Dan just left to take my mom to the airport for her return flight to Mississippi. She came out and spent a week with us, and it was wonderful. But that makes today the day that I dread every time we visit family or they visit us. I have waved goodbye at the airport and from the driveway dozens of times over the last six years, and from doing that I have learned that I will feel better tomorrow, and a little better the day after that. But today, I know, is going to feel like leaving home all over again, and all my doubts about what we're doing here will loom as large as ever. Why do we live here? Seriously. Albuquerque. It's so far away from our families and the people who have known us all our lives. Why are we raising our child a jillion miles away from so many people who love her and would give anything to see her every day? How is Kate going to know our families when we can't see them more than a few times a year? Why can't the world be smaller? And when is this going to get easier?

The answers to those questions are as familiar as the back of my hand. We're here because God has provided work and a home for us here. After all, if God hadn't brought us both to New Mexico, we might never have gotten married, and we would miss out on all the blessings of our life together, including Kate, and I can't imagine my life in that case. Yes, this is far away, but we aren't alone by any means. We're blessed with wonderful friends and a church family who love us and love Kate and would do anything for us, and in the moments when I think wild thoughts of packing it all up and leaving here, I know that if that ever happens, I'll be heartbroken to leave those people behind. Kate is going to know our families the same way thousands of kids who don't live next door to their extended families do ... airplanes and telephones and webcams and all the things that really do make the world smaller than it would be if we had moved here in the days before mass transit and easy communication.

But that last question, the when is it going to get easier one, is a setup. I know now that the days when we leave or say goodbye yet again are never going to be easy. So today, just today, I'm going to feel a little sad. And I guess that's OK.

Note: I realized a few days ago that this will be my 500th post on this blog. For a while, I considered trying to do something significant with it. But then I decided it would really be much more in the spirit of what I usually do here to write about something utterly pointless. So here's to 500 largely frivolous entries.

A few days ago I had a dream and as I woke up from it, for about 30 seconds, I was totally convinced that I knew how to find out the answer to "Lost." As in, the Big Answer, the one that will explain what in the heck is going on with that island, and why the plane crashed there, and what is the black smoke monster.

In my dream, I saw these fuzzy TV screen/computer modules sort of like the ones in the Dharma Initiative surveillance stations. Jack Shephard was sitting in front of one of them, looking rugged and sweaty, desperately trying to get one of the screens to resolve into a clear picture. And then, he did. On the screen was a baby sitting in a kind of greenly-lit, sinister-looking room. Maybe the baby was being held captive. I don't know. But when the baby saw Jack, he started whispering in a totally adult voice. He said "I can't talk, they'll hear me. But I'll tell you everything you want to know."

So Jack started asking him questions, all the big questions of Lost. And the baby started signing the answers back to him! For those of you without small children, a lot of parents teach their kids to use sign language to communicate needs and desires before they could really talk. We think this is pretty cool, and so we've bought Kate these videos that teach babies the signs using peppy little songs. Little songs that will get stuck in your mind and replay themselves constantly. Especially when you try to go to sleep at night after you watch that episode of "Lost" that you Tivo'd.

Obviously, this is what I get for no longer watch anything but Lost and Baby Signing Time videos, but I swear, at the time, the idea that captive babies will sign the answers to Lost to us seemed 100 percent plausible. And given how that show works, it might be as likely as anything else. It would be just like the writers of Lost to make everyone go out and learn to decode the baby's messages just so we could understand the series finale, in which case I will be one step ahead of the rest of you thanks to Rachel the Signing Time lady. So I wanted to put it out there and go on record as saying that this, apparently, is my theory, and if it turns out to be true, I want credit. And a giant refund on all the hours I have spent watching Lost.

Last night, we were getting ready for bed right after Dan finished watching an episode of a show called "Ax Men" which is about loggers in the Pacific Northwest. I don't watch the show, but I do hear it playing, and to me, it sounds like lots of yelling and crashing trees interspersed with plenty of bleeped-out cursing. But apparently, if you have testosterone coursing through your veins, this is a very inspirational program, because my computer scientist husband had this to say as we climbed into bed.

"I think I'm going to quit my job and go be a logger. Yeah. I think of all my talents, manual labor is really the strongest. Why are you laughing?"

Maybe because until recently, Dan mowed our lawn with a Weed Whacker. But I'm sure the transition to a GIANT CHAIN SAW will go very smoothly.

