September 2009 Archives

This is another book from my mother's bookshelf. After three weeks of her books, I'm wondering why she is reading such depressing things. I tend to avoid depressing things. Since becoming a mother, I just can't handle it. It makes me feel blue for days. Maybe I am just too sensitive, but depressing books leave me melancholy. After reading The Reader and then watching the movie, I sorta wanted to curl into a ball and sigh about the cruelties of life. By the way, the movie was just as good as the book. Blasphemy I know, but the director did a good job mimicking the book and being able to see emotions play across a characters' faces was very fulfilling. It added another layer that the book was limited to due to it being in first person. 

But back to this week's book. The Third Angel deals with death and love from three women's perspectives--all of which are interconnected. So as you read each section the story expands and you learn more details about the story before. The characters are well done and the drama is thick. It borders on a feel good book but not one that gives you the happy ending you'd like--even if its not believable.

My favorite aspect of the book is that the women found strength from each other and tended to repeat the same mistakes through generations.

It's a quick read, an easy read, an entertaining read.

We finally got around to purchasing a zoo membership. A worthwhile investment when you are the parent of young child and live less than ten minutes away from the zoo. River and I have already gone to the zoo here three times before.

How to get your toddler to stay by you at the zoo? Be lucky enough to have the wandering peacock walk out of the grass right in front of him as he is running away. Also, very funny.

Unlike our other trips, River is now big enough to walk most of the way and push back his naptime enough to throughly enjoy the trip. Also, unlike our last trips--he is no longer scared of the goats and happily walked from one pudgy goat to another with his goat brush, just like all the other kids.

He also went on the merry-go-round for the first time. He was very brave up until it actually began to move and then he wanted to hold onto me. 

 My husband would be disapointed if I didn't mention that we caught the leopards making sweet leopord love not once, but twice. Unfortuantly, the male leopard's loud grunting was too much for the voyeuristic audience and their laughter disrupted his hard work. He gave up trying to satisfy his demanding mate and really, I don't blame him. Can't a leopard hump in peace? I may write a letter to the zoo and suggest privacy blinds for the happy couple.

There is no photo of this. One, because the chainlink fence got in the way of a good photo, but also because I am morally against putting leopard porn on the internet. Mainly, it is just the chainlink fence.

Big cats have the exact same body language as domenstic cats. If you are a pet parent to felines, you will know exactly what I mean. It almost makes me want to go in their cage and play with them. Almost. Except last time I was there one urine marked rather close to where I was standing. Imagine what big cat pee smells like. Whew.

I believe this Cheetah is saying: "You humans are annoying. I am listening to you, but pretending as if you are not worthly of my attention."

We even got to see the elephant children eat poo and I'd only ever heard about that on Animal Planet! Baby Samson is only three months younger than River. He leaves me glad that River doesn't need to eat my poop.

 A bashful giaraffe came over and then was sacred off by a toddler. Not my toddler, mind you. He thought we had food because we were close to the feeding area. Unfortuantly, we did not. It costs extra to feed the giaraffes. So when people came out with food, he refused to come back. I'm just glad it wasn't my kid that tramatized the animal.

We got to see a mommy chimpanzee nursing her baby. I talked to River about it and later that day, over dinner, I asked him what he had seen at the zoo. After he said "Monkey" I asked what the monkey had been doing. He said, "Baby monkey. Mommy monkey. Nursee. sleep" I was really surprised that he had been listening to me and remembered.

The last two times we have gone, what I swear if the same chimp, has come over to sit close to the glass where the children gather. He or she, watches the children closely. I wonder what this chimp is thinking.

I love the zoo and I love sharing that time with my family. It is hard for me to believe that I now live in a place where the zoo is so close. The zoo was always a special and rare trip growing up. Now my son can go to the zoo once a week if he wants to.

River and I usually take one to two walks a day: for exercise and sun and to enjoy being outdoors. Usually this either goes well or not. It depends on how ornery River feels like being. On a good day, he holds my hand when crossing the street and walks at an even pace. On bad days it is a mega meltdown tantrum when I touch him, assist him, ask him to hold my hand while cars zip by and he may or may not pause for fifteen minutes just because I told him to keep walking.

