Our Inspiration

WOW! Glad to get our shoulders tapped by the broadsword of CB and come out the Mork & Mindy of Blogs. Yep, that's us. Odd and self-conscious as only the 80's can spawn. YAY!

By the way this image, chosen from 1800 Google hits, reflects both p-man's real dispassion about my pursuit of a TV-sitcom-corollary and the current state of my hair.

ps... check out the other comparisons here and here... I think the MetroDad as Frasier thing holds.

Report from the Homefront

Dear Dad,

Baby nuthatch over here. A few notes on how Mom is doing.

I know by the time you get home the house will look like a tip all over again but REALLY she did clean house today. At least she tried to clean house. She had to keep a close eye on me too, what with the official onset of my desires to stick everything in my mouth. Oh, yes, and I chose to have two rather slim nappish encounters each less than one hour in duration.

So for the record she did vacuum and wash down the floors. She would normally like to use a bevy of 6 specialized cleansers on the various bathroom surfaces. But, I was sort of getting testy on the Gymini half-way through so she settled for OxyClean on everything. Did you notice the fresh Ocean Marine scent all over? Nice complement to the pantheon of Aquarium Wonders I have added to your decor don't you think?

I know she didn't put away all the laundry you worked on on the weekend but she did keep up with the supply. Yep, she washed up all the new stuff Sister and I contributed for the day. And, made a not too bad an attempt to get through your guys' clothes. The latter makes a pretty considerable pile. Wasn't it you who renamed me Ralph the other day what with the puke I've been spewing all over?

I'll add that it actually was no cinch to put out that hot homemade meal that welcomed you; even, if it was leftovers. Come the supper hour I had a dirty bum and so did Sis. She was full of late-toddler-day-attitude and I was huuuuunnn-gree. You can bet I played the patented angry cry when necessary. Sorry, the stove looks like that still and dusting was non-existent. Sorry, she left the tower of poo for you and didn't get any shopping done. It's really my fault. She ends up spending time with me instead.

She tries hard, Dad. So, give her a break when you get home, kay? And, do me a favour will ya? Help her out with scheduling those coveted showers the boobs get kinda rank sometimes.

Finally, it would be good if we might get around to doing something with her hair next month. It's like the 24-hour relay of peek-a-boo for me with that mop and to be honest I find it a bit too trippy. I think it might be adversely affecting my development. Your call.

Love, Your Son, Baby A.

C'est Freud

As I shovelled our walk out from a foot of snow yesterday morning I had pause to reflect upon the silent and peaceful atmos. a good dump of snow brings. Given the rarity of serious snow hereabouts, I do not often have the chance to reflect upoon this. But reflect on it I did, as I again shovelled our walk out from a foot of snow this morning before work, although the meditative aspect of the exercise had admittedly worn off by then.

I am also enjoying a little bit of mental freedom today. My home-lobotomy kit arrived and, but for some new twitches and total bladder incontinence, I feel great! Wet, but great. Today was supposed to be day 1 of a 10-day, then 14-, maybe 15-day jury trial of a personal injury claim. This would have been my first. There have been, in my 5 years with this firm, numerous opportunities for me to run or second a jury trial- jury fees have been paid, trial books prepared, experts notified and subpoenas served - and on each occasion something has come up immediately before the trial, at the commencement of the trial, or part way into the trial that has made the trial wither on the vine and die diee DIIEEE! I am referred to affectionately by colleagues in litigation as the "Kiss of Death to the Jury System". As with each time before it, this time when the file settled, I felt an admixture of emotions: relief, frustration, elation, peevishness. A lot of work goes into preparing for these things and, even though the client gets to resolve its risk at a price of its choosing, it is trite to say I'd like to go to trial and win, or, since we'd just be arguing dollars, not lose too much.

This fine weather also affords this correspondent the opportunity to contemplate the inevitable decay of the snow from its present pristine beauty and silence to a grey and sloppy menace; the ability of pachyderms to capture the essence of ice sports in but a few incisive brushstrokes; and my gratitude for this weather system. It's good for business.

P-man.

Bad Parenting Confessional

You know sometimes she is just so two. Today, as she ran off despite commands to stop... As we argued over soup at lunch... As I looked down at all the magnet letters on the floor I did not even try to make her clean up...

When the teeth grit and the voice gets harsh I have to admit to being a bad parent. That's the confessional in this post. I cannot deny that since I took a second youngster on I have slipped a bit in all my positive parenting. I do tire and cut the corners to just pick things up or toss a smartie after a problem. I'm not quite meeting the standard of trying of best they way I was a year ago.

