For the Beauty of the...Mountains

 I grew up in the San Gabriel Valley, one of the many fine valleys southern California has to offer. But there's always been parts about it that I've felt to be lacking, for better or for worse, but lacking nonetheless. Then I moved here--the mountains--still in southern California, strangely enough, and am finding those lacking parts, those missing pieces, which have been making our sojourn here increasingly more fulfilling.

What follows is a growing list of reasons I love living here up on a mountain-top, in the sticks (literally and literary-ly). Sure, there's downsides, but there's downsides to living anywhere, so may as well dwell on the good stuff and chalk the rest up to whatever-doesn't-kill-you-only-makes-you-stronger. I'll be adding to this list from time to time as I realize new little jewels, but for now it's...

...The view.
I love how I can turn my head 90 degrees from my computer and behold a world of mountains. Mountains covered in snow in the morning and mountains that looked as if it had never snowed by mid-afternoon, as if they kept the whole affair a secret. I love how I can look out of the nursery window as I'm feeding Gwen and watch what could be deleted scenes from Bambi or Snow White, complete with foraging rabbits, squirrels, crested blue jays and quail, all frolicking together. It's just not normal, but in a good way.

...Finding that I'm becoming re-sensitized to nature.
As a kid, our family would go on walks several times a week. Walks around the neighborhood, to the local park, trails within Eaton Canyon. And a couple times a year we'd go camping at the beach or the mountains. It was where we went to get away from the hustle of life, and those became the places that restored peace to my increasingly more involved, busy and complex life. As school became all-consuming, it was all I could do from letting the cracks in the ground swallow me up, and I think it was at that point a part of my soul aways kept its nose to the grindstone, not looking up for anything. A part, I say--I didn't totally lose it--but I suspicion that part got a burnt fuse or something equivalent, and it's been long overdue for repair. As I took Pippin out for a walk last week, I finally felt as though the good doctor, Nature, finally started tinkering around in there.


...That I'm getting stronger.
Sure, having a 95th percentile, all-American 6-month-old is like having your own portable gym, but we hadn't lived here more than a week before I incinerated the remainder of my baby weight and could fit into my normal jeans. I credit hauling firewood up the stairs and--no, that's it. Just hauling firewood up the stairs. I can also tell by the fact that I wake up sore, and go to bed sore, so I gotta be shredding muscle somewhere...

...That we have a real, wood-burning fireplace.
Well, lots of non-mountain homes have those, but it's more than just a fireplace, it's a hearth; the heart of the house. Since our propane gas is so expensive to use, we decided to let our fireplace do the work of heating our home. Yes, it's a chore, scooping out the ashes every morning, gathering kindling, hauling calorie-burning logs, actually getting the fire started (and blowing blowing blowing on those fledgling flames for a fighting chance in this thin air), tending to the fire from morning to evening and sweeping up the bits of twig and dirt that inevitably congregate on the floor. But all that somehow adds to its presence and importance; as if those merry flames, pops, sparks, warmth and aroma make it a part of the family. And it's perfect for having an excuse to make s'mores.

...The sound.
And the lack of noise. There's nothing like the sound of wind combing through the needles of far-off pine trees.

...The untamed, unpredictable weather.
You can put money on the type of weather you'll get 99% of the time in 95% of southern California, but up here, all you can put money on is that it'll surprise you. It's kind of refreshing as it's one less thing I think I have certain knowledge about. And with winter weather upon us, no snow tires, and chains that may or may not fit, we're basically at the mercy of its whims, instead of at the mercy of our schedules. I know, you think schedules are a good thing, but they're overrated.

...The stars.
And the milky Way. Both to behold in abundance.

...The cold.
There's something nice about experiencing distinct seasons, even the cold ones, if only because they're different, a change of pace. Winter reminds forces me to slow down (especially when walking downhill),  and to appreciate my warm house.  Though it can be a drag in some ways, it's nice to take part in the world's yearly tradition of closing up shop, so to speak.

...Making us better stewards of our time and resources.
So, you'd think it would be really expensive to rent a beautiful chalet in the mountains, but just the opposite is true! We shell out nearly half of what we were paying about an hour down the road, we've found firewood (heating) at virtually no cost aside from a chainsaw, and electricity is a pittance compared to the insanity that were our central-air summer bills. Since the grocery store we shop at is 50 miles away, we've become better meal planners and list writers, which have saved us tons.

