This live blog is happening, nerds. IT’S HAPPENING.

(Though, technically, it should be called a "live" blog, because all events will have already happened and will be foist upon us as taped proceedings. Thanks a lot, NBC.)

I am steadfastly ignoring all tweets, blogs, reports and status updates regarding tonight's Olympic opening ceremonies. Why? So I can "live"blog them without having been corrupted by (ie: without stealing from) other people who are funnier and/or more astute than I am.

So. I promise less astute, less funny, "live" blogging of the previously-recorded opening ceremonies. Sounds awesome, right? It all begins at 6:30 eastern time, so go get your dinner and put on your comfy pants. See you soon.

6:30: Aw, yeah. Here we go. Big Ben! Other clocks! Lots and lots of stopwatches! IT'S STARTING!

6:34: Union Jack! Stonehenge! Castles! Kate! Churchill! "An ancient ethos!" says someone who might be Ewan McGregor

6:36: Bob Costas is looking botoxed and plasticine tonight. His eyes are very Terminator-y. BOB COSTAS IS A KILLER ROBOT. (I think maybe we already knew this.)

6:38: Tom Brokaw's anti-terrorism tactic: cross your fingers, folks! 

6:39: Kate again! (Georgia asks, "Ooh, is she the princess? Will she kiss the King at the end?" We can all hope so.)

6:42: Ann Curry just streaked behind Matt and Meredith, flashing double middles, all "EFF YOU, EFFERSSSSS!"

6:43: Not really.

6:44: While I ignore Matt and Meredith I can see a giant fan thing that looks like those boats from Swamp People, and some Settlers of Catan fencing and some geese. V. Exciting.

6:46: Interview with the big bright shining stars of the US women's gymnastic team. I approve of everyone shoes except for Mr. Seacrest's.

CLARIFICATION: Ryan Seacrest is not part of the US women's gymnastic team

6:48: Georgia says, "Oh, Justin Beaver. He is so cute."

6:51: Wheat! Flowers! Umbrellas! Fast trains! Geese! Fancy people! Rowing! Cricket! A floating pig!

6:52: Thaaaaames iiiin spaaaaace

6:54: Bradley Wiggins! Famous Keeper for Hufflepuff.

6:55: No, he's a cyclist. Dammit.

6:56: Everyone in the stadium is sitting amongst spatulas, listening to children singing O Danny Boy. 

*adds whiskey to coffee*

6:57: I am not sure what is happening here. Scenes of soccer excite the crowd. Kids continue singing. There are lots of spatulas in the audience. I think maybe Charles Dickens is cimbing a hill in the shape of a spaceship.

6:59: The overwhelming green-ness of the background is making Kenneth Branaugh look like a hobbit.

7:02: Matt Lauer warns that what's coming next is something ominous. Dirty people come shooting out of the ground like fire ants. Aaaaaahhhh!

7:04: The dirty people are dismantling the Settlers of Catan stuff, while a whole bunch of Charles Dickens guys fool around with their top hats. Now the Dickens guys are popping and locking! Yes!

7:06: Are those smoke stacks, or is the Industrial Revolution just happy to see me?

7:09: War part. Hats off. Everyone look for Matthew Crawley.

7:11: We are anxiously awaiting Mary Poppins vs. Voldemort. That's happening isn't it? IT HAS TO HAPPEN.

7:13: Fire! Very popular with the children in the room.

7:15: Drums and rings and chimney sweeps and yawns and then the rings RAIN FIRE and we all start paying attention again.

7:17: Upon sight of the flaming rings, Georgia has started singing the Star Spangled Banner.

7:21: Ermahgerd! Dernierl Cerg!

7:23: Daniel Craig has on his Very Serious Duck Face. 

7:24: Very Serious Duck Face things are about to happen. I can tell because there's a helicopter.

7:25: The Queen totally just jumped out of a helicopter. And THAT'S why Daniel Craig had on his Very Serious Duck Face.

7:27: Georgia: Who is that lady?
           Me: the Queen
           Georgia: The Queen of Texas?
           Me: Yes.

7:29: The Queen still looks a little stunned from her parachuting adventure.

7:32: Great Ormond Street Hospital! I have friends whose kids have had some miraculous surgeries there. And yet, they never once told me about the trampoline beds.

7:37: JK Rowling! JK Rowling! The kids in the room just went CRAZY.

7:38: Voldemort! And now here come all the Mary Poppinses to save us! This is so cool. 

7:41: These lighted duvets are available at Ikea, by they way. Blernskërtlit.

7:43: GIANT CREEPY SLEEPING BABY. Aaaaaand scene.

7:46: If only the fight between Voldemort and Mary Poppins had happened in slow motion to the Chariots of Fire orchestral rendering. COME ON DANNY BOYLE.

7:48: The kids are loving Rowan Atkinson. Oh man, I wish I had them on video. They're cracking me up more than he is. (Though he's doing a pretty good job, too.)

7:51: Olympic fart joke! Thank-you, London.

 7:57: British TV homage thing. With Internet-y stuff. And rain. And a kid. Giant glow worms spinning. Moms yelling at kids to put their digital crap down. 

8:00: Lampshade dresses. Also available at Ikea. Lämpershnïrt.

8:01: Ann Curry streaks by again! "EFF YOU EFFERSSSSS!"

8:02: Fake David Bowie. Jet packs. Now we're talking.

