Men love baby shoes, too

We've all seen it: A young woman, a young man (presumably a couple) wandering through the aisles of some big chain store (Walmart, Target, take your pick). They seem to be just killing time, happily enough, until suddenly...

"Oh my GOSH!" she shrieks. "Look at these! They are SO CUTE!!" The man smiles nervously, nods, and looks awkwardly about for an escape route. Any escape route. Or at least a Stallone movie he can look at.

That's right. They've stumbled into the baby section.

There's no escaping the inexplicable love that most women have for baby clothes. Or shoes. Or hats. Or whiskey flasks. I mean, they're just so little ... and darn adorable.

But while it's no surprise that women love these things, I was surprised today when a realization hit me like a Mack truck hits a toad: My husband, deep down, is "that woman." Minus the insane shrieking.

This occurred to me today after my husband took our son to Walmart under the pretense of grocery shopping. To be fair, I did tell him that if he was so inclined, he could swing through the toddler section and see if they had any cheap clothes or shoes. When I returned home from work, my son had two pairs of new shoes: one $5 pair of Spider Man tennis shoes with lights in them (good deal) and a pair of camouflage cowboy boots, which I know from shopping were one of the more expensive shoes on the rack.

My husband's reasoning for the camo boots: "He needed them. And they fit great, with room to grow." Fair enough. I also found out our son got two plastic animal toys for being good in the store. They were a buck a piece. Fair enough.

The kicker was when I saw the pajamas my husband bought. I had instructed him to look for sweatpants -- regular, not pajamas -- that had elastic on the ankles so our son wouldn't trip over them if they were too long. Sam showed me the "outfit" he bought and how it had elastic around the ankles. And then the price. I told him, "Those are pajamas."

Sam replied, "Yeah, but they're cute. AND, they've got camo on them. He had to have them."

 That's when it hit me. The adorable little reindeer jumper we got our son for his first Christmas season? Sam's idea. ("He needs this.") The camo pajama set from Bass Pro shops when our son was 18 months? Sam's idea. ("He needs these.") Heck, since Sam has gotten into tanning animal hides, his biggest goal in life is to make our son a coonskin robe. And, you guessed it ... our son needs that too.

I'm certainly not complaining. I love it that my husband is so into his little boy that he feels the need to dress him in 'coon hides and camouflage, because that's what Dad's into. But I can't help but look back on all those times, before our son, before I was even pregnant, when I would squeal over baby shoes, and Sam would roll his eyes.

Hey, turnabout's fair play.

Always outsiders? Perhaps.

Sometimes, I think I'll always feel like an outsider here. Well, maybe not completely. But a little.

I guess that comes with the territory of moving someplace new, though. Since I found a job in my local community instead of 45 minutes away, I have been making more connections with people. I've started feeling more like I belong here. I can go to the store and run into people I know. It's nice.

But there's a certain something ... an attitude, an outlook on life, something like that ... that I feel will always set me apart from the rest of the people here. Growing up in the East, particularly in a blue-collar, industrial region like the Pittsburgh area, you end up with a different way of looking at things than someone who was raised in the low-key Corn Belt.

Where we were raised, people are more used to living by the clock: Get up, go to work, work hard, hit up happy hour, drink hard, head home, sleep hard. No, that's not what everyone did, but that's the culture. Work hard, play hard. Out here, sure, I guess they do that. But at a slower pace. Here, they seem to live by the day, not by the hour.

My husband and I are quick to anger, quick to say, "Well screw that guy if he doesn't like it!" We don't hold all of the more "traditional" values that many people out here hold. We don't turn to the Bible for guidance. We don't go to church. We don't listen to country music. Quite the opposite.

I'm not saying the way people function out here is bad. Just different. Just not us. Our way works for us, but we're adjusting to their way, slowly. I just hope that as time goes on, we continue to find people who accept us for who we are and preferably, people we can connect with. At times, they feel few and far between.

But whatever. We'll make it. We always do. You know why? Because there's always "just us."

A brilliant day

Yesterday, I had a brilliant moment.

Yesterday, was a brilliant day.

Yesterday I went into the magazine office to attend a meeting and do some work. During lunch, I got a call from my boss, who was traveling. She offered me a full-time job. No more freelance work.

Of course, I accepted.