Friday morning we were having a good walk. We had just spent thirty minutes sitting and running around the trees in our favorite spot, talking about leaves falling down to the ground over and over again and then squating to tear them into shreds--one of River's favorite fall activities as of late.

Everytime River hears any machines--car, motorcycle, airplane, helicopter--he proclaims it's presence. "Car coming!" he shouts out. "Airplane fly!" was what I heard and usually I will find where he is pointing and explain, "Yes, an airplane!"

This time, it was not an airplane, but something substantially larger from our point of view. It was a blimp taking off not to far away with the bold white letters spelling DIRECT TV on its side. So we chased after it--boy on my shoulders, stroller steered with one hand. Trotting up the hill to the sidewalk and peeking at the blimp between tree branches.

There was no better vantage point that the tennis courts across the street. I'd never been in it. A wooden path lined in mossy 2x4s led the way to the old gate. We ran around the cracked green pavement inside over shallow puddles and watched the blimp lift futher into the air and farther away from us on its path to an unknown destination. It was time to go home and get ready for naptime--a snack, books and cuddles in bed.

We walked out together onto the path and River began to balance on the wood boards. One was tilted and he stumbled, struggling to climb back to his feet. I watched him with that amused smile parents get when they watch their clumsy, uncoordinated children concentrate on a task they could easily accomplish.

Then I noticed a yellow jacket on the cuff of his sweatshirt. Silly bee, I might have thought. What is it doing? I waved my hand at it to get it to fly away. It didn't bulge. Somewhere is my sluggish brain a red alarm began to blink slowly--considering. Then there was a second yellow jacket, a third, a forth. I imagine my brain was now filled with the scream of several sirens, but my body has already responded with a hot burst of adrenaline. One of those blind panic modes when you don't see, you aren't aware of thinking--you just act.

I grabbed River by the shoulders of his sweatshirt (so as not to get stung myself--I would later realize) and bolted across the grass--as far from the yellow jacket swamped stroller as I could get and not be in the woods.

I set him down and saw the yellow jackets still clinging to his cuff, stabbing their stingers up and down with determination. So close to his unprotected little hand. I cried out, "What the hell do I do? I don't know what to do!" and then, blind again, I unzipped his jacket, yanked it back from his shoulders, and threw it in a heap. I grabbed up River against me and ran even further.

River was looking like, what is wrong with you mother? He wasn't crying, but I was still a bit worried. I yanked up his sleeve and inspected his arm and then, safe, I stood with him and watched the yellow jackets swarming the stroller and his jacket.

Everything was okay for a long time. I was just waiting till they calmed so I could get our things and go home. Then River screamed. And, when you are a parent, you know your child's cries. You know pain from discomfort and when they are faking it or when they are tired. This was pain. This was startled pain. River was holding up his hand and a yellow jacked was on his thumb, stinging.

I shrieked and shook his hand--once again momentarily baffled as to what to do and utterly enraged at this insect just doing its job. Then I pinched the thing. Crushed it with my fingers and ran into the nearest building where I tried to get assistance and was told, with quite the attitude, that I could not be helped by a secratary that either did not have children of her own or, if she did, they probably didn't find her very nuturing. I went in for a few reasons. One, for safety. Two, because I thought the tennis court was in their jurisdiction (it was not) and that she could get someone from maintence to kill the bees and fetch my things.Three, the hopes that I would be allowed the use of the bathroom to examine my sons injury/get a cold papertowel--something, anything.

She of no help what-so-ever.

Back out, with River screaming and his thumb swelling-- I made a quick grab of the jacket and the stroller and then a mad sprint all the way home with a crying child in the stroller sucking his injured thumb and saying "Baby hurt! Boo boo, bandaid!"

I have since had fantasies of stomping on the yellow jacket nest and soaking it in raid while screaming victory. Or maybe holding that secretary's face close to the hive for a minute.

* River is fully recovered now. The swelling was pretty scary and he complained about the "boo boo" for about 24 hours. I am a little worried after hearing that children that are stung so young have a higher chance of developing worse allergies to bee stings. I wish I could go back in time and run much further away--avoiding any stings at all. Though, obviously, it could have been much worse. I am very thanful for the cool day that caused me to dress River is pants and a jacket. Otherwise, he might have ended up in the hospital. Also, the Direct TV blimp can suck my nonexistant balls.

