1 down 99 to go

Well, Lucky Jim is finished. Desperate for the thing to be finished, I skimmed over the last few pages, happily closed it and threw it, a little hard, away the other end of our overly huge couch. I needed it to be away from me. It was like a Morecombe and Wise sketch; funny 50 years ago, but just bemusing now.
Dixon, the nail-scrapingly painful hero, floundered through one slapstick situation to the next. One minute burning holes in bed clothes, the next fighting the absurdly named Bertrand like a teenage girl, then finally fainting on stage after drunkenly bumbling his way through a "Merrie England" lecture. After all of this, he somehow ended up with the prized job and the pretty girl. He didn't deserve the happy ending.
It was a story about questioning the status quo. This must be the reason it's included in the 100. Dixon represents a "new" man who fails miserably to fit in with the old-boy world of the university. The problem is he doesn't have any desire to be part of that world; it is like he was blindfolded and dropped into his life against his will. Grow a pair Dixon.
I did giggle at the lecture scene but Lucky Jim annoyed the crap out of me. I'm hopeful things will look up with book 99.

Next up: Scoop by Evelyn Waugh. Thanks to "Lost in Translation" the only thing I know is Evelyn is a man. Those were some funny parents.

Sunday brunch

We had a wonderful brunch today; a three courses banquet of mango and sweet potato soup, banana and bacon french toast, and chicken fried chicken eggs benedict. It was a pleasure to be out with my family. We really haven't been doing it enough. We have been trying so hard to get a regular schedule going with Rose and I finally feel that we are have achieved it. The problem now is that interrupting the schedule with outings etc. means Rose is cranky for the remainder of the day. But a little crankiness is much more preferable than staying in every weekend.

I've been spending so much time in the house it has become stale in my eyes, but I have little desire to spruce it up. I think going back to work part-time will be a very good thing. I'll get some space from home me, while getting back into work me. I miss the act of work - bringing in money, being relied on, planning and preparing for a new day. I do not want the demands of last year, but there is a part of me that has missed it. Being a mother brings immense responsibility, yet I want the responsibilities of work as well. Do I want too much? Is the balance that everyone gripes about ever really attainable?

Not such a Lucky Jem

The challenge is off to a halting start. This week has been hampered by a pain in the arse cold/flu thing that will not give in. I have spent the last five days trapped in a lethargic, depressed, stir crazy state that really needs to end. I keep thinking that it has, and then it hits again. I'm now resorting to wine - tea just isn't comforting me anymore. It's a slippery slope!

Anyway, Lucky Jim is being read, but in five minute bursts before falling into cough wracked sleep. I then pick up the book again and have to reread everything from the previous night. Needless to say there are good and bad points so far. On the positive side, the book has a lighthearted colloquial style. Faulkner at this point may have killed the challenge before it had even begun. Jim, a recent University hire, has, so far, been stuck in situations with people he doesn't want to be with - a baboon-like boss, bosses son he already started a fight with and girlfriend (?) who has recently tried to kill herself. He spends a lot of time making fun of these people and doing supposed hilarious faces behind their backs. This has not endeared me to Jim. Knowing a lot of university professors, Jim really doesn't seem like a successful candidate. He seems to hate his subject (Medieval history), hate teaching and cannot stand schmoozing with his colleagues. I predict he will have changed jobs and girlfriends by the end of the book.

Why is this in the top 100? Maybe because it shows academia in a negative light? It's a groundbreaking 1960s attack on the establishment. For me it's a man who doesn't really know what he wants getting drunk and ruining bed sheets.

My Challenge

I'm inspired by Julie and Julia. Watching the film on the flight from England to Philly with a cranky baby, I came up with my own challenge. Instead of cooking my way through a cookbook, I am going to read my way through "Penguins Classic's 100 Classic Books You Must Read Before You Die" . This challenge has a thrifty budget - I plan to check out each book from Philadelphia Free Library. This means I have three weeks to read each book, so I'll be done in 300 weeks or 6 years. Crap, now I have written that this seems like a bit of a extreme undertaking.

Challenge Rules (because I am an anal teacher)

1. Books must be checked out of the Free Library of Philadelphia.
2. Books must be read in the three weeks allowed by the library.
3. There must be at least two blog entries per book.
4. I can only give up on books after reading the first 100 pages.