Today, I got one of, well, a lot of emails that I get from Amazon.com because they have my name and email address and probably half of our expendable income from the last five years thanks to my book-buying habit. Usually, I ignore the emails. But today I saw one letter at the end of the subject line and thought .... "I might need to read this." And now for what will seem like a digression:

A while back, I read and proceeded to force many of my family and friends to read a book called "Peace Like a River" the first novel of a guy named Leif Enger. I love this book. Love. It. I love it so much that after a reasonable period of time had passed, I started pining for a new title from Enger. And that's how I got into a habit that probably looks a lot like an obsessive compulsive behavior to the Barnes and Noble people in Albuquerque, which is that every single time I go in there, I go directly to the shelf where "Peace Like a River" is stocked, and check to see if there is a new Enger book next to it. But there never is. So then I spend a couple of minutes considering whether or not there is anyone else I need to buy "Peace like a River" for and about half the time I pick up a new copy just in case.

So back to my email story. Today, as I skimmed my email subject lines, I saw the usual Amazon email. The part of the subject line I could read before gmail cut it off said "Save 40% at Amazon.com on "So Brave, Young and Handsome," by L".... end of subject line. First, I started reading the next subject line, and then I thought, "You know whose name starts with L? Leif Enger, that's who." And I opened the email, which told me that the day I have been waiting for is almost here, and Enger's new book comes out on April 22! So if you're looking for me that day, I'll be in the "E" aisle of the literature section in Barnes and Noble, weeping tears of joy.

In the meantime, if any of you have failed to read "Peace Like a River," please go pick up a copy. Or call me and I'll give you one of the two or three I have lying around the house waiting for owners.

Here are a couple of photos to hold the grandmas over while I write Kate's seven month newsletter. Lately, everything goes in Kate's mouth, but that is especially true when it comes to the remote control. Dan started giving it to her to play with a few months ago when she was sitting on the couch one day. This was before the flood of drool that has come with her teething started. But now that she thinks it's her toy and is a fountain of drool, we often find ourselves wiping off the remote before we can use it. I'm sure the Direct TV people will be pleased when we request a new remote because ours are shorted out. On the upside, if she figures out how to work all the buttons, I'm going to put her in charge of programming the Tivo.

Dear Kate,

To start this month's letter, I have to break some unpleasant news to you: We here in the Wachdorf house cannot dance. It's true. Your dad and I are both kind of tall and gawky, and I learned a while ago, although unfortunately not before college, that if the Lord wanted tall, clumsy people to dance, he would have made us short and coordinated. This is bad news for you, because it means that probably once you're more than three feet tall, you aren't going to be as good a dancer as you currently are. You just don't have the genes for it. But have I mentioned how ridiculously cute you are dancing right now? Because that was my point.

A few weeks ago, during your bedtime routine, we started noticing that when we would sing the little songs we sing with you every night, you would sort of wag your upper body from side to side, like a person tied to a chair might do while trying to loosen the ropes. We thought maybe you were protesting your impending bedtime, or developing some kind of a tic. It never occurred to us that you might be developing rhythm, because neither of us has that, so where would you have picked it up? But over the next few nights, the wiggling got more pronounced and started to involve a lot of head movements and arm waving and we realized that you were getting down with your bad self.

And now for the other piece of bad news. It appears that you have terrible taste. Because while you will dance to just about any music we play, your favorite thing to dance to is ... the Chicken Dance song, as hummed by me. This one is my fault, because at some point when you could stand up on my lap, I started jiggling you back and forth and singing that ridiculous song and making you do the clapping part. And now, you think it is a riot. At least you'll be prepared for every wedding reception you will ever attend in the continental U.S.

On another musical note, it appears that I have a rival for your affections, and that is Rachel the Signing Time Lady. As I've written here before, you have these DVDs that teach you little songs and sign language. They are the only TV you are allowed to watch, and you don't want them that often, but apparently, you have started to recognize Rachel, who sings the songs. Rachel wears brightly-colored clothing and has really enthusiastic facial expressions. And you LOVE her. You are mildly interested in the footage of babies that is interspersed throughout each song, but as soon as the image cuts back to Rachel, you start squirming with glee. If you were at a rock concert, you'd be whipping out a little lighter to wave back and forth. And that's fine. But just remember: Rachel doesn't feed you or change your diaper, so you should still love me more than her.

This has been your month to discover the joy of fairly mundane objects. I already blogged about your love for the television remote, but you can also spend an hour in front of the mirror in our guest room, talking to that cute baby you see reflected.You don't understand how the mirror works, so every once in a while you start looking behind the mirror, where you obviously think the baby is hiding.

Here you are, ignoring your box of toys in favor of one of my measuring cups.

And this 99 cent rubber ducky has meant that I have to put a towel under my feet when I bathe you in the sink, because you get so excited playing with it that half the water ends up on the floor.

