Thanksgiving

Little girls squatting before a glowing pig night light

Ripe homegrown tomatoes

"Weird" neighbors turned friends, made comfortable

Freshly shaved husbands looking cute across the table

Good books

Splashing in the fountain

Complete today to-do list

Pedometer freedom

Target special drinks

Clear ultrasounds

Prayers

From Abigail, concerning our neighbors (the ones who currently are being evicted and blame us).

We forgot pway for J.

Wanting to go to sleep and disgusted by the whole situation, I respond faking real concern yet proud of Abigail's growing sensitivity to the things of God, You're right. We can still pray for J. Do you want to?

Imagine: Two-year-old assuming prayer position. Hands folded--grasping tightly. Eyes clenched closed wrinkling nose. Voice whispering.

Jesus, tank you for J and D1 and (looks at me for other sister's name.)

D2

and D2. Pwease help J be healthy and kind. Pwease keep J safe. Tank you D2.
Anem.

While I am disgusted that they blame us for their eviction despite the fact that they are being asked to leave because of their own decisions and I am frustrated that the children we loved and cared for and forgave throughout the year now won't even look at us,

my daughter in all her self-absorbed two-year oldness remembers to be kind, to be sensitive, to hope and pray for the best for her neighbors. And God whispers, Remember the least of these. This is why you are here. They too are my creation and I love them.

May my prayers for the remaining time they are our neighbors be as kind, gentle, loving, and faithful as Abigail's.

Ultrasound--2

We had the ultrasound and with a little forewarning and the promise of donuts for breakfast it went quite smoothly. As soon as Abigail could see the screen the fussing stopped and she patiently waited till all the pictures of her belly were taken.

I know nothing more than that. The technician said nothing and only when I asked about the results did she acknowledge that I would be getting anything . . . on Monday. Aside from needing Abigail to lie on her side instead of her back while examining the left kidney, everything seemed to be in the right places and looked to be in working order.

God is good, though. He took my fear and left me calm and confident from the moment I woke Abigail. He is in control. He created her and He loves her more than I ever could. Sometimes I forget. Thank you all for your well-wishes and your prayers and your encouragement. I can't believe we are blessed with such good friends, nay, with such a great family. For isn't that what we are, children of the Father, brothers and sisters in the faith?

Ultrasound

This morning is Abigail's renal ultrasound. There is no guarantee that anything will show up in the pictures to give reason for her last UTI. (I realize I need an update about that. It will come.)

I go into ultrasounds with abject fear. The kind that gnaws at your stomach and creates monsters in your head. Unreasoning and unreasonable.

Without word that day in 2004 creeps in haunting me. The day we found out our dear son would not live long if he lived to delivery. The day organs were found floating in amniotic fluid instead of encased safely in bone and skin. The day we had a name--Limb-Body Wall Complex Abnormalities. The day we had a statistic-1:15,000.

This morning I write as I wait to wake Abigail. Forgetting God's hand of grace and blessing that she is, I fight the fear that ultrasound grows in me and I wonder about and miss my son. Looking at the pictures of her that hang on the wall around my desk, I am nagged by the fear that today's pictures are about to reveal something awful, that she too will soon be a hope and a dream and a memory.

It doesn't make a bit of sense. I am completely aware of that fact. Could someone tell my heart? I wonder, when I am old will ultrasounds continue to grab me with fear?

Imperfectly Wonderful

Chris has a pencil. The pencil was with him in college. It survived Cummins. It survived Whirlpool. And though it was lost for a week here, it is still the preferred medium for Chris to do his calculations.

Skinny.
Black.
Mechanical.
0.5mm lead.
Small, in the tiny sense, dent in the eraser lid.
It is the perfect pencil for a rather geeky mechanical engineer.

There would come times usually in college when I would ask to borrow said pencil. I would marvel at one particular trait this pencil had. A factory flat eraser. No, not because it was never used. Because, Chris had a particular way of erasing his mistakes. Instead of flipping the pencil over and erasing wherever and however eraser met paper, he carefully tipped the pencil upside-down and found the correct placement of the eraser so that it was exactly parallel to the paper. Only then would eraser touch paper. It would never deviate from parallel, retaining the factory flatness of the eraser. Only the top would ever show signs that Chris made mistakes.

