Saturday, October 21, 2017

A Really Odd Day

Yesterday was a strange day.

School was fine, everything was pretty low-key and normal there (versus Thursday, where there was drama galore).

I received a text from my father that my grandfather, my Papaw, had passed away in the afternoon. He'd gone into hospice on his birthday (Wednesday) after a battle with Alzheimer's. Which is a nasty, nasty disease. I knew this news was coming soon, but it was REALLY soon. It was a conflicted sort of feeling -- he was released from his pain and shell-like state as Alzheimer's had robbed him of so much of himself, but we lost him.

I beat myself up hard for not going to my grandmother's 80th birthday party in August, which we'd bowed out of because it was a) in Kentucky and b) we'd just gotten back from our California trip the weekend before, so to hop back on a plane or drive 10ish hours seemed daunting, and c) I really needed to get ready for the new school year which was just 2 1/2 weeks away. So I didn't go. But that would have been my last chance to see my grandfather, and everyone who traveled for it had that moment with him. A lot of my family on my dad's side lives pretty close -- within an hour, maybe three at the most -- so they could get together more often. I haven't been out that way since 2010, when we had a family reunion and Bryce and I could come.

I remember his voice on the phone the most, when he was still able to be conversant. He loved listening to baseball games on the radio and was a terrific cook. He had a great sense of humor and when I was little loved to terrify me and my cousins by popping out his partial dentures. I learned to scale a fish from him (I don't enjoy fishing, but there was something compulsive and satisfying about stripping the scales from a fresh-caught fish with the scaling knife and seeing them fly... not unlike peeling chickpeas, although less humane). He was funny and loved all the grandchildren (and many great-grandchildren) and I am so, so sorry that I missed a chance to see him before he left us.

                                                *           *            *

After finding my principal and giving him a heads up that I'll need to be out for a funeral sometime in the near future, I came home early (well, for me). I was pretty sad and I wanted to help Bryce with the new dining room table that arrived that day. It is gorgeous, and it is so neat to have a "grown up" table set. The one we had before was counter-height and from Target, bought when I thought I might live in an apartment by myself for a little while (but instead lived at my parents' house before they moved there full-time and then just moved in with Bryce since I was basically living there anyway). This one we bought at a local craft festival in August, and it was hand-crafted in Pennsylvania to order and then delivered yesterday. I wanted to share my table but it seemed somehow in poor taste, while everyone was writing poignant posts about the loss of my grandfather, to be like, "LOOK! We got a purty new table!" Here it is though, because it is quite purty:

It has four leaves -- two 6" and two 12" -- and so it extends out to a ridiculously long length. Which is nice in case we host a holiday again in the future. No more foldable buffet table (unless we use that for the food, ha).

We also had plans to go to this reenactment of a 19th century seance, at the very spoooooky community recreation center. Bryce wondered if that was best given the day, but I was like, "This is our anniversary month, and we pick out weird things to do, and I am not missing the seance." It was a little weird to leave school and tell a coworker that my grandfather had just passed, and that I was going to a seance, but those two things were unrelated. I really wonder if there's something wrong with me sometimes.

The seance was AWESOME, because it was done completely in the dark by only the glow of the (battery-operated) candles. When we first walked in it was sketchy -- there were room dividers covered in black plastic tablecloths and it looked a bit like a party room in a nursing home, but once they turned out the lights it was great. The people came in dressed in clothes of the mid-1800s and it showed how they would do the bells ringing and the table thumping and all kinds of wacky stuff. It was advertised as "Not appropriate for children 12 and under" so we were like, "YES! It's going to be something without little kids everywhere!" Not that we don't love little kids, but sometimes Halloween can be challenging what with all the babies photographed in pumpkins and little trick-or-treaters we'll never have of our own and all that. Well, the seance was definitely kid-free, but it was also people-free...we were the only ones at the 6:00 show (they did it every half hour). But outside the room? BABY AND PREGNANT PEOPLE CENTRAL. Apparently it was the same night as the Halloween Festival, with a costume contest, hayrides, indoor trick-or-treating, photobooths, and young families galore. So that held a certain sort of irony.

We went from the seance (and the sea of bellies and tiny butterflies, lego people, elephants, and pumpkins) to our favorite Mexican restaurant. We ran into a bunch of people we knew, and then sat down to eat our delicious food and margaritas, while having a very intense conversation about health proxies, wills, and living wills. Very, very cheery.