Not only have I loved working at this particular company, and doing the work that I do, but the salary and benefits are great. For someone who has a boatload of experience, but has never worked an "official" 40-hour week before, I was ecstatic.

My husband was, too. Finally, we can stop stressing out about our finances. Finally, between the two of us, we can save some real money so we can accomplish the things we want so much in life: A home in the country. A little ground to call our own. Opportunities for our kids. Maybe even travel a little.

At one point, not so long ago, I was so gung-ho about being a stay-at-home mom that some people might be confused about my choice to switch to full-time work. Personally, I think most stay-at-home moms would understand. I did that line of "work" (and it is work) for a while, and I loved it. I could still do it, and be happy enough. But I've found that since I went back to a paid job, even part-time, I was a happier person. I have an active mind, and was trained in a profession I love. It was hard for me to leave that, but for the benefit of my child, I did it, and I have no regrets.

I was lucky to find a new job that's close to home, where deadlines aren't as immediate, and the people who work there are so flexible and supportive when family's involved. (I don't say the last part lightly. Before I started full-time, the managing editor and editor both came to me and asked, genuinely concerned, how it might cut into my family life. I loved that.)

I've found, too, that since I've been working, I'm not as impatient and demanding about the day-to-day family stuff. I hate being away from my son all day, but instead of being worried about whether the dishes are done, I'm worried about whether he's been read to enough. When I come home from work, all I want to do is spend quality time with him and my husband.

Ah, my husband. I can't forget him. If he weren't my best friend, none of this would work. He's so supportive of me, of us, and of our goals. He's willing to keep working night shift, and sacrifice sleep so we don't have to put our son in daycare. I'm not even sure if he realizes how much that means to me. He's not just a good husband, but a great father.

I know the following weeks will be tough. Sam and I will likely both be short of sleep (him more than me) and short of free time ... hell, short of time together, even. But I'm confident we'll make it work. We're a team, and always have been.

Finally, I feel like we're moving forward in life instead of treading water. And I couldn't be happier.

Making the best of things

Vacations? What are these things you call 'vacations?'

I joke, but I've been having some discussions recently regarding traveling with kids. My son is not a good traveler and lately, as my husband and I have considered planning trips and vacations, I've been hesitant to attempt going long distances with a cranky toddler in tow.

It seems like most people's advice to me is, "Just go, they'll get used to it." And I do understand that point. But I still have reservations. Even though he's probably not, I often feel like my son is the exception to the rule. He's smart enough, but also very headstrong. If he truly doesn't like something -- like long car rides -- he does not just get used to it after a while; rather, he gets pissed. He tries to change it, and when he can't he gets frustrated, which makes him more angry. Even though he is only 19 months old, he does not just accept things he doesn't like and move on. I can relate. I'm the same way.

The thing is, I feel like I'm somehow strange for not wanting to put my child through a 12-hour road trip. It's not that I'm trying to shelter him or letting his wants rule my life. But travel is stressful, even for me, a 27-year-old adult. I guess I just don't see any point in making my son travel long distances when he's not ready for it.

There is no place I have to go to or people I have to see. Our immediate families are welcome to visit us anytime, and they do, and often. My close friends will still be friends no matter how often I see them. And finally, I don't see much point in taking a family vacation that my child won't even remember.

I think what makes me feel like an exception to the rule, though, is that I'm totally OK with this. I can wait. We'll get our time to travel. We'll get family vacations. I feel like so many people these days want to have their cake and eat it, too. They want the job, the house, the kids, the new car ... they also want the free time, the nights out, the friends, the active social life. But it doesn't always work that way, especially when you live hundreds of miles away from family and friends.

My husband and I don't have "date night." If we have days or nights out, we do it separately. We have no family and very few friends here (friendships take time to develop), so there's no free babysitting at our disposal. And for that matter, I've yet to find or hear of a sitter for hire that I would trust with my child's care. But you know what? It's all fine. I was willing to give up free time and nights out when we decided to have a child.

We have good neighbors who would watch our son in an emergency. If we want to go out to dinner once in a while, we can take our son along. Until he adjusts to traveling, we can try going to some closer-to-home parks and attractions. Or maybe try camping. When it's just the three of you, you learn to stick together and make the best of what you've got.

For now, that's enough for me.

