Quite by chance she danced right next to me

Mother has always been into natural remedies. Sick? Lie down. Drink some green tea. Don't let your mind overwork.

Father has always held to more of a "pop some pills" methodology. The more the merrier. Science is here to help, don't sit in your pain.

These approaches applied across a spectrum of decisions. Go to store with mom, come back with – shudder – wheat bread. Go to the store with dad, come back with potato chips, processed food, and possibly lard. Buy clothes with mom, and you'll get 100% natural fibers in the seasonal shade appropriate to your coloring. Buy clothes with dad and you'll get "whatever you want. It all looks good on you. Here, check out this royal blue." Royal blue, apparently, turns every woman into Helen of Troy.

Given mother's proclivity for all things natural, it's not surprising that, 17 years ago, at 28, she decided to have her fourth child druglessly delivered by a midwife at a cottage in Ireland. I don't remember much about the experience. I was five, almost six, and accustomed to having little playmates join the family every two years.

I faintly recall constant greenery, daily rain showers amidst a perpetual sunshine. Hiking up to old castles, laughing and running around. The accuracy of these images is an impressionist water color – memories swirling together with other Ireland summer trips, watered down over time, the paints running together into the vague concept of existence through the eyes of a five-year-old, occasionally solidified by photographs and the stories of the older; more substantial, less my own.

One memory is clear. I owned a lifelike baby doll which I carried around everywhere. I'm not sure it had been given to me to increase excitement over the new acquisition into our family, or if my excitement over a new sister had prompted a new interest everything baby. Either way, I was slipping into my gender role naturally and enthusiastically. The doll had perfect little features, wonderful tiny fingers, smooth, happy feet. I wondered how similar the new baby would be – I remember asking the midwife to weigh the doll for me on the mini scale that would weigh the new baby.

Truthfully, though I was equally, if not more, enthused about my doll than my prospective sibling. The doll belonged to me; the child would belong to my parents, who would probably be angry if I held it or rolled it or poked it.

**

Life is funny. You grow up and realize that you are the smartest, most unique person in the world. Then you realize you were a fool to think so, and now you are truly wise because you understand that you aren't. Then you realize that your "non wisdom" was a form of arrogance that you misinterpreted from Descartes or the Bible and you accept the fact that you will be selfish and pretentious no matter what. Then you realize that this was overly cynical and rather self absorbed. Then you feel smart and unique again. Then you realize you've been projecting all this onto blog readers who might have had very different experiences. And the cycle continues. At some point you laugh at the meaninglessness of it all. Then you realize you have to live your life with meaning and purpose. And you're left with God, yourself, your family, and friends.

Emma Catherine, born 17 years ago in a cottage in Ireland, falls into two of these categories. (10 points for guessing both:)) She's my rooftop tanning buddy, my fellow LOST addict, my avid blog reader, my elfen performer, my co-scampi/tiramisu devourerer, my personal chef (well, I wish), and my wonky texting pal. Oh yeah, and my sister.

Happy Birthday Emmadaeus. Smack Lex and Llam on the head for me.

**

Undeleted Texts: In keeping with my blog theme, I'm using some Emma texts:


"We're on the highway to hell. In Ohio."
"It's okay. Donuts keep our spirits high."

These were both sent from a crowded car as my family trekked across America.

"being with you probably drove him to eat compulsively."
"You can't spell. I refuse to love you anymore."

Yes. She's abusive. But I just can't leave her - I know I can fix her. :)

**

Today's Articles: Are related to each other. The first one is about "good" parents who produce problem children. Grain of salt.

The second is about a Baby Einstein videos recall. Basically Disney sold these "Baby Einstein" videos to parents, and years later sent out an announcement that you can get a refund if you bought one. I wonder if your kid has to get under a certain SAT score to qualify? I found the whole concept really funny.


I adore Hugh Laurie.