I would inevitably add slope to the eraser. I freely admit that sometimes I would deliberately add slope to the eraser just to tease Chris. As time elapsed, though, I stopped borrowing the pencil and it has lived the exclusive life of a cherished engineer's pencil.

Until tonight.

Chris asked to take us out to eat. As soon as Abigail and I got home from my meeting. How impressed was I! We got all the stuff ready to go and I could swear I put toys in a bag for Abigail. But when we got to our restaurant (we eat there once a week), no toys were to be had. Just Daddy's pencil. With trepidation Chris handed it over reminding Abigail to be gentle, fearing that she would take lead to paper with enough gusto to break lead, tear paper and damage both tabletop and lead guide. Relieved when she moved lead across paper with grace and ease, Chris relaxed.

Until. . .

I need to race, Daddy.

And just as easily as she had written with the pencil she yanked the lid from the eraser and took eraser to paper. Little toddler hand grasping pencil in tight little fist. Rubbing at stray marks on a place mat. Eraser bending ever so slightly with the force applied. Chris left trying to convince a two-year old that she didn't need to erase. And when that didn't work, that enough erasing had taken place.

I had a perfect ninety degree angle.

I had to chuckle.

So much that I deemed necessary to spend my time getting perfect is fading in the reality that there is another person in my world. One who cares far more for the experiences presented her than the perfect anything. There is so much "imperfect" in her--behavior (picking her nose in church), communication (I waked up), abilities (three lines represent anything you can imagine)--but she carries out life with joy and with ease waiting with baited breath for what interesting or fun thing will come up next.

How much do I have to learn from her! What if I picked up one room and cheered instead of seeing only that there are three more needing picked up? What if I talked about the things that mattered to me instead of sticking to approved topics? What if I thought of the fun of the adventure instead of listing the work to be done? What if I just did the next thing instead of dreading the next thing? What if the perfect ninety-degree angle stopped mattering as much as the task set before me? What if. . .

Giving Thanks

Abigail's scrunched nose and deep dimples when thoroughly tickled.

High-pitched toddler squeals playing in the sprinkler.

Chris's sleep-heavy arm drawing me close in the morning hours before waking for work.

Baby watermelons, peppers, and tomatoes promising a ready harvest.

Plans with mom and sister.

Holy Experience is creating a gratitude community. I thought it a good idea to join for myself as remembering that I am so blessed protects me from being so offended.

Idiots

They would have to be idiots.

A home owner at our monthly GACCA meeting held tonight in response to the idea that someone would buy a new house on the street we live. You know the one we are staying on, waiting till the tenants in the back move out so we have a price that house in this neighborhood.

After the meeting tonight, I would agree. Rather a hopeless meeting, residents angry at decisions made for them about how best to go about revitalizing their neighborhood feeling used to get funds only to have control of the funds completely removed from their input and control. If I had been at this for fifteen years, I would be incensed too.

We've only lived here for a few months and I find myself put out. I find myself overwhelmed and hopeless. I wonder if we will still be in a semi-smoky room in the American Legion in fifteen years still upset at the city for funneling money to other neighborhoods. I wonder if in fifteen years, I will be worried for Abigail to walk to the library alone for the johns soliciting her. I wonder if I could make it fifteen years in this type of work.

I kept hearing the man shouting from the back, a man living in a rougher part of the neighborhood than mine, a man living beside a condemned house yet to be boarded up, owned by the city with weeds seven feet high. They would be idiots. I wonder if he was speaking for God or for the enemy.

I talk with my neighbor, Mrs. F. whose husband isn't long for this world. And with Mrs. Z. whose husband passed many years ago left alone surrounded by the rental property of a slumlord. And I joke with our landlord that after this meeting why would we want to buy his house. My landlady offers me a ride home and tells me to be careful walking the Avenue (I may be mistaken for a prostitute).