In spite of this, your daddy came home from work one day this month consumed with the idea of buying you a walker. Once it occurred to him, he just got in the car and went to Wal-Mart to get one. I followed him out into the garage, saying, "But wait, we're going to have dinner in 20 minutes!" He said he'd be back by then. And he was, with your new Disney Winnie the Pooh walker. I don't know what kind of spell you're casting on this man, but it's getting you lots of cool toys. You love the walker, even though you have only figured out how to drive it in reverse. Let's hope you are a little quicker on the uptake when it's time to learn to drive a car.

Perhaps the highlight of this month was the week when your Gam came to visit. Last month, I was blogging about how you are not particularly excited about people other than me holding you right now, but this month I'll have to eat those words and say that you are perfectly happy to let your grandmother hold you. I think it's because when a grandma is visiting, she's basically here to see you. So that means that during times when you would normally have to entertain yourself while I do something like, I don't know, shower, or eat, you can be held and entertained non-stop by someone who tells you how cute you are 12 times a minute. Who wouldn't love that? You got along famously with Gam. So well that on the morning she was leaving you were a screaming mess, and I had to change plans and have Dan come home from work to take Gam to the airport. I think the main reason for your fury had to do with teething, but the Gam Withdrawal in the next few days was pretty rough as well. I wish we lived closer so you could see each other more.

Overall, this has been a really great month with you. It's fun to see you develop your own unique preferences and quirks. You are funny and sweet and endearing, and every day I see you do some little thing or make some face that reminds me of your daddy or me or your grandparents or one of your aunts or uncles, and it amazes me to see how much we are all a part of you even while you are so clearly becoming a little individual.

But the dancing? I don't know where that came from.

I love you,
Mommy

The lighting in this video isn't that great, but you can clearly see Kate dancing. My favorite part is when she looks at Dan like "What are you laughing at?" and then goes back to head banging to this truly awful recording of "Old MacDonald" we found online. Why did no one ever tell me that having a kid would be this funny?

On Saturday, Dan and I cleaned out our garage. Earlier in the week, the garage door broke, and we had to call a repair service to come and fix it. You know how sometimes you stop noticing how awful something looks because you see it all the time? That's how I had gotten about our garage, because I was used to kicking cardboard boxes and piles of unshelved tools out of the way to get to and from the car. But when I took the repairman in there, I kind of saw it for how messy it really was, and I was embarrassed to be taking anyone in there, even a total stranger who I will never see again. So that is how Dan ended up getting recruited to help me clean it up on Saturday afternoon. He was thrilled.

We had settled into separate tasks - Dan was putting tools away and I was sweeping, and at some point I looked up to see Dan nonchalantly wearing this on his head:

This is actually a Bumbo Seat that Kate has outgrown, but Dan decided it would make a good garage cleaning hat. He wore it for at least 20 minutes, which was plenty of time for me to go get the camera, for which he smiled AND made a ridiculous face even though he had to know that I was going to post the picture on the Internet. If he has hasn't learned that by now, it's not my fault.

On Saturday, we're celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary. Five years sounds like a long time, and since these last two years have brought us our first house and our first child, I could be feeling like we've reached this new, mature stage in our marriage and are now officially old married people. In a lot of ways that is true, because having a baby does change everything, just like everyone tells you it will, and we have grown up a lot as people and in our relationship with one another since we got married back in April of 2003. But pictures like this remind me that deep down, Dan is still the same goofy guy I married five years ago, and that makes me really happy, because I love that guy.

So now, a vote: Since Dan is standing in front of his Texas A&M flag in this picture, should I email it in for use in the Aggie alumni newsletter as an anniversary prank? And if I do, what should my joke caption be? I am thinking something along the lines of "In his spare time, Daniel Wachdorf, Class of 2002, serves as Omniscient Ruler of the Order of Alien Ambassadors, whose members wear special hats to identify themselves as translators for lost space aliens seeking directions from earthlings."

If only we lived in Roswell.

If you're seven months old, this is how you choose a book to read.

Look around for whatever books are on the floor.

If it is bright and colorful, lean over and pick it up. This will take a while if it's a board book and kind of heavy. Be persistent.

Now the hard part. You can't read. So the only way you can tell if this particular book is any good is to ... put it in your mouth.

Personally, I like to read the first few pages and decide if the book is worth reading. But this system works for Kate, who, by the way, is wearing her "I love Daddy shirt" so Dan will know she misses him while he's gone on a business trip this week. I miss him too, but strangely, they don't sell a lot of T-shirts with "I love Dan" on the front.