But, while talking to a friend we ran into about the seance, this table across from us of older ladies perked up and one said, "I hear you have an interest in the spiritual!"

It turns out they were all here for a spiritual fair at the local Shriner's center, which is going on today and tomorrow, and they were palmists, people who can talk to your "spirit guides," and essential oils purveyors (that one confused me a bit). We must have looked skeptical because the palmist offered a short free reading for each of us, if we would tell our friends and stop by the fair. And so in one day my grandfather passed away, we received a new table, we went to a seance, and we got our palms read over dinner.

Some of it was accurate, and some was questionable, but that's how that goes, right? I'm always interested in that sort of thing but don't put a ton of stock in it. There was no gobbledegook about children though, which I appreciated. It was more about our personalities and what we do for a living, which was accurate as hell (but Bryce very cynically said she could have listened in on our conversations to get that information, too, in a general sense -- but why would someone go to dinner with their friends just to listen in on everyone else on the odd chance that they might read a palm or two?). I will say I'm intrigued. I've had my tarot cards read before, and had a psychic reading once that was eerily accurate on things far in the future. Maybe I'll stop in if I can find someone else willing to spend money on what could very well be hooey.

We went home after sharing a plate of fried plantains and crema (okay, I had most of them and Bryce had two), and watched a stupid movie from the 80s (High Spirits) and then fell asleep hard.

A strange day, no?

My Papaw, a long, long time ago.

Monday, October 16, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: Home Sweet Home

Every once in a while, we go looking at houses that catch our eye, because we can't quite decide what to do with ours. Most recently, last weekend (well, the weekend before this one) we went to see a house that seemed absolutely perfect from the listing -- it had ALL THE THINGS (a porch, a private looking backyard, a newer kitchen, a finished attic, a first floor laundry, three bedrooms, office space for both of us, and a kickass location where you could walk to a village and a library and shopping and a movie theater and also the canal path). It really looked amazing.

The key word is "looked." After we saw it in person, we could see all the things that were awful -- the backyard was private to the back but woefully open and viewable from the sides (and one neighbor was exceedingly creepy); the basement had two sump pumps and a water track; the kitchen was newer but in disrepair; the rooms were as small as our rooms; the closet space was nonexistent; the awesome giant garage addition was offset weird and the bonus room space was only accessible from the second floor bathroom window (!); the basement smelled as though it was saturated in cat piss; the porch was also in disrepair -- this was not a house that was loved.

We need a house that is loved. And, quite honestly, we love our house.

So why do we keep looking?

I always thought that if we ended our journey childfree, that I'd want to move. That I'd want a house that was free of counters that had seen injections, free of space that had seen mourning over losses, free of ever having had a nursery that we put together (and then tore down).

Except... we redid our kitchen, so the counters are new. We bought all new living furniture, so the couch that held me wailing is gone and replaced with more joyful upholstery. The nursery was transformed into my office, which is definitely one of my favorite places in the house -- not at all tainted by what it once was.

We made a big list after this last house coveting adventure, and decided that we can make a first floor laundry for this house, and we can try to get a 4-season sunroom/family room addition on the back. Our needs have changed since we last looked at an addition and we don't need to do a two-story jobbie. We love our neighborhood. We love our neighbors. We love our gardens and outdoor spaces. We love our kitchen, and living room, and offices, and bedroom... every time we look at another house we always end up feeling like our house is somehow better.

Because it is. And keeping it will give us greater financial flexibility -- buying a new house would be definitively more expensive than what we have now (and what we have now is 15 years down on a 30 year mortgage, and the possibility of paying the whole thing off sooner than later), and if we stay here we could have the flexibility to travel more (and do it up), to look into the possibility of a lake cottage or something down the line, and to have the glory of not overextended ourselves for a house that has more space than we ultimately need.

So is it because we want a change somehow? Are we putting our want for a new direction into the wrong place? It's possible. It's strange to have been in this place of striving for something that didn't come, and now to be like, "um, now what?"

It's nice though to realize that we don't have to move to find that fulfillment, that we can enjoy what we have and make it even better and then decide where we want to go from here, knowing that we have our home sweet home.

