The Local Gods

I've been kicking this blog post around for a few days but just haven't had the time or energy to write it. For the past month or so, we have been attending church on Sunday in preparation for baptizing the babies. Andrew & I are both Lutherans and aren't really very "religious" about church attendance, preferring the idea that you best serve the divine in the world by being a good person and making the world a better place, and not really seeing a lot of that sort of behavior in the churches of the world. I'm a bit of a pagan, really, preferring the woods over most churches as a place to meet up with the divine in the universe.

But when you grew up basically being a Christian, you want to be sure to baptize your little ones, because that way, they have a choice. I want them to learn about religion, all of them!, and be able to understand the way the world works in a way that isn't shoved down their throats but in a way that they can really get to know the good & evil in the world, and the way religion contributes to those things.

In one of the Heinlein novels (I think it's Job, but I'm not sure) he discusses how you should honor the local customs, pay respects to the religion of the majority. I believe in God, although it's not the big white man with a beard that tradition would have us believe in (God does NOT need biological sex). And I think of this song about witches where it talks about how millions of women were killed because they refused to betray their Goddess for the new God in town of Christianity. As far as I'm concerned, it's all different names for the same exact thing. So I have no problem paying respects to the beliefs of the majority. I don't mean that I would go out and be a holy warrior for a cause (that, in my opinion, is one of the worst things about most religions-- their zeal to convert, whether by good works or killing). But I will respect the good things about church, the good things about religion, and I will raise my kids to do the same. If that means I have to get up on Sunday, put on a nice dress & comb my hair & put the babies in a cute outfit, go to church to sing some songs and recite some rituals, and then afterwards, go out to brunch, well then. I'm good with that. I just don't think it's necessarily going to get me into Heaven one day (or that the lack of it would keep me out or send me to Hell, either).

I suppose some people would call it selling out or hedging bets. I think of it as doing the best I can to recognize that we really are here for a reason, and it's not random chance, and there is good & evil in the world and there are ways we have developed over the years to deal with and explain it.

Ah, and now a baby wakes, and the smile of a happy child reminds me of the good things and why I bother. So. Enough dimestore religion and philosophy. Back to the practical day to day life.

Updates

Well, it looks like New Orleans dodged a bullet, generally. So far, so good. There's of course lots of property damage & I'm sure there were lives lost, but all in all it's a much less terrible situation than it could have been. Now the talking heads are on stating the obvious about the situation with sincere, concerned faces (like they really know-- sitting in a studio in New York or Atlanta) -- power lines down, stress, possible disease. Well Duh!

It's morning at the Wells place, and Maia is sleeping in her crib while Sean is asleep in his swing. They were both in the crib but were in a feedback loop-- annoying each other awake. As soon as I moved Sean, they both zonked out. But it was a great night-- two long stretches of sleeping (what we would call mostly sleeping "through the night" really). Mommy & daddy are much better rested today than many nights. Today we have their 2 month doctor's checkup which means-- ta da-- shots!! Hopefully it will not be too bad.

They have been such good babies in the last week or so. Ever since I figured out that they just needed more calories than my breastmilk was giving them and started doing "half and half" with formula/breastmilk, they sleep well, smile lots, are starting to talk a little, and are generally a blast to be around. Hardly any days like in the past where an entire day is spent with a fussy, crying, gassy and pukey baby. Frankly, it is such a relief. My house may be a mess because I've spent lots of time on the floor laughing with them and shaking rattles in their faces (they've discovered they like looking at the noisy things) but I do not care(much--it does get on my nerves.... where is the free maid service I ordered months ago?). There will be time for cleaning later. On Friday, we actually made it "out" to hang out with friends at the local watering hole. And Sunday, after church, brunch at the Mad Hatter's Tea Party--which was wonderful. Great people watching with one young teen in a wild outfit and one hot hot babe in black spikey sandals and a dress that hit all the right curves. She looked like she might have stepped out of a Sorpranos episode as one of Tony's babes.

Anyway. I'm going to post a less mundane blog in a sec. But this is the day to day stuff. We're here, babies are sweet little angels, and we're slowly climbing out of the hole of sleep deprivation back into the real world.

p.s. they have the neighborhood in Gulfport that I wrote about recently in a blog post on the TV right now. Not totally trashed (it wasn't a very nice 'hood before) but it's bizarre to see it on the TV.

