To the nice internetians:

Please join me over at 24-inch boss.

http://24inchboss.blogspot.com

Yes, the rumors are true.

The notion that I have somehow lowered the quality of journalism in America is hogwash. I must address several points:

First, I filed my new address with h.r. as soon as I moved but I didn't tell my bosses because I didn't want them to freak out and think I wasn't coming back. At the time, I thought I might work part time on the copy desk and I wanted to make that decision after I had the baby. The fact that I moved to Gainesville didn't determine that I would resign.

Second, my husband has the best job he's ever had in his life and the three of us have been using his health insurance for several months.

It is true that Sentinel executives didn't discover my new address until they sent flowers to my old address but frankly I just didn't have the time to deal with that because I was in the midst of recovering from a 26-hour labor. And when my boss called to ask where I was, I said "I moved to Gainesville."

Anyway, I resigned today. I hope that when I return to the industry from an extended maternity leave, I do not face a tragic struggle to keep up.

Good-bye

This will not be a sappy good-bye post.

The new incarnation of this blog will begin in the next few days. It is time to move on. If you'd like to continue reading about my life, you may e-mail me at: mylastname_myfirstname@yahoo.com. If you don't know my name and you'd like to continue reading, you may post your own e-mail address in the comments of this entry.

If you're planning to make hurtful or uninformed comments in the future, I'd prefer not to hear from you.

Later, Gators. It's been fun.

Dear Anonymous(es):

You shouldn't comment - especially anonymously - if you don't know the whole story, which you can't possibly get from this blog.

It's my life and I don't owe you an explanation, but here's a short one: I'm on unpaid maternity leave - not mooching off the company - and waiting until my life calms down and I can get down to Orlando on a weekday without the baby (difficult while breastfeeding) or with my husband (also difficult because he has yet to acquire any vacation at his new job) to hand in my resignation in person. I think I owe that to my bosses, and I'd like to say good-bye face to face. And, as for the six weeks of paid leave I did take, that's time I earned by working hard for two years.

Katrina

I have been brave, and also cowardly, I think, to shut out the world for the past few weeks. I haven't been watching CNN, haven't been reading your blogs, haven't even unwrapped my beloved morning paper or clicked on nytimes.com since Katrina touched down. Once, at four in the morning, I accidentally stumbled on an Internet headline that read, "Thousands Feared Drowned in New Orleans."

I cried. Now I avoid the news smidgets on my homepage.

My memories of New Orleans are sketchy but tinged with the bright, bold colors of a masquerade. For my high school self, the city was as much a performance as a place - and it was one of my favorites among my family's many road trip destinations.

I can't believe I will not take my children to the same place I remember. I wish the world - and the country - my daughter lived in had not seen tragedy like this, although this is nowhere close to the first incident of its kind.

A news junkie, I've had to make a concerted effort to concentrate on my daughter's sweet face instead of the tortured faces of thousands who are suffering in the South. And shopping today with E., who was dispatched to Biloxi, I had to hold the questions inside. Although part of me feels guilty, I don't want to know what she saw.

Of course, I understand what happened as well as anyone else can. Not the details, but the meat of it. No amount of reading and viewing can bring the reality of a loss like this home.

My body, my heart, must be singly focused on creating love, making food and giving warmth to a single beautiful soul. I can't bear to look, or I worry I'll pass my sorrow and frustration on to my daughter, through milk or through mood. My bank account, however, will be directed toward giving food and warmth to a few souls in New Orleans.

E. and the other reporters covering the storm are some of my heroes. Knowing the sacrifices they made in the wake of the storm - the dangers they ran toward and risks they took without hesitating - has reinforced my decision to leave reporting and make mothering my job. Despite my longing to be out in the trenches, doing what I love and doing good for the world, I know that nurturing the little world in my arms is more important.

College Game Day, Baby

First off, GO CATS!

Boo woke up this morning doing the classic Wildcat growl and moving her little claws in the characteristic fashion. She's already a fan - and a fiesty one at that.

Our child is quite portable, being approximately the size of two footballs. And we've found she loves to go new places. Her eyes light up at the new shadows, new voices, new smells. So we love to take her places.

Case in point:

We attended our first hometown tailgate today, and let me tell you, we college town residents do it up. Probably because we have the hot stoves and comforts of home just minutes away. Our theme was cowboy - as in Wyoming. I made cowboy oatmeal cookies (with butterscotch, yum!) and seven layer dip. Others brought turkey burgers, buffalo brownies, puppy chow, etc.

And although I worried that an afternoon in the hot Florida sun with the Bean would be taxing, she did great, dressed up in her little team tank and bloomers. The ladies took turns holding and admiring her. She nursed in the car once, from the bottle once, and was largely sleeping the afternoon away.

We did have a triple diaper change, which I executed on my lap in the car with surprising precision and grace. By diaper #3, I was giggling quite hard because I had managed two full loads of especially runny yellow ooze - and a voluminous impromtu pee - without getting a spot on my mini skirt. (Yes, I wore a mini-skirt. Not a single pair of my shorts fit, and no way I was wearing pants in that heat. So I went with the college girl look, and topped it off with pig tails for kicks.) Husband was impressed. (I just re-read this. I meant by the diaper change. But he quite possibly was equally impressed by the outfit.)

But there's a catch:

Having left Husband behind to go to the game with the guys, S and I were on our own in the car. And let me tell you, car rides with her give me headaches. Even if she doesn't fuss, my shoulders tighten up in anticipation of the worst. This time, She freaked upon being put in the car seat, which is par for the course, and then settled as we got moving - also usual. Halfway home, she flipped out. Sometimes I can calm her by taking a corner quickly, but that was just a stopgap this time and she got herself so worked up by one mile from home that her face had turned purple and she did that mouth-wide-open, nothing coming out, can't seem to breathe very well cry. The one her dad never has to hear. Sure that her poor little screams had given me my first grey hairs, I veered off the road. Whew. It took much longer than usual to calm her - by that I mean two or three minutes; she's quite consolable.

She's so great during outings. But the getting there and back really, really sucks.

We have thousands of baby contraptions - from Bjorns to slings to wraps to seats to strollers. But what I need is one of those Star Trek beam-me-up things. Maybe I'll try Babies R' Us?

This Must Be That Whole Getting Worse Before It Gets Better Thing They Warned Me About

Yes, it's 4 a.m. and I want to kill my husband.

That's all I'll say, but those of you who have been in my shoes - or my spit up stained T-shirt - know the drill.