...A neighborly atmosphere.
I find that smaller communities, especially smaller communities in the snow, are much friendlier, which probably hearkens back to olden times when people in close quarters would die if they didn't get along or lend a hand. Everyone we've met has been super nice-- "Oh, come have lunch with us girls and share in some gossip!", and "Come hang out in the yarn shop if you just need to get out of the house", and "Do you need help shoveling your driveway?" and "Would you like my liquor collection?" (my favorite).

Anyway, the list will surely go on, and so will the drinks, for quite a while.

A Different Christmas Eve

Tonight Aaron and I spent the evening doing what many people do on a Christmas Eve evening: feasting on good food, wine, and conversation, but it was also a little different--just a little--but special in its just-a-little way.

We had Stan and Lynn over for dinner tonight. I had never met them before this evening, but Aaron met them at the community club house during its Tuesday night Celtic music jam session a few weeks ago. Aaron's been keen to play his mandolin with other musicians, so this was the perfect opportunity. Lynn and Stan head up the group of players and have been doing it for the past decade here in Pine Mountain Club. Anyway, Aaron invited them over for dinner and a mini recording session so he could learn the pieces and play with them on Tuesdays. I took a couple pictures of the session, because when are you ever gonna get a hammer-dulcimer/mandolin Irish concert in your own home on a Christmas Eve (much less any other day of the year)? And, yes, she did let me play the dulcimer; and, yes, I did play Frère Jacques. Badly.

No, I'm not done blogging yet. After all, what would a Christmas Eve post be without a heart-strung anecdote?

Lynn, I'm discovering, is probably an amazing woman. We were on the subject of family, and we got to talking about kids (she raised 6) and her mother, whom she took care of in her home for the last five years of her life. She had no medical knowledge, she said, just common sense. But she told me that she got more out of that experience than she put into it, let alone all other life experiences. She learned how to age gracefully like her mother did, and to cherish each moment, because it goes so fast. I think she gets it more than a lot of people, having looked into the eyes of her mother every day, and seeing herself reflected in those dying, knowing, graceful eyes. May we all have the opportunity to be served by our servanthood.

"...whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many."

Matthew 20:26-28

Merry Christmas

SNOW!

Let me repeat the title: SNOW!

Okay, so five inches is not a lot by national averages, but for two people who've lived in desert regions of southern California all their lives, who consider a whole minute of hail to be severe weather; they can safely consider the amount to be quite a lot. Especially when they have to shovel the driveway. But not after letting it melt and refreeze into icy blastedness. Silly southern Californians.

All shoveling woes aside, I managed to go on a little photo spree around the neighborhood. I was like a kid in a candy store soaking up the winter wonderland. And it's been about 15 years since I've seen it actually snowing, so it was really very magical :)

Gwen really did enjoy the snow, she was probably just afraid her jacket was going to swallow her alive.

My favorite trees around these parts: Aspens.

This brick wall reminded me of Christmas :)

Fashionable hot-cocoa-in-the-snow shot.

 

Not even the deer were quick enough to escape the blizzard.

 

 

Our beautiful home (for now).

 

Bunny tracks in the snow. How novel can you get?

 

 

 

Pippin discovered he could eat snow.

Living in the snow is pretty different than visiting the snow--even visiting for a whole week in Illinois-- because you know it will always come back (at least for the duration of winter), and there's no plane ticket out of it, because that's where home is. And as they say, "Home is where the diaper pail is." Or something like it.

The magic of that frozen precipitation may have tarnished a little, but it will always hold a special place in my heart. Until it melts.

A New(er) Start

So we're moved. FINALLY! And only shin-deep in boxes, as opposed to the waist-deep we were in last week. And thank God for our masochistic church family members who volunteered to help us move; because, really, you know you're asking for pain when you move, so I'm all the more grateful. And I gotta give hearty thanks to our neighborhood Mormon do-gooders. Their theology may be wacky, but you can always count on them to lend a hand. While wearing a sharp tie.

Life in the mountains has been good so far, despite a car that won't start, a computer that won't turn on (I'm on my hubby's computer), and half of my clothes somewhere in boxes in the garage. I have yet to venture into "town", aka a conglomeration of po-dunk shops and real estate businesses clustered into half a square block. But I must let the nesting run its course, much like the flu, complete with delusional light-headedness (which is probably in part due to the high altitude--at least that's what I'll blame it on). Maybe it's because I'm a mom, but it's probably just because I'm a me, that I can't contemplate doing anything other than getting my house to have "home" status, asap.