**Mothers are a bit irrational when their baby has a boo boo.

Taken in December 2007--

I am aghast to discover that I am a writer with a habit. I perfer a hot mug of tea when I start working on my writing. It gets me in the mood and helps me relax. Also, the mild jolt of caffine keeps me going.

Recently, friend Nikki recommended Adagio Teas and sent a $5.00 off coupon my way. The teas are a wonderful tea filled with delicious scent. I have forgotten how much I love tea. It used to be all I drank, but coffee--alas--is far cheaper. Buying loose tea from Adagio is actually far, far cheaper than buying tea in the grocery store. I will indulge myself all winter long.

Plus, they give you a free sample of your zodiac tea when you place your order. I am a indecisive libra, in love with beauty and obsessed with keeping things in balance. I can't tell you what tea I like best. They are all pure yum. 

From our (growing) tea collection:

These are customer made blends that go for $10.00/each. Accidental Awesome is a chocolate, vanilla blend. Pumpkin Rum is what I imagine pirates drank on cold October nights at sea. Yo, ho ho and a bottle of pumpkin rum tea. Argh!

These are the $2.00/each samples of single flavors that make about 10 cups each of tea. Is anyone else thinking that these would make cute additions to Christmas gifts? 

These are my favorite mugs in which the sacred tea is brewed. Yes, this is loose tea so you need a steeper. We have these little one cup hearts and also a giant ball for a full pot. They make kinds that you can squeeze and then scoop. Much easier than trying to fill things with shriveled tea leaves. 

Even Cookie Monster loves tea. His exact words were, "Tea that tastes like cookie?! Arg, arg, arg." 

I think I can better understand why so many people must have been pissed off after the events of the Boston Tea Party. All that wonderful, caffeine laced tea...IN THE WATER? NOOOOOOOO!

My English ancestors would be proud. 

When I went up to New York with River to spend an entire week at my mother's, I took a huge stack of books with me back home. My mother is the reason I love to read. We have different tastes in books, but occasionaly we overlap. Back when I blew money of books every month, she was constantly raiding my bookshelf. I guess I taught her the joy of owning books and now each time I visit her leaning tower of novels continues to defy gravity.

This is the first book I read from my mother's cluttered book shelf. The book was orginally published in German. I haven't gotten around to reading many books published orginally in a language other than English--so I was intrigued. What made this book so great that it had been translated and also enjoyed by my picky mother?

Well, it was good. The book itself is pretty straight foward. It's about love--a complicated, often one sided love, of a young man for his older lover. A lover who has a few dark secrets. The book made me cry. There isn't much I can say about it, other than to insist you pick it up. It's really too short to get into without giving something away.

Oh, and it's a movie. I will probably be watching it later this week. I'll see if it did the book justice.

I've been working on THE NOVEL in fits and starts. There has not been too much to report. Line editing is boring and I have not yet mastered the skills of outlining and note taking. Let's just say I have so much line editing on the brain that when critiqueing other's stories in my writer's group I saw grammatical errors scream off the page and then back hand me across the face. That happened to me--the queen of grammar suckage and spelling mistakes.

I did manage to finish my first round of edits. That's good because my goal was October 1st, but maybe the only reason I have it done so soon is because I am splitting the first book into the two books. Yes. Like a hatcket down the middle--split.

WHAM BITCHES!

I'm doing this for a couple reasons. First, 800 pages is just too much for a first novel. No editor wants a beast of such immense size. That's also just too much for my inexperienced self to work with. It's like trying to juggle five china plates and three flaming torches. I have enough trouble keeping my head on straight. No lie. Today I found the missing red sippy cup. So instead of putting it in the fridge, I had a mind fart of immense size and stink. I put it in a cabinet. So when I opened said cabinet, I found a sippy cup full of curdled milk. The milk PLOPED out into the sink like it was jello. Vile.

That's motherhood for you.

