Daring to Eat a Peach

. . . I'm discovering something that I never expected: parenting is something that you grow into. When I was pregnant with my son, I would sometimes wonder if we were ready for this awesome responsibility, but as the last fourteen months since his birth have gone by, I've realized that the demands of good parenting come in stages . . .

. . . As with anything worthwhile, being a full-time wife and mother requires sacrifice. It means putting the needs of my family before my own, being on-call 24 hours a day, and having less time to pursue personal interests. But to say that these sacrifices are degrading or personally impoverishing is a lie . . .

I have recently discovered the joys of baking bread. Ever since I was old enough to contemplate bread baking, I've regarded it as an arduous task requiring the better part of a day to complete. My grandmother taught me to bake when I was in junior high school, and anytime I needed a break from studying, I'd go to the kitchen, where I happily turned out cookies, pies, and brownies. But bread intimidated me . . .

"I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams." What a nostalgic phrasing of the Christmas spirit. But what if one's situation makes it more accurate to say, "I'll be home this year, but Christmas is only in my dreams"? That's how I feel right now . . .

This is my first blog. I decided to start one because I'm entering a phase of my life where I would like to write more. This seems like a logical place to start, especially since I haven't done a very good job of keeping in touch with many of my friends in the States since my move to Ukraine two years and eight months ago. So this is for all of you who are dear to me and for anyone else who cares to read, but mostly, it's for me. There'll be more soon, I promise, but for now, this is just a beginning, as the title says.