For any of those who are keeping track, I did finish knitting Chad's warm and fuzzy scarf in time. He seems to be very happy with it, so I'm happy that he's happy. No big knitting project in plans yet. For now I'm just going to knit some dish and wash cloths to practice different stitch designs.

The new mice are slowly growing in their baby fuzz and venturing more and more out of the nest. On my last count attempt, I think I spotted seven mice. Tomorrow night I'm planning on freshening up their tank and getting a closer look at the babies. Early on, before their fur really grows in (they're still kind of naked and pinkish) the easiest way to determine the girls from the boys (prior to sexual maturity) is by their nipples. You learn something new every day :)

One of my mice, Alex, gave birth early this morning. I didn't even notice she was pregnant until late last week, until then I had just thought she was pudging up faster than Cinnamon. Alex must have had quite an affair in the pet store before I bought her.

What fascinates me is how Cinnamon has been helping to care for the newborns, as if her maternal instincts kicked in as soon as the babies appeared. She grooms them and lies with them to keep them warm, taking turns with Alex tending to them. Initially I was worried that Cinnamon might pose a threat, but instead she's turned out to be as good as a mother as Alex has.

At this point, I'm not sure how many mice are in the litter. I won't be able to disturb them, even to clean their tank, for at least five days to be safe. I know that there are at least five of them. And most importantly I have about a month before the boys need to be seperated from the girls, otherwise my mice may multiply exponentially.

My sister-in-law never really understood how my brother and I could just sit quietly and watch fish in the aquarium. There's something very calming about watching fish glide through water, especially when they are yours. Well, except for Pete, a monsterous scary looking pleco algae eater who I swear will one day sprout legs and suck out people's eyeballs. There's nothing calming about watching Pete suck glass. Anyway, I feel the same fish tank calm watching my mice interact with each other. Sometimes when I'm watching them I turn to Matt and tell him, "I love my mice." He usually doesn't really say anything back, maybe just nods or something like that, I don't think he really understands.

Turns out my mother is subscribes to the idea that women should wear a skirt or even a dress to interviews. She also had recommendations on my foot wear, ideally she'd like to see me hoof around to interviews in pumps. I listened to her advice, but it's not likely to happen. For interviews, I'm a pants and mules kind of girl. Looking at other interviewees in waiting rooms, I'm certain that I'm dressed appropriately, sometimes more than appropriate when walking through an office workplace filled with cargo pants and tank tops. I think my mother is thinking back to what I wore to class. She was horrified when she learned that her daughter, a graduate student, was going about in a t-shirt, shorts, and rubber slippers. Or maybe she'd just rather believe that it's the clothes that just aren't up to par instead of her daughter.

A helpful hint for those who need to move bulky and heavy objects: Don't laugh at the person on the other end struggling because she's likely to start laughing too, which results in many stops and starts of couch moving. Matt thinks I need more muscles, but if I were as muscular as he is I don't think he'd find that very attractive.

We haven't really done anything with the space. I tossed in some floor pillows and it's become a sort of spot for reading and lounging. If we end up buying a piece of furniture for the space, I'd rather have a chaise lounge than a couch. I don't think we will anytime soon, I rather like the openness of the space.

Lately, I've been itching to get rid of our couch. Matt got it several years back when a friend's grandmother was getting rid of some of her old furniture. The table that I'm sitting at right now was also one of those pieces, but, unlike the couch, has held up well over the years. We don't even sit on the couch anymore, instead we pile up our stuff on it: clothes, shopping bags, mail, newspapers, books. Whenever I misplace my keys the first place I start looking is in the couch pile. Neither of us are really sure what we'll do with the remaining area, but we both agree that it would be nice to have some extra space.

On Sunday, Matt brought home a pair of aquatic turtles from the swap meet. They don't have names yet and will remain nameless until Matt gives them names. They're in their own tank next to his guppies, which don't have names either. I have a feeling that they will all forever remain nameless.

...

Just spoke with Matt. We're tossing the couch in the morning!

Yesterday Matt took me out to Pet's Discount Warehouse to find some new mice friends. At the store we paused to play with the many rabbits they always seem to have and briefly played with the idea of having an aquatic turtle. I picked up two female mice, a sweet brown one and a tempermental black and white one. They're named Cinnamon and Alex, respectively. In the car I had asked Matt if he wanted to named one of them and he threw me one of his "are you kidding me?" looks. It seems he relegates the task of naming pets as a girl thing.

Tonight we're meeting my family mother's day dinner. Apparently neither my brother or father wanted to cook for the two mothers, so they decided to eat out instead. Which also resulted in a phone call a couple of weeks ago informing me: dinner, mother's day, buffet, bring Matt if possible.

Matt and I are giving my mother the requisite mother's day card and a Waldenbooks gift card. She loves to read and shared that love for books with me at an early age. I remember as soon as I was able to write my own name, she took me to get a library card. As a result my old green Hawaii State Library card has a very funny looking "J" leading a string of wobbly letters.

For all the mothers who are reading this, happy mother's day.

I have a picture of Sarah on Sophie's tank. She's sitting in a nest of her stuffed animal friends caught in a moment of laughter and clapping her hands. The photo was taken shortly after Easter of last year. She's wearing a hat she received in one of her baskets and the only way that we were able to make her not pull it off her head the moment it was placed on was to praise her for wearing it and clap for her. She would get happy and excited when praised with clapping (as she does still) and would immediately join in. And I feel happy just looking at the photo.

In yesterday's mail I got the invite to her birthday bash (along with a rejection letter regarding the previous mentioned job position). My niece is already turning two and I still haven't gotten used to being an aunt.

I talk in my sleep. When I was younger I would walk and talk in my sleep. And unlike what the media portrays of sleepwalkers, we don't wander aimlessly with our eyes shut. We walk about as if we were awake, but some are not as responsive as others.

Almost everyone that I know, after they've figured out that I'm sleep walking or talking, would ask me questions. I think partly out of curiousity and partly because they suspect that the sleeping me will be more forthcoming than the awake me and spill all of my secrets or something like that. I don't really know because I have no memory of anything that happens and I have to pry information from the person who tells me the next morning, "You were talking in your sleep."

Last night was the first night that I can recall on my own that I was sleep talking. I was dreaming that I was talking with someone and answering a question, when all of a sudden the dream became confusing because I heard Matt's voice asking, "Are you dreaming?" And then I realized that I was and I must have been talking out loud, not just in my dream. I remember looking around hazily in my dream and saying, "Yes." And then I must have fell back into a dreamless sleep because I don't remember either actually waking up or the dream continuing on. The next morning, Matt confirmed that I was sleep talking and he asked me if I was dreaming.

I wonder what I would have done if I had been able to hold onto that moment of lucid dreaming. Are people really able to control their own dreams? If I could I don't know if I'd want to. I think it takes away from the experience. I like being immersed in my dreams feeling it as real. I think for me lucid dreaming would be like reading fiction while consciously reminding yourself this is a work written by [whoever the author is] instead of letting yourself simply go for the ride.