First up is Lucky Jim by Kinsley Amis. I thought it would be a Conradesque novel (probably because of Lord Jim), but after reading the blurb it is about 1950s university professors in England. Judging the book by its cover. the chances of me reading this outside of the challenge would be zero. But, happily I have no choice in the reading materials. All I have to do is read and opine.

Four episodes of tears

Rose is four months and one day old. At 7.36 this morning I was woken by gurgling and cooing. I untangled myself from our new ugly striped flannel sheets and followed the noise. She was lying skewed in her crib, legs in the air, with an enormous gummy smile. It was, undoubtedly, the best way to wake up in the morning.

In a few hours, B will be home from New Zealand and my odyssey into single parenthood will be over for the time being. It has been quite a roller coaster. I have cried four times; one, writing a miss you email to Brent, two, Rose wouldn't go down (but I quickly realized because she needed to burp), three, top chef finale, and four, I can;t remember but I know there was another time. This emotion obviously means I've been living close to the edge these past nine days. But, I did it. I have been able to look after an infant, dog and house alone simultaneously without causing pain or destruction to any of them. Except the scorch mark on the coffee table that is currently hidden by a coaster.

Together is definitely better than alone. I'm ready for a weekend of the three of us and less nappy changing.

On Thursday, President Obama accepted his Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo. The speech reminded me that he is a leader worth following. His considered view of humanity rings true for me. Here'e one example from the speech that I would have highlighted:

"But we do not have to think that human nature is perfect for us to still believe that the human condition can be perfected. We do not have to live in an idealized world to still reach for those ideals that will make it a better place. The non-violence practiced by men like Gandhi and King may not have been practical or possible in every circumstance, but the love that they preached -- their fundamental faith in human progress -- that must always be the North Star that guides us on our journey."

Of course we will make mistakes. The important thing, as Obama is saying, is to not repeat then again and again, but to learn from them and become better. You can forgive yourself if you learn from your mistakes. You can't forgive yourself if you make mistakes and fail to change.

Many different hats

I'm pretty pleased with myself. Seven days of being a solo mum down, three more to go. So far I have stuck to my plan of at least one social interaction a day. I have been to breast-feeding group mum and dad group, book club, explored Whole Foods, had brunch, made wreaths at the biology department. Having Rose has really pushed me to get out and do stuff. I suppose I can't stay hidden inside anymore, she will become socially inept. No more backing out of invites. Thing is, I'm really enjoying myself. It is lovely to be with a group of new mums and it is lovely to go into school and be a teacher. I'm enjoying my different hats, but I still do like my alone time too.

Article about marriage that has me thinking these past few days

I miss you

I really miss you. My man is not here. There are no trident wrappers on tables or dishes in the sink. There are no warm hands reaching out to hug me when I get back into bed in the middle of the night. There are no lips asking for smooches or lips to give smooches to. There is no one to listen to Rose laugh or scream. There are no cheeky giggles after farts. There is no body for me to wrap my legs around. But, there are cashmere sweaters that I can get lost in and sock I can wear without you knowing. There is Skype and photographs. There is your smell. But you are not hear and I miss you.

Dear Santa

Today I learned about "Operation Santa Claus." It was started in the 1920s by workers in a New York post office. Every year the post office would receive hundreds of letters to Santa from poor children. The workers began to put their money together to send presents to the children. Now, members of the public are able to go to post offices and look through "Dear Santa" letters, choose up to ten and send gifts to the children described in them.
I went to the post office and chose two letters today. The first is from a single mother who lost her job this year; she has a four year old girl and a nine year old boy. The second is written by a friend of a single father with a one year old and a three year old; the father does not know the friend has written the letter for him. The cynical part of me wants to think that these folks may just be lobbying for some free stuff. But the Christmas loving sentimental side of me is thinking that buying these kids some gifts ($10 limit) and sending them with a note from "Santa" is a pretty simple and wonderful thing to do. So I am off to amazon to buy Rose some stuff and spend $40 on some kids I will never know, but may be able to make smile.

congo gold

Democratic Republic of Congo and its civil war was highighted on 60 minutes today. The country is rich in natural minerals such as copper, some metal needed for computer chips and gold. The gold is causing war. Men, women and children dig into mountains for less than two dollars a day to find minuscule nuggets of gold. They are managed by various militia that fund a war with the mined minerals. The gold is sent to Uganda, who sends it to Dubai where it becomes jewlery, is sent to the US and ends up packaged in plush boxes and opened on Christmas morning.
5 million people have died in the Congo.

