You may remember that Az and I made the difficult decision to accept my parents’ invitation to move in with them so they could help us with childcare. We listed our house for sale for several months, but took it off the market during the last trimester of my pregnancy. We planned to relist our house in June.

We are not moving. We will stay here in the Midwest.

My brother is in the army and he received word last week that he will be deployed to Afghanistan soon. While he is gone, his wife and their three young children will move in with my parents. We are in prayer for his safe return and for his family.

Obviously this has disrupted the family in many ways, and one small outcome of it is that we will not be moving south. In many ways the decision is a relief - we were not sure we could sell the house in the current market, and now we don’t have to - but we wish the decision had a different impetus. My sister-in-law says she is rather weepy, and her oldest child is sometimes sad her daddy is going, and sometimes excited to live with Grandma and Grandpa and so close to their cousins. We hope for the best and pray. For now we will unpack our boxed-up books and settle back into life here.

My year’s worth of blogging, while in one sense providing lots of cumulative information about me, has gradually become more secretive. When I started writing I was truly anonymous, but as more of you read and responded and as I discovered your blogs too, I acquired a persona, something to live up to, a reputation of sorts to protect. I have found myself less and less willing to show you the shabby or embarrassing parts of me - not anything grand, just the odd little details I keep covered.

But what good is a blog that’s not real? With that in mind, I thought I’d welcome you further into the crazy.

1. I have daydreams in which I become First Lady. In this daydream, I reluctantly marry a president, and become media’s darling for my dignity and grace. This is absurd for many reasons, such as 1) I am already happily married to a man who will never become president; 2) there has never been a president I would want to be married to 3) there are no current presidential candidates I would want to be married to 4) if I were thrust into the spotlight of such publicity, no one would be impressed by my dignity. Much more likely there would be public photos of me picking my nose or fixing my panty line or leaking milk, and a few fashion columns in the theme of “Good night, what is that woman wearing! Does she own a mirror?.”

2. Somewhere in the last three years of baby-having, I lost the desire for new clothes. I hate to buy new clothes. I pass clothing stores, see all the garments hanging on the rack and think only, ‘Why would I buy more laundry?” And it shows. Oh, it shows. Our daughter was baptized today and Az said he wanted to wear a suit, and I said, “No! That means I’ll have to wear a dress! I don’t have a dress!” And then I had to hunt through my stored non-maternity clothes to see if I could find a dress that fit. I didn’t find one and had to wear one that didn’t fit. And did the church folks notice anything unusual about that? No, because even in church I dress like an absent-minded professor who was laid off years ago and became an absent-minded homeless person. This is fashion a la Veronica.

3. I love cheesy movies about music. Maybe I watched too many Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney movies as a kid (”Let’s put on a show!”), but predictable plots with mediocre scores still thrill me a little. I try to hide my delight from Az and can pose as a jaded film critic, but when nobody’s watching I might watch the movie twice. The wide-eyed fan is still alive and well in me. I have actually been singing - yes, singing! out loud! - this for the last few days.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2dYc3PblZR8]

If you are a nursing mother and you haven’t fed the little one in awhile and you decide, on your way home from the library, to stop at a pizza place and pick up dinner, do not, while you wait for your order, spend your time gazing at your baby, thinking how beautiful she is.

I don’t have to explain, do I?

And I used to be embarrassed by a runny nose.

I was taking JellyBean out to run an errand the other day when we noticed a squirrel at the base of our old maple. The squirrel wasn’t doing anything, just panting and watching us approach. When it didn’t race up the tree when we got close, I realized it was dying. JellyBean knows a little about death, but I don’t think she understands very much. I told her the squirrel was dying, and she was interested but not bothered.

Sure enough, when we came home from our errand, the squirrel was lying stretched out on the lawn, dead. I told her we must be careful not to touch the dead squirrel because it might make us sick. When we got inside I told Az about the squirrel and asked him to take care of it so the girls could safely play in the yard.

I assumed (rookie mistake) that Az would probably toss it down the hill behind our house. Our lot includes lots of trees and a steep hill, backing up to a few acres of urban forest. The girls are not allowed to go into the trees, so the squirrel would be out of reach, and I would have the pleasure of watching the birds of prey that glide into view whenever an animal carcass shows up in the woods (on the disposal of wild animal remains, I am strictly Zoroastrian).

I should have known better. Az said he would take care of the squirrel and he headed outside. I saw him pass the window carrying a shovel. He was gone for an hour before I managed to get the kids down for their nap and trudge outside to look for him ( I was thinking, “Where could he be? Is he lying in the garage gasping for help? Has he had a heart attack?” I am a worrier).

Az was complacently standing next to the spot we have used a few times for a campfire circle. There was a crackling fire, glowing with hot coals and white ash, burnt down from the large pile of brush and fallen tree limbs that had been there an hour ago.

He was immolating the squirrel.

I started to laugh. You see, if I had thought about it for one full childfree moment, I would have known he would involve fire. For years he has said that his preferred funeral would be to pile all his stuff around him in a longboat, set him adrift and set it on fire.

He saw me laughing. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t build him a little boat first,” I said.

“I would have if I’d had the time,” he replied.

I’ve been thinking about how to refer to the new baby. I thought to fit with JellyBean and Sweetpea I would go with either PoppySeed or Raindrop.

Any thoughts?