In defense of agriculture

I recently returned from a three-day editorial meeting for the magazine I work for. Since it's an agriculture magazine, there of course was a lot of talk about what's going on in the industry these days. As someone who grew up on a farm, but is still learning much about the ag industry, I came away from the meeting with quite a few things to think about.

And, I've come to at least one conclusion: No matter what others might say, large-scale producers -- "big ag" if you will -- is a vital part of our economy and our world.

A major concern in the ag industry these days has been how consumers -- the general public -- view agriculture. There has been some media attention lately on "big ag" and the supposed evils that are associated with it: Genetically modified seeds, herbicide and fungicide use, pollution created during production, animal welfare issues and of course, the idea that big ag is merely out to overtake the family farm.

These are all legitimate concerns, and all worthy of discussion. However, the ag community is often attacked from many sides, and has a difficult time communicating what it does and defending itself. The problem isn't that farmers aren't able to defend themselves. Many could argue their side, using facts and science, until you were put straight as a ruler. The problem is that the general public -- and those doing the attacking -- has become so far removed from the farm that they usually know little, if anything, about how agriculture actually works. It's a pretty big task to not only defend yourself, but also educate your opponent from the ground up.

The situation is what it is, however, and I'm confident that ag will pull through. What bothers me most is this: These know-nothings who like to vilify big ag seem to ignore the big picture. The fact is that without big ag, people in our nation and across the world would starve. America's population alone is expected to reach 9 billion over the next few years; new acreage for raising crops is dwindling. How do we feed an expanding population under these circumstances? We can't turn the clock back on farming when there are more people demanding food.

Of course, I'm not saying that there's no place for the small farming operation. In fact, many smaller operations have managed to find niche markets that big ag just can't fulfill. There's room in our nation for all farmers. Big, small, it doesn't matter.

In order to feed the world, we need all the help we can get.

Thanks, Playboy, for making me feel old.

I recently read or heard somewhere that you know you're getting old when you start noticing that the Playmates keep getting younger and younger. If that's the case, then I must be ancient, because I've been noticing for a while now.

Before I continue, yes, my husband has had a Playboy subscription for several years. No, I don't care if he's looking at pictures of airbrushed naked girls whom he will never meet and/or have a chance in hell of sleeping with. And yes, I do read the magazine and the stories it runs are usually pretty good stuff. So there.

Anyway, one of the habits I've gotten into each month is checking to see how old the Playmate is. Sad, I know, but I do it. And each year it just gets more depressing. I actually find my spirits lifting a bit on the rare occasion when the Playmate is 23 or (gasp!) 25. A few months ago I think they ran a 28-year-old. I was practically floating on air for a day.

But this month's Miss April should have been called Miss Awful, because that's how I felt when I saw her. As I casually flipped through the pages, I noticed she was born in 1990. I realize that makes her 21, but still ...

... 1990! I remember that year!

I was 7. It was the year one of my mom's horses was born. That's my most vivid memory because I loved horses, and I woke up one sunshiney day and heard the dogs barking and I looked out my window and boom, there was a new baby horse in our pasture, and I was the first person in our house to notice. But other big things happened, too. One of my many little cousins was born that year, and many more were born in the years after that.

I guess seeing someone of their age taking her clothes off for a magazine is vaguely disturbing to me. Doesn't seem that long ago that they were running around in diapers ... or that I was running outside to greet that baby horse.

The weird thing is, I'm still young. Twenty-seven, by most adult standards, is a far cry from being "old," and I'm really not much older than the girl in the magazine. So why am I suddenly feeling like a dinosaur? Could it be the increasing disconnect I feel toward everything that is "young and hip" by today's standards? Have I reached that age where my brain has become stuck in a certain generational time warp, never to evolve further? (Side note: I still don't have a Twitter account or smartphone. Take that, Generation Tech!)

Whatever it is, one thing's for sure: I've got a lot of life left to live. I might not be young and modern anymore, but these days "older and wiser" isn't looking so bad.

Let's stop being nice. Really.

The older I get, the more I realize that I'm just not a nice person. Some might say I'm straightforward. Others might call me abrasive. Most people who know me well just call me a bitch.

It's not that I can't be tactful or carry on with social niceties. I can, and I have. I just don't care for it. Being "nice" all the time is exhausting. Because being nice these days doesn't involve just being a likable person. Being nice has since devolved into simply being non-offensive or politically correct.