Now I have 350 pages or so to work with. That's more doable. I can handle that. But size isn't the only reason I cut back. I have always felt like plots got dropped and unfinished between the two halves of the book. This makes perfect sense, because I actually wrote the book in a few different writing spurts between college courses and other things life threw at me. I believe the book was written over a 5 year span. It's a bit...rough around the edges.

Now I have to take 350 pages and add a good, fat climax in there. The kind, hopefully with multiple orgasms thereafter.

The sweet part of this is I already have the second book done now. I just need to write number three Lo and behold, a freak'in triliogy. How fantasy genre am I now? What? What?!

This is something of a bizarre topic and one I am not being endorsed in any way to promote. I mean, not enough people even come to my blog for anyone to give me money to push products at you. If only...

I want to tell you about my "magical" remedy for clear skin. Since the onset of puberty, I've had a lot of trouble with my skin. I wouldn't say I had a "pizza face". Oh man, I love that phrase. So no pizza face going on here. I have had rotten breakouts, probably due to the extreme oil my face produces. Do Italians really get their olive oil from olives or is that just a cover phrase for the slick patches on their faces? The shine off my forehead at high noon could burn your pupils. I could bottle it.

I always thought that if I could just get through my teens, my skin would go back to being belmish free. I feel as if the world betrayed me when I continued to get zits into my 20's. Now I'm closer to 30 than 20 and I still have the occasional break-out or volcanic eruption on my face. 

Life just is not fair.

In fact, my best skin happened in pregnancy. I got used to not fighting off zit battles every single month. I want my pregnancy skin back minus the water retaining jowls attached to my jaw.

Funds have always put a damper on blemish treatments. We couldn't afford to fling our money at Proactive or other costly products.

So we tried the knock-off Proactive and it wasn't doing it for me. Neither was this, that or the other face scrub, or the spot treatment, or the apricot scrub that sure did smell nice. Nope, nothing, nadda.

Until I began to mix and match with my clear skin cocktail. A little bit of some of the many products we bought--all at Target, btw. (because Target is like heaven on earth after eight years of shopping at Wal*Mart).

My Morning Cocktail

My Evening Cocktail

My skin looks pretty damn good. Of course, I still have bad skin moments that tend to pop up right around the time I turn into The Hulk and bitch at my husband for looking at me funny. Most people just refer to this as PMS. I like to get creative.

This is a book I read recently and somehow was skipped over and never reviewed. Warning, this is a book that will make you cry. Unless, that is, you are like my husband and I can count the number of times I've seen you cry on one hand and still have fingers left over to wiggle.

As a young adult book, its short, easy to read, and often found in high school english classrooms. I never read this in school, like to consider myself an adult, and still found this to be an excellent read.

The book is a coming of age story and autobiographical. The author writes about his life as a son in a Quaker farming family. The book shows the hardships of farm life, the Quaker culture but mostly the relationship between a father and a son.

Right from the start the book drew me in. It begins with the narrator helping to deliver a calf alone in the woods. The cow is struggling to give birth while this little boy tries to help. This is a way of life that is forgien to most of us now. If you're like me, you have farmers not to far back in the family tree.

A quick read and a great on to pass on to your teenage son.

I do remember...

Nineteen, a freshman in college. You were twenty-two. We look like babies.

It's almost been eight years...can you believe it? Eight years of loving and bickering and helping me clean up my kitchen accidents.   

This was your first pumpkin!

Seeing you with our son, is the most wonderful sight in the world. It fills me up to my eyeballs with joy.

Almost eight full years together and five years married this winter. Speaking of marriages, I still don't remember our marriage celebration well.

Celebrating our marriage  with family and friends. I was drunk.

I love you so, husband o' mine!

We have a few upcoming projects. The next is the building of two bookcases. One on the wall between our dinning and living room spaces. The second will be built into the office closet in place of doors. Thus it needs to be movable, maybe hinged, to allow entrence into the office closet. We will then be able to unpack serveral boxes of books and use our storage space for other things. I'm not sure what we will do with these bookcases--stain, paint, or leave them as raw wood.

We'll be going to Home Depot to get a wood quote. The estimated price will really determine when we get around to building them.