STTN

She has done it twice. From 10.30pm until 7.00am. The first night I woke, looked at the clock and registered the red numbers - 6.47. "She's done it" "You didn't have to get up?" "No. she's done it." And there she was askew in her crib, sleepy grins with red rimmed eyes. I felt fantastic. She had been waking up once or twice a night. I would feed her and she would easily return to sleep, but the interrupted sleep had a greater effect on me than I thought. It was my first full nights sleep since August 9th. She is, without doubt, the greatest squidge. I don't know if it will continue, but I'm thrilled that it happened.

On my plate

On my plate today was:

Slices of organic chicken breast meat
An organic chicken leg
Three roast potatoes
Two brussel sprouts
Two roasted carrots
Hominy
Stuffin (Stuffing cooked in a muffin tin)
Green bean casserole (not so good)
Sweet potato mash
Cranberry sauce
Poultry gravy

All homemade over two days. It was followed a couple of hours later with a slice of apple pie and cream. A couple of hours after that I returned for another small plate of all the above and another slice of pie.

A quiet Thanksgiving

It is the day before Thanksgiving and we are not with family. It is just the three of us, at home in Philadelphia, thousands of miles from anyone who shares the same genes as us. We did go to Kansas a couple of weeks ago and shared turkey and Keith's incredibly sweet sweet potatoes with family. Now it is just us and it seems too quiet.

The Road

We finished reading the road tonight. It ended on an image of mountain trout. Fish that had the history of the world marked on their backs, including the tiny portion that included man. The boy does not represent God, he represents hope, innocent hope. That is why the man continued, to save the boy, to save hope. Without hope for something better or something more then life is extremely difficult to live. Everyone hopes for something more, something better, something to stay the same. The woman had lost hope and she couldn't continue living.

The writing was so beautifully raw. The dialogue consisted of one or two word mutterings back and forth - lots of "okay" and "i don't know". It was conversations of two real people, the bulk of the dialogue being left in the spaces around the words, the things not said. The image of the road - always present and always leading them on. The idea that they had to keep going as long as the road kept going, as long as hope kept going.

Winter walk

It felt like winter today. On the afternoon walk, I power walked through cold rain and nasty gusts of wind. But I was cosy. Rose was nestled against me in the carrier and we were both cocooned in B's enormous red raincoat. I probably look a little frightening; hooded and strangely obese. Occasionally I hear sweet sighs from my little girl and I cannot help but lay my hand on her back. Gus still tries to take advantage as I do not have a clear view down to him. He gets yanked more these days, our baby days. He manages to find morsels of god-knows-what in the decaying leaves. We return home quickly - the walks understandably shorter than their summer counterparts- and enter the artificial heat. A winter bonus.

Routines to make you go crazy

You have a baby and you receive a lot of advice about raising said baby. Breast is best. Formula feed babies sleep though the night earlier. Vaccinations lead to autism. Not vaccinating leads to outbeaks of long defeated diseases like whooping cough. Feed your baby when you baby demands to be fed. Put your baby on a routine from birth. On and on and on.

It's clear that there is advice out there for everyone and you choose to listen to the help that suits the type of person you are. The bottom line of it all is that the end-result is a happy and healthy baby - except from the crazy ass non-vaccination advice. I am very clearly someone who thrives on a schedule. We have, therefore, attempted to put Rose on a schedule. We have a book by a British child care author Gina Ford. Ford subscribes to a Nazi-like regime about the baby sleeping, feeding and playing times and also when Mum should eat, sleep, and "drink a large glass of water." Obviously there are a lot of people who would throw her in the bin immediately. I, however, am appreciating having my day organized - the stress is coming for Rose having not read the book.

As Rose is a baby she sleeps when she should be awake and is awake when she should sleep. It has made me crazy. But I have taken a deep breath and tried to gain some perspective. On the whole Rose is doing beautifully. She has one stretch of 5 - 6 hours each night. I get up for one feed and Brent does another so we both get a good chunk of sleep. I'll keep working with the routine because to me it makes sense - ensure that day is very different than night, feed when the baby wakes up (our biggest problem I think is that Rose doesn't seem to feed for long enough and need topping up before naps - a bad sleep association), start daily rituals early like bath and massage, make sure the baby isn't awake for too long.

I like the routine, but it leaves me little space to go on any real outings because she just falls asleep. As she gets older I'm sure she'll be able to stay awake for longer. We have visitors for the next three weeks so I am concerned the routine will be difficult to maintain. But she is our daughter and I need to make sure she is the priority and not entertaining guests by guiding them around the sights of Pennsylvania. Be strong Mummy!

