In Which Kanga Muses on the Year Past and Yet to Come

As we approach December 31, I wanted to jot down some of the ups and downs of 2008, while looking ahead to 2009.

2008 was first and foremost the Year of the Baby. J grew from a nine-week-old meatloaf-esque lump into a walking (running!), semi-talking, food-and-toy-throwing delight. She makes us laugh many times every day, and just smelling the top of her head is enough to strengthen me for the day.

Alan and I went from bumbling first-timers to generally relaxed parents of a toddler. Not yet required to shift to a man-to-man defense (foreshadowing!), we found that we could be good parents while still retaining time for the things we like to do for ourselves.

What could I have done better? I could have carved out more time to read and exercise. I probably could have focused on my work more. But what kind of tool lies on their deathbed saying, "Yeah, I wish I had worked more?"

As for reading and exercise, the busy nature of this year meant that Hood to Coast and most of my book groups' activities were laid aside in favor of family time. I picked up water aerobics, which I really enjoy and which are totally harder than you'd think.

Then, just as we were headed into the autumn home stretch, I'd given away all my maternity clothes and things seemed destined for the normalcy inherent to a single-child family...bang.

No pun intended.

Our second pregnancy has left us alternately shocked, surprised, angry, giddy, joyful, nervous, at each other's throats and, ultimately, eager and with a strange peace. The first few months will be difficult, and I am thankful in advance for the knowledge that I am unlikely to remember them clearly (if J's first months are any indicator). Beyond all else, I am completely confident in our ability to juggle two kidlets, love them with complete abandon, recognize their differences as people and hold them close to our hearts. I am also confident that, several years from now -- three? four? -- we will look back and say that this was the wonderful redirect that I believe it to be.

I am getting some kicks now; I'll take that as a sign that I should end here, wishing all four readers of Design Librarian -- and everyone else -- a peaceful and prosperous 2009.

In Which Kanga and Roo Enjoy A Second Thanksgiving Together

My husband and I took J to visit friends today and eat Thanksgiving dinner. These are the same friends who hosted us last year, when J was only five weeks old. The food was once again fabulous, the conversation excellent, and this year the icing on the cake was a Pilgrim play (complete with "props") performed by the host and hostess' two children. Fall-down funny.

J did great. Unlike last week, when we had to rapidly leave a birthday party before the guest of honor even opened his gifts, tonight she was all smiles, friendly and playful.

I am determined to figure out the difference. It could have been the raw amount of people (fewer tonight), the noise level (a bit quieter), or the presence of Mom, Dad AND Gram. Regardless, it made for a pleasant and even relaxing evening.

Happy Thanksgiving!

In Which Roo and The New Roo Make Two

Although most readers of this (barely read) blog know this already, Roo II will make his or her much-vaunted appearance on or around May 15, 2009.

I am mildly curious as to how J will react. I say "mildly," because I pretty much KNOW what will go down.

I may sell tickets.

In Which Kanga Makes a List

Having just returned from a six-day trip East with J, I have developed a short list of recommended dos and don'ts based on my minor mishaps and tiny victories along the way. Of course, as always, your mileage may vary.

1. More toys, fewer clothes. Really...FEWER CLOTHES. God has invented these wonderful things called washing machines, and unless you are staying with Dwight Schrute, your hosts have one.

2. Did I mention more toys? And books. Airplanes are boring, boring places, and being strapped in (backwards!) within a car seat would drive anyone to distraction. More. Brand. New. Toys and books.

3. Resist the temptation to fill your child with food to stave off crying jags mid-flight. Although this wasn't a chronic issue on the trip, I did discover to my dismay that J has a nervous stomach when traveling.

4. Prepackaged dried formula in the foil tubes = rock. Easy to pack, easy to prepare. Sold at Babies R Us, and no doubt a number of other fine establishments.

5. Despite the inherent wastefulness of the packaging, consider bottled water for preparing baby's formula when traveling. Though I don't remember it this way as a child, the tap water in Eastern Pennsylvania is downright undrinkable, and I ended up heading to CVS for bottled water to mix up J's meals.

6. Think your baby bucket / carseat doesn't hang easily off the handle of your stroller? I bet it does. (I discovered this two minutes before my final flight. I am sometimes slow on the uptake.)

7. Never underestimate the value other children bring to your baby's happiness when traveling. J really did well when other kids were in the house...they provided a familiar environment, and allowed her to take a break from the constant being-passed-around-by-strange-adults experience.

8. Apologize in advance -- sincerely -- for the havoc your child will wreak on a flight. It endears you to other travelers, and they may even pitch in and make funny faces at the baby during the trip. No one gave me a hard time, not even a dirty look, despite a ten-minute crying episode on one flight and nearly two hours of freakout on another.

9. This may seem obvious. Get down on your hands and knees, just like at home lo these many months ago, and baby-proof the house you are in. If you like, do it room-by-room, so as not to overwhelm yourself (and especially since we found we were mainly in the kitchen and the guest bedroom). It is AMAZING what people have in their homes. I just returned from a stay in a post-Revolution-era farmhouse with (1) a metal typewriter perched on a pedestal; (2) glass jars resting on wooden stools; and (3) best of all, a collection of sharpened farm and garage implements HANGING ON THE WALL.

10. Though others will, with the best of intentions, attempt to pack your schedule with new and interesting activities for baby, again resist the temptation to introduce your child to too many new things when underway. The town's Halloween parade (she would have been dressed as a clown, which was a dealbreaker anyway), the Please Touch Museum (first week reopened, on a rainy Sunday...noooooo), the Philadelphia Art Museum and the Reading Terminal Market were all carefully turned down, in favor of having J spend quality time with her 88-year-old great-aunt and have a play date with two three-year-old friends. My relatives now think I'm an overprotective bore, but I know I did the right thing for my noise-sensitive, easily startled child.

Traveling is hard enough for an adult when things go wrong. Though they may piss you off or even make you cry, you have resources, tools, and the larger understanding of WHY they happen. Children are just victims, whisked along in the experience without explanation or context. Keep that in mind, and it may help you feel a twinge of empathy next time for the kid in 22-F who won't stop screaming.

In Which Roo Steps Forward

On Monday afternoon the three of us were literally lying on the carpet on the second floor. Alan was fixing a baby gate and I wasn't. J was pulling at the gate to counteract Dad's efforts.

It was at that moment that J chose to stand up and toddle over to Dad. 1-2-3 steps, and *plop*.

I burst into excited tears, and Alan began whooping and hollering. "Oh wow," we said over and over again.

J, for her part, did not see what the big deal was.