New Orleans: Dying to Party?

I have a book that I've been writing in my head for a couple of years about the world after the greenhouse effect actually happens. Part of the buildup to the action of my story is description of things that happen when the weather changes radically. One thing I had basically written was a scene about New Orleans during the change, where the streets were flooded and hundreds of thousands of people died while the more than 30 feet under sea level water surge came in.

I'm afraid, actually, that I'll never be able to write that story now. Why? Because I'm really afraid for the people who are in New Orleans right now that this scene will actually happen early tomorrow morning. Fox news has guys on the street right now interviewing people who haven't left, who say that either they can't leave, or that it's "none of your fucking business" why they haven't (that is what one guy said... I can't help but think this rude guy may be dead tomorrow!).

It's not going to be pretty, folks. I love New Orleans, but I can see this party atmosphere, and the crazy people just saying "ah, nothing bad will happen" and drinking and then when this bad ass mofo comes in tomorrow morning, people will see. Hurricanes are nothing to fool with, and New Orleans is kind of "the perfect storm" of cities for a real disaster to happen. I pray that it won't, but I'm quite afraid it will. Maybe they'll be lucky and be spared the direct path of this Katrina. But right now it doesn't look good.

Thank god my sister, who lives in New Orleans, left yesterday already. I talked to her and she said it took her something like 8 or more hours to get 100 miles away from the city. (A trip that normally would have taken, what, about an hour 1/2? Maybe two in traffic?)

I dread waking up to see what is going to happen. I really do. And I'm a little pissed that a scene I thought of for my book is going to totally be ruined because once this really does happen, people will say it's in poor taste for me to actually write a scene like this, or they'll just say I was copying the flood of '05. You heard it here first, man. It's going to be a Hell of a night (morning) in New Orleans.

laugh/coo

Maia laughed at me a few minutes ago. And Sean spent 20 minutes or so talking to me earlier. Amazing. I was browsing ebay for a christening gown (this is the lead candidate) a was talking to myself while I thought Maia was sleeping. 1-handed typing is the new black ya know.

happiness is baby laughs.

Naps

I've been taking everyone's advice & napping while the babies nap. They've stabilized some, and will sleep better at night, but there are still times like last night when Maia would not sleep, would not be consoled with snuggles. I think it's cause she has a slight eye infection and I think her poor little red eye must hurt.

So I haven't been blogging very regularly, obviously. But we're still here, trudging along. Things are, as Robotnik pointed out in comments last Thursday, getting better in bits and pieces. Sometimes it feels like a step forward & a step back, but usually the progress is generally forward. Not at all like the football game I watched of my nephew, when he was about 10, where the only yards the teams moved on the field were yards lost-- each team would go back into its own territory, never gaining, until 4th down and the ball swapped sides, then back again. Hilarious. They couldn't throw, so it was loss every time. I don't remember if there was ever a score.

Anyway. It's not like that. But there aren't a lot of first downs yet. We went to our first "social event" Friday-- a party at a great friend's house. They behaved like little angels. We've been going to church on Sundays (planning the whole baptism thing) and I have pondered writing about my feelings on religion, honoring the custom of the country, etc. But that will wait till a day when perhaps Andrew is off of work & I have a whole day to ask someone else to go get the baby. :) This Sunday, Sean was enthralled by the lucious pipe organ in the church. His eyes got huge and he sat there with his mouth wide open, as if he could, somehow, taste the music. I think he's going to be my little musician. Maia likes music, but can pretty much take it or leave it. He is the one who likes me to sing him to sleep, and who is right now swinging in his swing listening to Baby Bach with a happy look on his face (she's sleeping, bored, like her daddy at the first classical concert I ever conned him into-- guys will do anything for a hot chick if they think it'll get them laid.)

Anyway. Still here, less tired, and adjusting slowly. Still no minivan, but it's on the horizon.

Flappers in Cars

Polly has a story on her blog that made me think of this, so props to her blog. Go read it; she's a hoot.

When I was 18-ish, I lived for a while in the Chicago area with my Grandma. I got myself a job at the local mall (shoe store! where the male manager used to try on ladies' shoes in the back room with his skinny, hairy guy feet wedged into size 12 women's pumps). One night, on the way home from work, with snow in the parking lots and my heaviest coat on, I had to stop at a convenience store (probably to buy cigarettes for my mom... the bane of my young existence was that particular chore).

