tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60165752011-04-21T18:19:22.083-05:00Scouting the Web, motherhood and life Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comBlogger2781100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1097069806343302262004-10-06T08:28:00.000-05:002004-10-06T08:36:46.343-05:00

I'm not going to say I'm back, because that would be misleading. But I'm getting lots of "WTF?" email, so just wanted to take five minutes to say I'm alive. And well. Just busier than I've ever been. The new job is amazing, but I'm either in a meeting or taking home work most days after 5. Finding a new work-home balance is a constant struggle, and I'm still figuring out how to do it. E-Scout

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1092754825940185792004-08-17T09:55:00.000-05:002004-08-17T10:22:41.083-05:00

My walls are bare. My shelves are half empty. And I'm dying to listen to Once More With Feeling, but of course it's in my other office. Straddling two jobs is weird. There are still some last-minute things to wrap up for my current job, but not many. I've done more work this summer than I have in who knows how long to make sure I didn't leave anyone in the lurch. And because I'm anal, I've

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1092666106943014762004-08-16T09:20:00.000-05:002004-08-16T09:25:16.896-05:00

I'm weepy over at DotMoms today.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1092407293196631622004-08-13T09:06:00.000-05:002004-08-13T09:32:20.703-05:00

Emma nearly broke my heart one day this week. We were at the library, normally a favorite place. But she'd announced before we left the house that she didn't want to play, just to check out books and come home. She's still getting over her cold and hadn't wanted to do much besides stick close to me that day, so I wasn't too surprised. Still, she dutifully told the librarians about her trip and

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1092317192583907152004-08-12T08:22:00.000-05:002004-08-12T08:34:04.416-05:00

You know you're old when your hangover rolls around before bedtime. Guess I should've known better than to have two Swirls before 7:30 last night. For non-Normanites, Swirls are a deadly concoction from the Mont: frozen sangria mixed with margarita, shot with a healthy dose of Everclear. They induce merryment immediately and malaise soon after, if you're me. Happy hour, my ass. I was giggly at

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1092145090205179122004-08-10T08:36:00.000-05:002004-08-10T08:41:40.303-05:00

As promised, Adam has put photos from our trip up at Emma's site. And yes, I know, we desperately need a new digital camera. The years haven't been kind to this one. (You should see the tape holding the batteries in. Especially now that it's sandy.)

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1092060837079078732004-08-09T10:00:00.000-05:002004-08-09T10:46:08.440-05:00

There's nothing quite like returning home after an extended vacation. Emma acts like the house is a giant toy store -- all of her things get pulled out, exclaimed over and played with. And the reunion with her cats and dog is like they've been off at war and made it home safely. It's a joy to watch how happy she is to be home. The last few days of our trip, she made it quite clear she was ready

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1090943844319092172004-07-27T10:48:00.000-05:002004-07-27T10:57:43.206-05:00

Someone out there nominated this post for a Diarist Award in the category of Best Dramatic Entry. Now, a panel is choosing finalists, and once that is done, folks can vote on the winners. I don't know that I'll get that far. But I much appreciate the nomination. I'm often torn about E-Scout. I worry that it's disjointed: One post says, "My 3-year-old is so clever!" and the next, "Read about

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1090854118456684272004-07-26T09:22:00.000-05:002004-07-26T10:09:02.636-05:00

I've been mighty distracted lately -- as you can tell from the dearth of posts -- by our upcoming vacation (48 hours from now, we'll be getting ready to walk out the door). There are lots of details to handle for a trip of this length: Getting everything wrapped up at work, making list after list --- for packing (deciding what to take for 70-degree weather instead of 90, which means making Em

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1090331960841627772004-07-20T08:51:00.000-05:002004-07-20T09:01:08.546-05:00

I picked up Papa Piccolo at the library last week as much for Adam and I as for Emma. The book, about a tomcat adopted by a pair of stray kittens, is set in Venice. The art is gorgeous, and I thought we could moon over our memories. It's Emma, though, who's doing the mooning. The first time we read the book, her eyes were filled with tears and she nearly wanted to put it down. The kittens

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1089924544604650262004-07-15T15:09:00.000-05:002004-07-16T08:20:17.850-05:00

For the most part, I've turned off the memories of my less-than-perfect past. My almost-perfect life these days means I don't have to dwell on what came before. Now and then, though, something pulls me back. Yesterday, it was Highway 9. For those of you not in Oklahoma, Highway 9 runs east and west, from Arkansas to Texas. For me, it runs from Norman to a turnoff for Harrah and McLoud. To

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1089749200700807652004-07-13T15:04:00.000-05:002004-07-13T15:06:40.700-05:00

The vending machine just spit not one, not two, but FOUR quarters back out at me. And I don't even have a dollar to offer it. No chocolate for me. -- More proof Emma's about to be sick: much weeping and wailing at naptime. She was still crying when I left the house (though she was fine when I picked her up at school and through the sleep routine) and she's been calling Adam ever since. With any

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1089726292000586282004-07-13T08:26:00.000-05:002004-07-13T08:44:52.000-05:00

Em's nose was running when I got home last night. And this morning, the whining -- "I don't want to go to preschool" -- reared its ugly head. (I kept her jolly on the car ride in with the crepe myrtle game. They're blooming all over Norman, so we raced to see who could spot the next one.) My suspicion, though, is that she's about to get sick. Again. I'm sure her preschool director would repeat