Seems like it doesn't matter these days if you lie your face off, or if you never say anything substantial, as long as you don't hurt anyone's feelings. To all of you who fall into this category and try to be non-offensive all the time, I just want you to know, having a conversation with you is absolutely maddening.

There once was a time -- not that long ago, really -- when honesty and straightforwardness were commendable qualities. Nowadays, they make you an asshole. Too many people end up getting their feelings hurt. But I say, if you don't want my opinion, don't ask. (Yes, I've learned the value of keeping my mouth shut.)

Here's the thing. I really don't care much anymore if people think I'm nice. It's not that I'm deliberately mean to people (well, not unless you deserve it). I'm just honest and I don't like to sugar-coat things. I'd rather just say what I think instead of dancing around a topic, worrying about whether what I say will offend someone. And I know there are plenty of people out there like me, but sometimes I suspect I'm part of a dying breed.

My approach to conversation doesn't always make people feel good. It doesn't always make me friends. But the friends I have made will always know where I stand.

Editing for farmers: A love story

For the past few months, as many of you know, I've been freelance editing with a national agriculture magazine. It's been fun, but also an interesting change of pace from the newspaper world I'm used to.

At first, I wasn't sure how well I would adjust. While there's usually enough work to keep me pretty busy, the magazine office seems ... slower. More relaxed. There are deadline pressures, but it's nothing like the frantic last-minute drive I experienced in the newsroom, where there was almost always breaking news to cover and a nightly deadline looming over my head. The magazine office is organized; the newsroom was organized chaos. You get the picture.

So I was a little worried at first that I would get bored or annoyed working in a quieter space at a quieter pace. However, I soon found that there were other things to enjoy about the magazine's culture, and while I loved the newsroom, I LOVE what I'm doing now.

It took me a while to figure it out, but I've finally come up with the reasons why I love my job so much: 

1. The people. And I'm not just talking about the people I work with, though they're all nice, down-to-earth people who place a high value on family and tradition. I love the contributing writers and the readers, too. These people are farmers, and a far cry from the stereotypical manure-shoveling, hayseed-chewing country bumpkin a lot of people associate with the word. They are proud, no-frills businessmen and women, and savvy ones, too. After dealing with newspaper readers for several years (i.e. the general public), serving such a readership is pretty darn refreshing to me.
2. The topics. As an editor, it's pretty easy to get burned out on reading the same old stuff day after day. But the stories I edit are almost always interesting to me on some level. I get a nice variety of science, marketing, technology, mechanics, economics, politics and plain-old-family-feel-good stuff. I'm always learning something new, and I'm guessing our readers are, too. And best of all, I haven't had to edit a single story about some meth head throwing a baby off a bridge. (Is it really any wonder I have no faith in society?)
3. I'm nationwide. People across the country are reading the stories I've edited. Readers nationwide are "seeing" my work. And I get formal credit for it, to boot. Take that, local news.

When I first started into journalism, I remember thinking how cool it would be if I someday reported for some big, important magazine like National Geographic. Well, the work I do now isn't as flashy as that, but I think it's probably more important. Editing for an ag magazine might not sound that exciting, but it's still pretty cool to me.

Changes in the weather

I am writing this during a blizzard. But not just any blizzard; a Missouri blizzard. For those of you who have never experienced snow in Missouri, it's quite a trip. It typically goes something like this:

1. A forecast is given for snow. People get nervous.

2. If the forecast is calling for more than 2 inches of snow, people get really nervous.

3. Those nervous people go to the grocery stores (gotta get bread and milk) and the post office. The forecast "on the street" has suddenly changed to 8 inches of snow with -20 degree wind chills and possible ice.

4. It snows. We get half an inch of accumulation.

Now, this is the typical scenario. What's going on outside right now is a different story. We are actually having a legitimate blizzard, although I really don't think it's going to be as bad as the forecast. We're supposed to get 18-24 inches of snow. I think it will be more like a foot.

But boy, has this weather caused some excitement down here. Grocery stores were practically ransacked. Businesses, schools, even garbage pickups and doctors offices, have shut down. Heck, I've hardly seen a snowplow go by my house. People are freaked out.

