career mommy

As somebody who's spent an inordinate amount of time struggling with mental illness, I'd have to say that this has been an interesting week. Culminating with my group session this morning. At which some really deep things came out and for the first time in months I felt as though I really weren't backsliding. Or being judged by these people, even a little bit. And my inner therapist rose up from the mires of my subconscious, and lo- she was inspired.

Once again I got the "you should be a therapist" comments. And you know, when I do go back to graduate school I'm going to be getting a MLSW. That's a given, the only question being when do I go ahead and do this? Maybe I will do it when Tiffany's older, in school, when she's in college, when little green men land in an Iowan cornfield and give us the formula for cold fusion...

I hesitate. I'm almost to the point where, mentally and emotionally, I can finally put myself aside long enough and far enough to do this. Until I can honestly say that yes, I can set myself aside from my clients' internal hurricanes, I would be doing them as great a misservice as I'd do myself. That's going to be enough for now.

Sunday Review

This week my brain took a bit of a vacation from the type of book that requires thought. I don’t mean that as a denigration of this author or of the books- I love her books, and I love her style. They’re great. I can’t get enough of it. If Terry Pratchett is the heroin of my funny bone this lady is the chocolate to my PMS days. I call the harlequin-type romances “brain candy” because they’re all the same under the veneer of “names have been changed to protect the author against copyright infringement”. There’s a type of mystery novel that falls somewhere in the middle.

A mix of comedy and mystery, short and sweet, I can read one of these babies in about four hours. It’s pleasantly numbing, because there’s no hard violence or sex or reality. Real-life situations, but nothing to over dramatize it. It’s definitely not Grisham or Steele, but it’s a damn good book. Oops. That should be “darn good book”.

This week’s selection is the second book in this series. The first one, Crewel World, was not available at my local library when I was there on Friday searching out stuff to distract me from cleaning. If you’re new to the series, read the first one first if you must, but if you read Framed in Lace first you can rest assured that the name of the murderer is not revealed (from book one). You know what I mean. You’re intelligent people. So go out and read a book, darnit!

Hah!

I'm watching the Today show, and they just ran a segment on stain removers. At the end of the segment they announced their pick for best product, and said that for all of the products shown you wanted to wash as soon as you got home, and that you definately didn't want to let it sit.

To this I say, HAH! My stain remover (melaleuca) can be sprayed on and then sit in the laundry hamper for two weeks. Without fabric damage. And the stain comes completely out. This is a godsend for the stay at home mom with the toddler with the staining and the smearing of food into everything and the carrots in my bra... don't ask. I don't want to know. Selective memory, right? Where is the repression when you need it?

Am I falling into the old trap of the chronically depressed? "I feel great, therefore I must stop taking my medication, and everything will continue to be great." Don't worry, Mom, I'm not going off the prozac. Or the supplemental vitamins.

I say this because I've spent a great deal of time over the past two days laying around trying to nap. Is this a result of the heat wave? Or is it delayed hormonal PMS? Or is it something more insiduous- that I'm feeling sluglike and lazy in my current baby-free home?

Pssst! I've unlocked the baby-latch on the kitchen sink cabinets. Am I living dangerously, or what? I do start to feel more like a person, though. And now that I've had a second nap today I begin to wake up and get motivated. Must be the heat wave, because this second nap was that half drugged feeling with heavy limbs that you only really get when you're three degrees too hot for comfort and there's no breeze.

Oooh. Tonight, I sleep good.

blogity blogity blogity

This morning I woke up with no idea what I wanted to get done today. That's not precisely true. I know what I want to have done at the end of the day, it's just not realistic to expect a publisher's house sweepstakes team to show up on my doorstep. Especially as I haven't entered their contest in the past 6 months.

I'm putting together a packet on Melaleuca. That's the ecofriendly non-toxic cleaning stuff and home products that I'm now using. Inexpensive, good for the environment, and the "standard" promise of extra savings, cash back in your pocket, and financial freedom. That's a lot to expect from a bottle of soap or a lipgloss.

Seriously, though, I didn't really expect much out of it. But a month after I enrolled as a new customer I referred two other people and got a small check, just as promised, all according to their paperwork. So it's legit. And I'd be buying all this stuff anyway. So if anyone's interested, let me know where to send the packet. It's informational. No pressure, no followup sales inquiries.

my new crush

I baked bread today despite the sticky hot weather. Still, it's nothing like the summers I had growing up. More importantly, I went to costco this morning. And Target, even though we're not really supposed to go there (according to the PC police). I went, despite the PC police, because I read a review of a product in Redbook this month and I thought to myself, "Aha! Finally, my problem has been solved. I must go right out and buy this product."