In Which Pooh Realizes Something

Pooh: Kanga?
Kanga: Yes, Pooh.
Pooh (timidly): Don't you think -- I mean, you DO think, of course you think -- uh, let me start over.
Kanga (gently): Yes, Pooh.
Pooh (clearing throat): Don't you feel...well, *I* feel...that home is...
Kanga: Home?
Pooh: Yes, home! Home is...well, home is...best. Don't you agree?
Kanga: Yes, Pooh. I agree. It took a while, but I agree. I think the creatures in the Hundred Acre Wood do, too. Home is best.

(To clarify...we're staying in Portland.)

In Which Kanga Has a Day Out

I am issuing a challenge to all mothers of infants and toddlers. Do whatever it takes to get a full day off sometime soon, potentially with intermittent husband presence. We're talking 8:30 - 5:30. Maybe it's a grandparent or spouse sitting, or a one-day nanny, but do it. Here's why...

"Kanga's Best Day Ever...a Comedy in Ten Parts"

8:30 Take J to daycare. The facility's cook gives me a breakfast sandwich just to be nice.
9:00 sit at Starbucks with latte and enormous cinnamon bun. (Oh yeah. I went there.) Buy three books for J.
9:30 Hang out at home to chat and flirt with husband. Remember him?
10:30 90-min massage, followed by spur-of-the-moment eyebrow waxing. Wow! there is skin under the forest.
12:00 shower, then lunch with aforementioned husband at SONIC, where you get to eat in your car and they bring burgers on trays. You eat in your car! Yes, I am lame. I LOVED it. They have tater tots!
1:30 hang three pictures in J's room. Have waited 9+ months to do this simple task, which takes approximately four minutes total.
2:00 order cute T-shirts on friend's recommendation -- get 10% discount! Woot.
Consider reading book, dismiss wacky idea and talk over the Palin controversy with husband instead.
Log on to work mail and discover I have no important mails. Yes.
3:00 depart for the BEST PEDICURE IN TOWN (it lasts an hour...$25). Observe neighboring pedicuree (?) demonstrating to bewildered Vietnamese nail artist the best way to frighten away a grizzly bear.
4:30 Pilates class
5:30 waltz home...unfortunately, to angry baby and stressed husband. But I can handle it. I just had the...

Best. Day. Ever.

Ladies! The gauntlet has been thrown down!

Love,
G

In Which Kanga Reminisces -- and Projects

I took J to the Dartmouth picnic two weeks ago. The Oregon chapter of the Dartmouth Alumni Club holds a picnic every August, usually at a gorgeous beach house in Gearhart. This place is astounding. It was previously connected with the Episcopal Church as a small summer camp, and includes the former church, the main house, a shed, a guest house that is several hundred square feet larger than my "non-guest" house, a glassed-in writer's studio, and separate garage big enough to stage food and equipment for a big party.

Most flabbergasting of all, though, is the baseball field. Yes, field. Between the gardens of the main home and the guest quarters is a full-size regulation field. The house owner just really. loves. baseball.

We arrived at 11 am on the dot, since I'd timed our trip over the coastal range to coincide with J's morning nap. She did well, waking up five minutes after we arrived.

She proceeded to charm everyone there, and literally did not cry, whine or even make a negative sound of any kind -- she didn't even poop -- the entire day.

We took off about 2:30 after a great meal of roast chicken, cowboy caviar (holy crap, look that up. amazing...), a beer and some brownie treats. On the kids' menu...chicken and veggies in a jar, with pureed peaches for dessert.

As we drove again over the mountains and J napped like a champ in the backseat, I thought about how interacting with other Dartmouth grads, of any age, always takes me back there. Even if, as was the case today, we don't even speak of the College except in very general terms, it reminds me of the depth of emotion that this connection holds for me.

And, though of course no one said a word about it, I have to admit that as I drove away from the coast I was figuring out...let's see...class of 2028? 2029?

In Which Kanga Boasts a Bit

While dropping J off at daycare this morning, I put her in a standing position while I spoke with her teacher.

Gradually I realized that her weight was perfectly centered...and I let go.

She stood, unsupported, for about eight seconds.

Mama is so proud, baby.

In Which Kanga Hangs On Tight

This morning, after changing J's diaper and singing her the Good Morning song, we traipsed on down the steps to the living room.

Except that Ampersand had other ideas.

She darted in front of me as I raised my foot, and I ended up sliding down our seven steps. Even as it happened, my mind slow-motioned into what to do: I simultaneously raised up J and held her tight to me, while my rear, elbow and neck took the brunt of the fall. After a brief cry, J was none the worse for wear.

Can't say the same for me...had to skip Pilates, and my neck doesn't turn quite right. But there was never any question that I would hang on to J, come hell or high water.

In Which Ampersand Bounces Back

In Which All Characters Confer Regarding Geography (Part I of an ongoing series)

(With apologies to Matt Ruff's Set This House in Order)

Rabbit: I am glad you all could make it. We are here to discuss the relative merits of moving.

Piglet: Eep! Why do we have to move?

Owl: Piglet, nobody said we HAVE to move. It's just that G and her husband and Little J might WANT to move.

Piglet: (knitted eyebrows)

Owl: Well, I shall speak first. As a design librarian, I find myself torn...

Piglet: Eep! (again)

Owl: Ahem!...torn, that is, in the figurative sense. I have an excellent set of opportunities at my current position. I enjoy my co-workers immensely, and am getting exposure to many different work scenarios that will serve me well down the road.

However (other woodland creatures begin fiddling with their paws, talons or toes), there is a hefty amount of corporate fog building at my company, and it might just be easier to go to a firm that has already addressed and solved the problems that my company is just now experiencing for the first time. It is, in a word...

Pooh: (under his breath) Exhausting.

Owl: Yes! That's it exactly. Astute and helpful bear.

Pooh: (grumbles) Astute? I'm trying to lose weight. It just takes a while.

Piglet: (timidly) Well, I don't know why anyone would want to leave the town that G, J and her husband are in. It's beautiful, clean, safe, liberal and not too expensive.

Christopher Robin: It IS across the country from their families.

Eeyore: (arches eyebrow, then thinks better of it and just grimaces)

Christopher Robin: And it does have a 140-day school year. That seems...short.

Kanga: I certainly agree. I for one can't imagine letting Roo attend school in places with no art, gym, music classes or...(trailing off) libraries.

Christopher Robin: Then we are agreed that it is a Puzzle?

Pooh: It certainly is. A Puzzle of Great Consequence.

Rabbit: And, as it is of Great Consequence, it certainly will require nourishment to solve. I recommend we break for carrots, or the sustenance of each creature's choice.

(Agreed.)

(To be continued.)

In Which Kanga and Roo Bust Out the Wheels

Partially because of the amazing weather lately, partially because of raging diaper rash (hers, not mine) and partially to offset encroaching ennui, J and I have ventured during recent sunny days to:

- the backyard, on a towel
- the front yard, on a towel
- Babies R Us (no towels)

Only one of these ventures involved a stroller.