So, sometimes we aren't the parents we want to be. And how is that? Well, that's too bad, eh?

Buy Nothing Day: November 24

I always like the idea of buy nothing day but often don't remember. Here is the reminder for me, and you, 2006. November 24th go purchase free, good luck.

Happy Thinksgiving

Last month for Canadian Thanksgiving our daughter did this craft. Her care provider was behind this masterwork of macaroni art and she is a tad ESL. We love the sentiment though so to all you current Thanksgivers AND the rest of us, what are you thinkful for?

GULP: A drink please for the apologist parent

Day six of the boil water advisory over here has me reflective. Ever since the advent of my second child I have had a few blog thoughts half languishing in draftsville. Funnily, this has brought them together into this glass half full rant.

It has been pretty stressful for me to keep things clean enough without decent water supplies. Admittedly, with my second child I am a bit more flexible about things but I wish I had all the water I want for them today. Like I did last week. Last week when we were soaked in the stuff and people deigned to complain about rain. This world knows plenty of mothers that have the worries we've had in these past 6 days to much greater degrees.

As a duck-like West Coaster I just can't imagine life without clean water. Until now.

I only wish this wasn't just my kids' first... but also the last time they would have to deal with it. But it's seems unlikely. With everyone, and their dog -- literally -- turning a blind eye to drink bottled water who cares if world water supplies stay fresh? With this issue buried among the 10,000 leagues of environmental fuck-ups this world has to offer, is this the future? Their future?

I realized recently that I need to love my children in a way different from how my parents did me. Love them with some fear of them instead of putting fear in them. They need some kinda guts to move ahead in this world. I live with them offering some measured reverence and with what I'll call maximum cherish whenever appropriate/possible.

As I hope you know I am no permissive marshmallow but, still, something in me has spawned an aplogist parent. Being third generation 'you got it so much better than me' is not in the cards of my parenting deck. My kids may not walk uphill both ways to school like the p-man and I did but they have their challenges. (Us among them, but you also know that.) Where we have made our way into the mid-thirties untroubled by melting glaciers and dwindling water supplies this is no longer a privilege reserved for our brothers and sisters in Africa or South East Asia.

We Are Outta Here!

Yes, count on the p-man to bury the lead... we are moving!

So do you feel sorry for me? Remember, I didn't want to move. Because of the park and because we would be stupid to move.. we live on freakin' Sesame Street!

So, the p-man won?

Not quite. Wo Family this week... everyone is a winner!

You see my new front door is approximately 16 feet east of my old front door. Yep, the neighbours are selling. No more hot talk about people's bushes and no real estate fees either! We knew these guys were moving. We looked all summer and didn't find another fit. This fall they told us what they wanted for their place and hey we took it. 4 Bedrooms up... that means there is a guest room for any of you guys who may be huge luge fans destined for Vancouver in 2010. There are some views both north to the mountains and south to the sea -- score!

I am not even packing as I'm pretty sure I can lob the kitchen stuff between the windows. The house is less than 30 years old, cause face it we need a character home like a hole in the head. A bit 80's but we can jazz it up at the price we got; I'll follow Andrea's lead.

Best of all I can look at creative returns to work while the kids are under 4. Yahoo, to the nth power. We cannot believe we played the Vancouver property market and came out schmeebs intact! Of course we haven't sold our house yet!

Sleep Tight

Finally, you hear about the sleep status of the nuthatch. Yes, I know you have all been waiting, right? I mean you are normal people who must wonder on a regular basis: does her baby sleep through the night? Everyone else asks me. Why not you?

Does my baby sleep through the night? Well... yes. And, no. He did a few weeks ago and now he keeps us guessing. So to be honest the answer is sometimes he does.

Today Mr. Little-Big-Guy is four months old and everyone and their dog looks at me with keen and cutting curiosity as they pose the question. At this juncture in our parenting career I am prepared to lie. I tell everyone, yes, yes, he does. So far it makes me feel -- as they say on the football circuit -- 110% better to just burst their judgmental-parenting balloon right there.

But truth be told between you and me Interwebs he has about a 64% success rate on the 9:30 to 5:30 bedtime program. GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!!!! At least, that's what I'm telling myself at the moment. Deep down in the pit of my insecure parenting gut I am wondering, why why?!? What is wrong with me? With him?

