What's in a name?

So my display name is Kimbers-Krizl.

My husband, upon reading my first entry of my new blog last night (after much prodding by me), asks me... 'Kimbers-Krizl?'

Yes, Kimbers-Krizl. A name given to me by Father Arnold several years ago when I served as an altar server.

He knew my first name was Kimberly, but wasn't as familiar with my last name. 'Who is your family?' he asked me, trying to figure out whose faces he had seen with me in the congregation before this first official meeting. 'My grandparents are the Krizls' I told him. 'Oh, the KRIZLS!' And that was that.

My grandparents have been devoted Catholics all their lives, and have been faithful members of the parish for decades, so it's no wonder that their name rings a familiar bell in the heads of many of the other parishioners and priests. Church is funny that way: there are many 'church families' that my family feels they know, simply due to the fact that we've heard their last name and seen their faces once a week for a few years or in some cases, a few decades. But at the same time, we wouldn't know most of their first names or anything else about them, besides the fact that they go to church. Who knows if they're super nice and volunteer every spare minute to serve hot meals at homeless shelters and pray the rosary together every night... or if they're completely whacked out and horrible people who just happen to get together every Sunday to go to church together in between bank robberies and drug deals... hmm. Maybe that's a part of the experience of attending mass that I never thought about: having faith that the people standing right next to your kid and your purse aren't going to snatch both, run out the door to the waiting get-away car, and send you a ransom note right after brunch.

Hello! My name is...

I'm new to blogging... obviously. This is my first post.

And I think it's a good idea to start off on the right foot, so I'm going to be completely honest here:
I have started a blog out of sheer boredom.

Now, this is not to say that my life is boring, in fact, far from it. Just my job. My utterly, completely, DESPERATELY boring job. To put it plainly and without getting into too much detail, I essentially spend eight hours a day (...make that seven, since I take a full hour for lunch everyday to go home and feed my four-month-old...) at my desk thinking of ways to pass the time. Now, I do have little bits of work now and then that keep me busy for a little while, but that still leaves me with a solid five to six hours of nothing-ness. So I've recently begun reading a number of very entertaining blogs that keep me sane and awake throughout the day, and I started thinking, this morning in fact, 'why can't I do that?' which I'm sure is what every blogger says when they decide to start a blog. Hence, the plethora of mostly-mediocre blogs out there full of ramblings about the uneventful events of everyday life which, let's be honest, only the authors and their mothers probably care about. ...And hence, I suppose, the surprising popularity of obscure 30 Rock references when it comes to naming a blog (which I discovered after five attempts at naming this blog... apparently there are at least five other fans of 30 Rock in the world.). So, to that plethora of mediocrity, I add another. And unless I'm more entertaining than I think I am (which I'm sure I'm not), I will be the only one reading this blog since my mother doesn't know how to use the internet.

Now, as I said, my life is not boring. I have a beautiful baby girl named Nora, who I love to death, and who I'm convinced will grow up to be quite a cheeky little girl. (Please note that I am not British, and therefore have no authority to use this term; however, I've always thought it was a great word and that it captures a quality lacking in its fellow American synonyms. Thank you to Thomas the Tank Engine and Shining Time Station for teaching it to me at such an impressionable young age.)

I also have a wonderful husband, who I've been married to for two years, although we've been together for ten years this month. True story: high school sweethearts and everything. We make each other laugh and have been through a lot together. He's great. And he's a great dad. As a real estate agent, he's able to work from home about 90% of the time, and is therefore a stay-at-home/work-at-home dad for Nora. I'm completely grateful for this and the fact that it saves us from having to deal with daycare, although I must say that I'm a little envious of him getting to spend so much time with her while I'm away at work (obviously very busy and doing Very Important Work Things) as she is definitely turning into a daddy's girl. I also must say that I'm a little worried about what else he may be turning her into... a Braves fan... a Ron Paul supporter... I may need to invest in a nanny cam.

And, we have a crazy dog. He was our first baby. Dundie is a spunky and slightly-terroristic 3 1/2-year-old American Eskimo (or 'Eski' to the dog people... note: he is a 'standard', and not to offend any mini- or toy-Eski owners, but that means he's the normal-looking kind of Eski. Not the kind with the googly-eyes. You know what I mean.).

Now, continuing in the spirit of full disclosure, I feel I need to mention that much of this blog will be written while pumping (as you remember, I have a four-month-old baby). I feel I need to mention this in case any one of you are uncomfortable with the idea of pumping breastmilk... although keep this in mind: I assure you that it is much more awkward and uncomfortable for me... as it only leaves me one free hand for typing. I mean think about how long this entry is. Honestly.