As we tooled through Babies R Us today, with me jamming a hundred dollars' worth of baby swim accoutrements into my cloth shopping bag, I slowly realized that whipping out the Peg Perego earlier in this seven-month stint could have meant more freedom to both J and me.

It's a very simple thing. Well, the stroller itself is not simple...I seriously require an occasional tutorial in opening and closing it from an industrial designer friend of mine, and even SHE needed a few minutes to orient herself. But the concept of carrying one's child is simple enough.

For the first five months of J's life, besides the transit to and from the car in a carrier seat, I either held her in my arms or in a sling. No other method seemed close enough. What if she cried out? Got scared? Was confused? Only being up close to Mama's heartbeat seemed to solve the problem, and ensure that others weren't bothered by my freaking-out baby.

Realize, of course, that she never -- not once -- freaked out enough to even warrant being that close for soothing. The one time J has ever lost it in public, she was, oh yes, in a sling next to my chest. But still my fears remained and ruled me.

Gradually I started busting out the stroller, swayed by the small group of moms I hang out with. All more fashionable and style-conscious than I, they also make excellent use of their strollers and step out with their babes without a second thought.

Inertia breeds inertia, and today I really felt like I had avoided the Yahoo! baby.house.inertia usergroup by the slimmest of margins.

J deserves to go everywhere I do, insofar as those places are safe and appropriate for her, and I deserve to give myself a little credit for being able to handle the occasional meltdown.

The physical stroller itself also adds some cred to my bounce, as the kids say (or as they certainly should). It warns people ahead of time that a baby is approaching. It leaves my arms untired at the end of the day. It allows me to carry (albeit woefully small amounts of) baby crap. God forbid, it lets J see the world and interact with it as it passes by. And yes, it protects her.

I initially sought protection in methods that kept J physically close to me at all times. But the plastic, fabric and metal of a stroller is something to be reckoned with, and likely keep her better-shaded, -protected and -entertained.

I think I just didn't want to let her go.

In Which Kanga Examines Her Role in the Ecosystem

I am one of those people who never get sick. Between February 1998 and October 2007 I took a grand total of one sick day at work, and just generally felt well.

I attributed it to a few things...sleep (I slept at least eight hours, and often more), frequent exercise, fairly low stress and antioxidant supplements.

I still take antioxidant supplements.

Do you see where this is going?

So, anyway, I WAS one of those people who never get sick. Since J's birth I have had every imaginable ache and pain, from an unshakeable sore throat to blood-streaked phlegm (lovely) to a flare-up of osteoarthritis that I had thought was never to return.

And pinkeye. Who the hell over the age of eighteen gets pinkeye? (Knocked Up characters notwithstanding.)

Previously, with my husband and I as the only nodes of the germ ecosystem, illnesses attached themselves to one node -- his. He could be receiving the Rite of Extreme Unction for cholera and I'd be merrily traipsing off to go be healthy somewhere.

But now I find that my immune response is weakened. It's not any one thing -- I do sleep fairly well, I don't have unmanageable stress, I exercise two days a week or so -- but the paring away from where I used to be healthwise to where I am now...this death by paper cuts...has taken its toll.

Knock on wood, J has made it thus far with only a few days of gunky sniffles; no scary fever or ear infections yet. Even the pinkeye passed her by -- her, the most logical recipient as far as I could tell.

The end result of all this, besides a near-constant feeling that my body is dying, curling off in dry strips and blowing away, is that I have lost any sense of arrogance about my former strapping wellness.

As a new mother, the list of things about which I can be smug is woefully short. There just went another line item.

In Which Owl Notes a Thing of Beauty

In Which Owl Defends Unitasking

I've noticed lately that many bloggers are writing about the renewed respect that "unitasking" is receiving.

Multitasking is, and always has been, for the birds. Our minds are compartmentalized enough without externally forcing our synapses into multiple buckets. J always lurks in the back of my work-mind; when I read her Counting Penguins, am I mentally composing an email to the IT director? Yep.

So the last thing I need is to physically give myself permission to do multiple things at once. Yet this is what we are often called to do.

Some of this, especially in parenting mode, is absolutely necessary. Monitor your child's safety while shopping...part and parcel of the same activity. Cook dinner while catching up with your spouse's workday...just common consideration for your partner, and not mentally taxing.

But the demand that most workplaces place on employees with regard to physically completing multiple tasks at once means that we sacrifice depth for breadth, quality for completeness. Instead of delving into a project -- losing ourselves in it and coming out the other side a little breathless and inspired -- we skim over the top of it and move on, all the while juggling yet another need.

My favorite metaphor lately for the challenges I have at work is that of a waterbug, skimming the water but never breaking the surface. It's happened to me (correction: I've allowed it to happen) for so long that it's now a way of working. In a sense, I am fearful of the diving-in. I fret about what other projects will suffer if I put my attention to a single task. And so I continue to touch all the project threads, run them through my fingers, grasp them for a moment, toss an admiring glance their way, and move on, with the situation largely unchanged.

I manage in this way to frustrate myself and disappoint those around me. (Awesome!) If I would only grow a pair and insist for once that I be allowed to focus on the task at hand before moving on, I'd at least have some assignments that left the recipient and me both satisfied.

As parents, we spend hours and days struggling to live in the moment, to focus entirely on our children (as they do the opposite, straining toward the capacity to understand everything at once). When we do manage it, when we center our intention entirely on one thing, the moments slip away unnoticed and we sometimes look up to see that hours have passed as we played with our infant. It's magic.

Why should that be confined to the home? I didn't sign up for a non-magic job. The simple fact that worker bees everywhere are starting to notice that multitasking is BS means that I may not be the only one who sets up a take-a-number mechanism at her desk and calmly returns to linear thinking.

In Which Christopher Robin Auditions for Jeopardy

This past January (or February? The months run together) I took the online Jeopardy! test. I was immediately aware that I had failed miserably.

Therefore, you can imagine my surprise at the end of this February when I received an email from Jeopardy! saying that I had made the cut for the next level of auditions, to be held in Portland on March 28-29.

A good friend from work was also accepted, which made the whole deal even more exciting.

True to form, I began studying for the big day...on March 23 or so. Memorizing the Presidents took two days or so; learning world capitals another evening; Shakespeare and the Bible got a quick glance and a grunt.

Today I walked to the hotel where the audition was being held and was immediately struck by the optimism, professionalism and relaxed attitude the Jeopardy! staff brought to their task. They either were truly having a good time or damn good actors.

The 2 1/2 hours consisted of an explanation of Jeopardy's ins and outs, another written 50-question test, a practice game vs. two other people, and a brief in-person interview.

Throughout the process, the Jeopardy! team was so smooth, friendly and casual that I even forgot to be nervous.

I may hear from them in six months, 12 months, 18 months...or never. It depends on how good a candidate I was judged to be, what they are looking for at the time, and other factors I'm probably not even aware of.

