A fairly big deal

The first Monday in April is a big deal in the newspaper biz, our own version of the Oscars except without fancy clothes or attractive people. It's the day they announce the Pulitzers, and today if you visit the right website -- say this one right here -- and follow the links to the explanatory reporting winner, you might notice this down at the bottom of the page:

Also nominated as finalists in this category were: Beth Daley of The Boston Globe for her evocative exploration of how global warming affects New Englanders, from ice fishermen to blueberry farmers, and the Staff of the Oregonian, Portland, for its richly illustrated reports on a breakthrough in producing the microprocessors that are a technological cornerstone of modern life.

It's the second part there that's important. It refers in part to this. And it means something pretty stupendous:

My little Judybat was a finalist for a Pulitzer.

Stop reading this

And go read this. Our North Carolina friends -- actually, they're friends of the world -- Lisa and Jacob are in China adopting their second beautiful not-quite baby girl. It's much more interesting, funny and heart-warming than anything I can tell you on this, our national day of NCAA mourning.

Congrats, guys. Two is so much harder than one, which it sounds like you're discovering already. But worth it. Most of the time. Except for that moment last night before dinner when both children decided it was time for a meltdown. That just sucked. Have fun!

the numbers game

I turned 39 a little while ago, and it was cause for celebration, because I keep thinking I'm in my 40s, and this was a reminder that I'm not quite there yet. It was not unlike last year, when I learned to my great delight that I was not, in fact, 38 going on 39, but 37 going on 38. It was like daylight savings, except instead of an hour, I got a whole extra year!

Actually, I'm kind of looking forward to 40. Clearly I don't have to worry about my memory going, since I don't seem to have one, and thanks to long-term back problems and ms, I'm used to feeling decrepit. Sure the added wrinkles are freaking me out a little bit, but the rewards of aging far outweigh the loss of elasticity.

Turning 30 was a great, because along with the big three-oh came more confidence in myself than I ever felt in my twenties, And now as I approach 40, I feel like I'm much better at recognizing what's important and what's bu!!$#*t. I can't wait to find out what added bonus 50 brings!

A friend of mine once told me a story about an old man. He said, "When I was young, I thought a tree was just a tree and a rock was just a rock. Then I got a little older and and saw that a tree was much more than just a tree, and a rock was much more than just a rock. Now I am older still, and I know that a tree is just a tree, and a rock is just a rock."

I feel like I know what that dude was talking about.

What really matters

I didn't lose my voice last night. Bruce was great, but I'm not the type to go nuts over any rock star, even the best of the best.

But tonight, I'm going hoarse and my hands are already sore from clapping. My boys were up by 12 at the half. Now they're up by 4 with 5:37 left. I am slightly drunk and very loud, with all sorts of very inappropriate language drifting down from the TV room to TheGirl's crib. Judybat and TheBoy are out being social, which is good, because nobody needs to see me behave this way. I say work is where I'm happiest, but that's not true. It's watching the Tar Heels, screaming at them to box out and hustle just a little more and play just a bit smarter.

A five point lead with 3:31 left. Make one more pass before you shoot, please?

At least Duke is gone already. Maybe it's the beer talking, but I think if we have another baby, we should use Tyler Hansbrough's sperm.

Judybat, is that OK?

Bruuuuuuuuce

For our 14th anniversary (the anniversary of our first kiss, that is - not to be confused with the up-and-coming 7th anniversary of the day we stood up in front of friends and family and got hitched) AR shelled out a ridiculous amount of money and got floor tickets for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Here are a few observations I made during the show:

1. Those guys - and girl - are old.
2. Those guys - and girl - can rock and roll.
3. The audience was old.
4. The audience was whiter than the state of Vermont.
5. It's fun to watch middle-aged white guys dance to 'Born to Run'
6. Steve Van Zandt is just as funny on stage as he was in 'The Sopranos.'
7. With all due respect to Clarence Clemons, nothing says 80s rock band like a wailing sax.
8. It's cool to hear thousands of people sing in unison.
9. It's even more cool to ride your bike a mile or two down the road to see Bruce Springsteen in concert.

THANK YOU PORTLAND AND GOODNIGHT!

His ancestors would be horrified

TheBoy was born in Raleigh, but we seem to have gotten him out of North Carolina before certain unpleasant Tar Heel traits took root. How do I know? This morning, as we were leaving his sister's daycare, he sniffed the air, frowned and let out this little pearl of little guy wisdom: "I smell a cigarette. That's disgusting."

Keep in mind that my parents both did a little time in the tobacco fields during their summer breaks, and that my first newspaper internship was in Winston-Salem, a place where the smell of tobacco still hangs in the air, sort of like chocolate in Hershey. A certain respect for Big Tobacco runs in his family, if not his gene pool. So I wanted to make sure I'd heard him right.

"Disgusting, really?"

"Disgusting."

"How do you know?"

"Well, Grandma smokes. And you say it's disgusting when she does it."

Yes, Mom, I do. TheBoy learns well.

Not quite the cruelest month

October used to be my favorite month. I'm a bit of a grey-scale girl to begin with, and there's just something about the smell of fall in Connecticut, the beginning of college basketball season, the end of baseball season. But now I'm a continent away, and older and wiser, and March is quickly gaining on my ranking of the best time of the year.

It's rainy and windy here right now, except when it's sunny, except when it's freezing cold and hailing. The variety pleases me. And there's something to be said for all the things going on right now: The occasional glimpse of sun and fun and Joba in spring training, the adrenaline rush of election season, this wacky life in which my small family celebrates both Purim and Easter on the same weekend. Noisemakers yesterday, colored eggs today, in other words.

And then there are moments like this one right here, sitting upstairs watching the Tar Heels -- knowing good and well CBS is going to cut away any minute because we're up by 24. TheGirl is sitting right next to me ripping apart the Sunday Times. TheBoy is eating jellybeans from an egg hunt. I'm acting like a true Portlander, drinking one of these and feeling the way I should feel after half a glass. Slightly tipsy and very pleased with the world, in other words.

Happy holiday, everybody.

I'm not an addict

I gave up caffeine on August 26, 2006, in preparation for the effort to get knocked up. I figured it was better to kick the habit before the stress of trying to conceive really kicked in, and to give myself as much time as possible. I went cold turkey, and I suffered through four days of -- I kid you not -- vision-blurring headaches.

Friends told me I was stupid to give it up completely, but I knew two things: First, I lack the willpower to slowly wean myself off anything. It's got to be all or nothing. Second, I knew cutting the caffeine entirely would be horrible -- so bad that I would never, ever want to go back.

I was right. Or at least, I was, up until now.

Regular coffee is calling to me. And real Diet Cokes. And maybe the occasional, adult Coke, in the pretty red can, with all that sugar.

The other morning I made a pot of coffee that was half-regular, half-decaf. Twenty minutes later I felt the oddest sensation: Awake. The colors of the world were more vivid, maybe because my eyes were actually wide open. My brain couldn't keep up with all the stuff I wanted to accomplish. I felt like myself, only myself two or three or 10 years ago. Eager, energetic, maybe even happy.

I'm not going back completely. At work, it's still caffeine free Dike Coke -- I know all about the brain tumor I'm giving myself, thank you, but I figure the one I'm getting from cell phones will be bigger. After 10 a.m. or so, I'm solely a decaf kind of girl. But I've started adding at least a spoonful or two of the good stuff the pot in the morning, a little jump start to the day.

It feels good, even though I know better. I'm in complete control of my habit. Really. I swear. Pass the half and half.