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1089650586258487242004-07-12T11:27:00.000-05:002004-07-12T11:44:37.943-05:00

I get lots of hits from strange -- and sometimes disturbing -- search queries, though I rarely post them here. Some choice ones from the last week: Where can I buy knee high boots for wide calves? That's the opposite of my problem, so I'm no help. Preteen boys Angel I'm hoping the young boys are looking for a hero role model in David Boreanz. Bug exterminator/lung cancer Fairly sure the

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1089644978821945772004-07-12T10:01:00.000-05:002004-07-12T10:12:39.603-05:00

For those of you who were taking bets, the next household item to die was my blow dryer. Thankfully, it wasn't a work day. Let me just say, I could sit in front of the fan for three hours and my hair still wouldn't dry. -- I'm having a conversation with Adam in my head yesterday about how I'll justify purchasing a new shirt for Emma at Target (she has more summer clothes than she can wear): "

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1089296346794440602004-07-08T08:44:00.000-05:002004-07-08T09:19:06.793-05:00

There's a revolt in the Brooks' household of late. Adam and I aren't arguing, though, and Emma's heading off to preschool every morning without a word of protest. The anarchy is elsewhere. I've mentioned the dead computer. (We bought a new Dell, and all is well now. At least until the MasterCard bill arrives.) Last week, the iron went caput. It only came on sporadically, with just the right

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1089126867471538282004-07-06T10:00:00.000-05:002004-07-06T10:14:27.473-05:00

Poor Emma. At 3, she's already got legs she hasn't grown into. If my childhood serves as a guide, she'll be about 25 before they fit. My very tall daughter has gotten really clumsy of late, resulting in some big, nasty scrapes. (You can see the latest in the bottom picture here ... and learn all about our Fourth of July festivities, as well.) Three times in the last three weeks, she's fallen

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1088797098398104102004-07-02T14:24:00.000-05:002004-07-02T14:38:18.396-05:00

Emma likes to sing. No, she LOVES to sing. She makes up songs about every topic you can imagine, and, truth is, she can probably imagine more than you. A lot of her everyday activities are accompanied with a tune. "I'm sitting on the potty ..." (Probably best for me to let you fill in the rest there. Her songs know no bounds.) So today, at a special girls' lunch out to celebrate a good week at

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1088710195542772892004-07-01T14:02:00.000-05:002004-07-01T14:29:55.543-05:00

The Oklahoman only cops to 13 days of rain in June, but I swear, there have been more than that. A lot more. We'd counted eight days when Abby visited at the beginning of the month (there's a chance some of that was in May, but still). And the experts say it's not enough to cover the drought from this spring, but I tell you, WE'VE HAD ENOUGH. Our street floods after two minutes, because the

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1088540612174200552004-06-29T15:11:00.000-05:002004-06-29T15:23:32.173-05:00

About this time every day of late, I've been wandering down to the vending machines. Recently, I've been justifying it this way: Emma's got swim class at 6:10, so we can't have dinner until much later than usual. I need a snack (and a Vanilla Coke) to tide me over. Honestly, though, I'm just addicted. I don't drink the entire 20-ounce coke in one sitting, I'm proud to say, but the other half does

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1088537667773731042004-06-29T14:30:00.000-05:002004-06-29T14:34:27.773-05:00

We're reading Little House in the Big Woods to Emma, and she's really enjoying it. I'm sure I've read Little House on the Prairie at some point, and I remembered dialogue, so I'm surprised at how much of this one is straight description. She's eating it up, though, and we're constantly in conversation about how they didn't have grocery stores, why they used lanterns for light, poor Laura with her

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1088537445676965792004-06-29T14:20:00.000-05:002004-06-29T14:43:00.700-05:00

I walked into the den Sunday and smelled smoke. "Adam, come quick!" He rushes in, and I tell him something's on fire somewhere. It's not in the kitchen or outside, and Adam quickly ID's the source -- our desktop computer. Yay. We've needed a new machine for quite some time, so, despite the fact that I wasn't able to coerce Adam into a Mac (he needs a PC for work), it's good that we've ordered a

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1088190511580241682004-06-25T13:54:00.000-05:002004-06-25T14:17:18.723-05:00

Reasons folks have given me for Em's preschool anxiety: She's too young for preschool. Something "bad" is happening to her there. I should have been staying at home with her all along. I should have had her in public day care all along. It's the wrong school. We should skip preschool entirely. She should go all day, every day. It's just an adjustment period. It's normal. The other kids

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1087938611895865302004-06-22T15:52:00.000-05:002004-06-22T16:10:11.896-05:00

Despite breaking into tears within minutes of waking this morning, Emma had a better day. I met with her teachers yesterday, and we came up with some strategies that helped her get through her day. All our advance planning -- buying stickers for a book she'd make at school, lots and lots of talk -- didn't help this morning, though. She was upset right off the bat that it was a preschool day,

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1087828528296222242004-06-21T08:39:00.000-05:002004-06-21T09:35:28.296-05:00

In Stephen King's Insomia, little malevolent guys run around with scissors, cutting "life cords" or some such of Derry residents, who then of course die. Now, I don't think I'm about to keel over. But I do feel like someone's been chopping during my sleep -- at my fuse, which is getting shorter every day, and at my nerves, which are ragged and tatttered. The Brooks' household is just in chaos

