Keat's last pre-surgery feat was to haul an entire 4-pack of toilet paper halfway across the house and hide it in the guest bedroom. At 6.5 months old, and just under 8 pounds, this is quite a show of strength.

The neighborhood racoons had better beware!

Our feline son Mr. Keats had his surgery yesterday and seems to have fared just fine. Joel jokes that he is now a cat-strato.

He was just about as rambunctious as ever last night. We brought him with us from the vet's to Joel's parent's house for dinner and time using Dad's Turbo Tax program. While I filled in tax forms, Joel chased Keats all over, trying to keep him from destoying any of Mom's copious collection of knick-knacks. (I sure hope she realizes that she will need to pare down to make her place safe for the new grandchild to visit!)

We decided to let Keats keep his claws, since he hasn't been destructive and also because of the expense of the surgery. I hope our reward will be a continued mouse-free home.

I beat my record set on March 5, 2002.

Last night I went to bed at 5:30 p.m. and slept until 7:00 a.m. this morning. Is it a virus? The sin of sloth? Nope. The baby factory needed to run second and third shift. Another growth spurt must be imminent.

I'm beginning to suffer from blog withdrawal!

Points of interest since my last blog.
-Our book group held a dramatic reading of "Much Ado About Nothing." Joel and I played Beatrice and Benedict. It was great fun, though some of the lines are real tongue twisters.

-On Jenn's recommendation, we borrowed (free from the library, yeah!) the BBC/A&E miniseries Pride and Prejudice. I plowed through the six videos in just two days and enjoyed them immensely. The pacing was a bit closer to the actual book, and I think the film captured the right mix of humor and seriousness. My only complaint was that wicked Wickham was a bit too homely to be believable as the handsome rogue. The casting and costumes sure beat the BBC version of Mansfield Park, though. The women in that particular film had totally wrong hairstyles for the era, and rather unbecoming dresses. And I'm a huge fan on Georgian clothing--it's flattering to most body types. In fact, our wedding was Austen-themed.

-We received our first installment of baby hand-me-downs from church friends. We put the baby shoes on Nicky and laughed ourselves hoarse. Keats is fascinated by the rattles. He took a particular shine to a teething toy that plays "twinkle, twinkle, little star" and carried it off in his teeth to play with it some more. Both were fascinated and freaked out by this ball that makes all sorts of strange noises when you roll it on the floor. Each of them would poke it, then run away. It will really be amusing to see how they and the baby interact with the toys.

-We watched the BBC/A&E version of Emma that a friend lent us. I enjoyed Kate Beckinsale in the title role, but otherwise was disappointed with the film. The version with Gwyneth Paltrow was more engaging and funny, and the plot easier to follow. The overall feel of the latter film was far more warm, possibly owing to the more yellow-toned cinematography, and sunnier outdoor scenes. The BBC version felt overly gray and heavy. I generally consider Emma to be Austen's funniest novel.

Whoa! I think I'm feeling some kicking!

Pretty weird. It's like poke, poke, fizzzzzz, poke, ping, pull, fizzzz. What sort of acrobatics is this kids getting into? No wonder I've been so darned tired. Last night I napped from 5:30-7:15 and from 8:00 to 9:10, then went to bed at 10:15. In fact, I could use another nap right about now. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Well, I finally gave in to temptation.

Our friend Paul has been bugging me for years to join one of his monthly role-playing game sessions. I had been RPG-free since 1991, thank you very much, and hadn't played D&D since 1989. I'm not sure if my sense of sobriety has weakened, or simply that I felt compelled when Paul's wife reminded me that I would never have time for such frivolity once I'm a mom.

I can't say D&D has the hold on me that it did when I was in high school and my pal Becky and I would spend Saturdays playing on the phone, she as dungeon master and I controlling 4 or 5 characters. I think it used to make me feel powerful, something unusual for a skinny 14-year-old who's the youngest of 5 kids.

The game also doesn't have the hold it did in college. On a Christian college campus, playing D&D was considered equivalent to joining a coven, even though all of us players were Christians and none ever played evil characters. So it was kind of thrilling to have such an "underground" hobby. I also became more and more enchanted of trying on new roles and being in this pretend realm something I'd never be in real life--like a well-armed tough or a seductress. Theatre and writing became other outlets for those urges as well.

