It has been enticing me away from this blog lately. I will have a talk with it and see if we can reach a compromise.

Because I promised you all a party tomorrow, didn’t I?

Can we make it Tuesday?

We can?

Great! Thanks.

I just love these little chats.

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UPDATE: I feel like a chump but I am running late on the party prepping. The party will be even later than expected. Have you seen the size of my blogroll! I love you, but sheesh! I want to do this right and not just rush through. Your patience is appreciated. If you need to blame someone, blame my husband’s sweet Aunt Maria. She’s coming for a visit this evening. Nah, don’t blame her. She reads this blog and is too darn sweet. Blame the glass of wine I drank last night as I was sitting down to party with you all. It put me right to sleep. So embarassing.

I am swamped tonight with deadlines, but also excited that I will be off bright and early for an adventure tomorrow, without children. I leave you with a quick kiddy post, dedicated to my friend aka Monty, who apparently likes hearing about the little squirts.

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Rachel: My foot fell asleep.

Me: Again?!

Rachel: (Sigh) I think it must be tired today.

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This afternoon Rachel and I were discussing a recipe for popovers, and looking at the cookbook. While we were doing this, Hannah poured her cheese and crackers in the mixing bowl and turned her cup of milk upside down on top of the mixture. Then she very proudly said, “I made it. Boootiful!”

My semester starts again this Friday, so I’m going to spend the next few days getting my office in order. It’s already shaping up. I promise to take a photo and post it once I have created zen. I will be catching up on my blog reading, but I won’t be posting for a few days.

In the meantime, for your reading pleasure, I present YOU.

And if YOU are not on there, get moving and give me your favorites. I don’t have to know you yet. I’ve met some of my favorite blog friends through this gallery.

Minerva, I’m headed your way to get a few of your Best of Me links and add them to my gallery.

By the way, if you have personal experience with cancer, Minerva would like some encouragement right now. Please go visit her. If you know anyone who survived cancer, she’d like to hear about it. Even if you can’t speak about cancer, Minerva is a wonderful person and a fluid, beautiful writer. One visit and you’ll be back for more.

If you haven’t noticed, I have had a bit of writer’s block lately. I have been stuck on something that seems to be standing right front of me, not making room for any other posts to present themselves. She’s a tough one, this figure in front me. She’s myself at about twenty. Perhaps she’s standing here because I resolved to regain my youth this year. Perhaps she here because I have been going to yoga regularly, and when my body warms and my blood and energy is flowing, I do see my 20 year old self in the yoga studio mirror. (Of course, this illusion is dashed as soon it’s time to do back inversions.) Perhaps she’s here because being named a finalist in the inspiring blogs category made me laugh to myself and think of this young woman, looking out at the world with her head in the clouds and her heart on her sleeve, and how I wanted to be different than her.

For years, I was ashamed to look back at my younger self. Yes, I had a good heart when I was 20, but I was always beating myself up for not being able to focus hard enough to get all A’s in school, or for writing with my heart rather than my head. I spent years in graduate school, focusing finally, fine-tuning the instrument that is my mind and being a bit ashamed to look back at my earlier writings that I thought were more feeling than substance, like this excerpt from the journal I wrote while spending a semester in Jerusalem studying the Israeli-Palestinian conflict:

“What do I have a right to judge here?….There’s a part of me that really doesn’t trust the concept of change–not that I don’t believe things can change but I’m a little afraid of getting lost in the struggle for change, so that present life is negated in some ways. You have to negate it [when struggling for change]…it’s hard to concentrate on the “now” and the beauty. Dad tries….Dad does more than try. But I think I see a different kind of beauty than Dad does–one that is very rooted in the present and isn’t so universal. I don’t know if he would find the subborness and passion of both Jews and Arabs…as beautiful as I do. If I could find a word other than beautiful I would use it–bittersweet, perhaps, and an integral part of whomever God is.

