“…like yoga for the soul.”  That is how sleep specialist Rubin Naiman describes dreaming.

Sleep fascinates me.  For starters, I’m a big fan of the stuff.  But I am also intrigued by how little scientists actually seem to know about it.  From time to time magazines like Newsweek and Time feature cover stories about sleep, why our bodies need it, how we get less of it now than we used to, and the wide variety of health benefits it affords.  So I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that I was equally taken with Dr. Naiman’s article on the benefits of dreaming.

Naiman discusses our physiological responses to dreaming – the dream-induced paralysis that keeps us from acting out our dreams and the release of emotional energy that channels through our muscles – but it was his explanation of the mental and emotional purpose of dreaming that most captivated me.

Dreaming aids in the formation of memory and in the processing of grief.  Even more interesting, though, is Naiman’s assertion about dreaming serving as some sort of psychological calisthenics.  He comments, “Daily life can feel constraining. Our deeper self is not necessarily comfortable remaining cooped up in a physical body 24/7. I believe that dreaming is a kind of psycho-spiritual stretching — like yoga for the soul. Dreams gently expand, release, soften and open us up again. Dreaming provides a poetic cushion for our sharply literal lives. In our dreams, we are free from the constraints of the physical body.”

This gets a little new agey for me, but I don’t totally dismiss it.  My own experience tells me that there is value in dreaming.  When I wake up after a night of active dreaming I feel more refreshed than I do otherwise.  Perhaps this is because a certain quality and depth of sleep are prerequisites to dreaming in the first place.  But I also feel more relaxed, like there was something cathartic about my sleep beyond its mere restorative properties.  I like this idea that dreaming frees us from our normal constraints, “… like yoga for the soul.”

It’s been several months since I slept through the night without waking.  If my second son is anything like my first, it will be at least another six months before I do it again.  This means that my dream life is in the midst of a big hiatus.  There will be many reasons that I look forward to that golden day when my baby sleeps through the night.  Being truly rested for the first time in more than a year will be foremost among them.  But lingering at the back of the pack will be an eagerness to return to the kind of sleep that facilitates an active dream life.  My dreams are usually pretty amusing, but apparently funny stories the next day aren’t the only benefit they provide.

Tonight I have a date.  First, I have a date to take our dogs to the vet for their annual checkups and shots (for which they are a month overdue…) and IEP has agreed to go with me and be my helper.  Then, on the way home we will stop by our corner pizza joint, pick up our supper, and come home and watch Game 1 of the World Series together.  (GAP has plans with a buddy.)

Under other circumstances I might find these plans draining.  Getting two Bernese Mountain Dogs in and out of the vet isn’t easy when you’re not 37+ weeks pregnant with a toddler in tow.  So I’m fully prepared for the fact that this evening’s errand could very well be a comedy of errors (and/or frustrations).  But I’m looking at it differently today.

IEP’s days as an only child are numbered.  As of today that number is – at most – nine.  And I am feeling a bit nostalgic about it.

I firmly believe that the very best thing in the world we can give our son is a sibling.  Life as an only child is certainly no tragedy and most only children grow up to be perfectly happy and well-adjusted adults.  Nevertheless, I see tremendous value in growing up alongside siblings.  There are life lessons that can be learned in any number of venues, but a small handful of those, I believe, are best learned from brothers and sisters – conflict resolution, sharing, dominance and submission, justice and injustice, and so on – not to mention all of the shared experiences and camaraderie that come from growing up together.  I am extremely close to my sister.  GAP is likewise close to his five siblings.  So we both believe that the brother that is quickly coming his way is a very good thing for IEP.

But back to my nostalgia.  For the past nearly-three years I’ve been able to give all of my parental time, energy, and focus to IEP.  He has been the sole epicenter of our family.  And we have loved every minute of it.  So there is a part of me that feels a bit sad knowing how drastically his world is about to be upended, especially given that he really has no idea of what’s coming.  Naturally he knows that the baby is coming soon – and he’s excited about it – but he won’t really be able to wrap his head around what that means until he’s living it.