My problem is that of chunky thighs. I doubt this is a unique problem, given the number of women out there who complain about it. My thighs are thin enough that they don't rub, except just at the top where they meet. That part gets sticky and hot and prickly and ICKY in the summer, to where I want to wear long pants all the time just to control it. I've been lusting after bicycle shorts in the private parts of my mind, because they promised such control of that icky-sticky thigh situation. Despite coming in bright, lurid colors. The color thing is why I never actually followed through and bought any. So I went to Target and picked up a pair of mid-thigh shaper underwear. They cost almost as much as my bra: a lot. But I figured it was worth it once to see, and if it does work I can happily lounge around in my sundresses, flowy skirts, and feel like a nicely modest little woman. (me-directed eyeroll).

I used the chart on the package to figure my size, sort of like with pantyhose. Then I went home and wrestled my chunky mega-monster thighs into this garment. It was brutal, although that's more likely due to being brand new and fresh from the package. Plus it's humid and extra sticky outside today. But as soon as I got them settled and adjusted properly... oh. my. god.

I'm in love. I'm going to take care of these expensive shapers. Yes, indeedy. I'm going to rinse them by hand in gentle laundry detergent every night, and drip dry, and follow all the manufacturers directions. Where have you been all my life? You smooth my chunk out so that that six-inch span of thigh no longer rubs when I walk. You eliminate panty lines- not an issue that I really have, but it's nice to know that you do this. You even squish some of the extra flab from my left hip up to cover the incredibly wierd profile of my radiation-stunted flank and waist, making it more even and less wierd.

raindrops and lemon drops

I woke up to the hot sticky swelter that I used to be way too familiar with. Didn't I move to SD to get away from this kind of heat/humidity mix? Oh, wait, no I didn't. I moved here to be with my Boy. WHO ISN'T HERE TODAY. /sigh. At least I've got him on the Net. Last night we had a really great exchange, which went something like

"I'm SO drunk right now" me
"You're a cute drunk." him
"I'm a cheap drunk" me
"I love you too, now go to bed" him

I'm paraphrasing a bit, but that was basically how the conversation went for three hours.

So how do I cope with this sludge of a day? I don't want to run the AC for the next three days, cause I'd rather not have a $100 electric bill this month. Normally it's only 20 bucks, and I'm so thrilled at only paying 20 a month for my gas/electric, that the prospect of paying anything more makes me throw up a little in the back of my throat.

It's off to the library. And the pool. And I'm going to spend a lot of time laying still in whatever patch of breeze I can get. And in the in between times when I can't manage it, I'm going to have to turn on the AC. It's not going to kill me.

Lucky us- we'll only have this weather for a few days at most. Back east we'd have this weather for a few months straight.

coming home

When I first came here as a bride, I remember landing and being hot and sweaty and tired from the trip. The emotional punches of reuniting with my Boy and leaving our first real "home" town. The places where we met and courted and fought and made up- those places will not be easy to return to, if indeed we ever can. Aside from sentimental reasons, there is no way we'd ever go back and it would cost a lot of money to do that.

Last night the plane circled high above the city. We landed in the velvet darkness and as soon as I could pick out the outlines of palms I knew I was home again. As much as it felt good to go back to my childhood home, it felt better to come back Home here, where I'm a grownup again, where I'm running a household and have the wonderful chore of spring/summer/fall cleaning before my Boy comes home again.

Two more weeks and he's here again. Two more weeks and I'll see my husband. He'll see our daughter. And me, of course, because I'm important as his wife, but I know I'm taking a bit of a backseat to the Toddler. I should. If only for a few moments. I wouldn't love him nearly as much if this were not so.

on the road again

Mixed feelings about traveling are such a pain in the neck. Literally. Last night I slept wierd and woke up with a stiff neck on the left side. So the month in PA is up and I'm going home tonight to my cozy little apartment in San Diego. Where the humidity is less than the heat index, and where the skies are clear and blue after 9 o'clock in the morning almost every day of the week. On the return flight, I also find that I am not dealing with a small child. Which makes me both happy and sad. Happy, because I can get through security without acquiring fifteen new bruises from the car seat and the child, juggling one over the other and God help me if I drop either. Sad, because without my lap warmer on the airplane I may be cold. She's better than a blanket. All cuddly and warm and soft. Also, I don't get priority boarding without her.