Our second project is River's bedroom/playroom. As part of his second birthday gift, I'd like to organize and improve his space. Right now the room is an intense, overwhelming shade of blue left here by the previous tennants. We've already picked out a green grape color to paint the walls.

His toys lay scattered on the floor as we have no bins or a toy chest for anything. That will have to change. He also needs his own bookcase and one of those stuffed animal holders that hangs from the ceiling.

I'd like to invest in a big boy bed. He might not use it for awhile, but he won't fit in the crib converted into a toddler's bed forever either. This will probably be something that will have to wait. I have, of course, already picked out bedding for his new room decor.

Jason and I are are not into sports or trucks or any overtly "male" interests. Monsters though... Well, monsters are boyish enough for my son but not over done like baseball or fire engines.

Target stocks this cute bedding.

Something similar is available at garnethill.com.

The next step is to figure out what color curtains will work with green grape colored walls? I thought a dark blue? Any suggestions?

I really want River to have his own space before we even get around to having another child. Somewhere that can be just his. Once I am pregnant again, all projects will be on hold when my free time will be used for things like puking in the toilet or laying on the floor feeling like I could sleep for ten hours straight.

Other things that would help neaten up River's space are toy bins/toy chests. Target and Walmart sell decently priced items that look something like this:

I love planning. I love decorating. I love making a space unique and attractive but funds only allow us to tackle one thing at a time and other things take priority like new shoes for the toddler with feet of immense size and new pants for his mother--who only has three to her name and two are a bit tight and one is way to large.

We'll get to it all, eventually.

I must have issues. Major enviromental issues. Not only am I neurotic about cleaning, but I love being surronded by pretty. I am not only addicted to Etsy but to Ikea. Can someone just let me take whatever I want from Ikea? Can I live there part time, maybe? Please?

Why I want to make sweet love to Ikea:

Ikea has cheap frames. Amazingly cheap. Amazing beautiful.

Look! Look! I finally have an office where I can write in peace. A pretty, pretty office space. *Swoon*

 Magic will be happening here.

This week's book was a bit unexpected. I believe I've mentioned before that Robin Hobb is one of my favorite Fantasy authors. Jason was looking her up on Wikipedia. He wanted to see when her next book was coming out. Turns out the release date of her newest book was pushed back in the US but available to buy from the UK. We ordered our copy of this book from amazon.com. Better still....

It came signed! I much prefer the UK coverart to the US versions anyway. Now...if only I had the money to order all the hardcovers from across the Atlantic for my library...

DORK!

It was wonderful to return to Hobb's world. The world of three other trilogies* I adore. This book overlaps her last book in this world and then moves beyond that time line.

I love her version of dragons. I love her characters, as always. Out of all my favorites, Hobb is best at building characters. This is yet another good book. I expect no less. I can't wait to read the next two and anything else she puts out.

*Begin with--- Assassin's Apprentice 

Dear River,

This Wednesday you will have completed your twenty first month of life. When I carry you, you don't really fit right on my hip anymore. Your long legs dangle, you head butts my chin, and your weight pulls at my arms. It makes me think of a photo of my mother nursing me. This little woman with this huge baby across her narrow lap. Now that is me. I was hugely pregnant with you and now I am again dwarfed by your size. When I put your foot into my hand it nearly fills that entire length. River, I can distinctly recall how the length of your entire pinky finger was as long as the small length of that same finger on me. Just the tip to that first joint. My hand could cup your entire skull. I could hold you with one arm. You are so big, so full on energy and independence, passions and fire.  

So big!

Today you were so angry. So spitting, crazy angry that you kicked the wall. Battered it with your bare feet and then slapped it with your hands. Your tantrums are extreme. I feel those same doubts that riddle parenthood for every mother and father. Is it okay that you get so angry? Am I doing something wrong? Is there something else I should be doing? Sometimes I try to rub your brow, to hold you. Your whole body writhes. You protest. I end up leaving you there on the floor, walking away, letting you scream out your fury. You always come back from it. Set it aside. Rarely hold a grudge very long. Sometimes I am proud of your passion. I think it stems from confidence, from a strong sense of self and personality. I hope you feel as strongly about all things in life--your loves, your goals, your adventures. Just try not to keep kicking the walls. Eventually, you will be strong enough to bust holes in them.