As I entered the 7-11, a young cop was laughing with the store clerk. As I stood behind the line, we were treated to this story.

Earlier that evening, while on patrol in his cop car, he spotted a big old gas guzzler weaving and swerving on the road. Since there was a lot of snow, and this was a decidedly dangerous situation, he pulled the car over.

As he came to the window, he found two very old ladies, the kind with those little circles of lipstick on their cheeks in lieu of real blush, that they never blend, and that stand out like bindis on the head of brahmans on the ladies' crepe-y pale skin. They were surrounded in the front seat by dozens (literally) of empty beer cans, and a fresh six-pack in the middle. The car smelled of beer.

The driver said to the cop "This is my girlfriend who I haven't seen in forty years, and we're having a good time, so whatareya gonna do about it, Copper?!"

He laughed.

He respectfully offered to escort them home. No ticket, no arrest, just a funny story on a snowy night in the 7-11.

These old ladies were probably flappers once, binding their boobs and drinking "hooch" and participating in the first sexual revolution (which most people don't realize happened in the 20s... it did!) Dorothy Parker driving down the road flipping people off.

Screw wearing red hats.... I wanna be a dirty old woman, pinching young asses in elevators & drinking vodka martinis and driving my big old Cadillac poorly. And then flipping off the chippy in the car next to me when I cut her off. :) Sorry PPP--it's inevitable. We begin to care much less about the way things ought to be as we age. And then we just wanna have fun.

So what ARE you gonna do about it, Copper?

Hallelujah

Things have changed here in the last two days. Over the weekend, on the trip to Shreveport, the breast pump I had been using broke. I bought a new one (a much cheaper one, actually, which is an entirely different consumer issue). The new one works really well, and I can pump an average of 12-14 oz per pumping. That, my friends, is a lot, if you don't know.

For several weeks, I've had this issue with my oversupply of milk. The babies nurse, and since they only have about a four ounce tummy, all they're getting is what's called "foremilk"-- the skim milk of breast milk. It makes them fussy & gassy and the situation isn't really healthy (they need a balance of both fore and hindmilk).

Yesterday I interviewed the babies' new pediatrician, a 50 something Indian doctor. She seemed pretty cool, and I'm glad she's on our insurance plan. But one of the things we discussed at this appointment was my milk problem. She suggested I pump everything out every three hours or so & then feed both babies from bottles. This will correct the milk imbalance, as well as give me a break from the perpetual feeding schedule (other people can actually feed them an entire meal!!).

So we started doing that yesterday after the doctor's appt. The babies had had a bad night the other night where they were constantly hungry, even immediately after feeding, and cranky & gassy. Yesterday, they calmed down, slept, and had normal poops (if you're not a parent, you probably don't know that an awful lot of time and energy is spent talking about the quality of an infant's poop). It needs to be yellow, like mustard, and seedy (if you're breastfeeding).

Last night, glory of all glories, Andrew participated fully in the new feeding plan. We did rotation-- you get up for this baby needing to be fed & I'll get the next one. So I actually got to sleep really well (for me) last night. Andrew might be a little tired, since this is new for him, but I am really feeling great this morning. And though the babies are currently awake, they are content to lie in their crib right now and look at their mobile & make sleepy grunty sounds. That will probably pass soon, but it is soooo nice to not feel the desperate need that I have had at this time of the day to just get them to sleep some more so I can go to sleep for a little longer. (Andrew has left for work, so it's all me).

Now, breastfeeding fascist types will say that what we're doing is wrong, that I should focus more on trying to figure out some other way around my milk imbalance issue. I talked to a lactation consultant yesterday and she actually didn't criticize, but she sounded a little disapproving. Screw it! I'm doing what is best for the babies, and with twins, you just have to make up your own rules.

So anyways. This is a banner day.