I do, however, get to amuse myself for the whole flight. I don't have to worry about shushing her through take off and landing; we won't have diapering emergencies or feeding emergencies to deal with. I will get to sit back and watch the inflight movie and relax. Maybe I'll take a nap. Either way, it's going to be different and I fully intend to enjoy this trip to the hilt.

Sunday Review

Wow. Just, wow. I didn't think it could get better than the last one, but it did. I've now read this book four times in the past week, each reading finding some new little thing to get into... between the political satire, the social humor, and the just-plain-wierdness.

Go. Read this. Go now and read this. You need to read it. Really.

around and around we go

A boring day here in the rain capital of Telford. I'm getting thoroughly tired of rain. The people back home may have a point- rain sucks. This is worth canceling school over. This is worth calling in sick for work over. But it makes the grass this pretty green color, and I don't know a single person on this block who has sprinklers on their property, and there are colored blooming things called "flowers" coming out of the dirt.

Tomorrow is more gatherings of people to come and see the Toddler. They make little cooing sounds and flirt with her, and she flirts right back at them. Does me a world of good to see it. The only prob with it right-now-tomorrow is that I'm still feeling hormonal and miserable. Gee, wasn't this supposed to clear up by now? I'm going to have a serious word with my Pill if it doesn't shape up by next week.

...better living through modern medication? That's what it seems like. Fortunately for everybody around me, I'm not in the insane hormonal state right now. Just the achy and whiny hormonal state. I'm not sure that it's better, but at least the jury would be more likely to convict.

so happy I could FITB

When I wrote this, I intended the title to be sarcastic. But now come to think of it, maybe it's not. I am actually pretty happy today. Aside from the bloated, whale-like, puffy body. Tiff fell asleep in my arms tonight; she reached out for me at bedtime and she cuddled down and went to sleep. So trusting. So happy. How did I get so lucky?

How can I be thinking about pushing my luck in the motherhood department?

I'm going to go read instead. I'm going to curl up with needlework, and a book, and alternate between the two because I still can't figure out how to do both, aside from audiobooks which are great but I don't want to listen to one of those right now. I'm also going to stuff my face with garlic-flavored bagel crisps.

Yeah. That's going to make everything better. Not.

It will, however, make my evening feel better. The carbs will create a warm fuzzy feeling inside, and my fingers will be happy being productive on something pretty, and my head will swim with the images of new places and people that I haven't read about yet. I heard from the Boy today. He is continuing to be well. I miss him more than ever. There are just too many miles between us; even so it feels like there's not even a wall separating us when I hear from him.

deniability

Denial is a powerful thing. It makes it possible for so many things to happen; as long as I didn't have an actual Homecoming date it was possible for me not to miss him with that soul-crushing intense Loneliness. Now I've got a date. Now I know exactly how long it is- mind you, it's not long at all. A very manageable time, in military terms. But for some reason my brain has turned to mush at the thought, and my stomach is a quivering ball, and I want to curl up and cry and cry because I miss my Boy.

Sunday Review

This morning I sat in church and prayed for both inspiration and strength. With Homecoming about three weeks away (our own personal homecoming, not to be confused with the Ship's Homecoming, or any movements thereof), I face once again the hard part. Giving back control.

In three weeks I stop being the head of the household. In three weeks I will turn over that responsibility with a happy heart to my husband. It's hard to do that and not load it down with conditions. Mostly, because I'm a control freak. I need to feel control over certain specific things in our lives to keep the rest of my shit together. Fortunately for our family, the things I need to feel control over are things that I'm good at and that he doesn't want to deal with. That's a happy coincidence. So where do I draw the line in the sand and turn myself back into a properly happy shipwife? Where do I remember that no matter what time has passed and what has changed in each of us, we pick up where we left off? But we can't, really. The world didn't stop when we parted company the night before deployment. We didn't stop. We kept growing and changing. While I was able to work and practice my parenting skills, he hasn't. While he was able to remember what it's like to be free of caring for a child 24/7, I haven't. Which brings me to today's book.

Priority Parenting.

We'll be in trouble if we make Tiffany the center of our lives. We'll be in HUGE trouble if we rely solely on our roles as parents to come back together. There's going to be a really big period of adjustment when he returns. There's going to be growing pains and all sorts of friction. One of the things I've learned in this book is that we can't use her as an excuse to avoid those conflicts.