The first month

This is my first day alone with Rose. I'm holding it together, but there is a simmering queasiness in my stomach. For the last six weeks I have had my Mum to help me with everything from endless cups of tea to burping duty. I have had it easy. Reality begins today. Not that it has been difficult so far, though it is only 12.48. She is down for her lunchtime nap, I have managed to take us all out for Gus's lunchtime walk and I've even emptied the dishwasher. I'm still just waiting for to all to crumble. Hopefully, I will become more confident as the time goes by.

So not only am I officially a mother, I am also officially a stay-at-home mother (until February anyway.) After a summer of complaining about being bored, I now feel very comfortable with my lack of work responsibility. There is not one ounce of me that misses working. The social side definitely, but the graft absolutely not! Time, however, is flying. February will be here before I know it so I'm making an attempt to record the best bits.

The six weeks with Mum allowed me to watch and learn an expert. I have gleaned so many indispensable bits of advice. The bath and massage was a highlight. They recommend that you give newborns only one or two baths a week as their skin can dry out very easily. Rose's first bath was unforgettably fantastic. We filled the kitchen with the essential bath time equipment - bath, infant insert, baby wash, wash clothes - two for body, one for face, two hooded towels, changing mat, clean onesie, two nappies, massage lotion and baby. It amazes me how much stuff is needed. We strip Rose down. I'm completely clueless about how it is going to work, Brent is armed with camera and staying out of the way and Mum takes control. We all hold our breath as Mum lowers a pink naked Rose into the bubbles. We wait for the wail. And wait. She absolutely loves it. Sitting like a queen, she takes everything in as Mum confidently and I nervously pour water over her little legs, tummy and arms. The crying starts when we take her out. It has been the same for every bath time since. We now pour jugs of water on her head and she just looks at us with her huge eyes. She's a superstar and we're are getting more confident thanks to Mum.

A review of the first month has to unfortunately include our hospital stay. I don't really want to write about it. Rose came home on day three and was straight back in the hospital on day four because of bad jaundice. We were in CHOP NICU for five days and it sucked. The care was too good - the jaundice was cleared up in two days, but we were kept in because of a concern with her blood oxygen level. She was connected to beeping machines, pricked and prodded constantly, covered in wires so each time I looked at her I wanted to cry. She was absolutely fine, but the last thing I wanted to see was my brand new daughter in a ICU. A tough week. We were finally sent home with a heart rate monitor that has been a royal pain. We are meant to have it on constantly, but that means more wires. We now only put the thing on at night and Rose is wire free during the day. It makes cuddling so much easier and we are convinced that the whole thing is unnecessary anyway. Hopefully, they will free us from the monitor and it's wires soon!

Rose is now almost 10 pounds and looks chubby. Her cheeks and chin are downright flabby! She is giving Dad the occasional smile - none for Mum yet. I think that means that she doesn't love me. I'm feel content and a little smug that my beautiful little girl is asleep upstairs and I get to look after her. But we'll see how the rest of today goes.

Birth Story

Sixteen day old Rose is asleep in her bassinet and life has completely changed for the best possible reason. Being a mother is an absolute joy, but before I get too caught up in it I wanted to record the birth story before it all becomes a blur.

Sixteen days ago (Sunday August 9th) I had spent the morning tidying and feeling very pregnant. My bump was making it difficult to sleep and I kept waking myself up because I was on my back. On the Saturday, we had enjoyed a walk along the river and spent the evening clearing and organizing the basement. I apparently wasn't happy to just sit on the couch. (I was planing to do that in the last two weeks of my pregnancy!) Sunday rolled around. Lunchtime rolled around and I saw an afternoon was lazing ahead of me, lay down on the couch and felt liquid coming out of me - liquid I apparently couldn't control. I sprang up. Running up the stairs, desperately clenching my pelvic floor, Brent called out "there's some on the couch." I immediately thought - or wanted to believe - that it was just pee. More kept coming and I made a hilarious attempt to collect it in a new contact lens case.

We both sat in the bedroom and nervously discussed our choices. Both of us were sure it was just pee - though I was pretty sue it was coming out of the wrong hole. The doc also was sure it was just pee, but sent us to the hospital anyway. Just in case. Cue some desperate bag packing and deep breathes. At the hospital, I was examined and immediately told I was in labour. What. My mind just kept repeating oh shit oh shit oh shit. There's no way you can be ready, but I certainly wasn't ready.

