The neighbors have a new dog, a medium-sized lab-mix. He's a beautiful dog: blond, muscular, like a college swimmer from California at the peak of his form. My kids take this dog for a walk now and then, to help the neighbor and to enjoy a dog, since we don't have one yet. My kids have asked for a dog for years, pleading, sighing heavily when they see one on the street with its owner. They've wanted a lab or something like a lab. Mild allergies have us considering those poodle-mixes, like "Labradoodles" and "Cockapoos" and "Yorkipoos" and several other ridiculous-sounding combinations. The Labradoodle seems to be the most appealing, as they have the family-dog temperament of the lab and the hyperallergenic coat of the poodle. For some time now, the kids have been dreaming about Labradoodles.

The other day the older kids and a friend took the neighbor's dog for a walk. They were taking turns with the leash, and it ended up in the hands of one of the kids who doesn't have as much upper-body strength as the others. The two others took off running, causing the dog to yank on the leash and take off a top speed, muscles rippling like an Olympic athlete, dragging my daughter behind him--across the concrete driveway!

She came in limping and weeping, and we soon discovered she had some scrapes and scratches on her hip, elbow, knee and hand. After we got her all bandaged up, she was still sniffling. I said, gently, "After this, I can't help thinking about the size of the dog we might get someday. It makes me wonder if we should consider a smaller dog than a Labradoodle."

"I was (sniff) thinking (sniff-sniff) about Yorkipoos. (Sniff) I like (snuffle, swipe, sniff) those."

Yorkipoos are about the size of a tall man's dress shoe.

There is no possible way it could yank and drag an upper-elementary aged kid across a driveway.

We've invested a little bit of money and time into fixing up the house. We've torn down wallpaper and painted, we've picked up a piece of used furniture here and there and found some nice slipcovers and so on. In other words, I'm willing to concede that we haven't spent enormous sums of money, but we are happy with the way things look. The kitchen is a light blue with yellow and green accents here and there. It's kind of a cottage look, relaxed, airy.

Hence, here is the mother's dilemma: one of my kids has discovered some projects called "Mutant Freaks." These are kits consisting of a hideous creature with parts that can be attached with modeling clay per the creative choice of the kid-designer. My daughter has three and wants them on display in, of all places, the kitchen, the bright and airy blue kitchen, next to the cute blue candlesticks and spray of flowers in the white vase.

The Mutant Freaks have distorted eyeballs and globs of blood, horns, tongues, broken teeth, warts, you name it: if it's disgusting, there's probably a part that can be attached. She's delighted. She's proud.

They are on the countertop, front and center.

Sigh.

Last night I went with friends to hear Paul Rusesabagina speak. He's the man on which the film "Hotel Rwanda" was based. When he walked onto the stage, before anyone said a word, the audience burst into applause and gave him a standing ovation. He nodded, sort of a half bow, lowering his eyes. The clapping continued, and he half-bowed, then clasped his hands together in front of him, raising them slightly, toward us, toward those in the balcony, as a humble gesture of "thank you."

He gave us a brief history of Rwanda, so we could better understand what was behind the racism. It was the same as what I had read in the book We Regret to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families. Paul and the author of that book explained that there were few differences between Hutus and Tutsis, that they shared a common language, intermarried, and did not have different cultures. The Europeans, in order to divide and conquer, decided what they thought were different about them, and as they began drawing distinctions, they even issued I.D. cards that indicated the heritage of each person. The Europeans decided one race was superior and in this way, the troubles began.

Then Paul launched into his version of the story told in the movie, clarifying a few discrepancies between what the movie portrayed and his reality. For example, when he had his family and neighbors in the hotel van and was driving from his house to the hotel escorted by soldiers, there is a scene in the film where he gets to the hotel and within two minutes manages to successfully negotiate for the lives of those people in the van. The soldiers wanted him to kill them all, and he refused, then discussed how to save them. In reality, Paul said, it took place on the road before they even got to the hotel and the negotiating took two hours. Otherwise, it seems that the movie was very close to his reality.

He encouraged us all to write to our leaders, the President, even, because until Western countries step in and say, "No, this cannot be," there are going to be real-life events that could result in a "Hotel Darfur," for example. http://www.savedarfur.org/go.php?q=/HotelDarfur/HotelDarfurCampaign.html The same thing is happening right now in Sudan. And for years Congo has also been doing the same kind of inhumane killing. The figures are mind-boggling of those who have been killed in just a few years.

This is where I keep thinking about my sister-in-law's reminder that it doesn't take as many people as one might think to turn the tide. It just takes critical mass. If just a few people, a reasonably small percentage of people would write to the President and other leaders, and it kept happening, a wave of people writing and saying, "This cannot be," then we could reach critical mass.

Paul also stressed the need for education. Because of the displaced people and orphans and child-head-of-households and child soldiers, these issues and more are resulting in an entire generation of uneducated people. The kids aren't able to go to school, and education was key to bringing about future change. Sure people need their physical needs met, but they also need to learn in order to have the knowledge and understanding to lead the country in the future. They need to have jobs and pour back into the society that would be reforming. They need to have an education to negotiate.

It's easy to get overwhelmed and think, "What can I do?"

But I can do one, small thing. I can write a letter or two. It's not much, but it's a small step of hope. I hope for critical mass to roll over the White House lawn and impact the Oval Office. I read an article in a news magazine recently that said President Bush had seen the movie, was deeply stirred, and he wanted to do what he could. I think we should capitalize on that. I think I will in my letters. Who knows? We can hope.

