I am pro-babble. This is not a news flash for old chums and family, who have grown to tolerate (or flee! as the case may be) my propensity to lard on the words. Verbose. Prolix. Loquacious. That’s me.  Why say something once when you can find two or three ways to repeat the same idea, I sez! Repeatedly!

But this week I’m pro-Babble: the capital-B kind.  Two different juries of my peers gathered by that website have seen fit to honor what I’ve been doing online with recognitions.  [Point of info: Babble is a widely-read resource website "for a new generation of parents."]  The honorifics (and the attendant challenge I feel to retroactively actually earn them) couldn’t have arrived at a better time, relative to the ebb and flow my work life.  For the past nine months it has been gushing, rather than flowing, and dadgum it I think it’s about to ebb for the first time since I started it.  Enter, stage left, in the after-work hours: much-neglected writing life!

Babble Honorific #1: I was named one (okay, 47th) among Babble’s 50 Top Twitter Moms.  I wanted to turn right around and at least Tweet my thanks.  But when the news hit, I was still too busy chasing around after my work with buckets and mops (c.f. recent gusher imagery).   I think in actuality I was flying cross-country with some buckets and mops, and was just running out of battery juice on my laptop when I read the email.  To be 47th in a group of 50 is a delightful combination of fortunate and humorous.  It’s more humorous than 48th or 49th, since those numbers have some cachet.  You know, one’s an even number, which is always cool, and the other’s almost-50.  But forty-seven is just, well. Sitting there.  Hopeful. Feeling lucky to be there.

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