All decked out for the season, loving the fall light

Love our home! Heh heh heh
Want to read more #Microblog Mondays, maybe ones that are actually playing by the rules and are micro? Go here and enjoy!

Sunday, October 15, 2017

And Do You Have Kids?

All ready to be fancy for the night

Bryce and I went to a ball Friday night. It was in the gussied-up fieldhouse of the college where he went and is pursuing his doctorate, and it was the President's Alumni Ball -- we were invited through corporate relations, and we knew pretty much NO ONE at this event. But, I mean, how often do you get to go to a ball?

There were some really awesome things -- a bhangra dance performance, an all-male a capella group that serenaded us hilariously as we walked in the orange carpet and then solemnly sang the alma mater song after the bhangra dances, free wine (that may or may not have been a good thing), entirely gluten free entrees (but not so much with the hors d'oeuvres or desserts), and after dinner and presentations you had a choice -- dance, or play at the ginormous arcade setup they had ringing the cocktail area. We played pinball machines, shot millipedes from tiny spaceships, shot dinosaurs in a Jurassic Park jeep thingie and I raced Bryce on a motorcycle in my fancy-ish dress, which wasn't very ladylike but whatever. It was fun.

At dinner, we sat with the corporate relations people and a few other corporate-y people who were alumni. Once we sat down and you could chat, it became clear that everyone there had something in common -- three or more kids. In high school, or college, or the military, but it IMMEDIATELY went to "as a mom" type statements and "treasure the days" and "poor guy, all we had was three girls" type ilk. I may have drained a glass in one sitting during that small talk, leaving my delicious short rib without accompaniment. Whoops.

And sure enough, one of the people turned to us and said, "And do you have little kids at home?" I guess I should feel a little better that we appeared clearly younger, and even though I knew, just KNEW that going to an event where you're going to be sitting with strangers this would come up, I felt a little stuttery.

"No, that didn't work out for us." (Not a bad answer, right?)
"Oh, I'm sorry."

And then I had this strange feeling that I needed to make the person feel better, because I inexplicably said, "Thanks, but you know, we love kids, and I'm a teacher."

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? I mean, it was good because it deflected the conversation and it turns out that he has kids at my middle school, but why did I feel like I had to soften things? And I HATE it when other people say "Well, you're a teacher, so it's like they're all your kids" because in what universe is a good consolation prize a ton of 13 year olds? And wouldn't it be kind of inappropriate if I Mom'd my students, like the worst kind of boundary-crossing? That's not my role. It's a nurturing role for sure, but it doesn't replace the fact that I won't have children of my own to raise. So why would I have basically made that connection FOR someone?

Desperation, probably.

Eventually the discussion wound its way back and the gentlemen who opened Pandora's Box let me know that he and his wife had a hard time, as well, and they weren't willing to consider adoption because the process just seemed so heartbreaking and difficult. So I shared that yeah, we tried with IVF for over 5 years and then spent 2 1/2 years in the adoption process, and it sure as shit is heartbreaking and difficult and the toll for us was too great. And then he said,

"But you never know what could happen -- we ended up pregnant unexpectedly and then were shocked when we got pregnant again -- anything can happen!"

And I let that go. I just said, "We decided that we are enough as a family of two and we'll put our energies into that life" and, despite the free-flowing cabernet sauvignon, I did not tell the tale of woeful biology and broken body parts and the complete impossibility of ever having a whoops pregnancy. I think sometimes people feel better if they think that they've given you hope, even though for us hope came finally in the letting go of that possibility so we could focus on the rest of our life.

In the end we had a great night out together and didn't feel like sad saps at all. We went home to our cats and didn't have to pay a babysitter and drive him or her home...we could just get into pajamas and have some tea and go to bed. It doesn't take away from our grief to enjoy the life we actually have, even when we're reminded that things didn't turn out quite the way we'd hoped during dreadful small talk with strangers.

Monday, October 9, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: "As A Mother," Fixed

I was listening to NPR the other day, and they were interviewing a woman who kept trying to help out in Las Vegas. She said that she tried to give blood, but they were set for the time being, she asked if she could bring snacks or water or anything to the first responders/hospital staff, and was told to try again later. It's a wonderful thing, seeing how such abject tragedy can be met with incredible human spirit and a desire to help and come together.