I recount the walk down. A little old man nodded to me, hello. I nodded back and smiled. (Isn't that what you are supposed to do?) I could feel him turn around to check me out. YUCK! I told her that I decided to think of myself as extra-cute if someone is taking a second look and let it make my day instead of completely gross. me. out. We laugh. She drives and I walk.

As I walk the man's words shout in my head, They would be idiots! And I ask the Lord why. With all this, why should we stay when there are perfectly cute houses out there with wonderful large lots we could buy. And God whispers,

The people. I love them.

Banging my head off the desk trying not to think of myself as an idiot when in the eyes of my flesh that is all I can hear, I determine that those were the words of the enemy.

Park Day

Mommy Moments

I had for a while a little thing going about what I thought I would never say. I foolishly thought that only applied to what I would say to Abigail because she is young and still learning that other people's noses are not for her fingers.

I did not think that I would say anything about myself that would fall in the "Can't Believe I Said That" category. Of course, I am also tackling a toddler for the first time in my life. And while a fun fun fun time it is revealing much about me that I am not proud of. Like temper its cousin impatience that I can keep so well hidden but not necessarily taken care of. Toddler-hood is spiritually exhausting for this mom.

But I thought, Instead of wallowing in the muck and mire of my ineptitude apart from Christ to remotely resemble Him, I will share with you some of my finest moments.

Remembering a funny anecdote about raising children and being able to relate--Raising children is like being pecked to death by a chicken.

Responding to a friend's inquiry as to the state of my day, It's an E bay day.

Lying in bed after a different day of fighting ugliness of actions, I commented on the restraining power of the Holy Spirit. I can't imagine doing this motherhood thing without the Holy Spirit restraining me from all sorts of evil.

Sitting on the couch with Chris after a particularly long, arduous, trying day of desperately trying to contain the ugliness of what I wanted to say, I commented, If God is waiting till I am complete, I'll never die.

Philippians 1:6--But I am confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus. (Thankfully, I now read that completion isn't a requirement. What sweet relief.)

What about you? Anything you've said or God has revealed that you didn't think possible?

While I ask, I am encouraged that motherhood is a sacred call. A call to raise godly children who seek after Him following with all their beings. A call also to sanctification . . . of mothers and fathers and children, that part of the blessing is the revelation that these little one leave on our hearts and the invitation present in the love we have for them to take the ugliness to the cross to become conformed to the image of Him who gave such gifts.

A Mission

Chris will laugh remembering the oft repeated line in The Blues Brothers, "We're on a mission from God." Then he will grimace thinking of the mission statements of the various companies he has worked for. Mission statements that oftentimes did not touch the reality of the work environment. I guarantee that he will then wonder at the act of his wife looking at the world from a wholly sanguined-phlegmatic point-of-view creating a mission statement. Maybe recalling the conversation we had the other night about because of abigail will at the very least mean such a post isn't a shock.

Self-discipline is not my strong suite. Being out of the workforce for a couple of years has only reinforced my concern that I am more of a people pleaser than I like to admit. Watching discipline and motivation slip through my fingers as I manage only a household consisting of a toddler who though she questions my authority also reveres me and a husband kind and forgiving who accepts a disheveled existence has brought me to pray for nothing less than the self-discipline to manage our home well. So I take baby steps:

• wearing a pedometer and telling you all how many steps I take
• writing weekly goals for myself and publishing them on the internet
• and now, writing a mission statement for this little blog.

Without further adieu,
The mission of because of abigail is to chronicle the life of a mother and her children as Christ takes us on the adventure of completion. It is a place of introspection, exposure, and holiness as I capture snapshots of our lives showing glimpses of God's work in search of the sacred in the normal-ness of life.

I do this because so often I forget the truth of Philippians 1:6 "But I am confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus." And when I forget this truth, I begin to resent the normal, achingly smallness of being "just" a wife and mother. I forget that I am a child of God called according to His purposes and that all things work together for my good. So every experience I have as just a wife and mother is a work of God, is the whispers of my heavenly Father growing and maturing me. This is my reminder that normal, small, infamous is a celebration of creation for indeed I am being made new.

Thanks to Becoming Me for hosting the Blog Mission Tour. Click on over to hear read more.