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1087569493882338812004-06-18T09:07:00.000-05:002004-06-18T09:38:13.883-05:00

Emma's been very mommy-centric lately, demanding that I be the one to brush her teeth or help her potty. She kicks Adam out of her room in the mornings, insisting she needs "girl time." She's not letting him read her books if I'm there and often insists he's not allowed to cuddle at bedtime, which is the ultimate insult. She's getting over a cold, and I'm the only one who can make her feel

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1087329357412456532004-06-15T16:18:00.000-05:002004-06-15T16:24:53.503-05:00

The state of Virginia has started a public health campaign to promote awareness about statutory rape. Billboards and bar coasters are asking: "Isn't she a little young? Sex with a minor. Don't go there." A Virginia health official, on NPR's Talk of the Nation today, got a call asking why the message wasn't just, "You'll go to jail." Her answer was that the target audience, men 18 to 29, already

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1087224672368650182004-06-14T09:31:00.000-05:002004-06-14T09:51:12.370-05:00

We took Emma to the circus this weekend, sort of spur of the moment. A friend had a pair of tickets she couldn't use, so we bought two more (Adam's brother was in town) and headed out. We didn't tell Emma where we were going, just that we had a surprise for her. We'd given her a few hints, and as soon as Dad mentioned jugglers, she figured it out. (And she made sure to point out after the fact

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086963348701158132004-06-11T09:14:00.000-05:002004-06-11T09:15:48.700-05:00

Adam updated Emma's site with photos from her first trip to the dentist this week. Beware: You might be awestruck by her cuteness.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086896981804023302004-06-10T14:49:00.000-05:002004-06-10T15:00:24.376-05:00

Emma's been asking lately about stories "from the farm," where I know she thinks I rose before dawn to feed the cows or hoe the garden or harvest the wheat. We lived with Grandma a lot when I was a kid, and their house was on a ranch. Apart from an occasional combine ride, though, I didn't so much participate in the farming. My stories are more "from the country" than "from the farm": picking

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086730838606559702004-06-08T16:29:00.000-05:002004-06-08T16:56:19.113-05:00

Mystic River is one of the best books I've read in years. It's haunting. Horrifying. And so well written I felt like it could happen on my street, in my town. I haven't seen the movie yet, though it's now No. 1 in our NetFlix queue. If it's half as good as the book, and it certainly looks to be, I'll be in awe. Adam actually gave me a hard time about choosing to read the book first, that I was "

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086617758677432032004-06-07T09:02:00.000-05:002004-06-07T09:15:58.676-05:00

Sleeping is one of my all-time favorite diversions. Too bad I'm not getting as much lately. I've nearly lost the ability to nap. Yesterday, I tried to doze while Emma was asleep. And the click of the ceiling fan kept me awake. Now, I'm an old pro at napping while Adam watches TV, while Adam's typing away at the computer, while Adam mows the lawn ... I can sleep with the lights on and a soccer

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086377148839344812004-06-04T14:13:00.000-05:002004-06-04T14:28:25.730-05:00

On her third day of preschool this week, Emma cried. She didn't whack her knee and wasn't forced to eat a ham sandwich. She wasn't picked on by a bully or unhappy with the puzzle choices and didn't fall off the teeter-totter. Nor was she pining for Adam or I. She was, however, missing Grandma. Adam's mom arrived last night, and Emma tackled her as she came through security. And she didn't let

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086360592645843352004-06-04T09:20:00.000-05:002004-06-04T09:50:44.426-05:00

Something is rotten in Norman. Specifically, somewhere in my Saturn wagon. When soon as I opened the doors to load Em up yesterday morning, the stench hit us. Adam said it smelled like the upholstery had gotten wet (a smell he knows well, given that he's always in the process of trying to get it out of his car, which means it gets rained in while he's got the windows open to air it out). I

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086299593678110512004-06-03T16:50:00.000-05:002004-06-03T16:53:49.463-05:00

This is not my usual thing ... but Dwayne tagged me, and I can't be a good sport and not play along, particularly since he's sending folks my way. So, tag. You're it. Go forth and tag more.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086274682994857892004-06-03T09:45:00.000-05:002004-06-03T09:58:50.916-05:00

I had a first date yesterday. With a hairstylist. And if that's going to be my metaphor, I've got a handful of one-night stands in my past, many of which left me burned (and in one case, my scalp specifically). I've also had two less-than-perfect long-term relationships. In one, I was often stood up or left waiting, without even a phone call. I put up with it, though, because she left me

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086117822946777162004-06-01T14:14:00.000-05:002004-06-01T15:12:07.146-05:00

As near as I can tell, I walked in on the only mishap of Em's first day of preschool. Director: Hi! Emma B's mom is here! (It does make me sad that she's already got to go by an initial. That wouldn't have happened if we'd named her Harper. Of course, it boggles my mind to now think she could've been anything but Emma.) Where's Emma B? Assistant: In the napping house. Director (in a panic,

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086099160642116282004-06-01T09:09:00.000-05:002004-06-01T09:15:08.280-05:00

Well, Emma's there, at preschool. Adam and I dropped her off (coming in to fill out a form and ask just a few more questions), and then I took him back home before coming in to work. And I was able to handle it all without puking, though my stomach is still a little unsure about the proposition. Emma seemed fine, even though she protested, "But I don't want you to leave" a few times. The look