Who could believe it of you? 

You talk consistently. There isn't anything you won't repeat and you find ways to put words together to express yourself-- forming whole strings of ridiculous sentences. This month you have finally taken to including yourself in these sentences. "Baby" you call yourself. Or "River". "Baby walk! Baby push! Baby water!" Or you pause in pushing your stroller outside, solemnly, to proclaim. "Daddy's boots. River's shoes. Mommy's sandals." You wait for us all to agree. Yes, those are Daddy's boots, River's shoes and Mommy's sandals. Only then, can we move on. Each time we pass the motorcycles, you must proclaim "motorcycles." "motorcycles" a billion times. I realized that is your emphasis. Your way of saying, "I really like those motorcycles. I love their color. I want to touch them." You don't have the adjectives. You only have the noun to stress, to say over and over. 

This was my rocking horse long ago.

You talk so much now, I can't even think of what to write here. Every day is new words, new phrases, things popping out of your mouth I had no idea you could say or even understand. "BATMAN!," you shout. "Daddy more ice cream now please" "Mommy pee. River potty. Diaper off. Toilet paper. Shhhh" You say as you sit on your potty while I sit on my potty. My favorite recent development is how you started calling frozen blueberries (which you could say just fine) "BerryJam" which is your flip-flopped version of the children's book titled, Jamberry.

You've driven a boat and I never have! Not fair!

This month we were lucky to spend a week in New York visiting family and friends. Your language explosion really began while we were there. For the first time you had a name for my father. "Poppy" you decided. "Bryan," for my brother, "Grandma Me" for my Grandmother, Marie.

Grandma time

A visit from Grandma Me

You don't need me as much as you once did. In fact, you prefer not to have me around sometimes. You favor new company to my own and often your father over me. I'm happy for you. Happy for your independence. At some point you always demand my attention. At night, you still cry only for me. When you are sick, you want your mother. You might be growing apart from me, realizing you are your own little person, but I am content knowing that I will always be your safe ground--your home base. I'll hold you in my arms as long as I can, until my back aches and your feet knock into my knees. As you continue to drawf me, know you'll always be my baby. Always.

Love,

Mommy

I haven't had time to write the last couple of days. Instead, I've spent my free moments assembling Ikea furniture, curling on the sofa with the husband to finished the anime series, Deathnote, and reading another great book.

Then I had every intention of writing a post to share my newest decorating adventures, but the camera died and needed to be charged. Then the sun set and the office is rather dim.

So instead, you get this.

This was my weekend. River hardly slept Friday night. I think I managed about 4 hours of sleep total. He woke up much earlier than he usually does. This often means he needs and earlier nap. Instead, against my better judgement, we went to Ikea as planned. He conked out in the car for about ten minutes and awoke in the store ready to have at it. This meant pushing the cart. Thanks be for Heather who stepped up and took charge of the little terror so Jason and I could argue curtain choices.

We learned a few important things from our journey to Ikea.

1. I should always follow my gut instincts. The child refused to nap most of the day and finally passed out on my chest around 3:00. He was cranky and insane. It's probably due to teething. Damn, canine teeth. I feel faint at the knowledge that there are four of them and then the same amount of two year old molars to get through before teething is behind us.

2.  Shopping on 4 hours of sleep is a bad idea. Jason bought two blinds in the wrong size, one children's toy that was missing a part, and I got a matching set of frames that actually don't really match.

3. Don't assemble Ikea furniture on 4 hours of sleep. The curtains are not at the same height, one picture frame is crooked and two overtired adults snapped at each other.

Sunday I was so tired I pumped 2 gallons of super unleaded gas into our car and finally listened to Jason telling me what I was doing and then switched. Life doesn't pause for a child. We couldn't sleep in. We couldn't sleep actually. I think we got 5 hours Saturday night and still got up to take River to the park to play. I made myself nap because I had plans to go to Yoga with Heather. If I hadn't, I surely would have died.

Seriously, died.

