Saturday, February 24, 2007


Thursday, February 22, 2007


"And She's Organized."

for this New York Times article, click here, don't miss the comments readers left - unbelievable!

Monday, February 19, 2007


This is What My Body Does

j.b. rowell

I explain that this happens
on and off
and by the time
I reach the hospital I will be half
way there.

"Do you want me to check
your cervix?"

I stop and think about his use
of the word "want"
then say no,
that will only make it worse.

"You don't want to have this baby
on the kitchen floor,"
he says laughing.

My kitchen floor is clean
and cold.
The hospital smells
clean but is not
and is colder.

I decide white linoleum
wouldn't be so bad.

Sunday, February 04, 2007


My husband and I are looking into buying this First Years 5-in-1 Sleep System and were reading online reviews . . .

The comments mostly affirmed that this would be a worthwhile purchase since it serves as a bassinet for the first 5 or 6 months, and the top comes off to be portable leaving a diaper changing station. Plus it has storage underneath. Someone called it the James Bond bassinet.

The negative reviews were hilarious complaining about odd, nit-picky things like the ruffles getting in the way of the storage and the base being so large that a woman kept stubbing her toes (sounds like a personal problem). Someone else complained that it was too hard to roll unless you are going straight (what kind of ride is she taking her baby on?) We laughed so hard, which is quite dangerous for someone as pregnant as I!

So we were inspired to write our own mock reviews:

We luv it! Especially the roomy storage, although it could be more accessible since I have to bend over to get a diaper. The wheels aren't as smooth as I'd like, especially when we strap it onto the back of our Suburban for trips. The baby gets a little gassy. When Zac outgrew it when he turned 36 weeks, we converted it to mini-bar!!!!!!

Thursday, February 01, 2007


When moms say to me, "Better you than me," about having another baby, about
soon having three young ones, I always wonder if they really mean it.
Sometimes, I suspect they do, that they are truly glad to have sleepless nights
and diapers behind them. Other times, it seems as if they are trying to convince
themselves that they are happy to have their kids older, more indpendent, and even
out of the house.

I just wonder why people have to put that judgement onto others.

Some moms and dads tell me to enjoy it while I can, the whole, "It will all
go by so fast" spiel.

"They'll be gone before you know it."

"Enjoy every moment."

Why do we all feel the need to impart wisdom from our own experiences? This
kind of wisdom is non-transferable. Why can't we let each other make our own
decisions and live in them moment to moment, learning from them, and keeping
that knowledge to ourselves? Passing it on seems useless and hollow.

Today, I am trying to live in my now. We have a snow day. My kids are making
a snowman and playing with a neighbor friend, my husband's lecture is cancelled and
he is making chicken noodle soup for when they come in wet and cold with red cheeks,
I am writing and resting and growing a baby who is now about 3 1/2 pounds.

American Life in Poetry: Column 097


Though parents know that their children will grow up and away from
them, will love and be loved by others, it's a difficult thing to accept.
Massachusetts poet Mary Jo Salter emphasizes the poignancy of the
parent/child relationship in this perceptive and compelling poem.

Somebody Else's Baby

From now on they always are, for years now
they always have been, but from now on you know
they are, they always will be,

from now on when they cry and you say
wryly to their mother, better you than me,
you'd better mean it, you'd better

hand over what you can't have, and gracefully.

Reprinted from "New Letters," vol. 72, no. 3-4, 2006, by permission of
the poet. Copyright (c) 2006 by Mary Jo Salter, whose most recent book
of poetry is "Open Shutters," Knopf, 2003. This weekly column is
supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the
Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. This column does
not accept unsolicited poetry.