Nothing.

ps.. And a question.. you know he sleeps better in our bed than in the crib. Sometimes I think it is because I let him sleep on his side/stomach when I am monitoring him. Any feedback on this? Really kids tend to sleep best when the get mobile; is that because we are meant to sleep all bum stuck up in the air? When does the SIDS risk end? Would anyone confess to putting their babies to sleep tummy down these days?

Ah, maybe I should just let the cat nannies take care of it?

On the Boil

This is not a post on the subject of my ongoing battle with acne.

Vancouver is under a boil water advisory at the moment. There is something extra in our water supply as a result of recent rainfall. Apparently the water supply is very turbid.

At first I was confused. I couldn't understand what Sikhism and the need to boil municipally-sourced water had in common. Is this news item some kind of racial slur? When I realized it didn't, I was still confused - fish live in water, Why should we be greedy? But this is freshwater... clearly it can't be that happy flat fish, no. Has our water supply been attacked by authors of bodice rippers and their evil produce?

It will take more than boiling water for 60 seconds to kill that.

P-man out.

Wassednesday

Baby A is nearly 4 months old and he weighs approximately 20 pounds (there is a metric equivalent, although I have never gotten the hang of it. I think he weighs 35 kilometres). He is large.

He is also becoming more human, and less protoplasmic, every 1/2 hour. He has gone from the involuntary-seeming Sproing! of greeting to laughing to following his mum around with his gaze to requiring involvement in activities with the family. He enjoys hanging around with his big sister. It's a real laugh.

Of course, as he sleeps in our room, and is up a couple of times each night, I am not always laughing.

Sister E is also a scream, usually in a positive manner, but she is 2. That she loves her brother is evident. Tonight she confirmed her love for Barry Bear and Fritz the sure-footed and dependable pony.

As an aside Mo and I are feeling super-extra relaxed right now. Today we committed to spend slightly over a gazillion pengoes today. We paid deposits on a house and on a van. If the house deal doesn't work out we can live in the van. If the van doesn't work out then I guess we're buggered. I will add, not that it matters anymore, we never intended to become van people. I swear it.

P-man out.

Recommended MUFFINS!

Just have to send out a bit of warm, spicy love to Pixie-Sticks. We all slept in this morning and it was a godsend to have these scrumptious muffins on hand. I want to tout this recipe too since it has the plus of being a great one to share with kids. It is recommended you dump all the ingredients in and mix.

Or, as my daughter repeated 10 times after I said it. Whack at it with a whisk. Toddler friendly in the making and the eating!

In the beginning...

So in celebration of our blogaversary I went trolling our archives. Rather appros of a librarian, don't you think? As I look back I see that we are completely stagnant creatures transfixed by the most annoying and inconsequential troubles on an annual basis. Back then we worried about making dinner, arranging for childcare and keeping track of all this in the context of parenting.

We only got one comment that month. Wasn't I stoked when the amazing SJ read and commented as a kick-off for the blog. (Hey, who says Sarcastic can't also be nice and helpful, too!). By far the best reading is to be found where I invited the p-man to help me out with posting -- and he wrote this.

More Proof Rome is Burning

Yesterday, being Remembrance Day, gave us the chance to reflect on the futility of war/bravery of military personnel/(insert thing to remember). Traditionally I give not a fuck for this event, focused as I have been on the first option. Of course, now that Canada has shifted its international policy from peace-keeping to "peace making" (which, correct me if I am mistaken, is a euphemism along the lines of "police action") I need to consider that my newborn son will be draft fodder in 17 years.

In any event, we live near a "Memorial Park" replete with cenotaph. We attended at 1045h and observed singing of the sort that would make a battery of bagpipes, at close range, sound mellifluous, and did. I have worried of late that baby A is a light sleeper. Nap resistant. Sleep averse. I have been mistaken. He slept through the skreel of the pipes and the drum corp at a distance of +/- 6 feet. Perhaps sleep was the best defence, I don't know. We then walked along with the procession of police officers, veterans, police horses, knights of columbus, people in fezes, the dukes of corduroy, and boy scouts to the nearby legion hall where miscellaneous animal parts were on offer. E (who is, I must recall, 2) said: they're marching for me!

We met a fine horse, in the employ of the city, who operates under the name of "Duke". I stood, insecure, as Duke's (equine) partner unfurled his massive knob and pissed on the street.