Gwen has been a little trooper, putting up with 250 miles of moving business, an all-day cleaning rampage at our old house before I gave up the key, and now the unpacking of the things that make life a little easier. Although this morning as I was staring at all the boxes yet to be unloaded (more like they were staring at me), I wondered just how much of this stuff I needed, and what I could get by without. I mean, what combination of three people (one of which is noticeably small) accumulate so much STUFF? And how much of it do we really use? Do I really need that Tria Pantone marker set? I mean, who knows when I'd have to render a shiny car out of the blue... right? Do I really need that funny whisk-looking thing that's supposed to aerate mixed drinks-- that I've never drunk before? And what about all those keepsakes-- if keepsakes they could be called? I don't exactly have the fondest memories of my ghetto high school, and yet there sits my graduation coffee mug, somewhere in the garage, totally not having coffee in it.

I think back every now and then to Susie Veon, the then-camp director at Campus by the Sea on Catalina Island, which I used to volunteer my serious dish washing skills at, the first weekend of the past several Octobers. She lived in what was probably a 150 square-foot house perched up on a hill on the campground. Sure, she probably didn't have her own kitchen and just used the industrial camp kitchen, but the fact that all of her earthly possessions fit in that small of a space-- including a bed-- is pretty amazing, especially in what's technically our very materialistic southern California. She would actually give seminars around the country in the off-season about "living simply", whatever that means. I'm sure it's inspiring, though, and I would be half-tempted to torch 75% of all that I own, just to see if I could survive. I bet it would be a lot like camping, which is probably why I like camping so much-- all you got is all you need, including the stars over your head. And there's stars here at PMC, to be sure. It's probably why this place reminds me of camping. Maybe the stars will inspire me to live simply. Or maybe those unopened boxes will inspire me not to open them. Either way...

3 Sentences

Jump. N'. Go.

My Daddy's Heartbeat

I hear daddy's heartbeat;
it beats so steadily.
And it tells me of all the things
he promises to be:
Strong arms to hold me close
and calm my every fear,
To lift me up so I can see
the world from his point of view.
Hands to guide me along the way,
to keep me from falls and stumbles;
I know that his firm grip won't fail me
as he directs me, gentle and humble.
Feet upon which to alight my own
to teach me how to dance
through life's hard times and challenges
with grace that's unsurpassed.
Ears that listen so intently
to all that's on my mind;
whether big or insignificant,
I'll have his undivided time.
Broad shoulders upon which to perch me
when the waters get too deep;
though current swift, I'll rest assured
dry land will meet my feet.
A chest which keeps that beating heart
so close for me to hear
those promises to remind me that
my Heavenly Father is near.

The Baby Mullet

I took Gwen to my work place when she was a couple months old, basically just to show her off. One of my friends, Kathryn, noticed that she hadn't yet developed that neat bald patch on the back of the head that infants the world over have come to sport, also known as the "baby mullet."

"Yet?" I said. "But she has so much hair," I reasoned with her. "Surely she would bypass that embarrassing phase."

"No," Kathryn returned, "All babies get it. It's like a rite of passage."

Certainly, I thought to myself, that my baby was special; that she would dodge that bullet.

But alas...

Business in the front...

Party in the back!

(And it turns out that baby mullets only add to that whole "special" factor. Go figure.)

Baby Firsts: The Beach

As you may have guessed, this blog entry is about Gwenivere's first time at the beach. But it's not just any old beach. It's Refugio Beach.

It's THE beach.

The beach I was practically born at. My parents discovered the little bit of heaven a few decades ago and we've been vacationing at it every year since.

My love for Refugio runs deep-- countless memories of small, unimportant things, like eating red rope licorice on the 1 hour 45 minute drive up the 101 freeway; that first glimpse of the ocean on our route up the coast; pulling into camp and rolling down the windows just to smell the clean sea breeze; sitting around the campfire and having marshmallow roasting contests; going on nature walks; hiking up to the point at the far end of the beach; walking sandy-footed into the camp store to buy Abba Zabbas; being chased by the waves; making sand sculptures; getting sun-burnt; cleaning the tar off our feet with lighter fluid; hearing the freight trains screech along the rails above the campground-- not to mention their squashing the pennies we put up on the track; discovering the tailless feral cats in the reeds by the estuary; laying on the beach at night to watch the stars... The list goes on, but needless to say I was very excited about bringing Gwen to my "home away from home".

My Refuge.

Scoping out the view.

With Grandpa.

And Grandma.

And Aunt Carolyn.

Yodelay-hee-hoo!