But this experience alone was enough to create a really nice memory.

Oh, and I won the door prize! I remembered the name of the person who played David to Ken Jennings' Goliath, which garnered me a Jeopardy! home edition.

Rock it!

In Which Kanga is Thankful

I work at a company that promotes itself as "family-friendly." That may be, but the executive leadership was certainly in for a shock last spring when not one, not two, but FIVE of its female employees, several in senior positions, traipsed into the COO's corner office to announce impending babies. Around the same time, a male employee stuck his head in to mention that his wife was pregnant, too.

April through June of last year must have been a challenging time for these bosses.

As the dust settled, I found myself with five new friends (a former employee returned to town and quickly -- efficiently! -- gave birth in order to join our motley crew).

I had known all of the women before in a professional capacity. All were -- are! -- capable, insightful, intelligent. Some intimidated me. I respected all of them highly.

But now...we are moms together, walking around with barf on our shoulders at the same time that we shape a client strategy, changing diapers at 4 am with the same deftness that we bring to a creative brief.

I feel extremely fortunate. So many new mothers are thrust into the fretful niveau of the "moms' group," with nothing in common with other women except hey, we all have babies....ummm...awkward silence descends.

But me? I got to meet these women first in a professional capacity, present ideas with them, drink and dance with them at the infamous holiday party, grab burgers with them.

We vetted each other first, when we were our "old selves." And now -- now we are so much more, those old selves enhanced and dimensionalized, but never erased.

In Which Owl Finds Equilibrium

I have been back at work two months today. This was probably the first week where I felt "in balance" -- figuring out what work needed to be done, getting material out the door, sitting in on kickoffs for new projects, brainstorming with a colleague, even having lunch with a good friend who used to work here.

There have been days of desolation (few), days of joy (also few), but mostly days of logistical hamster-wheel-turning. I feel like the sensation of walking and talking through gauze during my work day, which I experienced for weeks, is gradually lifting, to be replaced with the more typical day-to-day challenges I faced before I left on maternity leave.

What will change this, and re-tip the balance? I imagine that J's first week at daycare will shoot everything to hell, at least temporarily. But after that, I cautiously look forward to the "controlled chaos" I knew before my husband and I created a little controlled chaos-causer ourselves.

In Which J Poses as Dr. Evil

In Which Owl, Kanga and Christopher Robin Discuss Driving

As the moments I can take for myself have dwindled since J's birth, I find that the meaning of certain moments, and the meaning of certain environments, has changed.

Driving is a good example of this. Before I was married, driving anywhere either meant I was visiting the three-hours-away boyfriend (that didn't last long, despite a night of falling stars and the glorious Southern Cross) or, later, headed over the west hills to my boyfriend-now-husband's apartment.

After we married, driving became a time of possibility for us. Just as we always seemed to hold our dreamiest and most optimistic conversations at the same tiny restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean year after year, we also held our most challenging and frightening conversations as we teetered on the edge of parenthood, driving through the Rogue River Valley in the spring.

When I began working as a librarian at the design consultancy, driving represented responsibility and opportunity. Swinging my Honda into the arts and restaurant district every day meant I was somehow allowed to be there; no one had uncovered me as the obvious uncool fraud I was, and I could enjoy one more day of being paid by a fascinating juggernaut of a firm.

When I was pregnant with J, morning and afternoon drives were time for togetherness with her. Literally cuddled up against me -- within me! -- she listened to classical music until I broke down and punched the button over to alternative and punk, singing along when I knew the words. I rubbed what I thought might be her head and told her about the family she would one day meet.

Since J's birth, driving without her means freedom. I hop in the car, crank the radio louder than it should be and merge into traffic. When I am alone, my destinations are only threefold: the gym, work or the grocery. But in those moments I get a little of myself back. The button for the classical station gathers dust.

And, lately, driving means pride. I go to work to earn our single paycheck (which is not to take away from my husband's amazingly speedy success with consulting...but I have the insurance) and feel at the end of each day that I am one step closer to understanding what it means to support a family. My job is meaningful, challenging and pleasurable to me -- but more than that, it is now something I do for the only other two people who matter.

All that, from a little four-door sedan and the open road.

In Which Rabbit Offers Readers' Advisory

I just finished Miranda July's No One Belongs Here More Than You, a wonderful gift from a kind friend. It was breathtaking. Each short story in the collection brings you into the characters' worlds of longing and fear. I agree with one critic's note that the emotional timbre of each story is similar...but, as is noted in the same review, July works in a broad emotional space to begin with.

Her writing reminds me of Flannery O'Connor, especially "Everything That Rises Must Converge," a truly heartbreaking short story whose last line has always stayed with me: "The tide of darkness seemed to sweep him back to her, postponing from moment to moment his entry into the world of guilt and sorrow."

In Which Owl Busts Out

At work, I am generally known for being friendly, accommodating and upbeat. This is at a company which I, overall, find to be friendly and upbeat anyway, so this is a good reputation to have.

Having J has shortened my fuse. I give her nearly all the love and attention I have (hopefully giving my husband his due as well), and sometimes there's just not as much L & A going around as there was pre-zygote.

As a result of a miscommunication Tuesday and as a further result of inadvertently being taken advantage of by a well-meaning colleague, I temporarily lost my squash, as we used to say in college. I would go so far as to say that for roughly half an hour (though my outburst lasted closer to fifteen seconds), I was utterly squash-free.

The results of this were actually pretty positive. Because of the aforementioned rep as a squash-ful person, the fact that I freaked out caused others to:
- sit up
- take notice
- deal with the issue immediately

I have to admit, it also released some building-up work tension. I've felt awfully productive since that morning.

I'm not an overly emotionally expressive person. I should clarify. I'm not overly expressive when it comes to negative arenas -- I am, I think, good at positive emotion, and much better since I became a mother.

I am working on expressing myself more emotionally when the topic is a tough one. I know it's a problem. The struggle for me is that I haven't seen it help me understand things much more, make me or anyone else feel better about a situation, or help me communicate. I've also found, through the years, that people who say they want you to express your feelings are usually deluding themselves about what they want.

Admittedly, the workplace is not the place to hone those skills. But I probably need to cut myself some slack and be OK with showing myself to be, from time to time, a little rough around the edges.

And it certainly felt good. You never saw those co-workers' heads swivel around and back so damn fast. It's like they'd all rubbed WD-40 on their necks in preparation.

In Which Kanga Shows You What Matters

In Which Christopher Robin Blogs the Oscars (Second Half)

I could seriously watch the montage of fabulous, fabulous actresses over and over and over. If seeing these inspirational women can make ME so emotional, what must this mean to some young actress who waits tables sixteen hours a day?


Ooh, Forest Whitaker. You are a BADASS.