8:05: I've finished my coffee. Uh-oh. Also, I haven't had dinner yet. Also, there are too many commericals. Also, my couch is full of children who just consumed a whole thing of ice cream while I was blogging. o.O

8:07: How are these lost teen lovers texting each other if it's the 80s? I'm so confused! EXPLAIN THIS TO ME, ANNIE LENNOX.

8:08: Ooh. Prodigy. Nice job not playing "Smack My Bitch Up" Mr. Boyle.

8:10: Rapper appears and Matt Lauer says, "And now the parents' nightmare gets worse!" Smooth…

8:13: *falls asleep* 

8:14: David Beckham! *wakes up*


8:19: Georgia just asked, "When are they going to start doing their, um, tricks?" Again, good question.

8:20: If Bob Costas and Dick Clark had a baby, and then dressed the baby in a shiny suit, and then gave the baby those weird little half boots, this baby would be Ryan Seacrest.

8:22: So the Dowager Countess is coming out next, right? Via parallel bars on a Swamp People boat? With a lighted, feathered hat? Yes?

8:24: Nope. Parade of Nations.

8:28: OK. I'm not going to liveblog the parade of nations, y'all. But keep an eye out for Ann Curry. I hear her plan is to run up the hobbit hill, leap into the crowd, kiss Kate Middleton on the lips, and then renounce her US citizenship. So, you know, pay attention.


In which I speak of Olympics, hospitals and endurance tests.

[note: this is cross-posted from KA Holt's Online Disaster]

The last time the Summer Olympics rolled around I had been in the hospital for fifteen long, terrifying, sleepless days. I was there for the duration of my pregnancy, which I was told could end at any second – or go on for another 16 weeks. So, either way, it felt like time had stopped and was just eating away at me. I couldn't leave my bed and so I just laid there and wept and watched Million Dollar Listing and desperately missed my kids and learned everything there is to know about IVs and tocolytics and insurance companies and which nurses drink coffee at 3 am and which ones are less than deft with bedding changes.

And then… the Olympics started.

I watched the opening ceremonies amidst beeps and tests and nurse visits, while my husband sat with me and tried to get a bit of work done. I emailed my best friend and we made fun of how bored all the dignitaries looked. Watching the opening ceremonies was the first thing that had almost distracted me enough to slow the constant panic of my failing pregnancy.

I had been like a woman hanging desperately from a crumbling cliff, and then the Olympics suddenly offered me a little chink in the stone – a perfect place to wedge my fingers and rest for a bit. I clung to this little chink in time like nobody's business. When I woke up the next morning, I flipped on the TV and watched nearly every second of every televised Olympic event. I watched the athletes just swimming and swimming or running and running or water polo-ing and water polo-ing. And I told myself, while our situations were very, very different, I could learn that kind of endurance, too. These people were going to put their bodies through huge extremes over the next two weeks – and if they could do it, I could too.

So while I stayed immobile in bed and watched everything, I would makes deals with myself – just stay pregnant until the 100m breaststroke finals. Or, just wait to see who wins the gold for Men's horizontal bar and then the contractions can take over. Just keep going one more event, one more hour, one more day…

And in the midst of close calls and ultrasounds and stadol and clogged IVs, I never turned that damn TV off. I was obsessed with watching these people push their bodies to the limit as I pushed mine to its own kind of limit.

I would wonder what life would be like in four years when the next Summer Olympics rolled around. Would I still think of that time in the hospital? Would I have three living children? How would life be different? How would *I* be different? The questions haunted me through floor events and sprints and hurdles, but I kept watching, grateful for the distraction.

And then… two weeks later, I was still in the same bed, still pregnant. I had pushed myself all the way to the end of the show. The closing ceremonies began – and just like that, so did my contractions. I missed most of the ceremonies because of frantic nurse visits, doctor pages, and room changes.

The next morning my son was born. He was twelve weeks early, weighed only two pounds, but had functioning lungs (which was, you know, a goal met). My endurance test had ended, but his was just beginning. 

Would I have made it those extra two critical weeks without having something to distract me? My son's lungs depended on that extra time, and I depended on the Olympics to get me through it. It sounds ridiculous to say out loud, and yet… I've always been pretty competitive and I do really well with deadlines.

Today, he's a thriving nearly-four-year-old. I did not succumb to septicemia or other terrifying prognostications. And the Olympics begin anew. Those two weeks were an endurance test for me, and the coming months and years were so very hard. But now here we are.

Do I still think of that time in the hospital? Obviously. Do I have three living children? I do, though it was touch and go more times than I'd like to count during this four year span. How is life different now? Perspective is everything. How am *I* different? I have pulled myself up from a crumbling cliff and bear both the scars and rewards from it.

Tonight, I plan to sit on the couch with my husband, all three kids, a bowl of popcorn and a hearty helping of perspective. For the kids it will be an endurance test of mama hugs and kisses.

For me? It will be lovely. 

Blog! You’re still here!

It's summertime, so you know what that means:

Watching TV
Eating salads
Breaking the computer

This leaves little time for sitting on the couch and blogging. Also, I am in the throes of trying to finish all of the thinking and typing that occurs when one writes the end of a book.


All this to say: Blog! I love you! I'm sorry I'm not a better blog writer person mom thing! I will do better at some point! Probably. But until then, just know that I am thinking of you, and writing things everyday. I am just writing things in other places. Sorry about that.

I will write in (on?) you, too.

I promise.

Bur first, I have to go to sleep.  

Because sleeping is also important.