It's a lesson worth learning.

amazing or crazy?

I'm stealing today's title from a piece of spam I just saw in my mailbox. Call it my fee for reading my mail. I know that my brain isn't working just right tonight. It's been a long day. I'm dangerously hormonal right now. Also, I bought more yarn at the store today. Let's see, how many projects does that make that I'm taking back to SD with me, and I've got how many that are in various stages of completion? I lost count, that's how many. Although I am almost positive that I still own more books than crafts, so that's a happy plus.

Although, we had 18 cartons of Books when we moved from coast to coast. This number has gone down slightly since then- but we've also accumulated lots of other things. In any case, I'm currently not worrying about it. That's one more thing I don't have to think about tonight.

I'm still going to lay awake feeling bloated and craving pizza, though.

Off in the hinterlands

A fun trip through the back country roads and the wilds of Berks County, where live the wild and heathenish people who- gasp- still farm. With, like, tractors that are smaller than a barn. And real cows. Grazing placidly in a meadow, where black yappy dogs run around to wag their tails and sniff the visitors. We took Tiff to Reninger's farmer's market, and the Wooden Bridge dry goods store, and the Bestest Cheesesteak Shop in the state, and then we went to the Kutztown U bookstore. Cause our commemorative t-shirts had worn out.

I tell you, I really don't need more needlework on my pile of Stuff to Do Before I Die, but they had just enough packages of an embroidered southern belle with parasol and flowers and a big swishy skirt (packs of quilt blocks, doncha know?) that I could get them and squirrel them away to make for Tiffany for when she's older. The first rule of needlecrafts is that if you once see something that's completely perfect for you/someone you love, if you don't buy it there on the spot you'll never see it anywhere for the rest of your life.

I'm feeling, well, happily domestic at the moment. Not sure why. Maybe it's the sweet baby-head smell I got to cuddle this afternoon before she took a nap in my arms. Maybe it's that time of month and I'm all hormonal and stuff. Maybe I should shut up and just enjoy this moment while it's here.

another day

Once again I'm sitting here mildly concerned with the goldfish cracker budget. It's almost payday, which is why I'm stressing. No matter how well we do it always seems as though the money is spent before it hits the account- not spent in the overdrawn sense, spent in the promised sense. At least we're still in the black...

I'm excited about the current promotion with my "wellness products". If I enroll four people this month there's a bonus that would take care of two whole car payments. I think that there's one person in my immediate contact list that would be interested, but I'm trying so hard not to get my hopes up about it. At any rate, I can definately say that this stuff is worth my time and energy in using- free of fumes, SO worth it when it comes to cleaning up baby-byproducts. I don't have to wait until she's contained in another room to use it. And should we have another baby sometime down the road, it'll be better for him/her in the preemie sense.

If anybody reads and wants to know more about these products, drop me a line. I promise I won't pimp them to you, I'll just answer your questions and try to help.

once upon a moonbeam

Once upon a time in a land far, far away from California, a stubborn little one year old girl fell asleep. Or at least that's how the story should go. If I had my way, it would be written in permanent ink on the crib so that she'd remember it. Given our luck, she'd slurp the ink off and make a permanent stain on her chin.

Take one stubborn little girl, one stubborn mama, and one stubborn grandma. Sprinkle in a smidgeon of patience, a heap of giggles, and a plate of ravioli. Stir. Gently rinse with warm water. Wrap in a blankie and tuck into bed with a kiss. That's how it should go every night, like a story. Not like a three ring circus of Mama moaning "I'm tired." and Grandma taking a well-deserved nap before she rises again to wrangle the toddler so that Mama can go back to sleep and nurse her sore tummy.

Through it all I see the shining eyes of my baby girl, and I hear her giggles as I fall asleep, and it makes me smile no matter how achy or crappy I feel.

Pool!

Today Tiffany was introduced to the wonders that is a swimming pool in southeastern PA in July. Love at first splash. At last, a place where she can splash her fingers and tootsies in comfort without her mother screaming at her to "Get that out of the toilet!!!"

I use three exclamation points here, because, as Terry Pratchett once pointed out, using four or more constitutes a diseased and deranged mind.

We had a wonderful time playing. A wonderful time that will be eclipsed by tonight's wonderful time sleeping. She's going to sleep SO GOOD now that she's tired out, and I'm going to get some much needed early bedtime myself.