I digress. I went to the local S-- store later on to satisfy my family's grocery needs. As I waited in line for my turn to exchange my net income for products of dubious merit I gazed upon the spackled visage of Ms. Reese Witherspoon. According to the cover of the magazine, Ms. Witherspoon tells "her side" of the story regarding her marital breakdown. I peeked at the next till to see the rouged face of her soon-to-be ex paramour, on a different magazine's cover, promising to tell his side of this whole sorry affair. (Note: Obviously, one may accuse me of no small degree of exhibitionism, on the basis of the deep, meaningful, and revealing blogthing I have going here. I am aware I may protest too much... don't I wish it was me on the cover of these glossy rags, describing in excrutiating detail my psyllium fixation and the personal horrors which made my descent into fibre abuse seem reasonable.) That said, I can scarce imagine what kind of defective moron would tout the sordid details of my marital disfunction to some hyena from the press for all and sundry to read. Or get all made up for the cover shot, which adverts to the gory details within. I can scarce imagine what kind of nut would actually pay to read that tripe. (Or what kind of twit would blog about it, I suppose...) (The end times are near...)

As though this grim spectre were not sufficient to horrify, these images were accompanied by images of the corpulent Ms. Alley, the waxed and bikinied Ms. Alley on Oprah, the 'liposuction rumors' headline (of course she had the surgery, you could see the rubber stoppers in the fat-sucking holes, right on her hips! It was TOTALLY Dune. (The end times are upon us!)

Later E and I observed a televised memorial on tv, showing pictures of the Canadian service people who have bought it in Afghanistan. I was tearful by the end. E turned to me and said: That was a good show, eh?

P-man out.

Memorable Remembering Today

So another seasonal event over! This Remembrance Day we took the two kids out to a local park aptly dubbed Memorial Park. It was a perfect day for Centotaph Services bright but nippy-damp. We squeaked in at 8 minutes to bugle so our toddler took in the important aspects of the rites without any undue waiting. At her age she especially liked the flags, the bugle (yes, just like Little Bear's, honey), the horses -- oh the horses -- and the marching. I think she got the concept of Canada this AM.

In my bygone youth I regularly attended November 11 programs in my hometown and at the main Vancouver Cenotaph since my brother was an Air Cadet. (You guessed it I was the family Space Cadet!). I like the holiday. In elementary school I was often picked to recite In Flanders Fields for I had the dubious distinction of an apitude for public speaking; yeah that made me about as popular as my voracious reading of the World Book Encyclopedia. In later years I would remember by running the service on TV or maybe I'd go bowling... My old apartment was on the flypath to the downtown Cenotaph and quite often it was the drone of the Harvards that gave me the cue to stop my holiday weekend mega-meal-making or whatever to take the minutes and observe the silence.

Today was a satisfying remembering... I got teary as I watched the grey vets march on, my heart taking a brief tightening in memory of my loveable-beyond-words Uncle A. a veteran of Europe. It has been some dozen years since he passed on now. I was happy as I looked onto the playground my daughter shared with the Filipino kids and the Polish ones, how the Chinese Dad over there shushed his girls, the Punjabi Lady Police Officer we saw there, the Sheriffs who also bore Blue Berets and how our German Neighbours stood with us and we with them. The pipes played gaily on the march west to Legion at the end for Hot Dogs and Barley Stew, doors open to everyone. My son rested in the fresh air on a soft lambskin an angel face and my daughter clamoured to be a part. She said, "Mommy, I share my baby with 'dem"... Yes, honey, that's nice. "Mommy, I give 'dem a kiss from my bear." Well, what could be a finer salute. The peace we enjoy here. The security of our family and our community. I remember.

A Brief History of This Blog

A year ago I was facing a parenting crisis... Or was it parenting crises?? My daycare had just given notice, my job share partner dumped me and I was unexpectedly pregnant. FUCK!

It was in this context that I began casting around for evidence that parenthood was not the mind-numbingly-dumb-cakewalk of superwoman lore... Neither that is was the bucolic indulgence of some mythical stay-at-home-beastlies. It seemed it was complicated in my case... and then I found out it WAS complicated, in fact complex, tricky and unique in the 100+ cases I began reading about in blogs. So I started my own. A big thanks to you all for helping in your innumerable ways .. you know not how... Thanks to all you disorganized, angst[ed]-out, self-indulgent, witty, snotty, intimidating, inimitable, loving brothers and sisters out there. We were glad to not be alone.

Each of the issues back in Nov 2005 had me terrified and horrified. But with a bit of perspective -- and tell me what is the Internet good for if not for perspective??? -- we made it to a pretty glorious now. I pooh-poohed therapy in favour of this forum. It helped me find interim childcare. It helped me soldier on at work. And it made me rush to deliver the special Mr. Little-Big-Guy who surprised me a few weeks after his sister's first birthday.