Well, after a month of searching for a new rental, we'll be calling Pine Mountain Club home! For now :) It seems we've been moving every year, which isn't saying much since we've only been married a little over a year, but we have 4 moves between us in the span of the last 18 months, so it's become something I'm very good at and something I loathe, all rolled into one... cardboard box.

In anticipation that we'd be moving to that somewhere, anywhere, we have been slowly but surely packing up. All the home decor is down, which is a bummer since my favorite time to put up seasonal decorations is Fall, but hopefully Pine Mountain Club (here on out referred to as PMC) will save us a little bit of Fall to enjoy before Winter moves in.

We're so excited to call that little hidden gem of a town "home". Not so sure if we'll be excited about our very steep driveway in 6 inches of snow come winter, but it'll be an adventure, nonetheless :)

(not our house, btw, just showing off the area's snow!)

We knew it was going to be a big day.
One doesn't simply sprout bunny ears and not expect great things to happen.
Gwen's pediatrician gave her the go-ahead to start solid foods, and thus begins the journey...

Solid food? Bring it.

Liquids are so five minutes ago.

Hmm. Texture: oozy. Taste: bland. Consistency: homogeneous.

Excellent. I give it four and a half stars.

Oh, mumsy, you know how I hate looking unkempt before the camera.

Oh well, at least I discovered the joys of messy eating!

Fin.

Fingers, Toes, Moving-- Woah!

Has it been a month already since my last post?? Sheesh, time flies when you have a baby!

Gwen is 4 months old today! I can't believe how fast she's growing up, yet sometimes it seems like she was born years ago (probably because she's had years' worth of milk from her poor mother!). Needless to say, she's growing like a weed (a cute, drooling weed). She's leaping in and out of clothing sizes, she fits a few of her 3-month old things, but has no problem wearing 6-month old sizes!


This past week Gwen's started to explore things with her hands, her favorite being a little cloth toy filled with crunching, crinkling cellophane. She's also been captivated by her hands and feet. When I'm doing the dishes and she's in her swing, and I notice it's been quiet for a little while, I come over to see what she's doing, which ends up to either be staring intently at her slowly moving fingers or toes :)


And no, the hat didn't pop clear off her head, though it probably would have if I hadn't taken it off!

I think Gwenivere also noticed our dog Pippin for the first time. I was sitting on the couch with Gwen, and Pippin, our little chihuahua, decided to join us. Gwen, being attracted to eyes, immediately homed in on him, and Pippin, being attracted to faces, homed in on her. So there was born a staring contest between the two, though Pippin quickly found his place at the bottom of the family totem pole, He turned away and would only look at Gwen sideways :)

Other than Gwen's weekly milestones, it's been one busy month here at the Vaughan homestead. Back in September Aaron and I made the decision to move... somewhere. Anywhere but here. But we wanted to move fairly soon to avoid paying another month's exorbitant rent. We had been making a list of places that interested us; places that #1 had a church with the denomination we currently attend, and #2 had a school where Aaron would eventually do his PhD work. We narrowed it down to Eugene, Oregon for those reasons as well as way cheaper housing, getting away from the hustle of So Cal, greener land and mild, rainy weather-- perfect for gardening. And not sweating.

Aaron had gone up to visit Eugene with his dad and came back with raving reviews of the place, the people, et al. To make a long story short (which kinda defeats the purpose of a blog), Gwen and I flew back up with Aaron two weeks later for me to scope out the place and decide on housing, and to make a short story even shorter, decided that Eugene, and all of Oregon (and Washington-- Aaron scoped there, too), wouldn't be the wisest move for us right now, mostly because we would be uprooting so quickly from friends and family, and a baby in the picture makes that even tougher. So back to So Cal we went, a bit out of spirits, and stressed out from all our scurrying across the Pacific Northwest (which really was beautiful).

Our hunt continued locally, and to make a shorter story fit on a car license plate, we found a great little home 50 miles north of where we're currently living. It's in a town called Pine Mountain Club with a pop. of 2,000 (25% of which are bears, raccoons and snowmen). We're so excited at the possibility of living in the mountains! It will almost be like being on vacation all the time (and it actually was a vacation home, so...). Aaron and I are also equally excited that we actually agree on where to move to. Now we're just hoping the home owners will agree with us :)

Back in the Day

This was Gwen's first "real" smile when she was about 4 weeks (?).

Already a daddy's girl :)

Ahem...