Other changes-- yes, we are becoming resigned and actively looking for a minivan. The other option is a Honda CRV (small SUV) but frankly, I think the Honda Odyssey minivan is a much cooler option. Someone said it reminded them of a space ship. I like that-- the mother ship van it may become. I had resisted the minivan idea for a long time. But things change. I have to admit that I'm not a young chippy anymore, and practicality has to reign supreme. Especially since it is a huge pain in the ass to try to resist and remain who I was before I had the babies. I want storage space, dammit, and enough room in the car for everyone to be comfortable (including me. I spent three hours of the road trip wedged uncomfortably in a space entirely too narrow for my ass, between the car seats in the backseat, trying to feed the babies their bottles, me not seatbelted, etc, etc. No more, thank you very much. I want a bench seat & cupholders.)

I'm thinking that this new scheme will allow for more free time for me, naps during the day if I can get someone to come over and help out when Andrew's working (hello Grandma Wells). It will also allow me to consider actually starting to work on my dissertation again soon (which was looking like a grim option there for a while). Perhaps even more writing in the blog of a literary nature, as I can do more during the day than be a giant walking boob.

Although, with my new super dooper breast pump, I now understand more why pumping women like to call themselves cows. My god man, who knew my boobs could stretch like that? The old pump was hidden inside my bra (and didn't work very well at all, really) and made little wheezes (hence my femme-bot feelings). But it's all good. I am so loving this new change.

First Road Trip

It was a success, as these things go. We did pretty well, and had only a few minor crises.

But today, I'm trying to get our pediatrician status set up. Man, don't doctor's offices realize that if you're trying to become a new patient & pay them money you oughta not be on hold for very long? Cause that doesn't give you a good feeling for wanting to work with them later, when you have a sick baby.

Updates

I've been trying to not post too many baby stories, to post things other than the daily journaling stuff. But today, that's what ya get.

When you have a baby, they tell you in the hospital that you need to wake them up every 2 to 3 hours to feed them, even if they're sleeping. There are a lot of reasons for this, to establish mom's milk, to make sure the babies are getting enough. Etc. So since we came home from the hospital, that's what I've been doing-- setting my alarm at night in 3 hour intervals and waking sleeping babies to feed them. Sometimes they'll wake me sooner, but a lot of the time they were waking up right at the 3 hour mark. Since my milk has been too heavy and I've had to pump first before feeding them, that's meant a lot shorter sleep times for mommy.

But Maia, and sometimes Sean, had been giving me signals that they were ready to maybe sleep longer. Maia would go where she would refuse to wake up, no matter how hard I tried, and then, even if she would wake, she'd nurse for like two minutes and go back to sleep. Frustrating for a tired mommy!

So yesterday I asked the pediatrician when I could start letting them sleep till they wake up on their own at night. This is the way we build the whole "sleeping through the night" fantasy. She told me to start now-- that my babies are gaining weight well and my milk is fine so I should let them set the schedule at night. During the day, they've already been doing that for the most part, but at night, we'd been still waking up in those bursts. And if Maia was awake & hungry, and Sean wasn't, I'd wake him to feed him.

So last night, that's what I did. I only fed whatever baby woke me up with hungry noises (and only once was that hungry noise an all out siren wail-- from Maia after her longest stretch of sleep.) What that meant was that, ladies and gentlemen, I actually got the most sleep last night that I have had since the babies came out of the hospital!! Maia slept on 4 hour stretch!! (In the midst of that was one of Sean's 3 hours, so I didn't sleep that whole four hours, but it wasn't bad.) Also, the babies didn't have any trouble with my over active milk supply (at night, because they are sleepier, they nurse more gently and my milk doesn't come out so hard) so I didn't have to spend twenty minutes before feeding them pumping, wandering around the house sounding like a femme-bot. (That's what the little breast pump I use sounds like-- "wheeze WEEEEeze....wheeze WEEEEeze....."

This weekend, Andrew & I are doing our first road trip as a family. Yes, we're dragging the babies up to Shreveport. We'll see how that goes.

Now, Maia is calling from the other room. So back to mommy land. :)

Trees

When I was a kid, I used to love to climb trees. I was pretty lucky in this love because at the time I lived in Louisiana where they have these huge old Spanish oaks, which have low, easy to climb, thick branches (sometimes these branches will even rest on the ground). A little red-headed freckle faced girl can find a lot of quality time in the canopy of a tree. I would sometimes bring a book with me and sit up there and read, but most of the time I just sat and hugged the tree, and watched the world around me.