I sometimes wonder if it was actually theraputic for me to work though the unhappiness in my life, like growing up with a mentally ill parent, though these fairly safe outlets for fantasy.

I know now that I don't really need to be someone else, or even find any enjoyment in being someone else, because I've reached a certain sense of contentment with my life as it is. Who'd have thought I'd reach the day when I'd prefer to be a 30-something bookish editor with morning sickness who wears glasses and hates her thighs over a 22-year old half-elf paladin with gorgeous red hair, super-strength and charm galore? Call it a comprehension of grace.

To declaw or not to declaw, that is the question.

Our feline son Keats will reach his 6-month birthday next week and will be old enough to be neutered. What were're trying to decide now is whether to get him declawed in front while he's going in for the other procedule. The surgery is now done with lasers and is much less painful for the animal. As someone who grew up with outdoor cats and even barn cats, this whole indoor cat lifestyle (the litterboxes and toys, etc.) is new to me.

I can think of several reasons to not declaw: the expense, and loss of his ability to kill mice if we get some.

The reasons for the surgery are many: To prevent him climbing so much (like the curtains!) and clawing the furniture (though he hasn't wrecked anything yet). My bigger concern is how much he now claws us and how he might hurt the baby. Joel seems to think the neutering alone will calm down these bad behaviors, but I'm not so sure.

Any thoughts?

How does he do that?

I'm talking about Olympic silver medalist Evgeni Plushenko, the only man who can do what's called a Biellmann spin (lifting his free leg behind his back, and holding it over his head, fully extended, while spinning).

Here's how, according to an article in Sports Illustrated: His mother, Tatiana, wanted him to learn the move to improve his skating fortunes, so every night in the kitchen of their Volgograd home, she stood behind him and pulled his legs up in the Biellmann position, first the left one, then the right. He still frowns at the memory: "I told her, 'I'm a small boy. It's so much pain. I don't need this.' But we work every day and stretch hard. Now I say, 'Thank you, Mommy.' "

I had a bit of a scary experience last Thursday. I went for my monthly obstetrics appointment, and everything seemed fine. My bloodwork was all great--no anemia or rubella immunity problems. I'd only gained a pound in 4 weeks and my blood pressure was okay too. But when they tried to pick up a fetal heartbeat with a Doppler device, nothing. Neither the nurse or doctor could pick it up. I was getting kind of tense, so they sent me for another ultrasound right away.

Well, the baby was simply hiding under the placenta. S/he is growing well. The u/s tech did a very thorough scan, looked at several major organs and all the limbs. The spine especially was very visible. At first the baby was curled in a tight ball, the way Joel sometimes sleeps. Later s/he stretched out and started kicking and waving. I haven't felt any of this movement yet, so it was good to see the little one so active.

We now have a new pile of fuzzy, hard-to-distinguish photos to hang on the fridge. Joel hopes to scan a few for his site. Stay tuned.

Was the Canadian pairs team robbed? I'm not entirely sure. I watched the top medaling performances on tape last night, trying to ignore the commentators' comments and simply look at what they did. The Russians skated with more speed than anyone else. Their lifts were more complicated and dangerous. They did more interesting maneuvers between big elements. And yes, Anton nearly fell once. Their scores took a hit as a result.

The Canadians made no mistakes, no question. Buuuut, they didn't have the speed. Their routine was pretty straighforward and not especially risky. They didn't have as much expressiveness or unique elements as in their short program.

The top two were very close score-wise. That seems fair to their complex with a mistake vs. straightforward and clean performances. I have my doubts that this investigation into "score fixing" will uncover anything. It's a subjectively scored sport and the judges could easily back up their decisions.

Maybe the Cold War isn't really behind us yet?

I only saw some of the men's short progams last night before cueing up the VCR and heading to bed. I was amazed to see for the first time ever, a MAN spin while holding one leg above his head. It was Oksana Baiul's most breath-taking move--something I didn't know men were capable of doing. No wonder the guy has had a groin injury!