To Grandmother's House

As we drove

green turning to blue
dark blue rising to meet
sky blue
fleeting wisps of cloud
scattered.

Watching for livestock.
cows are sick
need Advil,
be better soon.

Toddler Reason.

No radio,
just talking.
Listening to growing.

Trees make a canopy
over the road.
Shifting shadows
browns greens grays
black asphalt.

Making plans
watching, waiting.

Talk of death
Tug back soon.
No he is dead.
Oh, be back soon.
No he can't come back.
Talk to Grandma.

Toddler Reason.

Grandma knows best.

Maybe I'll tell her
I feel like a
bad mother.

because. . .
Grandma knows best.

Picture This

A Car Conversation

Mommy, who made the mountains?
I don't know. Who made the mountains?

Jesus.
Yep, God made the mountains. Who made you?

Jesus.
Yes, God made Abigail.

(And might I add that He knows more about her urinary tract than anyone else.)

UTI

You know how Abigail has been getting high fevers on and off. Well, when I told the pediatrician at her 2 1/2 year check up that she had five fevers reaching 105 and lasting well into three days and sometimes into four, he decided that maybe the four diagnoses of virus should be questioned. There was that one time at Mother's Day when I didn't take her anywhere waiting for the fever to break then waiting to see the real, as in not Urgent Care, doctor.

Anyway, he sent us home with two orders for clean urine specimins. One to be done while she was healthy. We did it right away. One to be done the next time she had a fever. We waited, probably because she was put on antibiotic for an ear infection, longer than I thought we would as her fevers were coming about once every four weeks. Well, this week it happened. Lots of little accidents with crying that she couldn't pee in the potty left me on frustrated mommy. Then the fever hit, growing from low-grade Sunday to full fledged Tuesday. She went in the second cup after promises of chocolate and "Target's special drink." Actually she missed most of the cup.

So to the hospital we went with doctor's orders in hand. After waiting with a fevered toddler for an unreasonable amount of time, we were told that more cup-peeing was necessary. Into the bathroom we went and I just prayed that she could balance on a full-sized toilet while I held a cup to catch urine. Not a pretty sight. She balked claiming that she couldn't pee and that she didn't want to so I promised her a car from Target. Hey, we were going anyway. She went and I caught it.

I didn't hear anything back from the analysis so today when the fever raged on I called to make an appointment to see the pediatrician. I was put on hold for 25 minutes while Dr. P read the results and formulated a course of action without seeing the child. She does have a urinary tract infection and is on antibiotics. Another trip to Target for said medication, but we escaped without a visit to Starbucks of the special drink. (She gets flavored milk. I get iced tea.)

She has a visit with Dr. P next Thursday. Maybe by then I will be less frustrated and better able to formulate questions that don't start with "Every time I have taken her to the doctor for a high fever, you all said she had a virus. No one mentioned that she could have been having urinary tract issues all along. You are idiots, why should I keep bringing her to you for treatment?"

I'm sorry. It's late. I'm tired. I read that undiagnosed UTIs can lead to kidney damage. Abigail has been clingy, needy, and irratible. Though I can't blame her, I am at the end of my energy. Everything left is from the Lord.

Please pray that we get some good idea of what is really going on. I know UTIs are not normal for children prior to potty training and though this one has occurred after potty training, it is the first long lasting fever she has had since potty training.

Choosing Rejection--2

I have been thinking more about rejection. And really about why I reject stuff. Why do I reject so much in this thing called marriage?

I find many reasons:

• Chris is cute and funny and I like him.
• I like the title of wife.
  
• I want to survive the events of life with my marriage intact.
• I want to fool the 50% statistic.
• I like Chris and Abigail and want to do what is best by and for them.

But mostly I reject all that which I listed before and more because I find those things leave me discontent or critical of my family. I reject those things because of my word. I committed to this life with this man. I promised.

Why--why commit? why promise? why give my word before God and an audience? why reject so very much?

Because of the man, because of his nature, because of his character. Because of who he is.

As he invited me to companionship.
As he invited me to adventure.
As he invited me to know him and to be known by him.
As he invited me to intimacy.
As he invited me to commitment.