What made me think of this is that yesterday, walking the babies in our fancy-shmancy jog stroller (which we got for fifty bucks at a garage sale, thank you Nissa!! It's the same as the one there, though. What a bargain!!!) I noticed that a neighbor has a mimosa tree. Those are the trees with those pink spiky flowers that fall on your car and leave a huge, sticky mess. But when I was about 11, we lived in a garage apartment in Abbeville*, La, which had two very big (for mimosas) trees in the front yard. These trees hung over the sidewalk, and you could climb right up and sit on the comfy branch just under the safety of the leaves and few people could (or would) see you. People would walk by on the sidewalk and never look up, never see me looking down on them. I could have been dropping things on them and they would not have known I was there. (I suppose if something fell on them, they'd look up, but maybe not. People just don't look up... it's a weakness, really. We're lucky there are no mamba snakes around these parts). I used to love the half-sneaky feeling of sitting in that tree, watching people who didn't know I was watching them, walk by. I also just loved the way that tree felt. It's personality was bright pink, like its flowers. The leaves of a mimosa are also a very bright, yellowish green.

The last time I remember climbing trees was when I was about 20 years old, and we lived down the street from a park that had big Spanish oaks (this was in Florida. I get around). Then, it was mostly for nostalgia's sake to climb up there. I sat in the tree and watched the cars move down the boulevard. We lived in a lovely neighborhood with old, Victorian style homes and a park on every other block (called East Hill in Pensacola**). At the time, I worked as a waitress, and unbeknownst to me, one of my fellow waitrons (I hate that term, but some restaurants use it) lived in East Hill too. Paul was a tow-headed blond who made me laugh (when we had to sing the farkin' birthday song, he would always be in the back, making funny sounds or just making you laugh, and we'd all crack up, leaving the waiter in the front singing almost alone and furious with us). He and this other waiter, Kirwin, of lanky proportions and fire-red hair, used to hang out in the kitchen and recite funny bits from Monty Python. When I first met them, I pretty much hated them both, because I thought they were making fun of me (I think sometimes they were). But Paul spotted me in the tree. I guess he was an exception to the rule of "people don't look up." He didn't make fun of me, as I would have thought, but seemed to think it was cool that I climbed trees. He'd ask me "Climbed any trees lately?" and other servers would look at us like we were nuts when we'd laugh.

Now, I feel too old to climb trees. They seem too high, too dangerous. That, and there really aren't trees in Texas that are good for climbing. They either are too thin and wouldn't support my weight or they just don't have the kind of branches that make for easy access. There is one out at our family's house at Canyon Lake that is climb-able, and I have been up it a little bit, but it seems so small and so much not the trees of my childhood memory. I guess that's always the case-- everything is bigger when you're smaller.

I suppose that when my babies are old enough, they will want to climb trees. Maybe then I'll have a renaissance of my own tree climbing days, and climb up there with them. Maybe we'll make a fort, and bring snacks and books up there to read. And by then, maybe there will be puppies to drag up there too.

Trees feel wise, old, calm. When you're sitting in one, with its bark scraping your skin and the leaves cool and green around you, you feel calmer; you feel the passage of time more slowly. You can stay a kid forever in the crook of a strong tree branch. So if you're passing by the sidewalk of my house one day, and you decide to look up, you might see a family of red-headed tree squatters smiling down at you. We promise not to chuck anything gross at your head. (Well, I promise. And if Sean or Maia does, I will scold them.)

*If you go to the link, you'll see some pix of the town. That round fountain in one of them used to always get filled up with dish soap, and you'd have bubbly foam pouring from one side. That little square is right across from the library where I spent some of my absolute happiest days as a kid. Sigh. Memories. :)

**houses in East Hill are kind of like this one... this is actually in North Hill, but is really close. We lived in an apartment complex... not nearly as fab as this place. :)

Low Men in London Fogs*

The guy has a thread of shiny saliva, mucus-heavy, pooling on his left shoulder from where he's lost his battle with the drink on the way over to the sandwich shop where I work-- from whatever dark bar he has been holed up in all night. I've seen him here before, both loaded & sober. Sober, during the day, he is someone you wouldn't expect to see this way. He looks, then, like Joe Average Businessman. Probably sells insurance, or appliances. Probably why he has to drink enough to get puke on his London Fog at 2 am on a Friday night.

