Adam updated Em's site today, with photos of last weekend's trip to the Omniplex. Some fun stuff.

So, Jesse, my brother, isn't in jail. I really thought he'd end up serving at least some time. (Synopsis: He was in a head-on collision this summer; his fault, fell asleep and crossed the line. He was hurt pretty badly, and so were some members of the family in the car he hit. Crystal meth and drug paraphernalia were found on him in the hospital, and he was charged with Possession of a Controlled and Dangerous Substance.)

But, he got off almost scot-free. He's on six months' probation (note that apostrophe use, Lynne!) and will have to take a drug test at least once each month. If he's not clean, he's got to serve his sentence, which is three years deferred. And if, any time in the next three years, he violates the terms of the sentence, he'll have to serve it.

A lot of folks have speculated this will give him the push to get his life back together. ("Back together" isn't the right wording, though, implying that at some point it's been under control.) The mother of his kids is being pretty cruel to him, though I don't know enough about their relationship to really blame her. They have a 2-year-old and a 4-month-old together, and she recently told him she had another guy's name put on the baby's birth certificate. Jess and Mom wanted to see the girls this week when they were in Oklahoma City for his trial, and they were told his ex was marrying the other guy that day. (Turned out to be untrue.)

I took Jess to see them when he was here for Thanksgiving. He just held his baby girl and cried while Emma and her cousin played in the floor. Even with as many issues as he and I have, it was hard to watch.

I hope people are right. But I doubt it.

Em's library basket (in the sidebar) is overflowing with new books. See what we're reading and what we think of them; they're listed in order of favorite to least liked. And check out her new page of 2004 books, which we'll keep updated throughout the year.

Passages like these are why I read:

"... I sit at my wooden table, scratching away with my pen. No, not scratching -- pens no longer scratch. The words roll smoothly and soundlessly across the page; it's getting them to flow down the arm, it's squeezing them out through the fingers, that is so difficult."

And one of the best descriptions of why we write:

"Why is it we want so badly to memoralize ourselves? Even while we're still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver-plated cups; we monogram our linen, we carve our names on trees, we scrawl them on washroom walls. It's all the same impulse. What do we hope to get from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get?

"At the very least, we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down."

-- Margaret Atwood in The Blind Assassin

Emma's so excited to see me in the evenings this week. Getting back into the routine has been hard for all of us, and I've been missing her a lot during the day. So when I walk in the door, it's immediate Mommy and Emma time.

Last night was no exception. Before I could even change out of my work clothes, we were reading books and eating pretend cookies (read: poker chips). And then we opened all the mail, which is always exciting, especially so yesterday because there was something addressed to Em. Next, we had a family discussion of what to do for dinner; I decided to take the nurse who told me, "Rest in the evenings or your pneumonia relapse will be worse than the first time," seriously and let Adam pick something up.

While he was gone to KFC, Emma was thrilled to have time alone with me. Here's what we did (and about halfway through, I started taking notes to help me remember -- yes, I'm that anal):

Emma tromped out of her room in her purple diva dress-up shoes.