Jack Nicholson can take whatever you throw at him. This is a fact. He also acquiesced to swapping his trademark sunglasses for tinted eyeglasses while he makes his award presentation.

Based on seeing him at the awards, I must accept the cold, hard truth that Colin Farrell and I share a haircut.

The song from "Once" wins! There is justice in the world, at least for this moment.

The In Memoriam section is classy, as always. Heath Ledger. Oof.

OK, I'm fading a little. The idea of using active soldiers as a "hook" to award a documentary Oscar just doesn't sit well with me. I'm not quite sure why.

Oh, please let NO END IN SIGHT win the documentary Oscar. Pleeeeeease.

Well, close. TAXI TO THE DARK SIDE.

"Well-Respected Man" for Diablo Cody's background music? Huh? Nice tat, by the way. She trumps even Tilda Swinton in her barefaced shock at winning.

OK, Best Actor. Daniel Day-Lewis is a twofer, right? Whoa. Is he gay? No, I just misunderstood what he said. OK. As you were.

Best director, Coen Brothers, duh.

Best film another duh.

A good night for the Coen Brothers. And, I'd say, an expecially good night for Diablo Cody and Tilda Swinton.

And...we're out.

In Which Christopher Robin Blogs the Oscars

Completely incomprehensible opening montage.

Jon Stewart cleans up nice.

OK, the "make-up sex" line made me laugh.

Things seem subdued, though I'm sure there are as many butts in seats as usual.

OK, I believe I have seen none of the contenders this year. There used to be a time when we'd scramble to see every film nominated for Best Picture; it really added to the experience of watching. Now...I'm pretty much lost.

Gaydolf Titler? Yikes. I bet Stewart can't wait to get off the stage.

The costuming winner rocks SO hard. That speech? Fifteen words, maybe. So classy.

Steve Carell channeling Michael Scott at the Oscars seems out of place.

Brad Bird! Excellent.

Is it me, or are there fewer nominees in a number of categories this year? (Makeup, Animated Feature)

Didier LaVergne has the world's best hair. I think Europeans are better at giving concise, heartfelt responses.

The fuck? "Happy Working Song"? This woman seems like an overly-earnest nanny. Oh well; it's a living, I suppose. I really like her dress, though.

Is Dwayne Johnson not going by "The Rock" anymore? He seems more hot than freaky, though just a year ago I would have said the opposite. Ah...I think he's dropped 30 pounds or so. That must be it.

Jennifer Hudson's breasts must have their own zip code.

"Oscars Salute to Binoculars and Periscopes." Brilliant, and blessedly brief.

"Raise It Up." That's what I'm talking about.

I take back what I said before. There are TOTALLY empty seats there.

Ohhhhhhh...Bee Movie. Well, having to listen to Jerry Seinfeld's voice did lead to some beautiful images. The animated short feature category looks incredibly cutting-edge.

Holy krapoly. I cannot BELIEVE Cate Blanchett lost Best Supporting Actress. Tilda Swinton rules the skool, but still.

Zzzzzz. Kristen Chenoweth sure can sing, but I bet you ten bucks that one of those construction workers was ABOUT to drop the man balanced on his shoulders.

Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill are much-needed about now. "I'm Halle Berry."

And now...Part Deux.

In Which Owl and Kanga Are Both Thankful

After needing about 48 hours to process the work challenges I wrote about before, I set up a plan of action (with some great help from my husband and a few co-workers). Writing stuff down really does help codify it and, in a way, de-fang it.

I'm glad I was able to wait the usual two days it takes me to work through things, instead of flying off the handle at work. You'd think after over thirty years I'd remember that when things go awry, I just. need. some. time. Often my immediate, emotional response changes drastically once I've had time to sit with things.

I've spent the past two days pretty excited about the opportunities at work, and even ready to address the problems.

And so it also was with some issues on the home front; after two days of percolation (not stewing...ah! there's a difference!) I swam back into happiness.

All of which makes me darn glad.

In Which Owl Laments Snarky Attitudes

Though a long-standing holder of a snarky attitude myself, I have to say things are different when you're the one who has done the work and now proceed to receive uninformed sh*t from others.

Deep breath. Allow me to clarify. The development of our corporate intranet has been a long, drawn-out, unwieldy and painful process. I have attempted to help by setting up rudimentary IA, but the raw difficulty of working with this software package (that task does not fall to me), the siren song of billable work, and everyone's general malaise have combined to give us a semi-functional but completely annoying information "resource."

I curled my lip when I said "resource," by the way.

Those who do use it at the company spend most of their time joking about it with me, inexplicably thinking I'm going to have a sense of humor about it. Actually, folks, no I don't. Sorry...that new skin layer is still on back order, and I'm having the current dermis repaired.

The best thing to do may be to start from the beginning -- since the software suite cannot be changed, it may mean that scrubbing from the very first page makes the most sense. They're just links, right? How hard can it be?

Oh, and then there's that search function that...doesn't...

Gah. Glass-of-wine time.

In Which Owl Focuses on Training

I almost wrote "user training," which makes information users sound like seals balancing beach balls on their noses.

My colleague and I at work have seen a good deal of success with the following approach to information resource training: instead of (well, in addition to) offering training to groups that might use a resource and might be interested in the subject, we are heavily emphasizing one-on-one instruction after the user has been placed on a project that will be using that resource.

For example, people on projects that will be using either travel photo blogs or wikis to manage information are receiving individual instruction from us "in the moment," when the resource is most relevant and they are most motivated to learn and play in the environment.

We'll continue the group brown bags and pointer emails, of course. But approaching things this way is going to be the best way for our company, I think.

In Which Kanga Expounds on Poop

Today I got together with four other women from my company, all of whom gave birth within six or eight weeks of each other. As always, it was a lot of fun and included tips on un-freezing milk, mentions of new cloth diaper advances, an Amazing Rolling Baby (tip of the hat to young C.V.) and an excellent photo session in which I inadvertently let someone else's daughter plunk sideways on the couch.

The most intriguing moment for me came when someone put forth the opinion that babies'...discards...at this age smell like either buttered popcorn or oatmeal. Both ideas sounded nuts to me -- it all just smells like formula to my nose -- but a few moments ago J filled her diaper, and I must admit:

Buttered popcorn, baby.
Really.

In Which Kanga Reassures You...

...the three-nap thing?
Yeah...that was a fluke. Lasted one day.

As you were.

In Which Owl and Kanga Assess the Progress of Things

I've spent much of the last three weeks focused on finding a system that works. What I mean is...I love systems. I love discerning them, observing them, creating them and improving them. I would have been a good Operations person. Oh wait, I am an Operations person. Though not always a good one.

Anyway, I have been trying to find the System That Works for balancing actually achieving something at work with being home with J and my husband with respect to both quality and quantity.