Which brings us back to tonight.  I will get home from work shortly after 5:00.  I will load up 200 pounds of dogs and 30 pounds of toddler into my car.  We will awkwardly navigate our way through the trip to the vet.  I will tell IEP how to be a good helper and he will feel proud of himself for doing so.  When we get home we will go down to the basement, turn on the big TV, and eat our pizza.  I will watch him take bites intermittently as he scans the field for Albert Pujols.  I will listen to him ask me, “Mommy, no like that pitch?” every time a batter lets one go by.  And I will watch him jump and run and cheer “That humongous hit!” when either team makes contact.  He will stay up past his bedtime.  And if I’m very lucky he will crawl up into my lap for snuggles periodically.

Before too long that lap will be filled with a Boppy and a baby whom I know I will love every bit as much as I love IEP, and I can’t wait.  But for now – for tonight – I’m glad that I can still give all of what I have to him.  This is a time of beginnings and endings, and I suppose I should expect to find myself feeling emotions tied to each.

Last week GAP and three buddies from work went to one of the baseball League Championship Series playoff games.  Due to company connections these guys usually watch baseball games from a box or similar prime locations.  Playoff tickets, however, are a bit harder to come by so last week they were in the upper deck – a.k.a. Family-ville.

GAP was the only one of the four who is married or has kids, so for most of the group their setting gave them a slight fish-out-of-water feeling.  Sitting in front of GAP and his bachelor cronies was a family with a baby and a five-year-old.  Sitting behind them were a man and his eight- or nine-year-old son.  It was this duo that most caught his attention.

The game started at 7:00.  Like most evening baseball games, it likely wasn’t going to end until close to 10:00.  It was a school night.  But when your team is in the playoffs, well, that’s serious business.  What’s a pint-sized fan to do?  And what are his parents to do in such a battle of competing priorities?  Which one wins?

Answer: Both.

That night this boy and his dad avidly cheered on the home team throughout the game.  But in between innings?  In that momentary lull that takes place 17 times in any baseball game as the teams switch from offense to defense and back again?  They pulled out the school books and the boy worked on his homework.

I smiled as GAP told me about this.  I thought about the eagerness of a little boy excited to attend a playoff game.  I thought about the conversation he probably had with his parents wherein he was made to understand that this was a privilege, and that it did not supersede his academic responsibilities.  His dad would have told him how it was going to be hard to focus on his schoolwork with the excitement of the game, but that they would get through it together.  And I thought about someday having a similar conversation with GAP and my own boys.

Sometimes life deals us tough choices.  Sometimes we have to pick between Door #1 and Door #2 and we don’t have the option of a hybrid selection.  But sometimes we can find a way to finagle ourselves into the middle ground.  Such opportunities are hard to overlook.  It made me happy knowing that this boy’s parents didn’t let him blow off his school work, but also understood the how exciting a playoff game opportunity was.

Sometimes we get to split the middle.  Sometimes we get to honor competing priorities.  And if it’s the middle of baseball postseaston  sometimes a night of homework becomes a lifelong memory.

As of last night three of the four most recent posts on NYT’s Motherlode dealt in some way with kids’ access to technology (television, Facebook, and iPads, respectively).  None of these posts is especially substantial, but their sandwiched nature points to something that intrigues me: we really know very little about how each of these screen-oriented gadgets affects our children.

We know the most about television.  Various studies over the years have told us that it negatively impacts their attention spans, critical thinking skills, physical fitness, and interpersonal skills.  I can only assume that being glued to Facebook or an iPad aren’t that different.  And yet we live in a world where these things are ubiquitous; only the most dedicated of parents will successfully navigate their children’s childhoods without exposure to them.

GAP and I took I pretty hard line for the first two years of IEP’s life.  He was allowed in the room while we watched news or sports, neither of which really captured his attention.  But he wasn’t allowed to watch any children’s programming until after his second birthday, and even then it was a very rare occasion.  Seeing the way his eyes glazed over – captivated, but unresponsive – told me that whatever was going on in my little boy’s brain wasn’t good.  It was only as he developed the ability to interact with the show – shouting out the answers to Dora’s questions, or laughing at Steve’s jokes on Blues Clues – that I developed some peace of mind that his viewing wasn’t putting him into a Clockwork Orange-like trance.