So maybe this should have been called Your mission, should you choose to accept it...

In Blog Years

My dear partner already noted earlier this week that we would like to revisit some golden content from Mother-Woman '05 later this month. I'll tell you I have been jumpin' around a lot of the new and old right click haunts and thinking a lot about blog-quality. I have a theory -- if I may posit it. Blogs are best fresh. True? Maybe it is the intensity of the stories told early on as a blogger establishes their avatar? Maybe it is the novelty or maybe it is simply the speed of the medi[a]/[um].

Blogging is a fast communication and it ages fast... I think some of the pining for anonymity and other stuff over here is the freshness issue.. There is certainly something important to learn/remember about parent blogging, too. It is a lot more straightforward to tell the tales of our infants that it is to post on the lives of our little girls and boys. I admire those who do it so well. These kids are not in fact our intellectual property are they? They are characters in their own lives not in ours actually.

But back to the topic at hand... I guess I think blogs age sort of like dogs; one year equals seven. With our blog going on one-year old.. I am aghast that I would put our drek out there for seven years. I remember in our first few months of blogging the getting-to-know came very fast and it seemed to take a matter of weeks to feel like you 'reallly got to know' a commenter/their blog. I also remember how our lives were different with time to think about our writing and very clear enjoyment of getting started. We had some good stuff that was never read that I will indulge in reposting on their anniversary dates. As usual we love the feedback from the elite bleader of MoWo, ah we lucky few.

Let me add... I have read some really great new bloggers recently and you should too -- If I only had bookmarked the links. Ah well I guess I owe you... The newbies are doing great stuff... Remember when we were young my friends? Those were the days.

ps.. if you haven't read p-man's meme response do it I think it is hilarious; and that means a lot coming from me. I'll come through on the book meme I owe L. from last month tomorrow or the next day I think!

A Massive Election

Forgive me if I don't comment on the intense hatefest that has been the midterm campaign (or, campaigns, all of them). I query the absence of comment on this festival of mockery, scandal, and meth smoking fundamentalist pastors on the mom'n'pop blogs I review. Maybe I just skipped over the posts dealing with this spiritually-enlivening process... yeah, that's it.

All the best to the concerned citizens of the US who today have the opportunity to select the lesser of two evils (over and over, by the sound of it, the ballots being each 100 metres in length), or, in some states, the Kinkster, or this scurvy dog. Avast and belay!

P-man.

(This post is, in no way, meant to suggest we have it any better here. We haven't. Elections here are intensely dull, although the tone of things is worsening... so there's hope! Plus there are no pirates in parliament or our senate. Scurvy dogs, maybe, peg boys, perhaps. But no pirates. Aaarrr.)

Monday, Monday

While driving to work this morning I had the opporunity to consider the effects of an unusual volume of rainfall on the usual Monday commute. Fun.

Mo started this blog one year ago, or so, and what a year of typing it has been. We agree that while our readership has increased, our level of writing has gone downhill. (And here is a big thank-you to the 3 of you. You light up our lives etc.) In an effort to conserve energy, and in a wistful, sentimental mood, we declare our intention to regale our tripartate reading community with some vintage Mo. (Holding breath in anticipation.)

Blue in the face,
P-man.

Recommended Title: Babies R'Us Catalogue

I write this as amanuensis for Mo. The title of note is recommended for the following purposes. A: making up funny stories about the individuals and products represented in the images. B: Good toilet-time reading for the toddler (while lacking in any topical content this glossy "magazine" is nonetheless inspirational, and this correspondent finds a certain parallel between the reading-time efforts of the toddler and the majority of the products shown in the catalogue). The downside of this publication is its utter lack of absorbency.

P-man out.

"I'll add the note that since the age of about 18 mos this was one piece of reading material Miss Fancy could pour over unassisted for some 30 minutes at a stretch. It is a completely unrivalled toddler-time-suck. Don't pass up your opportunity!" -- MoWo

Guten Tag, Y'all

I heard this on the CBC a while back and then I forgot how funny it was until I remembered it and how funny it is. I trust you will agree this version of the well-known song is, if not superior to the original, then a worthy homage.

Gaze Upon My Bumper, and Repent!