As always, I should have just realized it wasn't possible. Thousands of women writing books, giving talks and posting on blogs about the challenges inherent to this should have clued me in that I was rather unlikely to find the silver bullet.

So now, it's about compromise, cutting corners and letting go what other people think. I am not great at any of these three things. I have gotten MUCH better at compromise since getting married, but skimping, letting things slide and not being highly successful at what I do...makes me feel ooky.

I do find that I'm more willing to let work slide -- in terms of initiatives I'm promoting -- than home. This, at least, is a good sign. There is no compromise when it comes to the time I spend with J at this early stage. I am so fortunate to share caregiving with my VERY dialed-in husband.

But boy, it's weird to feel the brakes get put on your career (for the moment) and realize that you're essentially the one doing it. And to also realize that you don't mind all that much.

When we decide to not have children, we women have to then decide to be OK with our decision. Similarly, when we do have children and decide to stay home - or to work - or to go part-time - we have to not only decide these things, but decide to be OK with the decision, and move forward.

And, since analysis paralysis and second-guessing are both my middle names, I can't seem to let this go. I keep turning it over in my mind. I keep understanding, bit by bit, what it's like to not be the focus of my own life.

Naturally, having decided not to hear the woes of the generations of women before me, I absorb the problem all on my own, as if it were the very first time it had happened to any woman.

But it seems fitting somehow, since in a very real way J feels to me like the first baby ever born into the world. And I know that other women feel that deeply with their own children.

In Which Piglet is Pensive but Present

“I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.” - Albert Einstein

Above you see listed the only thing I can claim to have in common with Albert Einstein. I have never been a future-focused person. Rather, I should say I'm not a long-term-future-focused person. I can't ever remember setting goals either as a child or as an adult. It's hell for me every year at my job review to come up with tasks I plan to complete in the next year, simply because I feel more comfortable floating along day to day, keeping things moving.

I'm not proud of this...it can make it difficult for me to carry an information services "vision"...but it also means a lot less stress when it comes to self-examination. Am I where I thought I'd be when I graduated from college? Uh, sure. I had no idea where I'd end up, so this is just fine with me.

It also makes interacting with my baby daughter a bit more natural -- not to say easy -- than I'd guessed. J lives moment to moment, and doesn't even remember stuff as it happens (at least, that's my rudimentary understanding of her little synapses thus far). How beautiful! Every emotion she experiences is very pure and all-encompassing, and then it dissipates to be replaced by another.

Coupled with this tendency of mine, though, is an odd and contradictory behavior that often leads to utter paralysis. I am always waiting impatiently for things to end. As a youth, when we'd go on vacation, I'd be heavily concentrating on when the vacation was going to end. It didn't make me sad, or happy...I just thought about it. When I entered a party, I'd only be thinking of when I could leave, even if I was having fun. That sense of desired escape was underlying everything I did. It tore me away from the moment and prevented me -- prevents me -- from being fully present or engaged. It paralyzed me.

In a way I think it still does. I think about the end of my job, my time in Portland, my life. (None of those is forthcoming, I truly hope.) But the rub is that I never plan for that time, or even imagine what it might be like. I just envision myself in that moment. And so I am cheated out of the moments in front of and around me. I spin and I twist.

Right now I am sitting at home by myself, as my husband is at rehearsal, thinking of the things I could be doing and should be doing right now -- in this moment -- to simplify and de-clutter my life. Instead, I can think only of the end of the evening, to the near future, when he comes home.

And so I wait.

In Which Christopher Robin Blogs the Super Bowl (Second Half)

Having awoken from my Tom Petty-induced slumber, I eagerly await the second half of sweaty men and mediocre advertising.

Carl Edwards is far more articulate than I would ever have expected from a NASCAR driver.

Cars.com is sort of two for two, though neither one's made me fall out of my seat.

Cartoon pandas with bad Chinese accents? The fuck?!?!?

I love the primitive nature of the challenges. I understand why the onfield penalty flags (the yellow ones) are literally thrown, since the players need to have both visual and audio notice that something has stopped play. But Bill Belichick stood around for five minutes and THEN threw a red weighted nylon flag onto the field. It's so...physical.

The Bud Light cavemen ad is, for the record, the first ad I laugh at all day. I tend to like things busting up and people tripping and falling.

Why would Bridgestone threaten to kill Richard Simmons, then leave us blue-balled by not following-through? Lack of follow-through is definitely a pervasive theme of today's commercial selection.

Gah! The Patriots are not too exciting today. I can't figure out why they went for it on fourth down. This game is boring.

Etrade.com gets the #4 vote from the babymomma contingent. Baby puke is funny.

Scratch the order...it must be reset. That Chester Pitts NFL ad was just gorgeous. I couldn't figure out where it was going till it got there. OK, my new #1. All others move down one rung.

Nicely shot Coke ad, and of course I am a sucker for anything with Stewie in it. But it doesn't break the top 5.

I walk out to get another water...the Giants score a touchdown. Brady must be hating life right now. Giants 10 - 7.

OK, Etrade got me again. Clown rental, specifically. I'm glad the kid didn't barf twice.

The Patriots are about to look like schmucks.

Uhhhh...scratch that. Things get interesting with 5:22 remaining in the 4th quarter.

Go baby go baby go...

Point-after is good. Pats 14 - 10. Oh me of little faith...well, still 2 minutes left.

Giants threatening with this drive. OK, I just saw the first truly interesting play this game, and it was amazing. Manning breaks the sack and throws under pressure to Tyree, who. catches. it.

Giants on the 25, using their last timeout at :51. And now...Giants 17, Pats 14. Plaxico. Plaxico. Plaxico.

It's over. That last second lasted a long time.

Giants 17, Patriots 14.

Whoda thunk.

In Which Christopher Robin Blogs the Super Bowl (First Half)

Having just put J down for a nap, I'll be noting my thoughts on the Bowl as it happens.

First of all, Jordin Sparks is NERVOUS. Wow. Just get the songs started, and it will all flow from there...OK, she's done. She did well.

Tedy Bruschi needs a stylist.

I think there should be a quota on Super Bowl rings (and this is from a Patriots fan). Tom Brady has three?!?! And a possible fourth today?

First major section of ads, precipitated by an onfield injury. Fire-breathing ad for Bud was the dumbness I would expect. The Audi ad tried too hard and just ended up being tasteless.

I enjoy saying "Plaxico." It sounds like a DuPont polymer. Plaxico. Plaxico.

Giants end zone toss intercepted. But they answer back with a field goal.

OK, the Diet Pepsi Max ad wins so far. I'm sure "Wake up, people!" originated in some dismal marketing meeting at Pepsi, and it just rolled from there.

Brady not too impressive yet.

Bridgestone promised a big payoff with a screaming squirrel, but left us hanging.

Touchdown New England. The kick is good! Score 7 - 3.

Man, GoDaddy just doesn't even CARE. I kind of like that.