If she ever stops wailing... not my fault. The tv is having a personality crisis this week. The little gizmo that controls the volume is busted. Periodically it goes off and raises the volume to MAXIMUM sound, thus startling the heck out of anyone in the house. This is able to be corrected about 50 percent of the time. The other 50 percent, the only two options are to wait it out or turn it back off. I was nowhere near the tv when it did this, five minutes ago. I did not wake up the baby. Therefore, I feel no desire to get off the Net and soothe her back to sleep. Besides, she's nearly asleep anyway. It's more a protest at this point.

(Quick- babies everywhere unite! Raise your picket signs and sing songs of solidarity. Let's end the oppression of bedtime!)

Surprisingly enough, Mommy doesn't need a nap at this point. A heating pad for the cramps and a gallon of herbal tea for her anxiety-ridden stomach, but not a nap. This is a good thing.

Virtuous me

Virtues. I got em. Somewhere. Today at this minute it's hard to keep that in mind because I want to jump up and down and up and down. I keep repeating "Patience is a virtue". This is my theme song for the day.

The retreat this morning was very cool. Much needed, and I didn't know how much I really did need to go completely quiet and still the restlessness in my heart until I was sitting by the pond and watching dragonflies cruise for snacks.

I'm going to go cuddle my toddler now. It's bedtime. I love her.

Sunday Book Review

For this week I read "Help! I'm being intimidated by the Proverbs 31 woman!". Otherwise known as That Woman. It was a really funny book and helped me clarify the things that I should stop fussing over.

I'm not going to be a perfect wife or mother. I'm just human. Everybody here is human, and we've all made mistakes, and if we're REALLY REALLY fortunate we'll never see those mistakes on the 6 o'clock news or the Jerry Springer show. At least, that's my constant prayer when I look down at my toddler's big blue eyes and realize that Um, WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING when I thought that motherhood was such a great option.

It is, though. She's still in the Mommy is God stage, and I hate to disillusion her of it but we're going to have to at some point. Otherwise I'm going to have a very critical sitdown with the priest after Sunday School one of these years.

Take joy in your imperfections. They mostly just irritate me, but I'm trying to see the bright part in them. They make me who I am. They make me more loveable than Martha Stewart's Public Image. Best of all, it's why my Boy fell in love with me and continues to do so on a regular basis.

thought for the day

Just because a person is 29, doesn't mean they're too old for their mothers to arrange a playdate for them. It just means that it's nice when the 29 year old in question is consulted first.

*I was, and I did, and I am. And I'm looking forward to my playdate tomorrow.

life in a bubble

I recently found out that due to current politcal events, the combat-designated hazardous duty zone that my husband is currently in is actually safer now than certain other parts of the world. This explains why I haven't heard much from him the past week beyond, "everything's fine, I'm alive"

I could think of it as a drawback to being unplugged from the 24/7 cable newsfeed and the always-on Net connection. The realities of dialup at my mom's house mean that I live with once-a-day checking of email, my Net habits are greatly curtailed, and I don't watch much more than 2 hours of tv at most per day. This is not a bad thing. It's good for all of us to unplug from time to time and just enjoy life. Play with your kids. Watch them grow. Get your butt off the living room floor and out into the grass in the shade of a tree. Especially when the summer's here, and the weather's perfect for going outside, and even more especially because these days are all too short.

In a few short weeks I'll go back to the daily grind of Knowing. I'll be reading the news everyday instead of deleting the emailed highlights that I get from the Washington Post and never even logging onto CNN. I'll be aware of the risks facing our armed forces in a way that only life in a military town/community can make you. It's not just some Thing on the news, when I'm home in San Diego. It's the Thing that may mean that my husband will be away for a lot of the next several years. It's the thing that may mean that he'll be in harm's way, and that communication will be severely restricted.

It's the Thing that means a lot of other women's husbands will be shot at and may never EVER come home again.

A good friend of mine reminded me of the Shipwives' wisdom last night when she told me to enjoy my bubble for the time being. The political reality will be there when I come back. The peace of mind that comes with being able to sleep at night and not worry that my Boy comes back safe... that's all too easily broken sometimes.

there I was, ravioli in my hair and entering a second childhood

When I was young and my mom babysat for my cousin Emil, she would often read us stories and fill in our names for the names of the characters. One of the favorites at the time was the Tale of Two Bad Mice. When I was reading to Tiff this afternoon we got to that story, and I automatically started saying "the Tale of Emil T. and Mary E." And then it hit me. Now that he's a proud daddy, is he going to start remembering this sort of thing? I wonder if he'll do the name switch for his little girl. Him and I are, of course, too mature and grownup to be two bad mice.

