, but it tends to be baked into a casserole, cooked in a pasta sauce or rolled up in a tortilla. We very, very rarely have a hunk o' beef. Just not our thing.

I've got friends and family who've done/are doing Atkins, and they're losing weight. I'm all for that. But when you didn't eat produce before going on the diet, cutting your intake down to hamburgers, sans bun, just doesn't seem healthy to me. And what about this guy? From Atkins.com: "Vegetarian John Troy was worried that eating the Atkins way would deprive him of his spiritual awareness. Instead, he regained his health and something equally important: inner peace." Inner peace from giving up 20 years of vegetarianism and eating meat?

There was an Atkins ad on the back cover of U.S. News recently, touting all of the things you can eat on the diet. Not surprisingly, a lot of them were Atkins' own products. You can eat bread, pasta and cereal ... as long as you buy them from Atkins.

It's becoming much more of an industry than a diet plan, and businesses are noticing. Fast-food restaurants are putting carb counts in their ads. And even La Baguette is jumping on the bandwagon. I don't think I'll try the carb-less croissants any time soon.

There's nothing quite like Oklahoma Memorial Stadium on game day. I'm not a rabid football fan -- when it's really cold or raining, chances are I'd rather be somewhere else. Usually, with about five minutes left in the fourth, I'm ready to bike home and relieve our sitter.

But I grew up in Oklahoma. I was the only the second one in my family to go to college (my mom went to ECU for one semester and dropped out to marry my dad -- her story is, "He helped me get into bars"), the first one to make it all the way through. It was always a given that I'd go to OU. As a freshman, all of my family members were much more interested in my brushes with football greatness (and in 1992, those were few and far in between) and my proximity to the hallowed grounds of Owen Field than hearing about my academic accomplishments.

So, yesterday's Bedlam battle was amazing. I've never heard the fans so loud. (We did end up leaving early -- Adam's suggestion, not mine -- and as we were getting very close to home, we could hear the cheers as the game ended. We live a mile and a half away from the stadium.)

We've been sitting in the same section for five years now. We sit three rows from the field, right on the north goal line, west side of the stadium. Some of our friends disagree that they're great seats -- it's sometimes hard to see what happens in the south end zone, you don't have the perspective you'd get higher up. But we can hear the smack of bodies, see the flying sweat and the players can hear us cheer (or for the opposing team, taunt).

We know the folks around us pretty well. (In fact, two years ago, we left early during the OSU game. The Sooners lost their lead and the game. I had threats of violence if that happened this year.) There's Gary, who's sat in the front row of our section for 20+ years and entertains the whole section with jokes, stealing the cheerleaders' bullhorn and an occasional dash onto the field. (He's on SoonerVision nearly every game and on TV almost as often.) His son proposed to his fiancee right in front of us last season, and we all knew it was coming before she did. Terry sits behind us, and we were worried a few weeks ago when he disappeared midgame that he'd gone off the patch. Nope, just needed some nachos. Jeremy and his wife are our age, and he even invited Adam -- who he only knows from games -- to join him on a roadtrip to 'Bama. We still don't know what happened to the older couple who'd been behind us until this year. The elderly lady was very sympathetic during my pregnancy -- and during the Nebraska game that year, when I was sick, much more so than Adam. Our hopes are that they moved up to the new club seats to enjoy the rest of their OU games in style.

This week, a crazy guy joined the frat-boy types who sit a row ahead, to our right. Someone is always having to tell one of them to NOT stand on the bench in front of them, as it means the rest of us can't see. Mostly, they're good-natured, though I did have a screaming match with one of them a few years ago. Since then, though, they're pretty good about staying down. Their guest, though, was insane. And hilarious. He couldn't quite help himself from standing on the bench to try to rev up the crowd around him. And scream at the field. Including OSU's ball boy, which I still don't get. By the end of the 52-degree game, he'd stripped down to his undershirt and soaked through his hat, sweat running off his face. He was just that excited.

Maybe I didn't seem quite as happy to be there as that guy. But watching my team stop the Pokes on the 1, getting out from under that OSU cloud ... I can't imagine a better place to be.