Because my water had broken, or membrane had ruptured in doctor speak, it was important to get things moving quickly. My doc gave me three options for induction which I couldn't really take in. I ended up with the drug pitocin and a catheter I was sure they were calling a volleyball - turned out to be a Folley Bulb. Five hours in and nothing was hurting too badly. My doc arrived andchecked me - I think I was three cm. He upped the pitocin and removed the bulb, things began to hurt. They kept asking me one scale of 1 - 10 where is your pain. I had no idea as I hadn't really experienced much pain before. The contractions felt like period pain intensified. I found bending over, warm rice on my lower back and my darling husband counting one thousand and one one thousand and two, one thousand and three helped a lot. It got pretty bad - I wanted to get a taste of what it could feel like - and I asked for the epidural. That magical thing came and for the next 10 hours I read and slept. Nobody had told me that was possible. Our calm nurse, Vanessa, kept coming in and checking vitals, moving the monitors, asking if I wanted anything. I was calm and happy, something I really did not expect.

At 4. 45am on August 10th 2009, the beautiful resident came in checked me. She could not feel my cervix, my doc came to double check and confirmed. It was time to push. I started to shake. This was real. There were some tears. The pushing scared me, with the epidural I could feel a growing sensation of the contraction, but struggled to know exactly when to push. Pushing itself was hard because I really wasn't sure where I was pushing. I felt relieved when I was told that was an "awesome push, whatever you did there do it again" or "great job". I was lying there clueless. Unfortunately this experience went on for three hours. About two hours in I was told another 15 minutes. That gave me a goal that quickly went and I started to get frustrated and tired. Turns out that the baby was the wrong way up and had got stuck on my pelvic bone. I don;t know how close I was to being taken for a C Section. There was a lot of discussions happening out in the hallway. Finally, however, a few huge pushes and some help from the vacuum, Rose popped out.

She was immediately laid out on my stomach. She was slimy with white and red liquid, but I started stroking and talking to my little girl. She started to cry and for a few moments the whole family was crying. At the moment of her birth four or five extra people entered the room and she was whisked away for her tests and tidy. She came back bundled and beautiful. We had a perfect, healthy daughter.

I look back on my labour with fond memories! The pushing was, without doubt, the most uncomfortable, frustrating part, but I certainly didn't hate any moment of the nineteen hour epic. The following two days were spent on the post-partum floor. Breastfeeding was tough, but we had a super nurse who got us going - at least while in the hospital. It is clear that labour is really not the difficult part - the hard stuff comes after. You have a baby to look after.

Health-care La La Land

The Obama administration is attempting to reform America's health care system. How they plan to do this is highly complex and downright confusing. No matter how many articles, charts, and graphics I attempt to understand, I still emerged perplexed. I'm pretty sure that the bottom line is to provide insurance to all Americans though a number of convoluted programs. This costs money and threatens the health insurance tsars in charge of the current ridiculous system. An elderly lady was turned away because the doctor's office this week because the practice did not accept her insurance. If she has insurance, she should to have access to see a doctor at any office - isn't that a fundamental right?

Now, however, the debate has gone completely into la-la land. Instead of focusing on getting the reform passed, the media is filled with stories and videos of protesters heckling politicians in health-care reform town hall meetings. The protesters appear to be republican-backed citizens focused on stopping any kind of reform. Why they don't want the reform is very difficult to determine. The news paper articles don't seem to be explaining the protesters motives, instead they detail the shouting and fighting. Great. Many people are claiming that the protesters are being controlled by republican lobbying firms. So it is all, again, political bullshit and the media is playing into there hands. Why give these people any press? Why can't we focus on what is important - educating people on what the reform is actually trying to do and not sensationalize the actions of a few emotionally charged republicans? It would be a depressing if the reform fails because of these dirty tactics. Surely the Obama administration and the politicians driving the reform is strong enough to resist these attacks. Why are the important bottom lines always lost in the bullshit and why do people listen to the bullshit?

Some commentators are saying the motives driving the protesters is racism. The protesters are predominantly white and the people set to gain the most from the reform (the uninsured) are not white. If this is true then the whole situation dives even deeper into la-la land. Who, in their right mind, would begrudge anyone having access to medical care whatever color their skin happens to be? But again this gets back to the fact that it is so difficult to actually discover the real motives of these folks in the media. Maybe I just need to look harder - but why should I have to do that? Shouldn't their motives be clear?