Joel stayed up later and told me about Todd Eldrige's performance. I feel sorry for the guy. I think he should have gone pro after the last Olympics so he can just enjoy his skating. He does well in every other competition, but cracks under the pressure. Run away, Todd! Go be great somewhere that the media doesn't hound you. Enjoy your gift and forget the stupid medals!

Last night Joel and I listened to several taped lectures by John Barach from a pastor's conference. I wanted to cheer. He totally hit the nail on the head regarding the issues that bug me most about our church. Time and again I become annoyed by the hoop jumping required for converts to be baptised, children to become communicants, and anyone to become a member. Requiring people to prove some spiritual attainment to be worthy of entering the life of the Body runs counter to what we say we believe--that salvation is all of grace, and a gift. It also, as he said, exposes an unhealthy tendency to make judgements about whether our brothers and sisters are "really elect."

I was especially moved by his examples of how rightly understanding election can help Christians who are struggling with temptation and sin. I found it really helpful, especially as I've begun coming to grips with my less than godly response to the crisis of infertility last year.

Morning sickness (or more aptly gestational nausea, since it lasts all day) has not been a fun experience. I realized last night just how unforgiving my body can be of poor food choices. I was so thirsty after napping that I drank two glasses of orange juice, followed by toast, followed by girl scout thin mints. Uugggh. grooooaaaan. Never, never, never again!! Acid + chocolate = ugly, ugly mess in tummy (or back out of it, as in my case).

Growing a baby is not glamorous work.

I can't keep the secret any longer.

I'm going to be a mom!!!

Today I'm 12 weeks pregnant, the point at which miscarriage risk drops dramatically. God really has a sense of humor because my due date is in mid-August! I'm already getting a lot of ribbing about the misfortune of being enormous during the hottest months of the year. Frankly, after 18 months of trying to start a family, we are thrilled to become parents at all.

What's even more ironic is that we conceived between my first and second visits to the fertility specialist. At the second visit, he diagnosed me with an incurable endocrine disorder and said I needed drugs. Little did he know, God had other plans. No drugs were necessary. I joked with him about this at a January appointment when we had the first ultrasound. He said, "maybe you just needed a deadline." Is being an editor that ingrained in me??

What a gorgeous day it is in Philadelphia! It's sunny and in the mid-60s. I actually ate a lovely picnic lunch in Washington Square Park (catty-corner from Independence Hall), soaked up some rays and read a few chapters of Children of God by Mary Doria Russell. Hard to believe it's January in the northeast. Surely we're doomed for a major blizzard come March, just like in 1993.

Well, this is a bit embarrassing to talk about, but it seems my 19-year-old nephew, a Grove City student, has gotten his girlfriend "in trouble." The shotgun wedding is slated for early March in California. They plan to begin college again in the fall at a new school.

What baffles me is this: he was raised overseas by missionary parents and even went though the special ceremony that 15-year-olds have in Latino churches. At this ceremony, the teen puts on a wedding band and promises chastity until marriage.

His older sister also fell into marriage very young. She dropped out of college after 1 semester in the US and ran back to Guatemala to marry a young man from her church. They had a baby about 15 months later.

So what is going on here? Are these kids just dealing with culture shock--choosing the Latino life of early marriage, or is it something else propelling them to marry so young? One of my sisters-in-law thinks that the whole chastity ceremony and constant talk about of sexual purity gives kids an inflated idea of how great sex is. (It's nice, but not the be-all and end-all of our existance as the media would have us believe.) She compared it to how some teetotaling families end up pushing their kids to drink by making alcohol so incredibly taboo that they are compelled to find out about it.

She might have something there. Wisdom and balance are really important in steering kids to make right choices.

I stayed up past midnight on Friday to finish volume II of Susan Howatch's The Wheel of Fortune. I was totally shocked to discover at the end that the story is roughly a modernization of the stories of family intrigue among characters from the Henriad (Richard II, Henry IV, Henry V and some of their predecessors). I should have caught on that the final father-son pair were both Henrys that went by Harry and Hal, respectively. Doh! I know I would have gotten even more out of the books had I known about the historical connection.

