Welcome to drooly

I am in perpetual fascination of my baby's spit. It's honey-thick and viscuous. It hangs from her mouth like al dente spaghetti. And it's everywhere--on her clothes, on the toys she chews, and of course, on me. I want to bottle and save it. If it was marketable, I'd be rich. It's rich in digestive enzymes and it has glue-like properties! Surely there's a market for such a wondrous substance. And it doesn't look like there'll be a shortage anytime soon.

The strange thing is I've always been disgusted by spit. Just hearing the word loogie is enough to make me feel nauseous. Seeing someone "hock a loogie" makes me want to retch. (I work with adolescents, so this is something that I actually witness on a semi-regular basis.)

But drool is something entirely different. Think of how we use the word: "I'm drooling over that new dress at Anthropologie." "Chocolate makes me drool." We don't say, "Chocolate makes me spit." (Unless it actually does.) Drooling is a way of showing appreciation and desire. Drool also means nonsensical words, which much of my writing most certainly is.

So...drooly. I've wanted to start a blog to record events in my life of being a mother. I work as a reading specialist in a middle school and read a great deal of childrens' and young adult books, so I'll use this space to recommend titles which I and my children flip over. We also cook together and I hope to someday write down our favorite dishes to present to them when they move out on their own.I'll start that process here. Maybe others will find them drool-worthy as well.