I responded because of who he revealed and proved himself to be. I committed to choosing to reject all that hinders our marriage because of the man extending the invitation.

And so it goes that God uses marriage as an illustration of His relationship with His people. By its very nature committing oneself to the Lord is an act of rejection as much as it is an act of affirmation. Many of the things I rejected when I married Chris were rejected when I committed to follow Christ wherever He led. And some even more.

I reject sin as revealed by Scripture.
I reject the appearance of sin.
I reject my desire for self-rule which creates gods to fit my idea of what God should be.

And just as I have committed to Chris because of his nature, I have committed to Christ because of His character and nature revealed in His Word. So, yes, my relationship with the Lord is marked with rejection, but the rewards of peace, patience, love, self-control, a quiet spirit, true passion, intimacy with the One who created me, knows me, and loves me--who died that I might find complete acceptance in Him--is worth every "no" I say.

Ella

Please pray for our friends. Their little Ella is going for surgery today.

Funny Things Said

I hear Good Morning Doving!
I hear the Mourning Dove!

Don't turn the dark on.
Leave the light on.

That's my hangaber!
That's my hamburger! I gave it to you. You ate it. I am offended, deeply.

See you water, puter. Be back soon.
Mommy don't turn puter off.
Just say bye bye to it.
I'm ready to go. Why are you working at the computer? Hurry up.

I summing.
I want to go to my friend's house after dinner. I plan to go. Mommy asked if I was invited or if I was assuming that I was welcome.

Affer we eat dinner. You cwean up. You two books wiff me?
After dinner and cleaning up. Will you read an endless number of books to me an endless number of times. (I should add that this is funnier with the facial expressions--eyebrows raised, head shaking in the affirmative, and an ever so slight glimpse of the dimples almost assures the girl of victory.)

In Need

Mixed Media Monday

I need your help. I am in charge of the kid's portion of our community's fall festival. I want to do something along the lines of an old fashioned PTA carnival with duck ponds and such. But the idea of a field day or block party intrigues me as well. And I read an article in either Parents Magazine or Family Fun about a "play day" where communities get together to play, as in tag, and toys.

I recently, in anticipation of moving, took the articles I wanted from my stash of past magazines. I apparently thought I could find the article on the internet, or that I was smart enough to remember everything it said. I was wrong on both accounts. If you remember that article, could you tell me the title and the month it was published.

And if you have any ideas for fun things for kids to do between the hours of 10 and 5 on a Saturday afternoon, let me know that too. Thanks!

Easier Said Than Done

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and
do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him and
He will make your paths straight.
Proverbs 3:5-6

Fireworks

Southwestern Pennsylvania

When you live in a professional area in the Midwest, the Independence Day festivities and fireworks fall on, well, Independence Day.

When I was growing up in Appalachia, the Independence Day festivities and fireworks fell on, well, Independence Day.

But, as the coal business left for more carbon rich areas, and fewer and fewer stops are made along the rail ways in Appalachia, the small towns have lost population and capital. All this to say that the Independence Day festivities in small towns across the Appalachian area are no longer held on Independence Day. The costs for carnivals and fireworks for the Fourth of July make it prohibitive for these small towns to celebrate on the day. They retain their celebrations and continue counting the anniversaries since the first Independence Day party held by the town. In our little town, this year's festivities were held on Sunday the 29th of June. We didn't go, but found that we could watch the fireworks from our house. Good to remember for next year.

Instead of town-wide festivities, we went to Chris's parent's house for dinner and a really wonderful visit. I am so thankful we were able to spend the afternoon with them. Oven fried chicken, kielbasi, and salads. Yummy! We had some poppers and some sparklers made even better by good conversation and the excitement of a two year old. Abigail played till she had exhausted everyone including and especially herself. As we were driving home, we saw various fireworks displays purchased from the tents strategically set up throughout the small towns of the area. Small family celebrations.

When we arrived home, plumes of smoke told us that our neighborhood was in on the action. We were greeted by the pungent aroma of fireworks and the intermittent peels of chemicals heating to the point of explosion. The sounds, smells, and displays continue even as I type. Abigail has, thankfully, slept though it all.

