Have I told the holly berry story? I can't imagine that I have, so I'll spill all now. When I was but a mere tot myself, my mother was a crafter, and we spent frequent afternoons in the local craft stores where I would be deposited at the little toy table designed for the children of patrons. Of course, I never stayed there for long, for the bins of pretty beads and legless dolls (crafters are a strange ilk) were much more fascinating that filthy, ten-year-old, mostly broken train sets. On this fated afternoon, I found a bin of holly sprigs, complete with enchanting little berries.

I can't explain my motives. After all, I was no more than four at the time. What I remember is pulling on my mom's sleeve and whining until she impatiently turned around to see what the matter was and discovered that I had inserted a holly berry deep into my nose.

No, I wouldn't blow it out. No, she couldn't reach it to pull is out. We ended up driving recklessly to the pediatrician, with me bawling and sniveling in the back seat. I can't even remember how the doctor finally extracted the berry. What I do remember is the spanking I later received for my troubles.

Of course, my little brother wasn't old enough at the time for the spanking to serve as much of a warning. When he reached that age, he approached my mom in the craft store and blithely stated, "I put a bee-bee in my ear." Mom didn't even try to fish the little metal ball out of Cory's ear; she simply deposited him in his car seat and made the same frantic drive all over again. Cory was sitting on the doctor's table, head bent to one side, the doctor's light shining down his ear canal, before he finally announced, "Just kidding!"

If memory serves, his spanking was far worse than mine had been.

I do have one thing working in my favor. I will be able to, in all honesty, tell Boss-Lady that this came as a complete surprise to us - after all, we weren't supposed to be able to conceive. I don't have to mention that we were about to take steps to get medical help in our efforts.

Oh, it's going to be messy. There will be quite a bit of hostility on her part, even if it isn't open. I know darn well that she's going to take every opportunity to snipe at me behind my back ("I can't believe she's doing this! Do you have any idea how much trouble we're going to have now? Totally inconsiderate!"), completely unaware of how very much this baby means to me. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to keep myself at least mostly unaware of the backbiting. Pretty unlikely, though. I just hope she manages to get over it in a month or two.

Eric has suggested that I offer to continue to maintain the library's website even after I leave my librarian position. I'd be happy to do that; after all, it's not a particularly strenuous job, and I'd like to continue to see it done at least semi-well. I suspect that I know what the answer will be, though; the library won't want to make the effort to pay an extra person to do web work. After all, they haven't compensated me for the extra work thus far; it's unlikely that they'll want to do so after I'm gone.

Most of the staff will be thrilled for me. I shudder to think about the segment that will harbor resentment over this. Oh, dear; I was never good at confrontation, and I know that's how the meeting will end up. Any words of advice?

I made a command decision that every wreath does not need to appear on the library's web page. My decision was not simply based on the fact that it was getting to be a pain in the neck, either. After all, it's not as though people would be able to bid online, without seeing what the last bid was. If anybody wants to argue the point with me, they'll have to find me first, and I'm getting pretty good at making myself scarce.

Just think of it as one more scolding that I'm attempting to evade.