This was the path GAP’s and my guts told us to take.  But we still don’t exactly know what effect this exposure will have on our little boy.  Neither do we know what effect his exposure to iPhones (he’s been able to navigate GAP’s since he turned two), or iPads (Nanny has one that she uses for educational apps periodically) will ultimately have on him.  Facebook isn’t in his vocabulary yet, but if there’s anything I can count on it’s that his interest in social networking will sprout much earlier than I expect it to.

Given all of this, I am prone to wonder – after a certain age, at least – whether a cold turkey approach or something more permissive is healthiest for our kids.  Perhaps no technology at all is best for young kids.  Perhaps the only thing such indulgences achieve are a few quiet moments for Mom and Dad, and nothing beneficial for the child himself.  Or perhaps (and this is the direction I’m leaning, though I’m not fully confident of it) the better direction is something of a hybrid.  Our kids will never live in a world without smartphones and iPads (at least not until the next thing replaces them…), so what good does complete denial do them if it doesn’t represent reality.  (In a sort-of-applicable parallel, most of what I’ve read about kids and nutrition instructs that we should teach our children how to balance healthy and unhealthy foods, rather than declaring war on French fries and chicken nuggets altogether.)  So is a combined approach better?  If our kids can watch an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine and still want to read books before bed is that preferable to requesting a book only because they don’t know that Thomas exists?  (Yes, I know that the Thomas behemoth started out as a simple book.  We have many Thomas books…)

With our second child on the near horizon I also wonder how we’ll chart these waters during his first two years.  IEP knows that Saturday mornings are his time to watch his shows.  Will we pull the rug out from under him just because his baby brother is within earshot?  Likely not, but how we’ll minimize #2′s exposure remains to be seen.

The one thing that I take a bit of comfort in when it comes to issues like this is that we won’t get it 100% right, but we won’t get it 100% wrong either.  We care greatly about our kids’ mental development.  We work to ensure that they are exposed to many different settings and circumstances.  We teach them manners and initiative and boundaries.  It would take an army of tech gadgets to drown out the influence that we spill into our kids’ ears each day.

We may not know what the exact right answer is to our questions about kids and technology.  But we do know that if we’re asking the questions in the first place we’re probably on the right track.

About eight and a half years ago GAP told me he had to go out of town for a job interview.   He was in business school at the time and looking for a summer internship, so I naturally jumped to the conclusion that it was for summer employment.  When I asked about the job he told me it was for a position that would be the most exciting, challenging, and rewarding job of his life.  He was very careful not to tell any lies.   When he left town for  this “interview” he actually drove to my hometown, called my parents an hour outside of the city, and asked if they were free for an impromptu lunch.  He asked their permission to propose to me.

I was then, and am now, flattered that he did this.  Most of all, it meant a great deal to me that he met with both of my parents, and not just my father.  My mother is not the type to take a back seat to her husband.  GAP knows this and wasn’t about to offend his future mother-in-law by confusing chauvinism for tradition.  I didn’t take their meeting as any indication that I don’t have control over my own life choices, and they didn’t either.  We all took it as a nod to a custom wherein a young man makes his intentions known and asks for the blessing of his girlfriend’s family.

However, I recently read an article that throws this whole custom into question.

I am certainly not of the delusion that everyone else has the same regard for tradition that I do, that my husband does, or that my parents do.  I know that women are not property.  We are empowered individuals who make our own decisions in life.  Whether or not GAP asked my parents’ permission, these things are as true about me as they are about any other modern young woman.  Yet I still have an old fashioned streak that likes to honor certain traditions, even if their relevance has been diluted over time.

So what struck me most about the article I read was how confused the author seemed to be over where to draw the line on the issue of asking permission.  She didn’t necessarily seem to think that there is a single right or wrong verdict for this tradition in the 21st century.  But she did seem a bit flummoxed over how to chart the right course under varying circumstances.  My response is this: why not just ask?  Very few women are caught off guard by a proposal these days.  Sure, we may not know exactly when and where the question will be popped, but we know whether or not we intend to marry the person we’re dating, and whether or not he (or she) intends to marry us.  How?  Because we talk about these things.  So why, amongst the conversations about religion and kids and all the other big issues that must be discussed before marriage, shouldn’t a young man inquire about his girlfriend’s views on asking permission, and about the views of her parents on the topic?  Shouldn’t this issue be on the easy end of the spectrum of marital pitfalls?