“A small boy just sat down 6 feet away from me. He can’t be more than 4′ 11″ and he’s smoking a cigarette. He’s eyeing me out of the corner of his eye. That’s the kind of bittersweet I’m talking about. He just got up and left with his hands in his pockets. Shoulders hunched.”

Almost twenty years later, I don’t see a conflict between seeing beauty in the present and struggling for change. I also have known, and am better able to see pain. I have seen the face of my father in an open casket. I have held a grieving mother’s head on my lap. I have let my body lead me through pain, panic, and and then teeter between exhaustion and exhiliration as and after two daughters entered and magnified my world. I have felt my heart open wider, bringing greater joy and fears.

I have changed. I understand pain now. But I think I would still see that boy with the cigarette as beautiful. I understand now that my Dad would have, too. And here I am, at this blog, this room of my own, writing from the heart again.

So I claim her. I claim this young woman in front of me.

And I am proud of her.

Updated Post: Blogroll Party will take place at the museum on January 30th. If you are on my blogroll (or tell me that you want to be), you are coming.

Voting is officially over. I received 130 votes! This put me in 4th place. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be in fourth place in my life. Now the jury takes over and judges the quality of our blogs. The quality of my competitors is very high, so a win is unlikely. This is the fun part, though. No more asking for votes. That was truly stressful for me and many others. I was never one to go door to door with school fundraisers.

Thank you!! Every vote means a lot to me. Everyone that voted made the effort to wait for the voting page to download and scroll all the way down to Best Inspirational Blogs, right above the Best Sex Blog vote. This still cracks me up.

To thank you properly, I’m going to hold another blogroll party. First, I need to update my blogroll. Are you a commenter or lurker? Delurking week may be over but this would be a dandy time to say hello. Are you on my blogroll? Do you want to be? Please leave a comment and let me know. I have not been updating my blogroll, since I tend to visit people from the links in my comments, rather than from my blogroll.

All those able to make it to the party, please RSVP and let me know what you are going to bring. Thanks.

And please go thank Genuine and the jury panel for volunteering countless hours to the BOB Awards this year. They have all of our interests at heart and are working incredibly hard to make this a positive experience for everyone.

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For those of you wandering over here for the first time from the BOB Awards, welcome! Make yourself at home. I know this is a museum, but the curator kind of lives here. If you want to read more take a look at the Selected Works on my sidebar. Those are the posts closest to my heart.

It looks like we’ve got a tattler on our hands.

Last week, Hannah, who is hardly a fluent talker, started saying “poopy-head,” a term that is frowned upon in this household.

After we made it clear to her that “poopy-head” is not an appropriate thing to say, interesting things started to happen. I’d walk out of the room and a minute later Hannah would call to me, “Day-chel (Rachel) say “poopy-head!”

Upon investigation, it turned out that Rachel was indeed saying poopy-head on occasion when I left a room. Frowns followed.

Hannah is still tattling, but doesn’t have quite the same material. Anything unusual that comes of Rachel’s mouth is a concern to her.

“Day-chel say “Ria-Ria,” she says to me seriously, brows furrowed. Or another time she might turn her face directly under mine and say, “Day-chel say “Ah!”

Rachel and I just look at each other and giggle.

“Toddlers,” Rachel’s face says to me, smiling knowingly, as if she wasn’t saying “poopy-head” just a few days ago.

“Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

Martin Luther King, Jr. (I See The Promised Land)

I miss you, Dr. King.

I would like to go to a mountaintop.

I have the beginning of a dream.

I dream that one day soon the people of this nation, of this world, will be unafraid to dream again.

Do you have a dream?

The truth is I feel anything but inspiring this week. I am worn down, PMSing, nursing a husband with stomach flu, trying to keep my kids happy while yet another spell of cold rain has descended. Physically, I’m exhausted. Mentally, I’m just about at my limit.

And so today was a pretty rotten day. I endured tantrums, whining, flared tempers. I lectured Rachel about the importance of appreciating the things she has, rather than what she doesn’t have. I carried a heavy, weeping Hannah in my sore arms (my right arm still hurts) more times than I can count.