The cocky young guy I work with likes to close the shop early if it's "dead"-- which is a safe bet at 2 am. But the sign on the door says open till 3; the guy has just puked and needs something to fill his rolling stomach other than bile, mucus, and Jack Daniels (hey, we've all been there).

They get into a shouting match at the door as young guy stands there, locking it, and drunk guy stands outside--locked out of his intended rescue by bread and meat.

It's only 2:30!! You're shposed to shtill be open!
Piss off you old drunk.
I'm tellin your boss
Yeah, like you'll remember this in the morning.

I think of Willy Loman, suddenly. Stepping through the imaginary walls of the stage, breaking theatrical convention to signify reality's break. Seeing beautiful women where there are no more (at least not for him). Taking silk hose to the girlfriend while the wife scrapes by on potato soup and ground beef again. Willy Loman, dying of insignificance.

The young, obsessed with drugs sandwich artist guy thinks his tattoos will save him from being uncool. He thinks one day he will be like the handsome Native American guy in the detective series where Lorenzo Lamas rides a motorcycle for justice while his hair streams sexily out behind him, a la romance cover art.

The reality is he won't be (and will be) just like puke jacket guy, though, and you know it, even if he doesn't.

Washed up. Only thing to look forward to a fucking sub sandwich at 3 am on a Friday night in Florida after a long trip down KillLiver Lane. The only thing to look forward to all day and the goddamn door is locked and the shop is closed early. And young asshole calling him a drunk cause young guy wants to leave early to drink his own cheap 40 oz that is sitting on the counter in the back, beads of water dripping down the bottle's neck into the crumpled paper of a brown bag.

No. I know there really are no more Willy Lomans. Willy Loman actually had more dignity and promise and potential than these two mirror images locked in opposition this night. There are truths and there are TRUTHS. One of them is that pathetic is all the more obvious at 3 in the morning.

*With apologies to Stephen King's Low Men. Different but.

Sticking to the Politicians

I never really have understood people who put bumper stickers* on their cars for political races. Even if your candidate wins, you are still showing something out-of-date and very revealing about you personally with that sticker. Voting is secret for a reason-- it's no one else's business who you voted for. But I am especially perplexed by people who leave the stickers on their cars for candidates that lose. Especially when they lose BIG. Like imagine seeing a car with a Mondale sticker. Or whatshisname, the guy who did the big barbaric yawp thing during the last primary--he's Democratic spokesguy now.... I forget his name. I could look it up, but I'm lazy.

Like right now, if you see a "Kerry/Edwards" sticker, you know that perhaps that person is holding a grudge against the current president, and believes with their whole heart that there was some kind of travesty in the last election. When you live in a fairly conservative area like the smallish military suburb we live in, you don't see a lot of the Democratic stickers, but you still do. (And for sure when you travel to other sides of town.) But it's a kind of stubborn streak to leave a campaign bumper sticker on a car long after the campaign is over. If I see people now with Bush stickers, I suspect they're being a bit on the "gloat-y" side. Like Nelson on the Simpsons saying "hah-heh".

But then again, maybe they've just never heard of goo-be-gone, and desperately want to remove the stickers.

*To be completely honest, I've never really understood bumper stickers at all. Why put the "my child is an honor student" sticker, or the "My dumb kid beat up your honor student" sticker on your car? The only bumper sticker I've ever put on a car said "My other car is a broom". I liked that one. But I regretted putting it on the car-- it sort of ruined the clean lines of the blue little sporty car that I stuck it on. But bumper stickers are sort of like tattoos for your car-- they're semi-permanent expressions of a sentiment that may not be permanent. I'd rather just wear a snappy t-shirt.

Nature Red in Tooth & Claw (and beak)

The two cardinals-- one the duller brown, larger female and the other the gaudy red male--flit and land on the lower branches of the mountain laurel just outside my window. They move like predators--tiny dinosaurs searching out unwary bugs, or lizards. They peck, hop, flutter wings. The female fusses with a branch of the tree that has some discarded Spanish moss taking stubborn hold-- she is more stubborn than the moss and gets a mouthful of moss, which she flies off with.

I see them all the time now. Sometimes I wonder if they're still looking for that lost fledgling from months ago, drug in by the cat, redeposited outside underneath some dry leaves after its death. I haven't seen their new nest, a new fledgling to fuss over. Summer is rapidly moving into Fall and less time to raise another egg to maturity before winter's danger.