That's the thing I've noticed the most since I've moved here. People in different regions handle the weather so much differently. Out here, snow is a monumental event. They don't get that much of it, so they aren't prepared for it. Where I come from in Pennsylvania, everyone is used to snow. And they should be. It snows about 7 months out of the year there. Yes, they complain about the snow, but it's just normal, everyday griping.

Summers are much different. Missourians gripe about the summer heat the way Pennsylvanians gripe about snow. In Missouri, it's not unusual to have weeks of the highs inching up to 100 and the lows a "balmy" 90 degrees. Hence, my lack of sympathy when I hear people in Pennsylvania complain about having a weekend or two of 90-degree heat. If Pennsylvanians had to deal with Missouri heat for a week, they'd all think the world was ending.

But regardless of whether it's snow or heat, I've found that since I've moved I have very little patience for people who complain about the weather. Personally, I like how the weather changes, from day to day and region to region, and I enjoy getting a taste of the unexpected. Moreover, what's the point in complaining? Is the weather really making your life that miserable? If it is, then perhaps you should move.

The weather is one of those things in life that we just can't change. Why complain about it? I'd much rather spend my energy on things I can actually do something about.

7 reasons why everyone should try canning (at least once)

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are." -- Theodore Roosevelt

I saw this quote in a magazine the other day, and was reminded that one of the hardest parts about moving to Missouri was getting used to living in town. My husband and I both grew up in the country, both of us at least a 30-minute drive from any kind of shopping center, and so suddenly living right on Main Street, even in a small town, was a bit of a trial for us.

So what was our solution? Did we change our mindset, get involved in the community and become "townies" so to speak? No, although I briefly considered it. Instead, we came to terms with where we live by pretending we still live in the country.

This doesn't mean that my husband steps out on the back porch in his underwear or that we have a tractor parked in our driveway. Instead, we've brought our country lifestyle to town in smaller, less noticeable ways. Mainly, we live the country life through our food.

For my husband, that means hunting and fishing regularly, and keeping our freezer stocked with fresh meat. For me, that means taking advantage of the longer growing season here and keeping our pantry stocked with jars of garden-fresh goodies.

I can easily thank my parents for my canning obsession. As far back as I can remember, I had to take part in the growing and storing of our family's food, and though it seemed like a chore at the time, being able to crack into a jar of golden, brandied peaches or homemade spiced gooseberry jam in the dead of winter was all the reward I needed.

Now, food preservation has pretty much become a hobby for me, and I firmly believe everyone should at least give it a try. Here's why:

1. It gives you a more solid understanding of how food is "made." You've probably already anticipated this argument, or even heard it before. But in today's food culture, there's a sort of obsession with understanding where food comes from and how it's processed. Instead of just reading or hearing about it, why not do it yourself?
2. It's not that hard. Really. Some books and websites make it sound a lot more tedious than it is. Basically, just make sure your jars, utensils and workspace are clean, and make sure you follow the instructions on the recipe. Once you get the hang of it, you'll figure out where you can cut corners.
3. It's old-fashioned. Home-canned food is what our grandparents and great-grandparents lived off of. Embrace the nostalgia.
4. It's not that time-consuming. Well, okay, it can be. The key is to do it in steps if you can. For example, if you're making something like salsa, cook it up one day; reheat it and process the jars the next. Many canning recipes can be broken up like this. Of course there are some things that should be done and processed the same day, but really, what's one Saturday?
5. You have full control over your food. Thus, it's generally tastier than store-bought, and often better for you since you don't have all the preservatives in it.
6. You will gain a new sense of independence. Knowing that you have a skill that makes you more self-reliant is a beautiful thing. And the idea of not having to depend on the store for everything is kind of nice, isn't it?
7. It's not that hard. Really, I mean it.

And for all you newbies out there, don't worry, there are plenty of easy recipes you can try. I recommend starting off making something like applesauce or salsa. Intrigued? Here's a great place to get started.

Veteran canners, do you have a favorite recipe or technique? I'd love to hear it. Please share by posting your comments below.

A master's in ... motherhood?

A friend of mine posted something on Facebook the other day that really struck a chord with me. To paraphrase a bit, she said she was very annoyed that people kept asking her why she bothered getting a master's degree when she planned on staying home with her kids. When I read her post, my heart actually went out to her. I've dealt with those types of people and fielded those questions and, as trivial as it might seem, it can be rather infuriating after a while.