When I pried a clinging Hannah from me and placed her in her crib, the wailing behind me as I left the door grated against the silent sob that had been building up in me all day. I did my duties in Rachel’s room and then did something unusual for me. I got in the car while my girls and husband were sleeping, not even sure where I was going. I needed space.

I found some space, and as I was driving home I thought about that conversation I had with Rachel when she was whining about wanting a toy Hannah was playing with.

“You need to learn to be happy with what you have in front of you. You need to learn to do that, or else you will grow up to be unhappy.”

“Help me, Mama.” she said.

“Look at what you are playing with. Tell me everything you have before you. Name all of the toys you have in that stroller in front of you.”

And so she named the toys. And then with out any prodding she named her sister, and her father, and mother, and her dog….

As I was driving home in the car, I was too tired to name all the things I should be feeling thankful for. I went home. I endured more whining, more clinging. I fed my children. I put them to bed. That silent sob was still lingering in me.

Today it was hard to be a mother.

Tomorrow I will look at my daughter and tell her all I see before me.

Rachel, my 4 1/2 year old, has been going through a challenging stage this past week or so. When she doesn’t like something I say, she scrunches up her nose and makes a face at me. I’ve been trying to make it clear that such a face is not acceptable. She’s just trying it out, but she looks exactly like a spoiled teenager when she does it, which gets completely under my skin.

Tonight during the girls’ bath I found myself giving a charming lecture about the order things–about how it is not okay to talk a certain way or make a certain face to anyone, especially to one’s mother. “Moms make the rules,” I heard myself explaining confidently. “And Dads too,” I added as a not quite as convincing afterthought.

She thought about it. “Well, what about Martin Luther King?……” I could see her working something through in her mind. “He CHANGED the rules.”

Taken aback by her answer, I laughed and asked where she had learned that. Apparently, her class had read this in a book at school.

I’m still working on a comeback.

Should I tell her he went to jail?

Maybe I’ll just tell her that his face froze making a nasty face once. That’ll get the discussion rolling in class.

So, I’m finding it a little strange trying to write while being a self-consciously “inspirational blog.”

I was working on a post that was going nowhere. Thank goodness I lost it. Really. Me TRYING to be inspirational is not a pretty sight.

I’m working on cleaning my office, the small room off our bedroom. I love my office for the mess that it is, the oasis of zen it could become, and what it represents: all of me. I’m constantly trying to pull it into balance. I think deep down I believe that if I do I will find balance, too. So this is another of my resolutions for 2006: to find zen in this room of my own, even if I only get a glimpse of it.

Here are two things that I found tonight while not creating zen.

1. This quote from a journal I kept when I was 11 (1979): “I went to visit my fern today. It was a little drooped but I gave it some water. I’ve thought of this great idea for a book. I’d write about the life of a fern in my image. This time I’m going to make an outline. All the other books I started and didn’t know what to do so I just forgot about them.”

There is context to the fern visiting, but I won’t go there. This entry gives you some insight into why I blog and don’t write books. It also gives me flashbacks to NaNoWriMo. For the life of me I can’t wrap my brain around what “the life of a fern in my image” means. Can you? Give a guess. What on earth would an outline of such a book look like?

2. Excerpt from A Room of My Own, by Virginia Woolf. “I told you in the course of this paper that Shakespeare had a sister….She died young–alas, she never wrote a word…Now my believe is that this poet…still lives. She lives in you and in me, and in many other women who are not here tonight, for they are washing up the dishes and putting the children to bed. But she lives; for great poets do not die; they are continuing presences….For my belief is that if we live another century or so…and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting-room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky, too; and the trees or whatever it may be in themselves,….then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare’s sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down….I maintain that she would come if we worked for her, and that so to work, even in poverty and obscurity, is worth while.”

I’m not Shakespeare’s sister, but this blog here, it’s the clean room of my own. It’s my room of zen.