The birds range from tree to tree. They are a matched pair, always together. You rarely see one without the other being nearby. There has been a pair of cardinals living in this area for as long as we have lived in this house-- at least 10 years. I'm sure it is not the same pair-- how long to birds live? But these are most likely descendents of the first pair I spotted, years ago.

We also sometimes will get hummingbirds and I have installed a purple glass hummingbird feeder just outside the other living room window. We used to get one tuxedoed bird who would perch in the trees above and swoop down on any other bird that came near what he considered HIS feeder.

When I watch these birds, I always feel soothed, calmed. They may be little predators, viciously swooping down on their prey with no remorse, but I find them beautiful. Still, it's sort of funny the way we pick and choose to like one sort of species over another because they're pretty, ignoring the viciousness that all wild animals are capable of. I certainly don't feel the same affection for the rats that race across our back fence in the twilight hour. When I brought this up with a friend, they said "Yeah but rats carry disease & germs". Well, so do birds (granted, not nearly as bad, generally, but still they do! West Nile is a birdborn disease)....

What explains our attraction to birds (sans vultures-- I don't think anyone thinks they're pretty) as opposed to other animals? Probably the flight thing. Because we all envy the ability to soar above the trees, to escape the earth to go wherever at the drop of a feather. Why some of our best music is related to flying (ah yes, "Freebird"... and yes, I consider it a "best." Don't laugh. I told you some people would think I had appalling taste in music).

Those two cardinals, though, remind me a bit of myself and Andrew right now. He is the hard working one, looking around for possibilities, building nests, while I'm fussing over the finer points, the comforts (a little moss to line and make softer). Only I'm definitely the prettier one. :)

Laptop Fixed!! Plus updates on our prison breaks...

Yay! I had goofed up my keyboard on the laptop by "blotting" it when something spilled near it. I didn't spill anything ON the laptop, but I was afraid some had splashed on the keys. Just for your own future reference-- never ever ever blot a keyboard on a Dell Inspiron 600m. The keys are really really fragile and I ruined the keyboard. Luckily, it wasn't so hard and/or so expensive to fix it. It was only difficult in having the time to troubleshoot the issue and order the new part (a new keyboard) while the babies were in the midst of their growth spurt and demanding to be fed every hour and a half and/or held constantly. This, of course, was also before the entry into our lives of the magical mystical baby swings. (Which they are both sleeping happily in right now). As for the swings, I had worried that they would sit in them and feel neglected, or something. But after a couple of days of them being around, I know that when they're ready to come out of the swings, they demand to come out. They don't sit there longing and pining for cuddles. When they want their cuddles, it's quite clear. So.

Nissa made the comment that she hoped I was telling Andrew about the things I've written in the blog. First, Andrew reads the blog fairly regularly, and the comments as well. Second, I wouldn't write something of an emotional issue in the blog without already having talked to Andrew about it. We are good communicators-- often, it might take a few hours after I'm frustrated for me to have said something (especially if it was in the middle of the night that I got mad) but it gets discussed.

Finally, we are getting out of the house a bit more. We went to church yesterday, where the babies were perfect angels as usual. We also went to Sam's the other day, and they slept through most of it. Whenever we go out, though, we are the entertainment of the day for dozens of people. Mostly we get lots of attention from older women-- they LOVE to comment on the babies. They tell us how gorgeous they are (we know that) and want to know how much they weigh (which I used to forget-- I was such a bad mom & people would ask how much they weighed when born and I couldn't remember!!) They will comment on how big I must have been (yes, I will even officially tell you I was 236 pounds at the end of the pregnancy!!! Seriously. That's a little under 100 pounds heavier than my normal goal weight-- which I haven't been in years, but is the target-- at 140ish). I lost something like 50 pounds when they were born and in the next week or so, just from getting rid of babies, and all the stuff that they come with. Amazing.

Today, we're going to a "high tea" party at a cute little restaurant called the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. It's quite a relief to be able to fill a bottle with some expressed breastmilk and know that I can be out for a number of hours without trouble. The only thing that makes it hard right now is that I don't have the stroller that I'm waiting for... it's on order, but not here yet. Hurry Mail-person!!

So that's today's update. It just gets different every day.