I was so pleased to see that Howatch's interest in Christianity comes out in the second volume. The Wheel of Fortune precedes Glittering Images by only a few years, and the continuity of thought is clear. Two of the big themes from the Starbridge novels are here in spades--first, that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, and second, that living behind a mask poisons people spiritually and emotionally. Also, several key characters experience conversions and work for redemption in the badly broken-down family.

The next book on my list is also a sequel. It's Children of God by Mary Doria Russel. It and The Sparrow were originally intended to be published as a single book, but the publisher had qualms about an 800-page first novel, so the book was split in half. Knowing this, I decided to wait to give my impressions of The Sparrow until I've read the work as the whole unit the author intended. If you've never heard of the books, they're sci-fi about a group of Jesuits and lay people that make first contact with an alien species in order to establish a mission on the planet. It's no ordinary missionary story, that's for sure!

Here's an interesting idea I found in Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson:

"This is my Lost Property Cupboard theory of the afterlife--when we die, we are taken to a great Lost Property Cupboard where all the things we have ever lost have been kept for us....all the library books, all the cats that never came back...and perhaps, too, the other less tangible things--tempers and patience...and oceans of time."

What would you find in your metaphysical lost property cupboard? Here are a few of the contents of mine:

The squeaker for my rubber duckie, several very hypnotic marbles, the knight to my Fisher-Price castle, 7 kittens, my cats Tyler the ginger cat and Misty the tabby, the turtle I nursed back to health, several beach towels, a clip-on koala and rabbit, a Rubic's-cube keychain, a gross or more buttons, two ascots to my band uniform, a pair of brass mallets, 6 or 7 pebble-palm gloves (also to band uniform), My regional choir medal, the one and only oil painting I did in high school art class, negatives from the 8 rolls of film I shot in Ireland in 1985, Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, a mug with a quarter-note-shaped handle, $60+ owed by college roommates for phone bills, an Oneida stainless steel cake server, 4,679 bobby pins, 35 mateless earrings, and 485 mateless socks and knee-highs.

And the intangibles....a sense of invulnerability, a love of wearing leotards, an attachment to my yellow blanket, the fear of driving, the fear of seatbelts (once trapped in a car after an accident, but I got over it), the desire to beat my big brother at something, my naivete about men, a great deal of temper, and several years' time.

Yes, I'm still alive and kicking! Holiday time got busy, busy, busy with dinner guests on the 22nd, 23rd and 24th. In the midst of all that we had to pack for a two-week vacation to see some of my family. Whew!

The trip was a good one overall. We had a nice time with my closest-in-age brother and his family in Virginia. Taught my nephew to make balloon animals, built lots of stuff with Legos, played a little soccer and even some Barbies with my niece. My sister-in-law was down with the same flu that knocked me flat in early December, so we didn't see much of her.

Next we spent a few days exploring Savannah, Ga. I'd read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil last spring in a book group, so that kind of colored my view of the city as a place with a well-hidden dark underbelly. I think the Spanish moss does a lot to perpetuate the creepy feeling. Very "Fall of the House of Usher." Ironically, the big exhibit at Savannah's art gallery was Philadelphia-area artist Andrew Wyeth. No escape from Pennsylvania, I guess. Great exhibit, though, with many pieces he's painted of his African-American neighbors. One of my favorites was a reclining nude young woman--her silky brown skin just glows. Really lovely.

Next we spent about 5 days with my parents in south Florida. It was cool and rainy several of the days, but still far warmer than in Philly! While my mom had led me to believe Dad is at death's door, I was relieved to see that he's doing quite well. He still tires out easily (heart condition) and gets confused and upset (Alzheimer's), but he still has many enthusiasms and seemed to enjoy catching up with Joel and I. While there, we hunted for seashells on Sanibel Island and also toured the winter homes of Thomas Edison and Henry Ford.

Heading north proved more of a challenge than we expected. The one thing you never want to happen did indeed happen--snow in the South. For three inches of snow, South Carolina declared "a state of emergency" and called in the national guard. This seemed laughable to us until we tried to drive there. They have no snow plows and no salt. Every bridge is a death trap. Our 13 hour drive to my brother Tom's house took us 17.5 hours spread over two days. Traffic jams due to accidents led us to give up and bed down at a hotel the first night. The next morning was the scariest ride of my life. I just prayed we'd make it out of S.C. alive. We counted 29 vehicles slid off the road, plus a multitude of cleared accident scenes with skid marks and broken glass. Joel did great on the slick roads and got us the heck outta there.

