I've got my hands full

Time for more pictures, and I think these show what a charming little girl I'm raising :)

Okay, funny thing about these first two is that while, yes, I own a yoga ball, I've never actually used it as such. It was free from my health insurer, but I found it very confusing. Abbey quickly dubbed it Big Ball and has pretty much just rolled it around the house and tried to throw it and asked me to bounce her on it. So how she figured out the following stance eludes me.

Yoga1
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Yoga2
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

And here, we have the Fairy Princess, complete with wings you can't see in this picture. The streamers are extra, and of course, a red bobble hat is much better than a tiara. I personally like how well she's ignoring Dick Cheney in the background (I believe this is about the time he shot up his poor hunting buddy).

Fairy1
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Fairy2
Originally uploaded by HFBW.

Ah, parenthood, what fun. Especially when all bodily fluids are back in their proper places.

On a completely unrelated note, I thought I'd share about an interesting beverage I've discovered (a pleasant surprise, rather than a negative one). IZZE is a very tasty fruit juice and sparkling water combination. I picked up the pomegrante and was pleasantly surprised, though $5 for four bottles is quite steep. Harris Teeter also had clementine (the world's best citrus fruit), blueberry and blackberry. Yum. I highly recommend it for a guilt-free splurge.

Round 2

Geez, now Brad. Funny, I don't remember studying to be a nurse.

That's enough, thanks

This has been such a pleasant week. Sunday night, Abigail came over to me wimpering, just wanting to be held. A few minutes later, I received my first shower of most definitely not water. Ick. Ick. Ick. Rotavirus (follow link only if you have a strong stomach) is finally abating from my little one. While I can't imagine what the poor thing has been going through -- especially since she'd never thrown up before and was very disturbed by it -- this is a most unpleasant disease to watch. A week after seeing my child just about out run my mom's 10-year-old neighbor after 15 minutes of laps around the house, she has spend the past three-plus days lying limp on the floor watching PBS. She even watched "Mister Rogers," she was that listless. But thankfully, the bizarre little stories about potato chips being doors and sandwiches mountains and so forth have returned and Abbey's even been laughing. God bless the makers of Pedialyte.

Movement on my stodgy stack

You may have noticed an alarming trend on this self-described booklover's blog: the same book listed as what I'm reading for months. Sad but true, "Cloud Atlas" by David Mitchell languished on my bedside table for far too long. I read the first chapter, "The Pacific Journal of Adam Ewing," back in at least December and found it mildly interesting but not really my thing. I glanced quickly at the second chapter, "Letters from Zedelghem," and wasn't enthusiastic about devouring the book. (Each chapter ends unfinished.) I don't do well reading journals and letters for some reason; I just don't find them as compelling as dialog and straightforward plot development. So the poor book sat there until after the New Year. I finally got into "Letters" and was more entertained, certainly impressed with Mitchell's ability to create such different, convincing voices. Chapter three, "Half Lives," completely sucked me in, but I was alarmed when the chapter cut off right after a character's death. Wait, I was really interested! What happened next?! How annoying! I flipped to the next chapter, "The Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish," and wasn't sure if I wanted to start right in. I kept flipping. Chapter five, "An Orison of Sonmi-451." Chapter six, "Sloosha's Crossin' An' Ev'rythin' After." Chapter seven, "Orison of Sonmi-451." Hold on, they repeat?! This book is a wonderful double helix, twisting back on itself and continuing the interrupted stories?! God bless the postmodernists and they're unconventional novel forms! If only I'd noticed this right away, I would've gobbled it up!

Needless to say, I now adore this book. Each chapter flirts with the earlier ones, touching on recurring themes and sights, even people. Mitchell is truly amazing with characterization and absolutely master's each genre. He's also a hell of a lot better than Joyce at writing in dialect with invented words, proving a point, and still actually being entertaining and LEGIBLE. (Bad English major!) I highly recommend this book if you're a fan of postmodernism or even just fabulous fiction. Smitty, give it a try. A., you'd love it.

Far from stodgy stacks

At my alma mater, the library was a nightmarish example of bad '70s architecture. Even worse, the English and French literature were buried, literally, on the second-to-lowest floor underground. Worn, mottled red industrial carpeting combined with that dank subterranian feeling to give an overall icky feeling. I didn't voluntarily spend much free time there.

However, I would gladly spend scads of free time in the Parisian libraries. Be sure to watch the multimedia slideshow and look for the Biblioteque Ste.-Genevieve. Gorgeous. Add these to my list of new things to do in Paris whenever I finally get back over there.

On a side note, I'll be trotting off the the lovely Florida Panhandle tomorrow, so I'll probably be silent for another week. I'm looking forward to a good dose of mothering and shopping and warm weather, but thanks to my sinus infection, I'm not looking forward to the actual travel with Abigail. At least she's ecstatic about getting to fly in an airplane. Almost as good as Christmas.

At-home relaxation -- POP!

You might think that this post would be about the nice massage I had yesterday. Quite relaxing, though using an unusual, um, shaking technique?

No, this relaxation method is even more affordable. Step one: buy 10 feet of bubble wrap, the large bubble variety. (Or purchase something online and wait for it to be delivered) Step two: unfurl the wrap and lay it like a red carpet through your living room. Step three: walk slowly down the wrap, letting your body weight shift from side to side. You get the stress relief of the popping mixed with the nifty massage on your feet and the plain old childish joy of bubble wrap. For a moderate aerobic workout, consider swapping step three with playing tag with a 3-year-old. I have a feeling that will be reprised after naptime.