Okay, I promised an introduction, so I suppose I should provide one.

For those who don't know me, I'm Beth. I'm known as Bethie on a chat room I visit, and to people who fondly call me by my childhood nickname.

Sometimes I think I'm an eight-year-old in a 36-year-old's body. At other times I feel like an overgrown 16-year-old. They're all in there. There's a Sandra Cisneros story that seems to illustrate this for me. If I can find it I'll post the link.

I have a two-and-a-half-year-old son who's my joy and delight. I love him like crazy, and tell him so often. He often says, "Mommy loves you like CRAZY!" and it's just so goshdarn cute. (Yes, I'm biased, but it really is cute.) :-)

This is a picture of us, taken when Grant was maybe a month or two old. He wasn't even holding his head up yet, that much I know. My aunt and my mom, who were sitting nearby, told me to be very careful not to catch his skin on the button of my overalls, as if I'd let that happen.

What was I thinking with those overalls, anyway? I think I just liked the fact that they camouflaged my post-partum body and had a lot of pockets. For the first couple of months I wore my robe or overalls, and carried all sorts of things around: cell phone, bottle, burp cloth, house key, TV remote control — anything I thought I'd need and didn't want to get up to fetch repeatedly. R. called me "farmer girl" once and I was offended, even though I later realized he meant nothing by it. But I digress...

In my pre-baby life I was a librarian, then a magazine editor. Let's not talk about the librarian part; it wasn't my favorite job. But while I was a librarian, an acquaintance of mine called one day to ask if I'd be interested in writing an article for a new Web magazine (hard copy and online) he was starting. I told him I'd much rather edit the magazine, and he was intrigued enough to meet with me. I did a little proofreading/editing for the first issue, but when the issue actually came out in print I discovered my changes had been undone by the graphic artist. I grabbed a red pen and proofread the issue, brought it over to show my acquaintance and said, "If you hire me, I can prevent all these errors from happening." He hired me the next day, and I worked for the magazine for about four years.

After my stint at the magazine I went to work for a large magazine company (they publish several pet-related magazines) as their Web site editor. There was no written job description, so I had a challenging time there for a little over a year. During that time, I became pregnant with my son, and I resigned shortly after he was born. Now I freelance for the company; currently I'm writing a 2005 desk calendar on cats! :-)

What else? Oh, well, I'm moving in two weeks or less, to a condo near a lake in San Diego. The place is being sold to us furnished, and there's a piano included. I'm thrilled! I haven't played for ages, and I can't wait to get my hands on that thing.

Okay, my son is summoning me to put him down for a nap, so I'd best stop here. More later.

Hey, if anyone's actually reading this, why don't you drop me a line, with "Kate's journal" in the subject line? I'd love to hear from you!

So R. and Grant pruned all the rosebushes and R. cut several flowers to put in the house. There must be at least 25 rosebushes out there, but the ones I like the best are called Sterling Silver. They're just a pale lavender color, maybe a tad grayish, hence the "silver" moniker. But it's not necessarily the color that gets me -- it's the smell. Divine! R. says it smells like an old lady's perfume, but he hastens to add that's not a bad thing. ;^) Anyway, I put about seven roses in water in the house and they were absolutely beautiful. I wonder if I can grow roses in big pots on the deck of my new home...

Today Grant and I left R.'s place to return home. "Home" currently is my parents' house, which Grant enjoys because it means he can see Grandma and Grandpa every day. My mom is an artist with a day job, so Grant loves to draw with "Grandma's special crayons" -- her pastels. The colors are so vivid and moist-feeling, like you could just eat them or wear them. Or something. So when Grandma returned home today, Grant immediately asked if they could draw with the special crayons. How could she resist the sweet way he asked? Soon they were drawing on a big sheet of paper on the coffee table. Well, mostly it was Grant doing the drawing, and Grandma encouraging him. I think we'd both be happy if he turned out to have artistic ability. The kid loves music, that much we know already. But of course I'd be happy if he just found anything he liked to do. That's all that matters, isn't it?

I'm exhausted today. Bone-tired. I have no idea why, although I suspect it has something to do with my staying up too late to watch Oprah's biography on TV last night. Couldn't help it; she intrigues me. Plus I slept on the giant (bed-height) air mattress last night, and although it sure beats sleeping on a futon, it does leave a little to be desired in terms of firmness and temperature. Yes, it was hot in the house again (no air conditioning, and an indoor temperature of about 85 degrees F), so sleeping on a bigole piece of rubber doesn't help matters.

I have a deadline on Wednesday, and one on August 1. In between writing those stories I have to pack to move to San Diego. And take care of Grant. And take him for a play date with my girlfriend's 4-year-old. And, and, and...too much to mention. Maybe my tiredness comes also from stress. I'll sure be glad when the move is over and I can settle into my new home.

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