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086049747071865122004-05-31T19:20:00.000-05:002004-05-31T19:34:28.076-05:00

What a perfect summer weekend. We crammed in lots of things, but still had time to do stuff around the house, read and rest. I need that extra weekend day every week (though I should've put more thought into how to explain Memorial Day before I mentioned it to Emma). It really does feel like summer around here. Adam and I've been playing board games (notably Carcassone's The Castle, much like

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086046146514534342004-05-31T18:27:00.000-05:002004-05-31T18:31:11.473-05:00

I've been filling in Julie's able shoes over at DotMoms the last week. If you're not reading there daily, you should be. It's been great fun to not just be a reader of these thoughtful women, but also to work with them on editing as well. On top of all they do, these moms find time to share their experiences, thoughts, loves and trials with the rest of us. I'm lucky to be a part of such a

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1086045998614634902004-05-31T18:25:00.000-05:002004-05-31T19:32:46.630-05:00

New listings in "Emma's current faves" in the sidebar. Even a CD-ROM this time. We're nothing if not versatile.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1085752398640282162004-05-28T08:22:00.000-05:002004-05-28T08:53:59.943-05:00

It's been a while since I told any "Emma, the Creative Genius" stories, which of course means I have hundreds built up. But two is plenty. In the bath a week or so ago, Emma announced, "I curse you!" We'd read a few witch/magic books recently, so I knew she wasn't cursing at me, which is good. "How do you curse me?" "I curse you into the pages of that apple magazine," pointing to an issue of

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1085665110261805422004-05-27T08:21:00.000-05:002004-05-27T08:38:30.260-05:00

With Mother's Day this month and my mom's 50th birthday this week, it's no wonder my subconscious won't stop dragging her up. We haven't talked in a couple months now (so she still has no idea of my decision), and I'm good with that. Despite the advice of some of you -- that I should just confront her and get it over with -- everything is going according to plan. Some days, of course, I feel

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1085497918126219172004-05-25T09:16:00.000-05:002004-05-25T10:11:58.126-05:00

Out for dinner with friends last night, the whole restaurant was watching a weather broadcast (one of those "We're sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming, but this is Oklahoma, so there's a chance of death and destruction with this storm" updates). As it started to look like the storm was headed our way, we went home and turned on the TV there. Now, this is highly unusual.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1085410248815658192004-05-24T09:38:00.000-05:002004-05-24T09:55:20.276-05:00

I'm methodically making my way through my house, cleaning out drawers and rummaging through cabinets. OK, on some days it's not so methodical. I'll open a cabinet door and the first three things I find that we don't regularly use get immediately tossed into the charity bag. Between thumbing through copies of Real Simple that make me feel like my home is a disaster and having Em's new day care

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1085157184575085192004-05-21T11:12:00.000-05:002004-05-21T12:44:02.836-05:00

Our dog gets depressed. (I feel like the next line should be about puppy Prozac or doggie therapy.) Chance has been a little high maintenance since we adopted him, with skin allergies and hot spots, a heart murmur, constipation and an oft-bum tail. But he's a great dog -- very easygoing -- and wonderful with Emma (after those initial crawling months when he was terrified) and OK with the cats (

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1085060490374527152004-05-20T08:31:00.000-05:002004-05-20T08:43:31.246-05:00

Already, Emma's making me realize what huge gaps there were in my education. I figured when she was in junior high and working on algebra, I'd feel like a dolt. Whatever I'd once known about equations is long gone. But, surprisingly, it's happening at age 3. And it's only going to get worse, I assume. The good thing is, she's forcing me to constantly be a learner. And there's some fun in that.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1085013529684791222004-05-19T19:35:00.000-05:002004-05-19T19:39:11.850-05:00

New Emma's favorites are listed in the sidebar. It's hard not to list 20 books at once ... As always, we're looking for suggestions. Let us know what you listen to, watch or read -- chapter or picture book -- with your kids! Or what your childhood favorites are. (Tiny Coconut has a good recent thread about this.) And you can see all Em's favorites (plus the library list we were doing before)

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1084902433970177982004-05-18T12:41:00.000-05:002004-05-18T12:47:43.716-05:00

Getting back into the rhythm of work today ... and going through the giant stack of mail that accumulated while I was gone. One returned envelope -- a package of information I'd sent about an upcoming meeting -- was empty, with a "forward time expired" sticker on it. There's a handwritten note from another staffer on it: "I resent this." It took me a minute of gaping, wondering why she

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1084893640251790942004-05-18T09:52:00.000-05:002004-05-18T10:20:40.250-05:00

We're home, safe, sound and exhausted. Life with a 3-month-old is just as tiring as I fuzzily remember it to be. Emma had a great time with Baby Tommy (she automatically confers the title "baby" onto anyone who's more than six months younger than she is), and we were impressed at how willing she was to share the spotlight. Emma was quite the little mother. Before we left, she'd had some specific

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1084455407970715032004-05-13T08:27:00.000-05:002004-05-13T08:36:47.986-05:00