Gwen will be 12 weeks old tomorrow, and officially exiting the "weeks old" stage and into "months". A part of me is so excited to wake up each morning to find her that much more grown and reaching those little milestones that culminate in her developing personality and physical growth. But another part of me thinks that time is flying way too fast. Like, WAY too fast.

For instance, last week she discovered what I think the experts call "finding their voice". Literally overnight, something snapped--in a good way, of course-- and the next day she was squawking like a parrot, with all variations of coos and hoots in between. You'd think we lived in an atrium!

Her recognition of things, especially people, has developed a lot, too. I used to play a CD recording of rain in her room to provide some bedtime noise, but a couple of weeks ago I switched it to a recording of Aaron reading the gospel of Luke. So now whenever I'm nursing Gwen and Aaron enters the room and talks, she just stops and tilts her head to listen to her daddy's familiar voice (which is 95% cute and 5% annoying-- you'd think she could just multi-task by listening and nursing at the same time...but I digress).

She also loves to flash her million dollar smile that just makes the world a better place. She'll be a great salesperson, just like her daddy!

Gwen is also starting to "sit up", albeit she's heavily propped by pillows, but her head doesn't sink into her chest like she did when she was "little".

I've begun to start carrying her on my hip!

She's going longer between feedings.

And last but certainly not least, Gwen has been sleeping 7-8 hours continuously through the night the past few nights (she must've heard me threatening to wean her off of her binky). And there was much rejoicing.

YAY!

Haiku

The baby sleeps deep
Peace fills the air like sunshine
I bask in its glow

Boppy Wisdom for New Moms

Noah's Ark

I really hadn't noticed how much the children's retail industry had a corner on the Noah's Ark market until I started preparing for little Gwen's arrival and receiving shower gifts with that lovable boat and animal theme. But it wasn't until after I gave birth that it struck me how bizarre the whole connection is between children and the Ark.

And this isn't at all, one single bit, a slight on those kind folks who generously gave us Noah's Ark themed baby gifts, it's just that I never really thought about it until now. Perhaps you're wondering, "What's she talking about? Cute animals go into a cute boat two by two and there's a rainbow at the end of the story. That's the perfect recipe for PJ prints and crib bumpers" (which I have-- and use-- both of). But think about the story thus:

God sees wickedness all over the world (except for Noah and his fam).

God sends a flood to DESTROY THE EARTH and all its vileness.

Noah, fam and animals are lock-boxed up in a giant, floating would-be coffin to evade the disaster.

And yes there's a redemptive promise at the end, but it boggles my mind how not only that someone created a pink, fuzzy rendition of probably the most horrific event in all of world history, but that we all eat it up (and pay good money for it, too)! It's a wonder small children who are exposed to this dichotomy don't have some sort of breakdown whenever they go to the zoo.

The next thing you know we'll be dressing up the devil in a little red jumpsuit and stick a pitchfork in his hand. Now there's something to market.

Murphy's Law

Murphy's law is...

...being wide awake while feeding the baby. At 5 am.

...getting a hunger pang just as your finishing feeding the baby at 5 am-- and you know how hard it is to go back to sleep when you're hungry.

...being wide awake at 5 am and dead tired at 8 am, when the day actually needs to start.

...getting stuck with pregnancy duty for nine months, and when baby finally arrives, their cries sound like "MAMMAAAA!". At 5 am. Why can't they sound like "DADDAAAA!"?

...your milk makers waking you up before your hungry baby wakes you up, so that you're just lying in bed just hoping for that blessed "MAMMAAAA!" at some forsaken hour of the morning. I mean, come on!

...how magically blessed turns into dreaded, when baby's fed and you finally lay your head back down to sleep.

Wish me luck.

On with the Blog!

Ok, I can use the whole "I'm a new mom" excuse and never get to this blog, leaving all 2 of you in suspension until Gwenivere goes off to college, but I'm gonna have to face the music some day and realize that I need a "me" moment, collect my thoughts--and disperse them all over cyber space. I guess that's one of the weird things about blogging. It's like, "Dear Diary... and the UNIVERSE". Anyway, I'm sure I'll get over the exposure and the draft soon enough.

So-- Gwen turned 11 weeks old today! Happy Weekday, bunkin! When I've had moments of sanity and sleep (which always go hand-in-hand) over these past two and a half months, I've been reflecting on this whole baby thing. It's all pretty amazing. Here's this nothing inside of you, except your own organs and bones and a mish-mash of squishy stuff, and then-- POOF!-- human being, right there, soul and all. AMAZING. Not only that, in a matter of 9 months (really, only months. I counted.), little Miss One-Cell, becomes a whole huge mini adult, receding hairline and all! Then, it's not as if they just stay there, no. They COME OUT. And God bless Mr. Epidural.