Our daughters, however, are not.

oooh, I know what I'm getting her for Christmas this year. The tale of Kathryn M. and Tiffy A.

gourmet on a budget

If you're like most of my readers, or most of the people I know, you get awfully tired of finding new and creative ways to stretch that grocery dime. Here's something I ran across on the Net a while back, and modified it to fit my personal needs and tastes. I haven't run the numbers, but I think this could be made for a family of five or six for under .50 a serving... and the best part is that it's extremely yummy.

tomato-basil pasta

1. boil some pasta
2. dice 1 to 2 tomatoes, depending on how many you need to feed. For dinner tonight I used 1.5 tomatoes, and there were three people with leftovers.
3. to the diced tomatoes, add a handful of fresh basil, chopped.
4. if you put steps 2 and 3 in a plastic bowl, you can then add 2 Tbsp olive oil, and 2Tbsp red wine vinegar, snap on the lid, and shake vigorously.

you could probably do step 4 in a large ziploc bag as well...

then spoon the results over your cooked pasta, sprinkle with parmesan cheese, and eat.

If anybody tries this at home, let me know how it worked for you.

rain rain go away

Back home we pray for rain. We love it and fear it and see it in a rosy light because we so seldom get it. Here, it's different. Here, it's getting wierd. Here, it's getting to flood stages, to the wierd place of wet air and wet grass. I'm not used to the grass being green at this time of year anymore. I've grown accustomed to it being brown and crunchy in most places, with the sprinkler circles of bright, bright green where the only water hits.

I am glad for the rain. I missed hearing the rain sounds on the window in the middle of the night, which soothes me back to sleep. Tiffany has never really known it. And yet... I long for the desert and the mountains and the ocean that I can see and smell all in one breath.

Happy Fourth

When Daddy comes sailing home again, hurrah, hurrah
We'll take the yellow ribbons in, hurrah, hurrah!
See them dancing in the street
Daddy will sweep Mommy off her feet
And we'll all be glad when
Daddy comes sailing home again...

feels like a munday

Well, at least it started out that way. Now all of a sudden my mothers are here and have taken over with Tiffany, and I've been temporarily given a vacation. I'm not complaining just yet. When I'm done here I'm going to have lunch. By Myself. Without a small person gnawing on my kneecap. oooh. I must have done something right recently.

Tonight is the Gestational Birthday Party, complete with tiki torches and hawaiin leis. And grass skirts. As you might surmise, it's a luau theme. I don't know how it happened, I was on the other side of the country when this was planned. I'm trying to keep my nose out of it, and will have a wonderful time.

And if this Tired Toddler decides to be up with Mommy trying to play every two hours tonight, she may end up being shipped priority mail to her Daddy, who will be informed that it's His turn now to get up with her in the middle of the night.

tales from the living room, Part One

"There comes a time in everyone's life when they finally say to themselves, I need a diorama."

"Okkkaaayyyyyy."

"Yes. Especially when reading certain scenes. You can just feel the dramatic tension and it would help set the stage for later in the plot."


...This is someone I love. Names and certain details may be changed for the protection of the reputation of those involved.

Sunday Review

I'm taking a dive back into Terry Pratchett this week. The blend of comic satire and really funny stuff is perfect for lightening my mood and keeping my frame of mind perfectly in harmony with vacation time. And isn't summer vacation the time for reading? Let us not let our brains turn to mush with endless repetitions of the same plot with crappy dialogue and stale humor. At least, not without a good reason for doing so.

Thud! was a very good read. So good that the stanzas of "Where's My Cow?" have gone through my brain nearly every day since I first picked it up last year. I've even ordered the spinoff picture book of "Where's My Cow" for Tiffany. My evil plan is to evesdrop on her Daddy reading that to her when he comes back home. I picked it up again on impulse at the local library because I knew it was good, it was THAT good, and I wanted an easy read that wouldn't strain any of those brain muscles late at night. I have to admit, it was even better than I remembered. That doesn't happen often for me.

So pick up your own copy and settle in for some laughs. It's worth it.