E: These have big heels. Why do you think the heels are so big?
M: That's just how they were made. Those kind of shoes are even called "high heels."
E: These high heels are purple. And do you see the purple fuzz on top? They're purple, fuzzy high heels.
M: Those shoes fit you much better than when we got them.
E: It's because I'm growing. My feet are getting bigger. But you wear bigger shoes than I do. (Noting my black tights.) And we don't match.
M: Nope, not right now.
E: Why did Woody turn green?
M (a little confused): Woody from Toy Story?
E: No, the snake. A snake turned green.
M: Woody the pig, you mean?
E: No, Woody the snake.
M: Woody the snake?
E: No. I don't know what I'm saying.
M: Neither do I.
(Adam later figured out she was talking about Verdi. I just misunderstood her.)
E: Why are you in your PJs?
M: Because I wanted to wear something more comfortable.
E (dancing into hall): These are clickety shoes. (Tap, tap, tap on wood floor). Do you think I have a stage?
M: No, I don't think you have a stage. But you can pretend.
E: I do have a stage. Watch! One (tap), two (tap), three (tap), four (tap), five (tap!)
E marches, taps and clicks through house.
E: Do you think I could drag myself?
M: What?
E: Can we paint?
M: No, Daddy will be home with dinner soon.
E: Can we play Play-Doh?
M: No, Daddy will be home with dinner soon.
E: I don't want any milk. I just want my balloon. (Goes into den to find it.) Hey, can I play my game from Grandma?
M: No, Daddy will be home with dinner soon.
E: I don't want a knot in my balloon. (I untie the knot.) I have clickety shoes. And I can let my balloon go high and way down low. (Balloon play.)
M: Be careful with the cat. Don't bonk her with your balloon.
E: Can you make my balloon go so high? (More balloon play.)
E: Let's draw.
M: No, we're waiting for Daddy. He'll be home in just a minute.
(E goes to door to watch for him.)
E: There he is!
M: No, that wasn't his car.
E: What color is his car?
M: It's gold.
E: When I was old, I used to be gold.
M: Gold is a color, like the car or Mommy's wedding ring. I don't think you used to be gold. Or old.
E: Let's go put on some dress-up things. (Runs back to bedroom.) And let's turn on Fatou Yo. So we can dance.
(We turn on the music, start to fix the broken dress-up drawer. She begins brushing my hair.)
E: I'm going to brush your hair so you can dance to Fatou Yo. I hope the music doesn't mess up. (We have two versions of the World Playground CD, one as a replacement because the other skips after listening to it so many times.) The little girls will be on in just one second. (Her favorite part of the song is the girls singing in the chorus.) There they are!
E: Now I need to blow dry your hair. It's just a little messy. (Uses play blow dryer.) Can you shake up the glitter (in McDonald's princess wand)?
M: Sure. Hey, you hear that? Dad's home.

So we're off to eat our dinner, during which Emma says things like "Look at this! Isn't this just the greatest thing?" as she marvels over her Fruit-by-the-Foot.

Life is good. Exhausting, but good.

Or, to be more specific, it blows. You should hear me by the time I trudge out to my car after work. I'm huffin' and puffin' like the Little Engine That Could, only I can't, so much.

I thought I was back to 100 percent. Or at least in the 80s or 90s. But I was wrong.

I called the doctor's office about the chest pain, which has gotten much, much worse since I went back to work. As expected, I got the "Yeah, you had pneumonia" response. The nurse said it would be weeks before I was back at full speed, and of course I was hurting if I'd spent two weeks at home and was now active again. (Active being a very fluid term. I park my car in the garage and my ass in my chair for five hours. Home for lunch. Repeat for three hours more, with maybe one labored trip up the stairs.)

She said it's likely that the pneumonia is completely gone, but that my lungs are again inflamed from all that aforementioned action. And the same ol' stuff from when I was good and sick, if I get to where I can't catch my breath at all (rather than the garden-variety panting) or the pain gets too intense, they'll want to see me again. Otherwise, suck it up and deal.

(OK, she didn't say the last part. But she meant it. I could tell.)

A reader asked a question in a comment recently: "You seem to have a big problem with Oklahoma ... why do you stay?"

Do I have a big problem with Oklahoma? Nope. Some little ones? Sure. But I think everyone has some issues with where they choose to live. And the benefits of being here far outweigh any of my pet peeves.

Adam and I left Norman after graduating from college, thinking we'd come back someday. Little did we know that day would be just over a year later. A job opportunity for him brought us back, and if we were to leave again, it would probably be because one of us found a job to good to turn down elsewhere. It could happen. But the deal would have to be sweet. Despite what complaints I might air, we love this town.