As they interviewed her, she said, "As a mother..."

and I groaned inwardly and rolled my eyes. Because of course, only a mother can feel the pain of tragedy, only a mother can be truly scared of the current state of the world for the sake of her children, only a mother REALLY has a stake in humanity or has something to live for when bad things happen.

But then...

"As a mother, wait. As a sister, a daughter, a niece, an just want to make it better, you just want to help where you can do something [or something along those lines, forgot the exact wording]."

And just like that, a statement that instantly creates a divide between women who are (implicitly) more capable of nurturing and caring and feeling a responsibility for the state of humanity for the future and women who are childless and so perceived as somehow less invested, that statement was instantly much more inclusive; she was speaking as a WOMAN and not a MOTHER, because she recognized even in the midst of horrible tragedy that they aren't always the same thing but that we can all be equally concerned and helpful.

Thanks, lady on NPR.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Saturday, October 7, 2017

Rethinking My Tattoo

A while ago I was thinking on a tattoo that would represent my infertility journey.

I haven't gotten it yet, as I like to really think on tattoos before getting them since getting one I totally regret in my mid-twenties that is now covered with a nice, badass dragon.

Love this guy. Irritated that the stupid effing monkey is popping through a bit, but that's nothing a little more black ink can't fix... And maybe it's okay that you can see it swallowed by the dragon. Heh. 

I don't regret the dragon. I don't regret the snake I got when I was 24.

She's above my right ankle, on the inside. Love her. 

I really wanted to think on what I want to get next, since I plan on it being fairly large and intricate, covering my left shoulder/back.

My original thought was a dandelion with fluffies that represented all 35 of our embryos, 2 fluffies replaced with monarch butterflies to represent our pregnancy losses, and 8 fluffies headed in a westerly direction to represent the 8 embryos that went to the couple who adopted them through Snowflakes.


Do I want to map my back out with all my losses? I mean, I carry them with me everywhere I go anyway, so is that really necessary?

I decided, no. No it's not.

I'd rather focus on how I've emerged from this journey than be mired in the muck, beautifully symbolic as it could be with the dandelion and the butterflies. This was a decision that may also have been influenced by the first set of our embryos failing with the couple despite a new uterus. That's nothing but sadness and wishes that were left unfulfilled.

So here's the new idea: 

I want a phoenix, and instead of flames (or maybe in addition to flames), there are orange monarchs. Or maybe monarchs incorporated into the phoenix. I want the phoenix in black, and the flames/monarchs in color. And I want it across my left shoulder. I have a secret Pinterest board, and I have been pinning ideas like mad over the past couple days. I think I'm ready to take the plunge and have this go from conceptual to actual.

Because I'm a phoenix, rising from the ashes of a failed journey to parenthood to redefine my life. I'm forever marked by my experiences, but I can rise up and create beauty from the fire. It's got metamorphoses, transition, pain, and beauty all in one.

Here's some designs I liked a lot, lifted from Pinterest, and just replace the butterflies with monarchs and add some flames:

Like the incorporation of the butterflies into the phoenix, but the bird itself is a bit simple for my tastes. (image saved from "OnSugar" on Pinterest)
I like the design of this phoenix better, but flipped to the left (since left shoulder placement), and add in the butterfly(ies) somewhere and flames below.  (Image saved by "Loredana Pacello" on Pinterest, no other credit could I find)
And finally, this is the butterfly I found that I liked, color and everything. Don't mind the music either, but that's another tattoo for another day... (saved from "" on Pinterest)

I think this might be my Christmas present to myself. Now to go book an appointment over a long weekend...

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Strengthening the Ghosts

School has been very busy lately. Good busy--it's a great year so far with a really sweet group of kids -- but I feel like I am never quite all the way on top of things. I'm not behind per se, but I wish there were a sneaky extra hour of the day in the middle where I could get some more paperwork done, or call parents, or finally print things out in one of just a couple color printers left in the building.

The other day I had two students up for lunch, and they chatted with me as they finished their food and got ready to do some math (and I was frantically putting together the lesson for Work Lab 9th period, since that is a total reactionary gig based on whatever needs reteaching from what we saw that day). These two students are very sweet and come up virtually every day, but they are genuinely working on stuff and asking for extra help, so how could I ever say no to that? For the sake of simplicity, let's call them George and Betty.