We're off to Albuquerque this morning to visit good friends (and meet their new baby) and reconnect with a city we really liked. We lived there for a year right after college. And there were a million things to like about the city, but it hurt that I worked a 5:30 a.m. shift (and sometimes a 4:15 a.m. one). The folks I worked with at The Albuquerque Tribune were great, but we never hung out,

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1084290550343070532004-05-11T10:55:00.000-05:002004-05-11T11:01:15.630-05:00

"Mommy, who's your daddy?" Emma asked recently. I paused for a minute before answering simply, "His name is Rick." That was plenty for her. I honestly wish my Mom and I have the relationship I have with him. There isn't one. They divorced when I was 3. For the second time, although I didn't know about the first until I was 15 or older, and I still don't know the details. My first memory is

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1084149422114087382004-05-09T19:32:00.000-05:002004-05-09T19:37:02.113-05:00

It's been a good Mother's Day -- breakfast and dinner prepared by Adam (and an Orzo Incident to remember), lunch during a wander around the zoo. A nap on the couch. Frozen custard at Rusty's. But the best part was something that could happen any day: Holding Emma in my lap while we shared a nectarine, inhaling the warm sunshine, sunscreen smell of the back of her neck. Of course, that neck

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083963754003754722004-05-07T15:52:00.000-05:002004-07-02T14:39:19.180-05:00

There's an interesting piece in World Literature Today, How Are Children Affected by the Books in Their Lives? The author doesn't answer the question, of course, but it's a good point that there are plenty of studies on how TV, movies, ads and video games affect kids. But none on books. I've got plenty of ideas about how they affected me, of course. What about you? Also interesting, and

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083940018403871192004-05-07T09:14:00.000-05:002004-05-07T09:49:26.700-05:00

My brain is like a bomb wrapped in cotton this morning. If you touch my forehead, you can almost feel the pulsing monster inside. Be careful not to press too hard, though. All that stuff I said about not remembering life with an infant? Emma decided last night was a good time to drive home how hard it was. Adam and I had just been talking about the comparative ease of a preschooler ... and then

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083865206323707262004-05-06T11:49:00.000-05:002004-05-06T12:44:32.983-05:00

Eight years ago yesterday (May 5, 1996, to be precise), Adam and I got married. It was a pretty unremarkable day, as weddings go. (Except for that whole I'm getting married thing, of course.) Our guest list was long but our budget was short, so the whole thing was very low-key. We had it at the Hillel -- a Jewish student organization with a small sanctuary -- on campus, which thankfully has been

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083721066212316002004-05-04T20:37:00.000-05:002004-05-04T20:53:32.763-05:00

(With thanks to Rob for introducing me to such a disgustingly descriptive term.) I've spent the entire day catering to Emma's every whim. I didn't just decide I was so tired of saying no that I'd say yes all the time; it's just that she's got a nasty, nasty cold. She deserves to be pampered a little. (And I might feel incredibly guilty about sending her to daycare yesterday, when I thought I

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083613234344431122004-05-03T14:35:00.000-05:002004-05-03T15:16:54.090-05:00

Even though I don't really agree with John Rosenthal's column in the New York Times, in which he says we should be more tolerant of punctuation ignorance, I'm thrilled to see the issue discussed on the NYT's op-ed page. Rosenthal is of course writing about Lynne Truss's Eats, Shoots and Leaves, a book that is quite near my heart. And I do agree that the point of punctuation is "to remind us to

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083353977922854012004-04-30T14:27:00.000-05:002004-04-30T14:43:56.343-05:00

I want to be a positive parent. I really do. But even when I'm making a big effort, it seems that most of the things I say to Emma are negative: Stand still so I can brush your teeth. Don't spit out your food. Hey, you got sand all over me. We'll read this page first, and then we'll look at the picture on the next one. Emma, go straight to the bathtub. Don't run through the house. Come back here

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083249468251038812004-04-29T09:21:00.000-05:002004-04-29T09:42:05.030-05:00

In just over a month, Emma starts preschool. And as much as I've been working on getting her used to the idea, I am starting to get a little terrified. Part of it, I'll admit, is the change in routine. The day-care schedule she's on right now works perfectly -- one of us drops her off at 8, and the other uses a lunch hour to pick her up at 1 and put her down for her nap. The school we've chosen

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083206715057306182004-04-28T21:45:00.000-05:002004-04-28T21:50:58.763-05:00

One of the biggest reasons I've been gone of late was the Women in Business Conference, put on by my college, that was held yesterday. The Daily story doesn't do it justice -- and exaggerates the number of attendees. It was one of those magical kind of days, one that left me so fulfilled and shocked that a work event had done so. Sherri Coale, the OU women's basketball coach, was one of our main

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1083205924950541962004-04-28T21:32:00.000-05:002004-04-28T21:36:21.090-05:00

Whew. The worst is over at work, and now I just have to catch up on all I didn't do amidst the chaos. But at least that's at my own pace. The break did give me time to revamp the Em's book feature in the sidebar, as I said I would. It's updated now, called "Em's Current Faves," and will list whatever she's loving at the moment. It'll be mostly books, but I'll likely include some good TV, movie,

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1082747313197643532004-04-23T14:06:00.000-05:002004-04-23T14:13:00.670-05:00

This time of year is insane on campus. Or, at least, it is on mine. So I've been holed up, juggling pleas, paper, projects, proofs and presentations. If I can just get through to mid-May, though, everything will ease up considerably. In fact, if I can just get through next Tuesday, I'll be able to take a breath. And blog a little.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1082497210623772762004-04-20T16:43:00.000-05:002004-04-20T16:51:28.746-05:00