This falls in the categories of a: rolling theological warfare, and b: someone is telling me something about themself in a passive-aggressive manner, to wit, via their bumper sticker. I am not fond of either a or b, but I will confess to taking some enjoyment from a and b conjoined thus. You will have all seen what I am describing, unless you are from Glastonbury, in which case, you should be told the following: there are things called cars... they enable you to travel through time, from the Tor to Dorking in less than 2 hours... step away from the lighted cube! Run! What I am describing, or rather, avoiding describing at some length, indeed, circumpolarlocuting at this stage is that annoying fish bumper sticker. An example is this:



Herein converge a number of irksome actions. Two of these are noted above, but that is not an exhaustive list. In addition to the passive-aggressive element of the bumper sticker qua statement of theological preference is the additional bane of smugness: we've got things figured out, both here and in the afterlife. Fuck you, buddy, we're stuck waiting at the same light... your Voyager sucks ass, I'm coming over to- I Oughtta - breathe in... breathe out... A further prick to one's delicate sensibilities is the is the free-advertising element of the activity. It is comparable to, and as lame as, purchasing a brand name shoe the major design feature of which is the heightened representation of the brand name thereon. This is conspicuous religious consumption.

There is a silent war being waged on our streets between the creationists and the Darwinists, the terms are escalating disturbingly, there is dissent among the ranks, pessimism is in the air and soon some kind of Reformation may be upon us and blood will be spilled, unless you come to your senses now. I mean, really.

I will agree, for argument's sake, there is a place for bumper stickers, namely, bumpers. I am all in favour of you expressing your political views and your opinions. I am in favour of free speech (except for this guy). But folks, we need to lighten up.

I have had enough of this, and this... even this. Just shut up (figuratively, of course, the bumper stickers of belief being silent) and drive your car to work, sipping your milky coffees, listening to Enya/Radiohead/Chipmunks/Alan Parsons Project/13th Floor Elevators in the air conditioned comfort of your gas guzzler. If I want to know about your twisted beliefs, those which I will not infer from your choice of vehicle, your hair, your sunglasses, I will read your blog. Now, I gotta eat, so that's it from here.

P-man out.

Double Happiness

So the radiant and delightful Mrs. Chicky asked some of us in the this blogourhood to speak up about good blogging out there. She noted that when the death knell rings out for a blog its comment boxes swell up with 'don't do it' and 'but we love you'. In a plea to arrest the annoyance this presents her (rightly so) she asked for asyncronous-spontaneity about weblog content of grace and quality. Thoughtfully, though she suggests we present some typographic caress to a worthy URL out there, all the while leaving open the option for more pedestrian emotions, as necessary. Thanks. She is very special in herself, this Mrs. Chicky, as I think you'll agree.

Blogs to love.. well let's say... blogs I value... nay blogs I need. Two for the show, people.

Exhibit A : The Homesick Home
I have to date made clear on more than one occasion that this is a blog I revere. At times it seems like the mysterious and enchanting eeellLLLLL...... is blogging on a clock. That we will only have her words to live by until such time as the family returns to Japan and the homesickness ends. Say it is not so. I can't imagine ever losing this blog from my route-knowledge of parenting until such time as I gain a new outlet in life and alienate myself from the odd comfort of laptop friendshipping. L's posts are simply the best of the best. She most effectively skirts well-noted commodification of children issues that dorkier parent-bloggers sometimes fall into. She entertains lightly at times, knee-slappingly and eyes-drippingly at other times... and also engenders great debates worth having... and much of this is done in a manner so in sync with the medium as to make one figure she has some special gift. Which of course she does... no disrespect to the rest of us but -- ahem -- she's a writer. It shows. She doesn't make a theatre of her life or the lives of her kids/partner. She writes a report of her views into the web instead. L. offers a wide range of topics from her life to political life, social issues, international family raising, commerce and nutrition. There is more than I could say (and the linking on this should run to about a dozen href's but I am tiring) so let me put it this way: The clear, unequivocal manner of this voice on the web is a standout and a true benefit of the proliferation of blogging.

And, she's reliable. She posts everyday really, sometimes twice a day. I like that, because let's face it, I'm high maintenance.

Exhibit B: Crunchy Carpets
It was a delight to me to find a local friend blogging with me this year. She is reliable (please note above) and a lifeline for me since I now have two kids -- like her! I think she is bonus to the genre, too.... but mainly I can't live without her since it was she who shared with me the priceless mantra: "With your first you try to do everything right. With two you try to do the best you can." Smart, huh?

So there you go -- two blogs that are the best. Except for all the others which are also good.

ps... if there are typos here I'll catch them later.. I'm off to the doc with snot-nosed kids, sigh.