It’s worth working for.

And once again I’ve managed to not clean my real room tonight. THAT sister I’ve got to work for. She’s a tough one to find.

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Hannah has been trying to extend her bedtime routine longer and longer. After the rocking she wants to get water. Then we stand by the crib. She puts her hed against me and moans, “cuddle.” I squeeze her tight and say “Are you done?” She says “no” quickly and then mimics me saying “hurry up” in a sing-song voice. Then I fly her like an airplane into the crib.

Last night I said, “Do you want to fly like an airplane?” She said no. Then, “Do you want to fly like Superman?” She said, “No. snowman.” So for the past two night she’s been flying into her crib like a snowman.

I am sitting here with the wonderful news that I’m a finalist for the Best of Blog awards, in the Most Inspiring Blog Category.

I did not start this blog to inspire anybody. I started it because for the first time in my life something was inspiring me to write in a powerful way. That something was motherhood.

Many of you are better writers than me. Most of you are much funnier than me. Many of you have inspired me to keep writing from the heart. So thank you for letting me be true to myself. I have found my voice here. It is quiet, subtle voice, and I don’t think it could possibly have found an audience anywhere else.

I would ask you to vote for me, but I know nothing about the voting procedures. Not all the categories have been announced yet. I’ll update with more information.

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I’m not sure how to tally the results of yesterday’s Nursery Rhyme Quiz. You all made me laugh or smile in some way. I think the best way to handle it is to encourage you to go back and read through the comments. As a general rule, those with young kids did better. Only a few of you had a complete grasp of the mouse locations in Goodnight Moon. I put the question in there because only recently did I notice the mouse locations progressing throughout the book. I had fun reading it with my second daughter, discovering all the positions. It really sealed my attachment to the book, which from the beginning I have had a great respect for. If you’re still discovering things four years later there has to be something brilliant about a book. My favorite is the mouse looking out of the window at the stars.

Now, I promised you a list of favorite nursery rhymes. When I promised you this, I did not have a list in mind. I had to go back to this book tonight.

I love so many of them, just rolling them around on my tongue.

Here are a few that you may not have heard of. All are from the Kady MacDonald Denton book.

1. I do not like thee, Dr. Fell, The reason why I cannot tell; But this I know, and know full well, I do not like thee, Dr. Fell.

2. Somebody loves you Deep and true. If I weren’t so shy, I’d tell you who.

3. Jerry Hall He is so small, A rat could eat him, Hat and all.

4. Curly Locks, Curly locks, wilt though be mine? Though shall not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine; But sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam And feed upon strawberries, sugar and cream.

5. Girls and boys, Come out to Play, The moon is shining Bright as day;

Leave your supper, And leave your sleep, And come with your playfellows Into the street;

Come with a whoop, And come with a call, Come with a good will, Or come not at all;

Come let us dance, On the open green, And she who holds longest, Shall be our queen.

(Now, shall we dance?)

Auguste Rodin, Five Dancers

Hello and welcome to an online Around-the-World Baby Shower for Angie@HomeGrown. She is going to have a baby boy any minute now (looking at my watch) and is in the middle of a major nesting impulse. Go over and wish her a happy baby, but first come have fun with us. I am hosting this shower with four other of her blogfriends.

The Hostesses
Lucinda, Mistress Mary, J&J’s Mom,
MommaK, and myself.

Each of us is hosting a baby shower game. So, make the rounds and enjoy. And don’t forget to visit Angie, too.

Here at Agog and Aghast I challenge you to a Nursery Rhyme Quiz. In my home, we have several nursery rhyme books, and this is my favorite collection.

My big Sis gave it to us. It has wonderful illustrations and a very well-rounded collection of songs and rhymes. It’s delightful. It also has sentimental value to me. I have great memories of reading it with Rachel every night when she was two. We still have fun with it occasionally. I really should start reading it to Hannah. (Making a note)

Okay, get your pencils ready. You have five minutes to answer the following questions. Then pass your papers to the front of the room.