It's easy to tell that I'm a mom, even when Emma isn't holding my hand, perched on my hip, trailing behind me or running ahead. The contents of my purse might be a clue, with a box of raisins, a plastic ring and a toy car. The Tinkerbell sticker on the leg of my slacks might tip you off. You might get it by sitting beside me in traffic, noting the car seat, the piles of toys or the

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1082394311460865122004-04-19T11:52:00.000-05:002004-04-19T21:29:34.670-05:00

So, after 11 years of having the option, I'm doing it. I'm giving up on a relationship with my mom. I've wished for years that she would just fuck up royally and do something that would make it easy for me to cut all ties. (I wouldn't want her to do anything that endangered me or the ones I love, of course. Just something that would really piss me off.) But she's some sort of changed person the

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1082137688786298052004-04-16T12:43:00.000-05:002004-04-16T12:52:07.716-05:00

This isn't a political blog. I'm not a political commentator. There are plenty of others, more qualified than I, to fill that role. And I'm guessing if you read between the lines, you can figure out my bent, anyway. So I won't offer much commentary here, except to say you need to read this: Woodward Book Says Bush Secretly Ordered Iraq War. Bob Woodward says so, folks. I'm thinking I can trust

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1082123273374388612004-04-16T08:35:00.000-05:002004-04-16T08:51:52.250-05:00

Men will never understand speculums. Or stirrups. Or the strangeness of making small talk about kids or the weather while someone's hands are roving around inside you. Before I got pregnant, my annual exam was just a yearly necessity. It wasn't fun, but it was quick and I didn't think about it for another 12 months. Making the switch to the first letters (OB) instead of the second (GYN), though,

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1082037029836304182004-04-15T08:28:00.000-05:002004-04-15T08:54:27.903-05:00

Emma didn't "sleep through the night" until she was nearly 1. And even then, she nursed at 4 a.m. I went about 25 months -- from getting pregnant to having a 15-month-old -- without getting eight hours of sleep in a row. I'm a big sleeper. Napping is one of my favorite activities. I haven't slept past 8 a.m. in years, but I used to love wasting a morning in bed. I used to be religious about

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081890787687778282004-04-13T16:12:00.000-05:002004-04-13T16:20:05.496-05:00

Growing up, my family solved problems the old-fashioned way: with violence. Arguments started with raised voices, dialed up to screams and yells and often ended with broken glass or bones. I held my own in the midst of it, because I had to. And because I was a teenager who'd been raised on drama. Yelling was often the only way to make myself heard. I hate confrontations now. Hate them. And I'll

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081805632538031892004-04-12T16:24:00.000-05:002004-04-12T16:37:46.500-05:00

A few requests: Don't let someone who doesn't know me talk about washing machines, turtles or God. In fact, don't let someone who doesn't know me talk at all. Don't act like you were my best friend. Unless of course you were. Don't point fingers and blame someone for my death. (Unless I was killed by a drunk driver or ax murderer, in which case, point away.) Don't list what elementary schools

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081617378413275512004-04-10T12:16:00.000-05:002004-04-10T12:24:39.153-05:00

Yesterday was the shittiest day I've had in a long time. Things are crazy at work, and I spent all day trying to fight interruptions to get back to the project I needed to finish. We're having our Seder tonight, so details for that were simmering on the back burner. And my mom called late in the afternoon and started a huge fight. OK, so maybe I started the fight by not caving in to what she

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081528791103692582004-04-09T11:16:00.000-05:002004-04-09T13:24:07.013-05:00

My stepdad died when I was 21. I asked to speak at the funeral. I was supposed to be one of many folks who talked, but I ended up being the only one. The preacher didn't know him, so I pretty well gave his eulogy. When my grandma died, my family asked me to eulogize her. I wanted to talk about her, so I didn't mind. When my grandpa died, everyone assumed I would. I didn't have nearly as many

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081457755900750012004-04-08T15:53:00.000-05:002004-04-08T16:00:59.873-05:00

We must not be doing Passover right. Either that, or God doesn't like us. This time last year, I was preparing to host a seder for the first time. We cleaned the house of chametz. I made my mother-in-law's famous brisket, quarts of matzah-ball soup, a poppyseed chicken, a spinach salad and macaroons. I found a haggadah online -- an irreverent one, to be sure, but most of our guests were

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081456789489375272004-04-08T15:35:00.000-05:002004-04-08T15:43:37.716-05:00

For reasons I know I shouldn't go into, I wish I could blog about work today. But I've learned from bloggers past that can be dangerous. I'll just say there's a lot of ugliness and finger pointing. Luckily, I'm neither in the path of it or spewing it myself, but it's quite nasty. Here's hoping for better days.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081281688582315502004-04-06T15:01:00.000-05:002004-04-06T15:06:51.403-05:00

A day-care emergency landed me at home with Emma today. And, thus far, it's the best day we've had in ages. I didn't know I'd be off, so I didn't plan the day within an inch of its life. I had some work that needed to be finished today, so after a matzah-riffic breakfast, we started with a quick jaunt to campus. Over the course of our wanderings, Emma gathered up quite a collection: a

