Smudgie has arrived

Smudgie has arrived.

After 39 hours of labor...yep, 39...he finally made his appearance via c-section. All that kickboxing he'd been doing had landed him with his cord wrapped twice around his neck and he couldn't descend fully. But he's here and weighed in at 7 pounds 3 ounces and 21" long.

We're home now after some difficulties with feeding. Smudgie couldn't figure out how to use either the bottle or the breast. We were using a syringe and trying to tach him to suck. Finally I realized he was sucking the pacifier someone had given him. So we found nipples the same NUK shape as the paci and he immediately began to feed just fine with no more vomiting.

I adore the picture above. Unfortunately that's not been the general response of our dogs. George snuffled him, seemed to think he wasn't as important as everyone else seemed to think and went back to watching out the window. Gracie, while excited, just sits and watches him. Shiloh has decided that we are idiots and she has to make sure we know what we're doing. Every time he makes a peep, she runs to us. If we aren't standing directly next to him, she tries to herd us to him. She also growls when the other dogs get too close to Smudgie.

Wendell isn't a happy camper. He grabbed hold of the hem of Smudgie's sleeper sack and tried to pull him out of my arms. Luckily Wendell weights all of 10 lbs. He also has tried to climb onto my lap repeatedly when I have Smudgie.

We'll figure it all out. It's scary and a bit surreal. I'll probably blog more about that later. But I do wonder when I'll ever find time to write again.

But Anny Cook has a release coming up at Ellora's Cave, Sandra Cox had a recent release at the Lotus Circle and Kelly Marstad and Jenny Beans always have great things for us so run over and check them out.

I Do Not Talk Funny

I find myself saying this on a regular basis. Usually to my SO, but from time to time to others as well. It seems that though I am currently residing in a place where people "mash" buttons, "might could" do things or are "fixin ta" do things I still "talk funny."

I grew up in south central Illinois. (And just for the record, the s is silent.) Anyway, the region where I grew up was near some of the larger coal mines. When the mines in West Virginia, Tennessee and Kentucky failed, many of the miners relocated their families to portions of Illinois and Indiana. It wasn't until many, many years had passed that I realized that those people had had an impact on the way we speak.

I was teaching a unit on a book called Dovey Coe. This is the story of a young girl in the North Carolina mountains who is accused of murder. As I was researching the Appalachian dialects, I began to notice something. The very speech patterns they were identifying were present in mild forms in my speech and that of the people where I grew up.

While teaching Across Five Aprils (my favorite Civil War era book) I learned that yes, just like in the book, many of the people of Kentucky and Tennessee had moved into our part of Illinois and some families were divided during the war with one son fighting for the Union and one going back home to fight for the Confederacy.

We'd always heard people from Northern Illinois accuse us of having a "Southern accent," but dismissed it. It turns out they were wrong, and not wrong. People from where I grew up have an odd blended dialect that resembles mountain talk. Some examples:

We have words for some things that are different in ways that don't fit the regional differences:

fireflies= lightening bugs

ghosts =haints or haunts

valley =holler

cabinets=cupboards

bowl or plate =dish

We say somethings differently:

across (sounds like) across-t

wash (sounds like) wa-r-sh

squirrel...two syllables? Nope. Just one. squrrl

hoop (sounds like) hup

roof (sounds like) rough

hoof (rhymes with rough)

And my editor has helped me notice that my writing and speaking style has an odd sense of formality to it, and older pattern of words, that she rearranges from time to time. I remember a lengthy conversation about how it had to be "an herb" not "a herb."

My point? A lesson in patience I guess. The next time one of my colleagues "might-could be fixin ta mash that there button." I'll just smile and shut up.

Oh, and meet the most beautiful newborn little girl in the world. Carly Georgette has officially made me a great-aunt. And anytime that starts to bother me, I just remind myself that makes my younger sister Staci a grandmother.