Here's what went down:

George says, "Do you have kids, Mrs. ___?"

"Nope, no I don't. We wanted them very, very badly, but it just never worked out no matter what we did."

"GEORGE! She totally told us this in her Who I Am thing at the beginning of the year! Jeez!" Betty was mortified.

"It's okay," I said.

"Well, did you have names all picked out?" George continued on, possibly missing out on some vital social cues.

Ah. Why yes, yes we did.

"We did, George. We did."

"Can you tell me what they were?" (Before you get mad at George, remember that my students often don't always have a great sense of what's appropriate, and it was actually  touching to have him be so interested.)

I pause. Could I do this without turning into goo?

"I don't see why not, it's not like they're ever going to be used by us." And so the prickly, burning feeling starts behind my eyes.

Because we never really told anyone our names. And with the names out there, the loss is somehow more palpable. It's like an odd sort of haunting -- with a name you can imagine what might have been, and there's this diaphanous ghostchild attached to it, a specter of what might have been, something more tangible than "Mystery Baby" or "Future Baby."

I told them the names.

And I did not cry. For which I do believe I should receive some kind of massive pat on the back, because I really felt like crying. And I did cry, later in the evening, when recounting the story.

Bryce was a little horrified, because the names have always been sacred. We've kept them so close for so long. And now they are just whispers in the wind, forever unattached to any actual humans. But then he understood. In telling the names, it's an honoring of our loss. It's a step of letting go, or really moving forward, since I don't want to let go all the way.

I can picture the possibilities that went with those names, even though they aren't going anywhere anymore.

And I think I can share them with you, now, to keep the ghosts alive, to strengthen the haunting in a good way.

If we'd had a girl, our top choice was Stella Rose. Stella for a bunch of reasons -- it means "star," it reminds me of Stellaluna, and it's also the name of a friend we hold dear. Rose for my grandmother, Rosemary.

Other girl choices were Audrey (in part because of Audrey Horne from Twin Peaks), Josephine (so we could have a Jo or a Josie, and it would remind me of Jo from Little Women and is a little off-the-beaten-path), I liked Charlotte so we could have a Charlie (and my dad's middle name is Charles), but then there was a little princess named Charlotte so that one fell to the bottom of the top choices list. A less-agreed upon name was Edith, one I loved (Hello! Edie is so cute...) but Bryce felt might be too old-fashioned. It was a good middle name choice though. That name has significance through my stepfather's family.

Another name that we'd considered was Emerson, to honor my grandfather (it was his middle name), and I loved it for a girl. But it didn't make the top of the list and then someone else in my family decided on that name, so it matters not.

Our top boy name was Dylan Gray. I've always loved the name Dylan -- it's got a lot of literary ooomph between Dylan Thomas and Bob Dylan -- and no student has made me second think it. Gray is a family name on Bryce's side. But isn't that the most amazing name? No one is going to pick on Dylan Gray on the playground (at least we liked to think so). He'd be artsy and cool and not really care what other people thought. We had a whole backstory to Dylan Gray.

We didn't have as many alternative boy names, but William was a close second (Will, not Bill). Boy names were harder for some reason.

Family names are always hard because someone is always going to feel left out.

So I guess we can add that to our positives list for ending up childfree... we don't have to have any arguments about naming or hurt feelings that other family names just didn't resonate with us as much as the ones above.

Here's to Stella Rose and Dylan Gray, the babies we never had but who will always be a part of us. Here's to George for making me think on those names again and helping me to set them free.

Monday, September 25, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: Old Photographs

Tomorrow is picture day -- another side effect of #teacherlife (as one of my new students loves to say) is that you NEVER escape picture day. I have to go in front of the school picture camera every year and try to convince them that while tipping my head down will eliminate glasses glare, it will also give me a couple new chins (I don't wear my glasses anymore for pictures), and this picture lives forever in the yearbook, for a few years on the Class Of __ plaques down in the main hall, and maybe for a little while on my Mom's fridge.

I usually show my kids my own 8th grade school picture as a cautionary tale -- I am wearing SWEATPANTS for one, for two, my henley shirt and my sweatpants are in matching pastels to the LASER background (oh 1989, you space age), I have a terrible short haircut (Dorothy Hamill I was not), and I'm smiling with my mouth closed to hide my braces.