Marriage has served a number of purposes throughout human existence – economic, political, genealogical, and so on.  Today most marriages are about forming a mutually beneficial partnership and this has changed many of the dynamics of the institution itself.  One of the many improvements is increased communication between spouses, so I don’t know why this issue would ever become a minefield on the modern dating scene.

GAP asked my parents’ permission.  So did my sister’s husband.  I have friends whose husbands only asked their fathers.  I have friends whose parents only found out about the engagement after the woman had a ring on her finger.  The great thing about getting engaged today is that there are no hard and fast rules.  Perhaps this means there is more room for error.  But, as with many situations, I think a simple conversation can mitigate a lot of hurt feelings.

I suppose that if you asked 100 different people what hope looks like you would get 100 different answers.  That is human nature.  If I were one of those 100 people and you asked me that question today the answer would be: these pajamas.

A few weeks before IEP was born my mother was in town for one of my baby showers.  She took the opportunity to spoil me in a variety of ways, one of which was to take me shopping for pajamas to wear in the hospital so that I would have something comfortable but attractive to wear when friends and family came to visit me and our new baby.  One pair was pale blue with a chocolate brown floral pattern.  The other pair was white with spring green leaves and periwinkle blue birds.  I loved them both.  But, as it turned out, no one ever saw my cute pajamas.

Just hours old, IEP was transferred to a children’s hospital for treatment by teams of specialists.  (He is fine now.)  This meant that I spent my two postpartum days in the hospital alone with my mother, waiting for my phone to ring with news of my baby’s condition and prognosis, while GAP tended to our son across town.  I won’t lie.  It really, really sucked.

Now here I am, three years later, preparing for the arrival of my next baby.  Perhaps I shouldn’t be, but I’ve been trying fairly hard avoid thinking about delivery.  They were complications during delivery that caused all of IEP’s problems, and it’s hard to think about the actual birth of my second son without my mind going to a worst-case-scenario kind of place.  We have taken all the proper steps to ensure a healthy and safe delivery, which does put my mind at ease a bit.  Nevertheless, I struggle to envision exactly what it might be like to go through labor without incident, and to relax in the hospital with my baby for a couple of days before we head home.

And so I turn to pajamas – two pairs, one floral and one polka dotted – which to me represent hope, optimism, and the faith that this time will be different from the last.  They arrived in the mail yesterday and shortly after I got home from work I tried them on.  Then I called my mother and said, “My hospital pajamas came today.  And I’m bound and determined for someone to actually see them this time.”  She knew immediately the significance of my statement.

It’s hard for me to think about delivery.  But in my own way I am mentally preparing for a different experience this time.  For me, right now, hope looks like new hospital pajamas.

My dance card was full last night and today’s post will be going up a day late.  Please stop back by tomorrow for my delayed Monday thoughts!

I am having the same response that a lot of people apparently are.  I didn’t know Steve Jobs.  I am only a recent Mac convert.  I am not an early adopter of new technology.  On the contrary, I tend to be late to the new gadget game.  And yet, I find myself surprisingly affected by the death of Steve Jobs.

He was both at the top of his field and an underdog.  He was a visionary and a pragmatist.  He was incredibly experienced and incredibly young.  Like so many people, he was a collection of dichotomies.  And there is something about him that really resonates with me; with many of us.

When I think realistically about it I recognize that Apple is a huge company and that their products are the result of countless people’s input.  Steve Jobs didn’t do it alone.  But it was his dream that pushed the company so far, so many times.  It was his inspiration and leadership that drove his employees to do his good work.  So I wonder what shape his company will take in his absence.

More than anything, though, I feel sad for the loss of an incredible person.  He changed things – really changed things.  That isn’t something that can be said about many people.  Innovators only come along once in a while and he truly was one.  I am sad for his wife and kids.  To them he wasn’t merely the face of a company, but an integral part of a family.  And I am sad for all the free thinkers who lost an incredible role model.  In that vein, I thought it appropriate to share this Apple ad that aired back in 1997.  A current version would certainly include Steve Jobs himself.

Last weekend GAP and I watched our latest Netflix delivery: Inside Man starring Clive Owen and Denzel Washington.  I should have loved it, and up until the very end, I did.