Back to things I can actually control. Our interaction with the health care system has been equally as complex this week. I have seen my doctor twice this week and had my fifth ultrasound. On Monday, my check-up showed me to be measuring slightly small again (but my sneaking suspicion is my doctors had the wrong dates in his head) and I was advised to have 5 - 6 hours of rest a day and avoid unnecessary activity. I had planned to go to the zoo the next day and stupidly told him so. He advised me not to go. I went anyway - I think my doctor is being a little too careful. On Thursday, I went to the ultrasound. It showed her to be in the 57% percentile for size (7 pounds and 1 ounce for 37 weeks and 5 days). She is absolutely fine.

Finally, yesterday we met with the doctor again to discuss labour and delivery. He is a proponent of early induction to reduce the risk of C-section. A wonderful idea that means a very long, painful and highly medicated labour. We talked it though and our bottom line is not before Mum arrives. I would not be forgiven if we scheduled the birth before her arrival. We did, however, discuss August 25th as a potential induction date if she is still hanging out in there. I would be happy for that to happen. However, for the past 24 hours my BH contractions have been increasingly more frequent and powerful. I have had some cramping and a definite increase in discomfort. I don't know whether she is going to be happy to stay put until the 25th! Whatever happens I can't wait - though considering the tiny level of discomfort I'm feeling right now, this birth thing is going to hurt like a mother f****r.

The Male is Away

My husband left this morning for a three day trip to New Mexico. A few weeks ago I flipped at the thought of him leaving this close to D-day, which was incredibly unfair as I was supportive when he booked it. You have to love these hormones. Chances of my going into labour in the next two days are minimal. I am, however, feeling incredibly big and increasingly uncomfortable and doing normal things like walking the dog is like being asked to run 5K without training. I have a bowling ball in my belly. My swollen feet are doing an excellent impersonation of two flat-fish. My rings are stuck. Emotionally, though, I am still pretty upbeat.

Against doctor's orders, I went to the zoo this morning. They supply teachers with free passes in the summer months - apparently 34,000 teachers signed up for the program. Somehow I don't think the zoo will be getting 34,000 field trip bookings. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it and felt a particular connection to the pregnant/new mother animals. Firstly, the female orangutan had decided she was not coming out today - they believe she may be pregnant. I know how she feels. Also, the natural instinct to keep the little ones free from germs was on view at the otter enclosure. A new sea otter Mum was furiously cleaning the bums of her four newborns as we went passed. That will be me, but with nappy cream and not my tongue!

I got home, though, and crashed out. There was a half-hour nap on one couch, a move to another room, and then a half-hour nap on the other couch. Pregnant women are just like the animals at the zoo, an average of 20 hours of sleep is needed for us to function. I'm embracing my inner animal, especially while the male is away.

Skyping and big reading

Skype is something I am not yet comfortable with yet. Today, there have been two grandmother-to-be sykpe conversations. Well, less conversations and more belly showings. There is something very off putting at going from the comfortable faceless world of phone calls to the all-out-there-to-view Skype call. You really shouldn't feel you have to brush your hair before you ring your brother, should you? I find it hard to talk to the person while there I am staring back at me on a little screen. The conversation is always so stilted and frequently comes to a complete standstill as the monitor is adjusted and heads are centered. Also, my family haven't quite been able to get the sound to work on their end so we both have mobile phones to our ears anyway, or have been known to resort to writing notes to each other, some of them backwards, and holding them up to the screen. But, I'm sure as I use it I will learn to love it. There is something lovely about being able to see my familia - I haven;t been home since Christmas so I'm feeling a little England-homesick. Plus, with the baby coming it will be perfect we can stick her up to the camera and everyone can coo. I don't have to be on screen at all.

I have taken it upon myself to read the BBC's list of top 100 books by the time I am 35. I have read 27 of them so far and about 8 of those are Roald Dahl books. (It is a very British list.) I'm quite disappointed at my starting number, though I guess I got into this reading game late. I am currently in the final act of The Woman in White. Who killed Anne Catherick? What is Glyde's secret? Will Laura survive? I'm wallowing in the intricateness nature of the plot and the differing narrative voices. Mr. Fairlie is the most poisonous character I've come across in a long time. It is refreshing to be taken on such a convuluted, lengthy story. It is also perfect for my pining for all things British. I'm going to get back to it right now, while my dearest husband fixes a decidedly non-British dinner of ribs, corn bread, corn and beans.