1. Old King Cole was a merry old soul. Name two of the three things he called for. And what do you think was in the bowl?

2. Where was the horrid little girl’s curl? And do you think the rhyme scarred her for life?

3. Where did little Jack Horner sit? And was he really a good boy, or just a bit dim?

4. What did Willie Winkie wear as he ran through the town? And do you think he ever took a chill pill?

5 What did Jack break when he fell down the hill? And what is a crown anyway? Because if it is really his head, it sounds a bit like the beginning of a bad Lifetime movie. You know…the point where I’d be changing the channel.

Bonus Question: Name three distinct places where you can find the mouse in the book Goodnight Moon. Which of these is your favorite?

And if the quiz if just too much fun for you too handle in one day, leave a comment and tell Angie what your favorite nursery rhyme or baby book is.

I’ll post with my favorites tomorrow.

Thanks for playing!

Note: I’m moderating comments so your fun won’t be spoiled and will post all your answers at 9:00 PM EST. Have fun.

UPDATE: everyone’s answers below. I have not done a formal tally of results, (whatever that means), but intend to when I have time.

Well, I was going to write an inspiring post about yoga, but I seem to have caught some stomach ailment that’s thrown me for a loop. It’s either stomach flu or mild food poisoning. I went to yoga before eating a full dinner, and then when I got back had a cup of butternut squash soup that had been sitting on the stove for two hours. (I know……ewwwwwwww.) Could that have made me sick? In some ways, I hope so. If it’s a virus, I could be in for the long haul. I don’t want to be cleaning the girl’s bedding tonight, or cleaning chunks out of their carpets.

See this is where someone needs to tell me that when I’m sick I should just stay away from the blog. No one wants to read about this stuff.

Let me see if I can regain some of my excitement for my yoga experience.

I went to a REAL yoga studio twice this week and it was quite a revelation. The difference between doing yoga at home and doing it there is like the difference between eating dinner at Chuck E. Cheese’s and a favorite restaurant. (Unless your favorite restaurant is Chuck E. Cheese’s and then I’d recommend sticking with the yoga at home.) Imagine me trying to do yoga with two kids sitting on my stomach. Now imagine me practicing with soothing music on, heat being funneled into the room to warm the muscles, and a gentle teachers soothing you while guiding you through an incredible physical experience.

Last night as I was in yoga class I decided that yoga had the intensity of natural childbirth, without the pain and panic. And if the teacher and atmosphere is right, there is this sense of warmth, love, and hope that at times feel like prayer.

Just remember not to eat the butternut squash soup when you get home. It will put a damper on the energy flow.

Thanks, Belle, for gently, repeatedly encouraging me/us to give yoga another try. Glad you are back because you are so much better at writing about this kind of thing than I.

Yesterday afternoon Rachel wanted to work on Thank You cards. I told her to start with grandparents. She can’t really write yet, but I said she could draw pictures for them in the cards and I’d come back and write a message with her once I got dinner started. So I cooked without much thought to what she was doing. I gave her no imput whatsover. Zero.

Then she showed me this.

It is written to her Grandma Pat, and it says, “Pat, I remember the bed.” Rachel was trying to tell my mom that she remembered the bed she slept in when we stayed at her house this summer. She sounded out the words all by herself *

“I remember the bed,” seems so poetic to me. Let’s just say I was moved. She slept on a mattress on the floor, if you’re interested. Go figure.

I remember that bed alright. It was two feet away from mine. For FIVE weeks.

I remember being woken up as soon as the light starting peeking through the blinds. I remember pullling her into bed with me so she wouldn’t wake Hannah up in the room next to me, because if Hannah woke up before I got dressed and ready for the day, it was pretty much over for me. I wouldn’t make the bus. I remember lying down at night two feet away from her and waiting for her to fall asleep while i did my seminar readings. I remember whispering quietly back and forth.