This movie qualifies in one of my favorite movie genres – the “stunt movie.”  In Gale parlance a “stunt movie” is basically any kind of heist movie.  The Sting, of course, is the all-time classic stunt movie.  Ocean’s Eleven and The Thomas Crown Affair (Pierce Brosnan version) are my modern day favorites.  In the stunt movie the protagonist is usually the thief, and the bad guys are law enforcement or other such jerks on the side of the establishment.  The stunt movie is action-packed, but not violent; suspenseful, but not scary; and usually contains some sort of romance, humor, or luxury as a subplot.  There’s nothing not to love.

So back to Inside Man.  It was a classic stunt movie and throughout it I was hooked.  But the ending left me cold.  Without giving anything critical away, there was  something off about the character development.  Denzel Washington’s detective was mostly the protagonist to Clive Owen’s mostly bad villain.  Neither one of them totally won or lost.  And we are led to believe that the true bad guy will get his comeuppance, though we never get the satisfaction of seeing it.

All of this is well and good, and not necessarily that interesting on its face.  Gale had a lukewarm response to a movie. So what?

Well, what’s got my wheels spinning five days later is the fact that I cared so much.  I consider myself to be a reasonably evolved person.  I’m comfortable with nuance and greys and the loose ends of real life.  Measured by that yardstick Inside Man should have fallen squarely into my comfort zone.  It contained all manner of true-to-life complications and double standards.  Yet in a movie setting it turned me off.  Why?  Why do I need movies to be tied off with a bow when in real life – when it really matters – I’m usually at peace with much messier results?

I suppose it’s because in real life I know that I can never expect things to resolve as cleanly as they do in the movies.  But in the movies, they can.  That’s part of why we go.  So often in real life the bad guy gets off, the good guy gets overlooked, the kiss-up gets the promotion, and the jerk gets the girl.  But in the movies things tend to pan out the way we think they’re supposed to.  So when it doesn’t work out that way on screen we (or at least I) feel shortchanged.

Life is an untidy endeavor most days.  If I can come home and see the good guy win and the bad guy lose, and suspend my disbelief long enough to find satisfaction in that then I suppose it’s a good thing.  Last weekend’s selection left me cold.  Perhaps this weekend I’ll schedule my date with Paul Newman or George Clooney.  I know they won’t let me down.

Little by little it’s all becoming quite real.  IEP has moved out of the nursery and into his good-boy room.  My FMLA paperwork has been filled out and will be submitted to HR this week.  Last week Nanny laundered all of our newborn and 0-3 month baby clothes.  And over the weekend I took IEP’s vast collection of 2T polo shirts out of the nursery closet and hung his former collection of newborn footed sleepers on tiny hangers.  Tiny hats, socks, and onesies fill the dresser.  Newborn diapers will be ordered this week.

This baby is coming.

People ask me if I’m ready.  The nice thing about having a second boy, and a second November baby is that from a logistical perspective, I’ve been ready for three years.  We have all the gear, all the clothes, and all kinds of knowledge we didn’t have the first time around.  This should be a piece of cake, right? …  I’m not so sure.

I have no experience in parenting two children.  I have never tried to care for a newborn while also caring for a toddler.  We have never been a family of four.  And this adventure, much like the first one, will be a case study in lessons learned the hard way.  For that is the only way to figure these things out.

And so I look at the logistical end of things.  I am pre-registered at the hospital.  IEP’s birthday party is planned and booked.  Christmas shopping is about 85% complete.  We have made arrangements for Nanny to be on call for IEP should I go into labor in the middle of the night.  I still need to stock my freezer with my preferred post-partum menu of homemade soups, and stock up on batteries for all of the bouncy seats, swings, white noise machines and other baby paraphernalia.  But beyond that, I’m ready.

And beyond that, I’m ready.  I’m ready to meet this little guy.  I’m ready to see what IEP is like as a big brother.  I’m ready for the ligament pain in my spine to dissipate.  I’m ready to roll over in bed without having to wake up and adjust multiple pillows each time.  I’m ready walk away from my job for a few months and indulge my mind in the mental vacation its been craving for weeks now.  And I’m ready to burp and swaddle and snuggle the newest love of my life; to smell that new baby smell; to hear the sweet little grunts that are only made by a nursing baby; and to watch my life fill up again beyond anything I ever could have imagined.

This baby is coming whether I’m ready or not.  Lucky for both of us, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.