Dell guy = schmo.

Wow, Chris Tallman was just in a cool Cars.com ad. Yay for ComedySportz.

My TALKING STAIN?!?!?! But...it's funnier in retrospect. Okay, #2 ad so far.

Interception by New England. That just got them out of trouble...

Hey, Hank made the Budweiser Clydesdale team! That's nice for him. #3.

Giants botch the handoff. Yikes.

Hang on. Nursing break. While I'm gone, discuss the dancing "Thriller" geckos.

7 - 3 at halftime? Zzzzzz...

None of these commercials seems to make sense. And, today at least, I can't blame lack of sleep.

Tom Petty and his beard are on stage. He opens with "American Girl," no surprise there. "Won't Back Down" is a little too mellow-sweet for my taste. This is a song we used to yell at each other on the farm crew when the bales got too heavy.

"Free-falling." As my husband notes, this would have been a really hot show about 20 years ago. Everyone is so...calm. But I have to say Tom Petty seems to find the whole thing hilarious, so I imagine he's in on the joke.

Ah yes, "Runnin' Down a Dream." And....we're out.

In Which Roo Shakes Things Up and Kanga Gamely Follows

Well, this definitely qualifies as "minutiae," but I'll take what I can get nowadays...

For a while J has taken four (!) 45-minute naps every day. If she misses that last one, oh the drama that ensues...

Anyway, for a few days she has been fussy going down for her first one, which after all is at 7:30 am. Geez Louise. Isn't that when most babies get UP? Today it didn't happen at all...

...and today we figured out that she is bagging that nap. Yes, she still gets up at 6-6:15ish ("the farmer checking her crops"), but now she goes down for the first time at 9 am or so. This seems a bit more normal...

It's definitely true that by the time Mom and Dad settle into baby's schedule, it changes.

This whole process is fascinating to me, mainly because J isn't doing *any* of it deliberately...that is, it's her body giving us the cues, not an active decision to change behavior. The advent of clear circadian rhythms really affects everything around this age.

It does mean less rest for Dad for the moment (since he's on baby duty after I go to work each morning), but naturally we'll go in the direction J points us.

In Which Pooh Enjoys a Pedicure and Kanga Brags on Roo

Well, the last time Pooh enjoyed any visceral pleasures, it was also in the foot realm (the massage at Barefoot Sage). This time, I took J to Zenana Spa with a friend and her six-month-old son.

I was, of course, nervous about taking J out, compounded with concerns about the weather. And, as usual, things turned out fine. With a bottle of "Mom" and her sling to ride in, J did well and even fell asleep for a few moments.

I'd highly recommend Colleen at Zenana. She did a great job juggling two clients at once, was patient with the babies, and helped us wrangle our diaper bags, etc.

And now...time for another picture of J, this time hanging out with her Aunt Val.

In Which Owl Gets Intimate

I've gone back and forth with a co-worker about this, and it seems clear that our best bet for having employees understand what we offer, who we are, and how to work with us, is literally to sit with each employee separately and have an in-depth conversation one-on-one.

Though it seems tedious at the outset, it's the best way for us to introduce not only what we do, but who we are, our level of experience and the breadth of our services. I think that it also engenders a sense of personal responsibility in the employees who meet with us, rather than allowing them to zone out in a group meeting or presentation.

What about the information service groups that can't offer one-on-one time with users? It makes all the more clear the frustrations they face when limited to group orientations and bibliographic instruction sessions.

In Which Owl Revisits Service Marketing

Our intrepid group of researchers has a huge internal marketing opportunity. While we focus on one-on-one training, group orientations, occasional "brown bag" lunches and daily mailings, we need to bust out in terms of both marketing format and frequency. With the turnover rate of employees in both Creative Services and Client Relations, there seems to be an amnesia pandemic when it comes to what our department offers.

The key is to market ourselves simply by showing how our efforts apply to the company's goals. It usually only takes one instance of working with Information Services for employees to say "I get it" and appreciate what we bring to the table.

But that offering is broader than people know, and often comes too late in the game, and that is OUR FAULT. Pushing harder for inclusion at the proposal stage, a willingness to promote our information management as well as information provision capabilities, and a willingness to explore the initial request deeply (the reference interview further dimensionalized) would all serve to narrow the gap between what we offer and the people to whom we offer it.

So many basic business operational issues come down to communication. It's easier to be lazy and assume that someone will figure it out. Tedious as it may seem for those around the table, the earlier the hard questions are asked, the better.

In Which Kanga Experiences Roo's Randomness

Little J. is definitely responding to several things -- Mom returning to work, turning 3 months old (and the growth spurts that come with that), and just plain excitement at "all the living going on."

As a result, Young J has eschewed her previous sleep-through-the-night angelic behavior in favor of continuous reminders to Mom and Dad of her presence through the evening and early morning hours.

Really, it's no big deal. She IS hungry, and nursing more often makes it easier to pump at work the next day. But I hate to see her end her days in such a grumpy mood. Bedtime used to be really fun and happy for her, but now she yells for a while before settling in.

In Which Owl Once Again Ponders Service Integration

I had a good meeting today with my boss and an associate, regarding the best way that our group (I hesitate to elevate us to "department" level) can serve the primary research staff and the design teams in general.

It turns out I had misunderstood the thrust of our initial conversation. I now agree that -- for the moment -- it makes the most sense for primary and secondary research to partner closely at the company, in order to serve everyone better.

It has taken a few years, but the picture is now clear -- secondary research, desk research, library research, literature review, call it what you will -- is not only crucial to the beginning of a design project, but valuable throughout. It serves to keep fieldwork honest and contextualized. It offers a background for teams entering new market spaces. And it simply SAVES TIME AND MONEY, helping teams avoid fieldwork missteps and wheel-spinning, inspiring new design opportunities and codifying industry gaps for multiple audiences.

We have already sold ourselves internally. The next step is sexifying secondary research. First of all, we lose the term. It's inadvertently pejorative and meaningless outside the profession. So what does it become?

Information Services is a favorite of mine, coined by my work associate. It's simple. I don't know that we need to step beyond that. Certainly not sexy, to be sure. But a whole lot clearer than Secondary Research or Consumer Insights or what-have-you.

I feel extremely fortunate to repeatedly find myself in a work environment where evangelization of information science pays off in spades. It takes time, but we have an opportunity before us now to streamline the research process, productize what we offer and get paid for it.

Neat.

In Which Kanga Hangs With the Kitties

It's no surprise that the kitties have suffered since J's arrival. They are still petted, cooed over and fed copious amounts, but the raw time they spend with Mom and Dad is WAY down.

Tonight I realized that observing J and seeing her learn can show me ways to love the kitties better, too. After all, I spend lots of time each day experimenting to see what J likes: a certain sitting position, a new toy, having her back or tummy rubbed a specific way.