Paul started a foundation. He, too, has hope.
http://www.rusesabaginafoundation.org/

I'm sitting on an exercise ball. It's a big silver ball I bought at Wal-mart at the recommendation of a friend who swears I'll see impressive results within a couple of weeks. The kids have enjoyed rolling around on it, trying out the exercises, and bouncing it around the house. I was told that if I blow it up big enough, I could sit on it while working at my desk. I'm trying that. I'd like to reshape myself as effortlessly as possible, and somehow the idea of sitting on a ball while working at my computer seems fairly effortless. It may also seem a little ridiculous...in fact, it makes me glad I work from home. I'm not sure how well it would go over at the office for Phil to take one in for a desk chair.

My friend suggested those exercise bands, too, but I decided to go one piece of equipment at a time. Once the ball proves itself, I'll invest in bands. With the weather improving, I'm also happy to be jogging again.

I was telling a friend of mine about my second meeting with Phyllis Tickle. "You mean to tell me," she began, "that you were on a plane for seven hours, one row in front of Phyllis Tickle, and didn't know it till the end?"

"Unfortunately that's right."

"You could have been chatting, getting to know her?"

"Um, yes, I suppose so, unless she was sleeping."

"Ann!"

"I know!"

"She writes for Publishers Weekly, you know?"

"Yes, I know!"

"I can't believe it."

"You're telling me. She'd be a good person to know."

"Well, she probably won't forget you ... the mom with the kids on the plane ..."

"... and the husband sopping up vomit."

Yes. Yuck. She'll probably remember that.

Well, we're back.

I didn't want to publish to the world that we were going to be gone for three weeks, you know, just for security reasons, but we were--we were gone for three weeks visiting my husband's family in Belgium and France. What an historic time to be in Europe, with the passing of the pope and Prince Rainier! Our time was spent with family, visiting a few interesting sites, and eating delicious Belgian and French cuisine.

I'm not sure if I can figure out how to include a photo, but I'll try.

Those who have followed my blogs for a while may find the following story particularly interesting.

On the longest flight, the seven-hour flight, we were pretty focused on keeping our kids entertained and content. In other words, my goal wasn't to get to know my neighbors in the seats around me. We were in fact exhausted because we had to get up at 5:00 a.m. to get to the airport on time, so even the trips to the lavatory, when I might otherwise look at the faces of fellow travelers, were pretty focused. I kept my head down and went straight back to my seat. I didn't study the people as I came and went. Our children did quite well the entire time, reading, relaxing, watching a movie. They were quiet and no trouble at all (except for a brief disagreement with the preschoooler).

On the descent, one of our kids was airsick, and we had to spend the taxi time mopping up with wet wipes and napkins. The people around us, whom I had previously ignored, were very kind, handing us anything with absorptive properties. The wait was long between the time we landed and the moment they opened the doors, so we were wiping and cleaning, and people started to lean over and interact with each other. Several people commented on how well our kids traveled. One lady leaned over the seats more than she had before, so I finally looked up and made eye contact. It was Phyllis Tickle! I had been riding ONE ROW in front of Phyllis Tickle for a seven-hour plane flight and didn't even notice! This is a writer I went out of my way to see at a writer's colloquium last year. At that event, she signed some books for me and we joked about being contemplative moms. I even have an embarrassing moment/misunderstanding joke that I tell my friends about meeting Phyllis Tickle that weekend that has to do with the praying of the hours and watch alarms.

Can you imagine my surprise? I exclaimed, "Aren't you Phyllis Tickle?!"

"Why yes, I am. I was thinking you looked a little familiar. How do I know you?"

I explained about the writer's colloquium and she seemed to remember me, especially when I mentioned the contemplative mom connection. She asked where I'd been, so I said my husband grew up in Belgium so were back visiting his parents and sisters and brother. I asked where she had been and she said she was in of all places, Rome, for a conference. Philippe looked up from wiping up vomit, said hello when I introduced them, and that was it. They opened the doors and she left.

I would be a terrible spy.

I read in Time magazine that a blogger got a press pass to the White House. Do you suppose I will?

The blogging phenomenon is so fascinating: Some people use their blog as a place to vent, others to keep an online diary, and still others to research and publish. It's that third camp that are going to get occasional press passes, I suppose. I'm still not exactly sure how to categorize my blogs. One friend asked me to keep writing stories, and I checked with the kids and they said that they are okay with my writing stories about them. They especially liked that I was being a little ambiguous about who was whom. They thought secret code names could be fun.

Other people have challenged me to use the blog as a place to "make a difference." Don't write about what I eat for dinner or what TV show I'm watching, they begged, "Write about something that will change the world."

What a challenge indeed! Can one little suburban mom change the world with, of all things, her blog?

I guess in a way I've attempted to do many things with this space--tell stories, share ideas, talk about what I've been pondering, write about what I eat for dinner and what TV show I'm watching, and occasionally write about something that I think might be a tiny change in the world. Well, I don't know about that. Even that understated comment seems presumptuous. The friend who challenged me is indeed doing some important stuff, helping the helpless. I can imagine that my blogs seem trite when she is doing truly important change-the-world stuff.

It does make me wonder, however, about the purpose of the blog.

Anyone have any ideas? Not about blogging in general, but about this blog? My blog?