It was sad we were cheated out of some time with my wonderful college-aged nieces. Meg's nearly finished teacher's training after earning a BA in English, and Jill's a freshman studying history and poli sci. She wants to be a diplomat for Canada (where they were born and raised until my sister-in-law got her PhD and a teaching job in the States). I've never met such bright, articulate, self-assured, affectionate kids. I'm hoping my brother and SIL will share all of their secrets of successful child-rearing with us when our time comes.

We got home on Jan 5th only to discover our housesitter was knocked flat with stomach flu (and Keats the kitten went from 4 lbs to 6 lbs in our absence and is now a lean, mean mischief machine). It was a big scramble to try to de-germ the house, but alas Joel caught it anyway. So, our house is a disaster area, we haven't unpacked yet, Joel is dragging around and I have a head cold (achoo!). I think we need a vacation from vacation!

I saw the Fellowship of the Ring yesterday and it was sooooooo awesome! The casting, costumes, sets all exceeded my expecations. The black riders are so much scarier that even my imagination. I think the sound effects helped a lot with that. Speaking of fright--some scenes had me so scared I jumped a few feet out of my seat more than once.

I expected to be annoyed by the imposition of Arwen where she hadn't appeared in the book, but I thought her role actually worked fine. I would have preferred less time with Saruman and his orc contingent, mostly because they are so gross. I realize the director was trying to build tension about the imminence of war with these half-rotted skanky beasts, but please, these guys made me really nauseated.

Instead, it would have been nice to have some of the restful in-between scenes back. They don't add anything to the plot, but they keep you from becoming exhausted from all the intensity and stress.

Elijah Wood made an awesome Frodo, young and determined yet so vulnerable. The camera work and special effects that made the halflings appear so tiny and fragile were seamless and really added to the pathos of Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin.

My favorite character was Legolas. He was so even keel, yet more alert than the others, faster in battle and amazing with a bow. Rohan was always my favorite realm in the books, but the film's depiction of Legolas gave me new appreciation for how cool elves are.

The past few days I've had some really strange e-mail communications with a guy I knew from high school. I'd mentioned that Joel and I are interested in liturgical worship, and he said he'd never heard of it. I guess this is pretty typical among Baptists.

When I explained what it is and what we like about it, his response was really bizarre. Mostly it was a long stream-of-consciousness rant about how hymns are too hard to sing (like all praise songs are easy? Ever sing the "verses" of "Our God is an Awesome God"?), that traditions make dead churches, that weekly communion is too boring. Another thing he said that really struck me as odd was this: "a 12-15 minute music format progressing from maybe one up-beat song to a final, slow song before the message involves too great a mood change in a short period of time. So we do not really achieve the Biblical goal we aim at. We provide emotional change in the music faster than people are capable of opening up their hearts to the Lord."

I don't get this at all. What "Biblical goal" could he be talking about? This sounds to me like emotional manipulation using music. I agree that there need to be seasons of joyfulness and quiet meditiation in a service, but using music as the only schtick to let this happen seems very shallow. I tried to explain that in liturgy, there is an emotional ebb and flow of the overall service that is part of our response to God calling us, forgiving and comforting us, speaking to us, feeding us and sending us.

Well, I sensed that we were kind of talking past each other, so I explained in great detail what a liturgical service is like. This time I think he got a better sense of what I was talking about. I found it kind of sad, however, that he thinks his congregation is too stupid to do anything other than settle for what they have now. Because many in the congregation come from non-church backgrounds or only have an 8th grade education, he seems to imply that the best thing for them is elementary-school-level worship. How disheartening! And also, how seemingly false. Liturgy is the primary style of worship in most of the third world, despite low literacy levels. My understanding is that liturgy has a framework and rhythm that is not difficult to grasp.

Well, I wasn't really trying to "convert" him to my point of view, just explain where I'm coming from and be understood. I just find his situation sad and don't really know how to respond at this point in the conversation. How do you talk to someone who's convinced that the pragmatic thing--dumbing down--is the only alternative?