We did something called Hot Yoga. HOT Yoga. This is an hour and a half of torture in which a borderline insane person sits willingly in a room that is 90 degrees and contorts themselves at crazy angles. Because I am not only borderline insane, but also borderline deaf, we had to sit by the instructor. I heard very clearly all about his life the entire span of the torture. That also means all those people behind me got a very good view of my sweat dampened ass.

Let me digress. I started Yoga the winter before I got pregnant. My instructor in Oneonta, Anna, was a kind, little woman who was also an elementary school nurse. One of those blessed individuals that is very much at peace and seeps love out of their pores to infect the people around them. Someone you knew cared, sincerely cared. Yoga was peaceful, calm and I felt she took me to a different state of mind. It was more a spirtual experiance than actual excerise. She was always very focused on the simpliest steps: ones stance, one's positioning, one's contentment. I continued to attend classes through my pregnancy until the day before I had River. At this point, I had become her only pregnant student and still she held classes for me. It wasn't worth her time, money wise, but she did it. I returned to Yoga at six weeks post-partum with River. But Yoga with a baby was too distracting. I didn't really have the time or money anymore.

What did Yoga do for me?

I became more flexible than I'd ever been. I never had any body pains while I attended Yoga. No back aches, no hips pains, nothing. It helped me relax. I always felt like I had taken a very restful nap after I got out of Yoga class. When I had morning sickness, Yoga breathing helped me not puke many-a-time. When I gave birth, Yoga--I believe--had opened my hips to make my labor fast and hard. I dilated from 6cm to 10cm in ten minutes. After giving birth, when my body ached all over, I did Yoga in the hospital room- to stretch my back.

Hot Yoga was an entirely different can of beans. It was meant to be! It was more a workout than a mediation. It was hard and disgusting. When I moved, sweat rolled down my body. Sweat soaked my hair. It dripped off my chin. My glass slid off my face. It took will not to walk out of the room. At one point I couldn't catch my breath. I just wanted cool air. My legs trembled because my atrophied muscles were so tired. The whole time the instructor is rambling on and one about everything, almost nonstop. I'm staring at the ceiling and imagining the tapestries I used to look at in my old Yoga studio and missing it, missing that time and that place and those old sensations.

At the end my clothes were a different color: saturated with my sweat. I'd drank two bottles of water and the outside air felt so cool. Today my body aches, the good ache of having done hard work.

I enjoyed it. I'd like to do it again. I also very much miss Anna. When my back was bent over a block, when my hands rested on my loose stomach, I remembered her melodious voice telling me to hold my baby, to send him waves of love, to imagine him one day in my arms.

TIme passes so quickly. Too quickly it seems, sometimes.

Someone was not pleased to hear this!

Delaying traffic with sudden mid-street tantrums!

Not much work done today. I spent my writing time finishing the third book (Hero of Ages) of an amazing series by Brandon Sanderson.  I was right at the end and couldn't put it down.

As my husband was putting River down to sleep, I began edits to part 3. I noticed a contradiction to something in part 1 and made a note to myself to go back and change that. I have a feeling a section of part 3 might be too staccato and needs some flow.

In total, I am about 150 pages into the first round of edits. Not bad, you'd think. Really though, not much has happened in the novel and there is still a good deal more to get through.

Today's accomplishments...

I finished the first edit of Part 2. Part 2 is a shorter, rather heavy section. It involves two characters the reader has not yet seen and a lot of information. I suspect, too much information. This might be a part in the book where readers get distracted or overwhelmed. I may have to see about thinning this section out. I dump history on them and a good deal of background information including geography, termonology, and theology.

Most fantasy novels have a section like this somewhere in them. Even the wonderful novel Mistborn I recently read had a section where I was like, "Okay, enough already. I don't want to hear about this magic system anymore." It proved itself to be really important, yes. I did feel a bit overwhelmed during it though.

Then again, I am that type of person who skipped tutorials when playing Final Fantasy and either blundered my way through learning how to do things or made my husband provide the cliff notes.

Once again, going to see what my readers think before doing anything major like moving things around. Still, my gut tells me it's too much in too little space. I don't want to have a part in my book that the reader wants to skip. Where everytime these two characters come up someone thinks, "Gah, not again."