Note: I said specifically the town, not the state. There are many, many places in Oklahoma I wouldn't live. When we moved back, we moved back to Norman. If circumstances demanded it (i.e. we were both making long commutes), we might consider a few neighborhoods in Oklahoma City. And Tulsa looks like it's a wonderful place to live, too. But Norman is where we want to be.

I guess that begets the question: Why?

The University of Oklahoma. When Adam and I were discussing this last night, he listed both the Sooners AND OU. I argued those are the same things, but he's got a point. We have the athletics. The college-town feel, with a getting-cooler-by-the-day Campus Corner and a more-educated-than-the-rest-of-the-state populace. Campus itself is one of the most picturesque around. There are so many events and activities on campus that you can do whatever you want, any night of the week. Watch a movie, see a play, join a book discussion, hear a speaker, dance to live music.

Cost of living. When we were recently looking at moving to Minneapolis (where Adam's company is headquartered), we were aghast at housing prices. A house the size of ours ran about three times as much there, even looking way out of the city itself. Oklahoma has one of the lowest costs of living around. Go ahead, plug in your town vs. mine in this salary calculator. Odds are, Norman will come out on top -- and it's COL is higher than most of the surrounding towns. (Still, we choose here over Moore or Noble or anywhere else.) And it's not just housing -- food, entertainment, schooling ... it's all cheaper here.

Our friends. We had friends in Albuquerque. But because I worked for a morning paper, my shift was 5 a.m.-1 p.m. I had friends in the newsroom, but we rarely hung out in the evenings, b/c everyone had to be there so damn early. Adam had friends he played soccer with, but we didn't make real connections. Moving back here, we picked up with the close friends we'd left behind. And made a ton of new ones. After being back a couple of years, I pointed out that if we'd established relationships this well in ABQ, I never would've wanted to leave. Even with no family nearby, we've got a great support network for help with Emma if it's needed.

Our neighborhood. We adore where we live, both our house and the area it's in. It was very important to us when we became homeowners to live in central Norman. Our house was built in 1951, and each house on our block is unique. The neighborhood doesn't feel like folks picked their homes of out a catalog. We could've gotten a lot more square feet and some nifty amenities had we chosen a subdivision in another part of town (and I envy our friends who had their homes built and didn't inherit 50 years of other folks' dirt), but we wanted to live in this part of town. We've got paper-shell pecan trees in the back yard that two folks can't get their arms around. (They leave a massive mess, but that's another story.) Our house has cool woodwork, a phone nook, tile countertops, original wood floors and more. Our neighbors are amazing. On warm days, we can rarely pull in the driveway without spending half an hour outside chatting with someone. It's the kind of place I always wanted to live.

Entertainment. Folks make fun of Oklahoma, but there's really a lot to do, particularly in Norman. Obviously, it's a big sports town, if that's your thing. But there are cool little college bands, art galleries and museums. OU has a great theater department, and there are shows year-round. We have three parks within walking distance of our house and many, many more a bike or car ride away. There's outdoor music and festivals through spring, summer and fall. Lots of activities for kids, including events at the library and bookstore, the Sam Noble Museum of Natural History, the Little River Zoo. We can eat any kind of food we want and not have to frequent a chain -- Mexican, Thai, Indian, Chinese, Italian, American, Greek. We've got smoky pubs, kid-friendly delis, expensive bistros and perfect pizza. And all of the chains you can find everywhere. And that's just in Norman. If you're into ballet or symphony, Oklahoma City's got it. We don't get lots of indie films, but I don't have time for movies that often, anyway. NetFlix can send them to me six months after they come out.

The weather. We have four seasons here -- and sometimes, you can experience them all in seven days or less. We get to watch the flowers bloom, the grass wither and die, the leaves change, the snow fall. It gets hot enough to really be summer and cold enough to really be winter. But we also have lots of days where you can wear jeans and a t-shirt or shorts and a sweatshirt, perfect for the park or a bike ride. Plus, all the excitement of thunderstorms, tornadoes, hail. (I have to admit, weather is something I'll always bitch about, too. We don't live in San Diego.)