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081280278732310492004-04-06T14:37:00.000-05:002004-04-06T14:41:44.186-05:00

To anyone who pays attention to the sidebar: I've pulled Emma's library basket. It's too hard to keep up with for so little response. I'm going to replace it this week with some current favorites, though, so we can showcase library books we're loving and ones from our shelves, too. Be on the lookout.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081214880521098042004-04-05T20:28:00.000-05:002004-04-05T20:32:14.000-05:00

Emma was hiding doll diapers in her shirt this evening. At first, she pointed out her big belly. Two seconds later, she shoved them farther up and said, "Look, Mommy! I have bras!" -- Cuddled up in bed just now, Emma told me, "Here, Mommy, here's your pillow." I laid my head down in the dark to discover she'd made a nest out of her silkie, her most prized possession. "Emma, you're sharing your

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1081177385633383652004-04-05T09:47:00.000-05:002004-04-05T10:08:20.263-05:00

The good news is, I got a lot of rest this weekend. And spent a lot of time reading -- I finished one book, read two cover to cover and nearly finished yet another. (Check out the sidebar for details.) The bad news is, I needed all the naps because I barely got any nighttime sleep. And I had nothing to do but read, because I couldn't leave my bedroom -- with its proximity to the bathroom -- for

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080831660547489272004-04-01T08:33:00.000-06:002004-04-01T09:04:58.123-06:00

Fazoli's has one of the best fast-food kids' menus in town. But has anyone else noticed that their marketing department must love The Simpsons? Noodle, a wild-and-crazy skateboarding mascot, is a total Poochie knockoff. Only not tongue-in-cheek, as near as I can tell. He's all about "Fun to the X-Treme!" I giggle every time I look at him. (I was going to borrow the new Noodle coloring book to

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080829968433634932004-04-01T08:31:00.000-06:002004-04-01T08:36:26.763-06:00

Emma's site is updated with photos from our Salt Lake City trip. Check out the picture-postcard mountain shots ...

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080766267982126062004-03-31T14:51:00.000-06:002004-03-31T14:56:11.263-06:00

I used to be a self-righteous Wal-Mart hater. We did shop there when necessary, to pick up toiletries and cleaning supplies and cat litter and the like, but we were loyal Albertson's lovers. Albertson's had the freshest meat and produce, the best selection of cheese and spices, specialty breads and desserts and more. We were hooked. Until one weekend we were short on time and we decided we

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080767864347511502004-03-31T14:30:00.000-06:002004-03-31T15:21:21.950-06:00

Emma acted like a baby again on our recent trip to Salt Lake City. Yes, she was her normal, wonderful 3-year-old self. But she repeatedly did something she hasn't done since she was wee -- she touched strangers. The rest of this post is up at DotMoms. Show them -- and me -- some love.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080664041705206622004-03-30T09:51:00.000-06:002004-03-30T10:37:27.530-06:00

We made it home from the Salt Lake City without incident. Well, there were a few incidents, but they were pretty minor. Like: The we-aren't-dressed-right-for-this-function incident. The Em-is-catatonic-from-lack-of-sleep incident. The they're-all-laughing-but-he's-still-doing-karaoke incident. The hot-chocolate-all-over-the-appropriate-outfit incident. The jumping-spiders-freak-Emma-out

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080357253470788842004-03-26T21:14:00.000-06:002004-03-26T21:21:59.716-06:00

Someone at work asked me today, "So where are you going this time?" This has been a travelicious spring for the Brookses. We went to Phoenix in February, to make up for the holiday trip we missed because of my pneumonia. I went to Atlanta in early March, for work. We're going to Salt Lake City tomorrow. And we're actually in Albuquerque in May and then at home for a while, till we hit the San

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080323290936100382004-03-26T11:47:00.000-06:002004-03-26T11:53:47.606-06:00

At the Brooks' household, we're thrilled about the arrival of spring. We've been ready for a while. So it was no surprise to hear that joy expressed this morning, as gentle birdsong awoke us, for the fifth time this week, about 6 a.m. "Fucking cardinal."

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080314674311059552004-03-26T08:29:00.000-06:002004-03-26T09:51:29.373-06:00

We're big fans of Leo Lionni children's books. We first discovered him with Pezzettino, bought at a Friends of the Library sale before she was born. Pezzettino is an odd tale of an orange rock who wanders around thinking he's a little piece of someone else -- maybe the One-Who-Runs or the Flying-One, who are rock blobs made of lots of colors. There's lots of, "Do you think I could (insert verb

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080228205124335502004-03-25T09:33:00.000-06:002004-03-25T09:39:50.060-06:00

The first guy I slept with committed suicide. Sounds like the beginning of a really tacky joke, doesn't it? Unfortunately, though, it's true. And looking back, it feels like a bad joke -- only the punchline still hasn't come, 13 years later. I met J the summer between eighth and ninth grade. He was my best friend's older brother. I can picture with perfect clarity the first time I saw him: His

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080082745114675902004-03-23T16:52:00.000-06:002004-03-23T17:03:36.653-06:00

"Protect your child from becoming a statistic by preventing unwanted teen pregnancy." By advocating condom use? Abstinence? Talking to your kid about sex? Oh, no. You should check her panties instead. And if you're suspicious about your spouse -- husband or wife -- you can keep track of their secretions, as well. Only $49.95. What a bargain.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080081332647541072004-03-23T16:32:00.000-06:002004-03-23T16:38:59.043-06:00