Having a baby has really been a blessing. You'd think it's fun enough just being pregnant. People going out of their way to care for you, asking how you're feeling; asking about the little bundle inside, "Is it a boy or a girl?" You get to wear cute tops especially made to show off your epitome-of-a-woman belly (two syllables there: SE-XY). You get to take work off for weeks and weeks and do absolutely nothing if you want. Screw laundry-- you're pregnant! You may as well walk around with a halo on your head because, yeah, you're special, and everybody knows it. And birth control, shmirth control. But the fun doesn't stop there. For 9 months of good times, you get a baby out of the deal! A real one! If you thought people ooh-ed and ahh-ed over you before, check you out with a newborn in your arms. That's money right there.

But all seriousness aside, I've always had my doubts about being a mom, but nobody ever told me about the superpowers that come with it!

SUPER HEARING - Not only can I hear my baby cry on the other side of walls and walls and a whole floor, I can hear her cry even when she's not crying.

SUPER SMELL - No, I don't have a heightened sense of smell, but rather less discriminating, which allows me to change a FUNKY diaper without so much as a flared nostril. And that's super.

SUPER EMPATHY - Baby cries. What does baby need?? Somehow, more times than naught, I JUST KNOW.

SUPER PATIENCE - Maybe not a super power I've fully exploited, but exploited it more than I probably ever have so far on my tour of the earth.

SUPER ENERGY - Still alive, aren't I?

SUPER FOOD - Who knew us mothers could completely sustain human life simply by whippin' out the boob? Amazing.

SUPER STRENGTH - Even my own very buff husband can't hold a little 13-pound baby for more than a minute without gawping. Who knew my own pea-shooters of arms were really pipes at heart?

Anyway, here's looking forward to the next 11 weeks, and whatever new super powers crop up...

The Secret Lives of Moms

Well, maybe it's not so secret, but just a little oblivious to me.
Today was my first sneak peek in becoming one of "the pack"-- that is, the stay-at-home moms ("stay" used loosely). I went for the first time to a Play Date, a weekly meeting of the ladies and their youngsters from my church at a local park. I had never gone before because it's morning mid-week, when I would normally be working were it not for my glorious maternity leave. To make a short story long and highly introspective, my pregnancy experience has basically been trying to make sense of the world through the eyes of a mother, which has been a joyful and terrifying journey. One of the moms at the park today asked me to watch her two little ones for a few minutes while she went off to another part of the park to take some photographs. "Sure," I obliged casually, while a flash of terror flitted somewhere deep within to produce the following Gollum-like monologue:

"Sarah, you are now the responsible adult for the safety and well-being of these two precious children. Do not let them out of your sight!"

"Now just calm down. There are a half dozen set of moms' eyes in the immediate area to keep watch for all the kids."

"But YOU'RE still the one responsible."

"I'm sure nothing will happen..."

"But are you sure you're ready to handle this responsibility when it's your OWN kid? 24/7?"

"Um..."

"Well, that wasn't a very encouraging response, but there's no backing out now."

"Tell me about it, I'm as big as a house (well, a sensible apartment, anyway). How do these moms do it, anyway?"

"Beats me. But they always seem to have snacks handy. That's probably a big part of it."

"I like snacks. I can do snacks."

"That's the spirit. Now where are those kids..."

This sort of monologue has been continuing throughout the whole of my pregnancy, though in varying degrees of neurosis. I suppose all first-time moms go through this to one degree or another, so I should probably feel like this is all normal. After all, having children is the most natural thing in the world, right? So why is it that this has such an effect on half of the entire human population throughout all of history? Maybe it has something to do with the helplessness of babies? Maybe it has something to do with the sanctity of human life? Maybe it has something to do with the spiritual ramifications of parenting? Maybe it's something else, but one thing I do know, for as long as we're having babies, Quaker, Nabisco, Kraft and Dannon are always going to stay in business.

"Babies are such a nice way to start people."--Don Herrold

My name is Sarah Vaughan, I'm 28 years old and a soon-to-be first-time mom. I'm hoping I'll retain some sort of social behavior after I pop, but for those that will simply pine away without a weekly update on the Vaughan family of three, this blog may suffice :) In the meantime, it's just me blogging about what every expectant mom would blog about, and more!