I haven't done that with my cats in a LONG time -- just paid attention to how they react to new ways of being scratched, petted or talked to.

Mundane example. This evening I serendipitously discovered that my 14-year-old male cat loves to have the pads of his back paws spread apart and have the skin between the pads scratched.

Fourteen years I've owned this cat and his sister, and I never noticed this. Meanwhile, I notice new things about J hourly, it seems.

Why should they be afforded any less attention? Certainly they lag in terms of quantity, but with regard to quality they are deserving and unique creatures, just as J is. I'll certainly never understand them as deeply as I might another human being, but it was an important reminder to me today that they are just as...specific...as babies in terms of their idiosyncrasies, wants and needs.

In Which Owl Assesses the Workplace

Yesterday was my first day back at work. To begin with, work itself...I noticed that things were simultaneously the same and quite different.

The sameness reflected itself mainly in the overall staff (fortunately, there's been fairly low turnover) and, frustratingly, the circuitous nature of the interactions employees have with our information services team. It's hard to build these bridges. Or they fall down a lot, or something.

The differences, however, were uniformly positive. People at work are getting more and more excited about ways to organize, save, manipulate and enhance the information they gather. Wikis and PowerPoints are connecting...discussions are happening on travel blogs while our designers are in the field...employees are responding well to our daily industry and design mailings.

I credit my two associates with much of this; they have the youth, energy and patience to evangelize these capabilities and rally behind them. (Is my jadedness showing?) Now to focus on insinuating ourselves at the early stages of projects, in order to ensure that we not only provide teams with information and inspiration, but that we help them make the best use of what they have already collected.

OK, now to the tough part. Driving to work s-u-c-k-e-d. I alternated crying jags with finding deep meaning in each Top 40 song being played on the radio.

Once at work, the distraction helped. A mysterious stranger (mom?) sent me flowers, with a card ostensibly from J. "Hey Mom -- have a good day. I love you. (J.)" That, combined with my husband's wacky BabyTrack updates on the computer, got the waterworks going again.

Long story short, I made it till 2:30 and then worked from home on my laptop. I'll stay a bit later each day this week (today I stayed till 3:30), and I imagine that I'll be "full on" next week.

In Which Kanga is Fretful

I return to work tomorrow. My husband will take care of J at home for the next three months or so. I have full confidence in the two of them as a superhero duo, of course, but am equally confident that my insides will twist around for a while as I adjust to this new situation.

The truest thing about parenthood is that all the cliches are right on the money, at least in my case. You love your child beyond all reason. You would die for them. You could, if called upon, kill to save them. You know that someday they will break your heart. And they are more interesting than anything else that could appear before your eyes.

The old cynic in me chafes at the admission that the sappy Hallmark cards have got it right. At the same time, this former cynic now joyfully waves the white flag of sappiness.

Tune in tomorrow for tales from work, in which I try to wrap my brain around issues of information retrieval, transmission and organization after 3 1/2 months away.

In Which Eeyore is Contemplative

I stumbled across the web page for my 20th high school reunion (20th reunion, not 20th high school...though I was an Air Force brat, we didn't move around THAT much).

It hit me hard. At first I spent an hour reviewing the weight gain, baldness, striking beauty and overall change of my classmates then and now. Then I clicked on "In Memory."

Of the five classmates who were listed as deceased, I had only been aware of one death -- a suicide that, I am chastened to say, did not surprise me when it happened. But the other four shocked me. At that point, despite the other offerings on the site, I was really only able to focus on finding the reason for their deaths.

That information isn't listed on what is intended (and succeeds) as a warm and upbeat site. But it's still bothering me.

Partially because of the field I work in, I sometimes get into a snit if "big news" happens and I'm not the first to find out. This self-centeredness in me is ugly, especially when viewed in light of the bigger issue: the disastrous events of these people's passing.

And yet...how could I not have known? How could we not have known? I'd like to think that the flip side of my self-indulgent failing is a keen sense of how my high school community could have helped surviving family members, had we been aware.

In Which Piglet Entertains a Houseguest

For the last two days my best friend from college has been visiting. She is an Episcopal priest living in Boulder, CO. It's been a complete joy having her here, and in many ways we picked up right from the last time we saw each other.

She married my husband and me in August 2000, and prior to that she and I hiked Moab together, visited Aspen and spent time hanging around the Denver area. Prior to THAT, back in the bad old days, we were roommates at Dartmouth. We made quite a combo. I slept till 11 am every day, was often drunk, and paraded through a confusing series of male visitors. She rose at six am every day to run or swim, baked her own bread, and never took a drink.

We went swimming today, and I realized how motivated and disciplined she has always been about fitness -- she looks essentially the same as she did in 1990 -- and how hard I will have to work to shoehorn exercise into the weeks ahead.

In Which Owl Considers the Role of Information Services

I had a meeting with my boss today to ramp up for next week's return to work. In it we debated the relative merits of separating out a corporation's "information services," vs. the integration of those services into the company's larger tasks and deliverables.

My knee-jerk reaction to this has always been integration-integration-integration. But now I'm not so sure. In a field that already lacks clarity to outsiders, do we feed the fire by embedding ourselves with the troops? By separating ourselves, do we force ourselves to create clearer definitions around our functions and deliverables?

A larger question remains regarding my leadership potential at this firm. I have some clear challenges ahead in establishing both the department sub-group and my own career path.

In Which Kanga and Roo Visit a Grocery Store

Today J and I ventured out to New Seasons for the first time. I was pleased to discover these narrow shopping carts they have that you can use to buy oh, three items, while placing the car seat on the "upper deck." They are actually pretty cool.

It amazed me how nervous I was, juggling clam chowder, a brownie, the cart, and my wallet, all focused on getting myself SAT DOWN in ten seconds or less. My friend Annie and her baby were much calmer.

I turned to her as we wheeled the carts into the dining area and commented that much of my time spent out of the house with J was focused on making sure I didn't annoy anyone.

If eighty percent of life is showing up, for me the other twenty percent is making sure no one else is uncomfortable. As J gets bigger and louder, this could become a challenge.

I'll spare you the details of the Tense Diaper Blowout Change.

In Which Pooh Has A Foot Rub

The two of us went to a foot spa today while a friend babysat The Small One. It was an utter pleasure. I found myself thinking about work during it (probably because my boss called my cell phone in the middle of the massage portion), but in a fun, non-threatening way.

I've heard other moms returning to work say that going to the office is like a respite for them after taking care of an infant. I do have to say that I feel more interested in my work, more creative and more ambitious than I have in years. The "break" must have done me good.

In Which Owl Has Been Thinking

I've been thinking for some time that I love to read blogs, but have / had no desire to create my own.

Well, things change. With J's recent arrival and some interesting opportunities at work, this could be a great venue to post about both of my "worlds."

We'll see.