Before I go further, I should clarify myself: I understand that there are many reasons why parents put their kids in daycare, and that in some households, for financial reasons both parents do need to work. And I'm certainly not implying that women should just stay home and make babies. I sure as hell didn't go through seven years of schooling and earn three degrees because I think women are the inferior gender.

That said, in today's world there seems to be this notion that all smart women should go to college, have careers, and maintain said careers no matter what. If kids happen to enter the picture, big deal. You shouldn't have to give up your job. (Because a man wouldn't. Never, ever. Those penis-wielding jerks.) That's what daycares and nannies are for. Just pay someone else to deal with your kids so you can continue achieving and show all those men out there how smart and capable you are. You are woman. Roar.

This mentality implies that the women (and men) who choose to stay at home with their children full-time must be uneducated, lazy or simply too dense to handle a career. Because we all know that the only things housewives do are 1) eat bon-bons, 2) watch Oprah, and 3) the gardener.

Right? No? Well, that's awkward.

So why is it so absurd for a woman to want to be educated and knowledgeable and able to stand on her own two feet in the working world, but at the same time be happy to trade in that day job for a full-time position as "mom"?

Being a stay-at-home parent is an incredible challenge. What better job for an educated woman?

Let's think of what "being educated" entails. When most people think of a college graduate, they probably think of the smart, successful, career-driven go-getter. You can spin it any way you want, but let's face it: to really be that person you have to be a bit selfish. You're focusing on you, after all.

But there's another part of a college education, and that is learning to be a tolerant, humble and selfless member of society. That's why there are so many programs and clubs geared toward humanitarian efforts. To me, there are few acts as selfless as putting all of your accomplishments and dreams on hold in order to make sure your child lives up to his or her full potential.

Anyone who has children knows that parenting is a job that requires the utmost devotion, patience, love and tolerance. It is a job that requires you to become both teacher and learner. You must embrace imperfection and incompetence. It is one of the most stressful and demanding jobs you could have, and recognition and thank-yous are often hard to come by. You live off of the satisfaction of knowing you've done the best you can ... and sometimes, a little Jack Daniels helps.

(Gee. This is starting to sound a hell of a lot like grad school.)

My friend doesn't have kids of her own just yet, but when she does, I know she will embrace all of these challenges with ease. Perhaps earning her master's degree has helped develop some of the patience, dedication and teaching skills she will use. Or maybe her degree will serve as an example to her children that no matter what you choose to do with your life, education is important.

All I know is that when she does become a mother, career or no career, this sharp, accomplished young woman will still have every right to hold her head high.

Kid comparison

My son went to the doctor the other day. It was nothing big, a check-up and some routine shots.

What intrigued me was what my husband reported when the two of them returned home (that's right, I have an awesome husband who is willing to do that kind of stuff). He must have spent 30 minutes relaying to me other people's reactions to our son.

Let me clarify. Gus doesn't really see other little kids that much. Well, hardly at all, really. He doesn't go to daycare and we don't know many people with children his age. But at only a year old (actually, 15 months, but I try to avoid being one of those annoying moms who counts in months), I don't see a big need to get my son out and "socialized." He gets plenty of interaction with his dad and me. And the neighbors. And the dog. We'll worry about other kids when he gets older.

That said, my son did get hit on by an older girl at the doctor's office. Another toddler kept walking up to him, trying to hand him a book and repeatedly saying "hi." She was small; she barely came up to my son's nose. Gus wasn't sure what to do. He knows how to say a few words, but "hi" is not one of them.

The girl's mother and grandmother kept staring at my silent son like he had some kind of disorder. My husband started making small talk with them, and soon they asked, "So how old is your son?" 

"Fifteen months," my husband replied. The women exchanged looks of disbelief. Their little girl was 2.

It happened again in the patient room. The nurse asked my husband some routine questions:

"Is your son talking yet?" 

Yes, a few words.

The nurse is pleased.
 

"What kinds of foods is he eating?" 

Oh, just about everything we eat. He really likes bananas, yogurt, meatloaf ...

The nurse is impressed.

"Does he do patty cake?"
No.
A look of vague concern.