Natural beauty. Oklahoma as a whole -- not just Norman -- is a gorgeous place to live. Adam complains about the lack of mountains now and then, and of course, we'd love to be near a beach. But Oklahoma is green and yes, even hilly, if you know where to go. And OU and the surrounding areas are beautiful.

Norman. With almost 100,000 people, it still has a small-town feel. We run into the same folks every Saturday morning at the grocery store. The librarian knows us by name. But it's big enough that there's plenty to do and see. We can find anything we need. And if we need bigger, Oklahoma City is 25 minutes away and Dallas is three hours. It's an educated, liberal town (especially compared with the rest of the state).

Emma. This is the kind of town you want to raise your kid in. We've got great local schools. And all the stuff listed above. The only drawback is if she grows up here, she's not likely to go to OU. We can live with that.

History. I always thought I'd end up back in Norman, someday. And I think my ties to here are so strong because it's where I became who I am today. I got my education here. Threw off my past here. Made a name for myself here. Met my closest friends and my husband here. Found my mentors here. And since moving back, had my child here. Bought my house here. Established my career here. Built my life here.

So, does that answer your question?

(Double-pimping: This is up at DotMoms.)

A fly went by, in a book we read
As we were putting Em in bed.
A boy worried: Oh no, oh dear
What can it be that this fly fears?

Turns out the fly was scared of a frog
Who was chased by a cat,
Who was running from a dog.
The dog was afraid of a pig
(Who really wasn't all that big).

A cow was running right behind,
With a fox scampering next in line.
The boy thought the fox to blame
And so he said, to our later shame,
"You want to kill the little cow!
You stop, or I will whip you -- NOW!"

We read the book once or twice.
(The rhymes really are quite nice.)
And then she asked, as I knew she would:
"What does 'whip' mean?"
I said, "It's not good."

You know can't resist the power of the rhyme and my views on spanking. Read the rest here.

For those of you who protest that three hours is more than you want to spend watching Return of the King (and you're wrong), here's the three-minute version, instead. Actually pretty funny.

And those of you like Omar who just want to make fun will like it, too.

Granted, if you've never seen the movies, read the books and hate the idea of Hobbits, dwarves, wizards and elves, the jokes won't ring true. Jump on the bandwagon, folks. It's left without you.

I had myself nearly convinced that I'm allergic to work. Since going back on Monday, I've been sneezing and sniffling nonstop. But it turns out the cause might be much more mundane, mountain cedar pollen. It's apparently one of the few trees that releases its seed in the winter, mainly in late December and early January, and its population is concentrated in Oklahoma and Texas. Everywhere I turn, someone mentions that they or a loved one have started sneezing and can't stop.

It's pretty annoying, I admit. But I'm not nearly as ticked off as these people are.

Wonder if it's affecting you? Check your pollen forecast. If you live in the Oklahoma City area, you're screwed, too.

"I'm not a racist." "It's not that I'm intolerant." "I respect all religions." "I have a (fill-in-the-race-or-ethnicity) friend." "Gay people don't bother me." "I don't usually stereotype."

Stop.

Any time you follow one of those sentences, or the countless others like them, with a "but" or "except," just stop. Let the fact that you have to preface it be a warning -- whatever is about to come out of your mouth should stay there. Even if you truly believe starting with "I'm not prejudiced" makes a difference, you're wrong. Save yourself.

At the very least, it's going to be an overbroad generalization. And quite possibly much worse.

I like to think it's because I live in Oklahoma. For all the things I love about this state, tolerance, openness, acceptance of things different aren't on the list. So I hope that it's better elsewhere. I hear things every day that make me bite my tongue, walk away, say something noncommittal, turn the other cheek. And I usually end up angry that I didn't speak up, call the person on whatever nonsense they're spouting. Often, though, it's not feasible. It's a coworker or a friend of a friend or VIP or someone I'll need later. And when I do get caught up in the discussion, I can't say what I really want to say.