I remember the allergies. I’m allergic to any house that isn’t mine. Perhaps its dust, but more likely it’s nerves. I call it transition allergies. Just call me Felix. Clariton helped.

I also remember what Rachel probably remembers. Two or three older cousins reading her bedtime stories and tucking her in on that puny little mattress.

Me sitting next to her until her breath grew heavy and rhythmic, and the last whisper was silenced.

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i am opting out of Thursday Thirteen this week because I don’t have it in me tonight , but I will be back on it. However, let me give kudos to Leanne, who I have an ever-growing admiration for. Not only did she start Thursday Thirteen, but she’s a kind, deep, interesting person, a wonderful artist, and a talented web designer. I have been admiring her web designs for weeks. Turns out she is new to the web design bit and just landed a job doing it. I’m so impressed, Leanne.

I will visit any TTers who happen to wander over here and leave a comment. I enjoy reading your TTs.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention she’s designed Pounds2Go for anyone wanting to shed some pounds (it’s on her site go check it out.) I signed up and what I love about it is the sweet sense of community over there. It’s quite touching. I highly recommend it to anyone interested.

Oh, and I’m exercising again. Woo-hoo.

*She’s been working on sounds of letters at her preschool. I take no credit whatsoever. The school just has a great pedagogy.

I have two more resolutions to report, but am calling an intermission. Unlike many of you, I love January and resolution making. Not simply because I’m self-centered, but also because I’ve always loved making lists. I was talking to my mom yesterday about this very thing and she laughed remembering how my room was always messy and I was always making lists, resolving to get my life in order. She claims that I actually did the things on my lists. I don’t remember it that way. I also choose not to remember that my room was perpetually messy.

Moving on. Something is not feeling quite right as I make resolutions this year. I’ve been sitting here feeling fat and slovenly after two weeks of rich holiday food and no exercise (two weeks of cold, pouring rain and kids on vacation). As I sit and stare at my larger navel it’s hard to remember that there are a lot of things I can be proud of this year.

Another list.

To make me forget about my navel.

1. I fed, entertained, disciplined, and cleaned up after two children. I wiped tears, I produced laughter. I paid attention to their stories and antics. At times, I did this with patience.
2. I started an online journal and wrote….more than anyone could possibly want to read.
3. I made new friends. (Look in the mirror, babe.)
4. From October 2004 to May 2005, when I sprained my ankle, I was an exercise fiend and felt great.
5. I lost weight. (I so want to write, “I need to lose more” but this is the happy place.
6. I stretched myself, conquered my insecurities, traveled across the country with two kids, and became a historian again for five weeks.
7. I was/am the outreach coordinaor at my daughter’s school.
8. I started a graduate program…again…and liked it (oh perpetual student that I am.)
9. I started a novel. (I so want to say it’s a pile a crap, but happy, happy.)
10. I endured whining, somach flus, and ear infections, and wiped mysteriously occurring runny noses.
11. I had crafty moments.

12. I stained my fence.
13. I killed two citrus trees, but managed to keep the new ones healthy.
14. I organized a happy Thanksgiving outing for in-laws going through a divorce.
15. I cooked a ridiculously rich, but yummy Christmas dinner.
16. I put on a mighty good Hannukah.
17. I got a cute hair cut.
18. I nursed an impulsive/compulsive disorder.
19. I gained a nephew and gave annoying newborn advice to his mother.
20. I daydreamed.

And last night as I was feeling slovenly and out of shape, I rocked my oldest daughter before bed (we just moved an old rocking chair into her bedroom, so this is a new part of the routine), she looked at me and said, “I just love looking at you.”

So things can’t be that bad.

Happy, happy.

Now, tell me what you accomplished last year. Or, go post about and come back and let me know so I can link you here.

Well, yes, but not really.

I just want to feel healthy, strong and lighter.

More yoga and hiking.

Less junk.

That will bring me more patience, level out the hormones.

To help me deal with things like all this rain.

Happy New Year everyone!