"Does he know any body parts?"
Um, not really.
More vague concern.

"Wow, he's really strong!" It took two nurses to pin him down to give him his shots.
My husband explained that Gus regularly plays tug-of-war with the dog.

Upon hearing all this, at first, I got a little indignant with the doctor. Patty cake? Provided I could get Gus to sit still long enough to learn it, why on earth would I teach my little boy a girlie game like patty cake? And body parts? At 15 months? Really?

Of course, I realize doctors have to have some standard of the "average" kid, or else they would never be able to tell if a child was developmentally challenged in some way. But of course, as a mother the talons tend to come out when someone implies that your kid isn't perfect.

I also realized that I was kind of smug when Sam was telling me about Gus' little girlfriend. I kept thinking, "Wow, our son is so ahead of the game. Those ladies were impressed." But it's not like their child was stunted somehow.

Why do we always have to compare our kids to other kids? All parents do it. It's natural. But it's so easy to get caught up in comparing, and worrying about whether our kid fits the status quo, that sometimes we forget to notice what makes our child so special.

"Should my son be doing patty cake?" I wondered. "Should he know body parts? Why can't I get him to wave or clap?"

But it's occurred to me that maybe he just doesn't care about doing those things. Instead, he'd rather learn how to turn the pages of a book. Or walk backwards and sideways. Or climb up and down on the couch. Or discover new ways of harassing the dog.

He is interested in what Mom and Dad are doing. He loves trying new foods. He is devoted to figuring out how things work, and is always on the move. He has his own skills, his own personality.

He's my son, and I'm glad he's breaking the standard.

A new year, a new look at 'home'

It's 2011. A new year. A time for counting blessings and resolving issues, for turning over a new leaf.

My husband and I have many blessings to count. The Midwest has been very good to us. Despite the downturn our economy has taken, we both have decent jobs, a nice house and enough income that we can maintain a fairly comfortable standard of living. Beyond that, we have a beautiful and healthy son, a loyal and trustworthy dog (yes, she's our other child), loving families and each other. What more could we want?

But oh, what a trip it's been to get here. Talk about resolving issues.

Moving to Missouri from our native Pennsylvania mountains was not easy for us. Not only was it a bit of a culture shock for us, but the landscape itself was so different that we truly felt like strangers in a strange land. We didn't know anybody. All of our friends and family, whom we'd been so close to, were hundreds of miles away. For a while, all we could do was long for "home," for familiarity, and for the comfort that comes with it.

I'll be the first to admit that we had our rough patches. When you're suddenly spending all of your spare time either alone or with each other, things come up. Annoyances. Perceived grievances. Frustrations. They all come bubbling to the surface. Fights happen. Somehow, you manage to get through it and work things out, and if you're lucky, you become stronger people from it. We were lucky.

I think the move was harder on my husband than it was on me. Whole generations of his family were born, lived and died in the same small-town region. He has had the same best friend since the first grade, and many of his "friends" are actually cousins or siblings. He had deep roots there. Me? Not so much.

But granted, I felt the strain, too. I had never lived outside of Pennsylvania, and I missed my family and friends very much. There were times when I felt utterly, hopelessly alone. I was just glad to have Sam at my side. I know he felt the same way.

Ironically, I feel like the same people we missed so much made moving harder for us. I know they didn't mean to. But it didn't help when they were constantly telling us how much they missed us, or wondering when we were coming "home," or if we would ever move back "home." I know they meant well, but talk about tugging on our heartstrings, and making a bad situation (feeling alone) even worse (having the urge to give up what we have and run back to our "comfort zone").

We both struggled with what to do. Do we go back? Do we stay here? Do we move someplace completely different? Another issue bubbled to the surface. Another bout of arguments. More rounds of holding each other's hands and saying, "We'll get through this." In the end, we simply asked, "Why does this matter?"

Really, where is home? Is it where you live? Is it where you're from? Is it with your family? Or to cite the old phrase, is it where your heart is? Perhaps home is all of these things, or perhaps it merely depends on who you ask. All I can say is, after 3-1/2 years of longing for what it was, I think my husband and I have finally worked out our answer for what our home actually is: Our family, our life, the one he and I have worked so hard to build together. It doesn't matter where we live, as long as we have that.

And that's an answer I can live with.