So, as politely as I know how, I'll say it here. Adding a disclaimer doesn't help. Don't say whatever is coming next.

For those of you who spend as much time thinking about books as I do, All Consuming is a treat. "Every book on this site has a list of all the weblogs that have mentioned it, and every weblog that has mentioned books in the past also has a page here listing which books it has mentioned."

Want to know if other bloggers think The Blind Assassin is a good read? Check out their comments and see what blogs have linked to it. Keep your own "currently reading" list, let the site tell you when your favorite blogs mention books and more.

Handy.

Campus is dead today, as is usual the Monday after a long break. But whatever enthusiasm people might have had about coming back to work was quashed last night along with the Sooners' title hopes.

Even the weather has changed to reflect the state's mood. Saturday's 74-degree temps are long gone, leaving us with a lung-chilling 17, instead.

Let me just say this: The much-lauded team we watched all fall deserved to play in the Sugar Bowl. Problem is, that team got lost a month ago somewhere en route to Kansas City. And didn't show up in New Orleans until the fourth quarter last night.

Today as we were making thank-you cards for her pile of Hanukkah gifts, Emma declared, "P-I-G. That spells pig." As I'm busy oohing and ahhing and asking, "How did you learn that?" she blurts out, "Cow is spelled C-O-W." I quickly call Adam's cell phone and demand that she perform the trick for him. It's as she says, "B-A-R-N. That spells farm," that I realize she's not quite the genius I was briefly picturing. At least, not for that reason.

When you push down the pop-up stamps we were using, the name of the object on the stamp appears on the handle. C-O-W does spell cow. P-I-G spells pig. But a B-A-R-N is only part of a farm.

I guess I should just be happy she walks around saying E-M-M-A, O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A and B-I-N-G-O. And we should spell things in song more often.

The words were out of my mouth yesterday before I even thought about it: "It's white trash day at the park." There were parents with straggly mullets and wispy goatees, big bangs and shaved heads. (Looks like I use hairstyle as the first determiner of socio-economic status. Who knew?) The shoeless kids were in torn jeans and giant sweatshirts, with nasty hair of their own, screaming at each other with small-town-Oklahoma accents. And I felt removed -- and, even more true, above -- all of them.

I judged them in the same way I do my family, like it was my right, because I'd been one of them. Though with my family, I know what choices they've made. I know how they got where they are and why they don't have to be there. And why I made it out.

About these folks, I know nothing. Except I'm glad not to be them. And even now, when I feel like I should feel guilty for thinking less of them, I don't. However wonderful they may be, however loving and smart and funny and the million unknown attributes they may possess, it's a life I'm proud not to be a part of.

KidSpace is Norman's coolest park, with a huge wooden play area and a fun "tot lot." It's so cool, in fact, that busloads of kids often frequent it. It's not our neighborhood park, but we try to hit it when we have a little more time, because Emma loves it so. Usually, that's during the week, when all the other suburban moms are out. I can pass for one of them now, and I'm glad of that fact.

Adam did feel it necessary to point out that with most of the ass ripped out of my jeans (really, I thought we'd be in the house all day), I could pass for one of the folks I'd labeled, instead. I didn't mind, though. I know better. Those jeans -- and the panties you might glimpse through the worn spots -- are from a nice mall store. My denim jacket is namebrand, as are my tennis shoes, and all of the clothes Adam and Em were wearing. Does that matter to me? Some days, yes. I had on no makeup and Em's hair was a mess, but I still felt better than the families around us.

Without knowing where they'd go when their outdoor afternoon was over, I was secure in the knowledge that I'd come here. To the home Adam and I have built, full of the things we worked hard to pay for. To the life we've created, better than anything I could've imagined when I was one of them. And however shallow it may make me, I'm glad to be who I am now. I'm nowhere near the top of the ladder, but it's oddly comforting to have some rungs to look back at -- and even down on.