Parenting via AIM Adam: Emma somehow just turned asking me for more peanut butter on her apple into yelling at me about how I don't put enough yogurt and applesauce in her bowls for day care. Lori: Hey, she's learning to argue like a grownup.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1080067204408335752004-03-23T12:32:00.000-06:002004-03-23T14:49:15.326-06:00

It's definitely spring in Oklahoma. Here are a few ways you can tell: Every other person you see is clutching a tissue (one rests in my lap right now). Discussions in the hall revolve around Claritin, Kleenex and Visine, as well as the etiquette on holding back a cough in a meeting. Do you try to stifle it? Hack as needed? Swallow copious amounts of water to delay the inevitable? Do you really

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079988972902412092004-03-22T14:45:00.000-06:002004-03-22T14:59:37.513-06:00

I have a tone of voice I try to use wisely -- and sparely. About two words, no matter what they are, can have Emma immediately stop what she's doing, say "I'm sorry!" and run into my arms for a hug. We don't yell and rarely even raise our voices. So I'm not sure what it is that Emma fears so much about the voice. But whatever it is, it works like a charm. Or an albatross, since I'm not always

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079989916831671962004-03-22T12:45:00.000-06:002004-03-22T15:24:14.263-06:00

We had quite a domestic weekend, starting with yardwork on Friday night (how pathetic is it that I got nasty blisters after 45 minutes wielding a rake?). Saturday morning, we took a random tour of Bricktown, including the much-hated and oft-beloved new BassPro, where we ogled the giant catfish and didn't mention the taxidermied bears, wolves, foxes, turkeys and deer had once been alive. (Never

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079734725301343492004-03-19T16:12:00.000-06:002004-03-19T16:22:06.420-06:00

Twice a week, I use my lunch hour to pick up Emma from day care and put her down for her nap. (Adam works from home, folks. Don't panic; I don't leave her there alone.) Her pre-sleep routine is so soothing it's often hard to drag my ass back out of her bed and into the office. That doesn't explain, though, something that happened recently. I went in to wake her from her nap, and she just didn't

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079734330132597452004-03-19T16:10:00.000-06:002004-03-19T16:15:31.340-06:00

Em's library basket (in the sidebar and also in the floor beside her bed) is overflowing. Check out what we're reading -- and why we picked 'em -- and let us know your faves. We're always looking for inspiration. (Wondering what else we've read this year? See all 2004 library books.

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079727978062579632004-03-19T14:14:00.000-06:002004-03-19T14:29:38.966-06:00

I got a new haircut yesterday at lunch. And I hate it. It's not that the cut itself is bad -- it's done well and makes my hair look thick and healthy. It's all one length and has this fun little swing thing going. None of that redeems it, though. Campus this week has been like the set of 28 Days Later. Thankfully, no zombies are popping out of the bushes, but everything is deserted and

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079639998006343312004-03-18T13:40:00.000-06:002004-03-18T14:04:09.186-06:00

I'm old. I know it. On top of that, my musical tastes are old. Sure, I've got an eclectic CD mix, with some hot pop and hip-hop and obscure local bands or singer/songwriters thrown in, but I tend to bust out the Eagles and Simon and Garfunkel for all occasions. Still, though, I find it amusing to hear so many songs I grew up being showcased on top-40 stations. At the mall at lunch, I heard First

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079470296042373062004-03-16T14:36:00.000-06:002004-03-16T14:54:52.530-06:00

So, I dropped four large envelopes in the mail today: two to the IRS and two to the Oklahoma Tax Commission. And we'll be getting four direct deposits in return, adding up to a substantial refund. On top of this year's returns, our accountant (that sounds so pretentious, but we only see him once a year) found he'd made a mistake on last year's taxes, so he filed amended versions, and we should

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079451249350850612004-03-16T08:24:00.000-06:002004-03-16T10:07:46.936-06:00

Emma adored being the birthday girl. All day long, she kept reminding me, "Say 'happy birthday, Emma!'" and asking me to sing Happy Birthday to her. Toward the end of her day -- after opening a pile of presents, a trip to the zoo with a picnic lunch, dinner out at a restaurant of her choice (she picked Hideaway after seeing the logo in the paper -- who says advertising is dead?) and dessert at

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079383649745477042004-03-15T14:38:00.000-06:002004-03-15T14:52:58.716-06:00

There are many highlights from Emma's big 3-year-old birthday weekend. One story, though, I can't help but repeat. As promised, we took Emma to the Oklahoma City Zoo for her big day. We did it last year, and it's going to be a nice little tradition. Mom and Dad take the day off to spend with her and we have the party on the next weekend. We wandered around, finding her favorite animals and

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6016575.post-1079383078316335012004-03-15T14:32:00.000-06:002004-03-15T14:41:13.750-06:00

My Mac just said to me: "It's not my fault ... " Seriously. It continued on, but I'm listening to Ben Folds and couldn't really hear it. It reads error messages to me if they're up on the screen too long, usually something like, "HP LaserJet4500N is out of paper" or "Insert Disc #5 from the Big Box of Art." So I didn't pay much attention when it started talking. By the time I realized what it

Lorihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07440497529217288250noreply@blogger.com