And I am only left to smile. The sounds of celebrating independence. Perhaps less organized, regulated, and funded than those we saw while we were away, but certainly no less understood by those whose family find themselves in the military as a means of finding a more prosperous future.

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
The Star Spangled Banner
Francis Scott Key

I never really realized that the last sentence was a question. Did you? And what do you think of that last question: "Does that star-spangled banner yet wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"

Independence Day

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.

Declaration of Independence
Thomas Jefferson
Continental Congress

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Gettysburg Address

Abraham Lincoln

Independence: the quality or state of being independent--not subject to the control of others; self governing.

Merriam-Webster Online

For the blood that was shed on my behalf, thankful celebration is in order.

Why?

Chris and I keep getting a question, "Why are you looking for a home there?" From friends, from family, from acquaintances. I try to find the words to explain what the deepest parts of my heart are telling me. And, I might add, Chris's getting the same heart messages as well. But that is difficult to put words to.

We have looked elsewhere. Even tonight, we drove on the chance that this house doesn't become ours to look at others in other neighborhoods. Only one of the three was a remote possibility, but at 1000 square feet it would be a serious squeeze.

We feel like we have a greater purpose here, bigger than ourselves and our comfort. There is work to be done, ways to be involved.

But even to my ears these lack the conviction of our conviction. As I was thinking about it this evening, I was again reminded of Philippians 2, the humility chapter. What would Christ have answered if He were asked, "Why are you looking for a home there?" I think He would have answered, "The people."

Without equating myself at all with Christ and yet understanding that I am to be a reflection of Him, I think I found the answer to the question posed, "Why are you looking for a home there?" I will answer, "The people." They have been written on my heart, their dilemma my dilemma, their struggle my struggle. Their eternities bought with the same currency my eternity was bought with. I desire to stay because someone must tell them of the invaluable blood of a Savior paid for their admittance to heaven and their invitation to relationship with their Creator.

Why are you looking for a home there?

The people. The Savior. The message. Eternity.

Might I add that evangelism is not my gift, that speaking to others of a relationship with the Lord not something I am entirely comfortable with. I will need your prayers.

Love that Pedometer

I have a new past time. Counting steps. I have had the pedometer for a while, but couldn't get it positioned quite right to give me even a remotely accurate count of steps. On a whim I decided to fish it back out and give it a try. 10,000 steps per day is optimal. About five miles. So I walked around and around and around our house counting my steps and checking the pedometer. I found the sweet spot and away I went.

Day 1 was last Tuesday. I sat funny resetting the thing after 6000+ steps and put it away in disgust. I probably would have had the 10,000 in, too.

Day 2 was Thursday. I admitted my disgust, no head wagging necessary. I walked 10,000 steps by 6:30 PM. WhoooHooo!

Day 3 was Friday. I got to 8000+. We didn't go for a family walk after Chris got home. I feel like blaming him. Actually I did put it on late and did more sitting.

Day 4 was Monday (yesterday). I walked 10,200 by 8:00 PM, but I put it on later in the morning. Those walks into town really help, and no more seated phone calls.

Day 5 , today. I felt awful, a periodically awful day! I walked 7000 odd steps.

I like this pedometer thing. When I see 10,000 (or even 7000 on an off day), I don't feel guilty for not getting on the treadmill or even really hating the idea of exercise. I feel like I am doing what my body was designed to do, and somehow that relates to glorifying the God who created said body. Though I may want to lose weight to adhere to what the world says is beauty or to comply with some mathematical formula on a chart telling me what healthy says, that little 10,000 frees me to enjoy this body with the extra lumps and bumps here and there.

Searching For Sacred

I have been watching my little one. I see in her much of her Daddy. Like him she is a little ham. But being enjoyed for her haminess is not a place of comfort for her. The attention drawn to her little person un-nerves her and embarrasses her. He is a deliberate ham, she an accidental one. I am left again wondering at this place, this very public forum for celebrating and confessing the highs and lows of motherhood is good for my little one. Is it really good for me?