I couldn't find it.

What I did find, however, was an envelope of old pictures of myself that my mom gave me while doing a purge at her house -- like REALLY old pictures, some of which I'd never seen before.

Going through them in detail was really neat, but it was also really sad.

No one is going to have those curls or gray-blue eyes passed down to them.

And who am I going to give these to when I clean out my house in my 60s? Who will care about my childhood photos, little snapshots of the late 1970s and early 1980s? It took something entertaining and gave it a decidedly morbid, morose tinge.

I'd like to share a few with you, so that they don't eventually end up disconnected to my own life, so that I can feel like they can have a little life of their own right now, since (hopefully much) later they may end up in a box that no one cares to have.

Me and my Popie, many moons ago. You might think I'm wearing legwarmers a little early for my time, but...
Those aren't legwarmers. I'm happy anyway, but do you see something odd about the stance of my legs? 
Yeah, that's a double cast, because the hurdles came early. I had congenital hip dislocation that wasn't detected until months later (the doctors scornfully told my young mom "all babies cry" as I kicked one leg and howled, but there was a reason!). I'm sure that was tons of fun for diaper changes. I'd never seen these photos until I was bequeathed the envelope. 
I love this photo -- look at that HAIR! This was two months before my sister was born. And the cast is gone! 
There's no notes or anything on these, but I'm thinking this is shortly after my sister was born, because of the crib. That truck thing is crazy. 
This is probably my favorite. Love the hair, love the pensive look, love the bellbottoms, love the ugly plaid couch that I totally remember. This one made me so happy and also so, so sad.
I actually used this one today for a question flood with my students. What is going on in this picture? Am I lost? Is there a polar bear to my right? I think I'm maybe 5 or 6 here, but again no notes so I'm not sure. Strange sort of Little Girl Lost shot, this one. 

Thanks for sharing in my old photographs and keeping them alive somehow; it makes me feel a little less sorry for myself.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Summer Reading Challenge

I absolutely love to read, and over each summer I aim to read at least 20 books. Except for last year, when the Summer Reading Challenge started.

Bryce bet that I couldn't read 30 books over the summer. Challenge, accepted.

And I "won," because last summer I read 32 books before the first day of school with kids. And I got to go out to a fancy dinner at a place where they serve you complimentary bubbly if you are celebrating something, and that something was reading more than 30 books in less than 10 weeks.

But this past summer, Bryce set the stakes even higher. He set them to 36 books. THIRTYSIX books. Um, I am a fast reader but I was nervous about that one. And as summer was drawing to a close and I hadn't yet read 25 books as of the end of August, I admitted defeat.

It's not just sour grapes, but I don't want to do the reading challenge anymore. (Definitely not because I ended up having to do cat boxes for four months straight as a result.)

The thing is, last summer was so very different from this summer. Last summer I was overwhelmed and, frankly, depressed, and so I did less and read more. I am all for reading, and it is my favorite thing to do to relax, but you read a heck of a lot more if you're not, say, out for hikes or actually gardening with some regularity or going for amazing two-week trips where you do things out and about all day. Last summer was very much an "insulate myself and get lost in other people's lives because my own is a bit of an exhausting mess" type of deal.

And this summer? This summer was our honeymoon. It was the beginning of our new reality. It was the summer of making my office out of a nursery, which was horribly difficult but also very cathartic all at once. I love that stupid room. I spend a lot of time there. It was a time of healing and getting together with friends and family and just trying to figure out...what now.

So reading, while still a big part of my summer (the count ended up at 26), wasn't quite as all-consuming. I think that's okay. It was a different summer, a new beginning, a rebirth of sorts, and that took an awful lot of energy.

The challenge actually stressed me out. It made me feel like I wasn't enjoying the reading time as much; I felt too often that I was just clocking hours. I'm all for goals, but this time I found myself not reading books that I wanted to because I wasn't sure if they'd afford me the time to read others within the parameters of the challenge due to length or complexity, and so I feel that I lost in more ways than one. It was fun last year, when I needed a distraction, but I think I like it better when I am in control of why I am reading, and how much.

I keep my lists on Google Keep for what I've read during the school year and each summer, as well as books I want to read. I love it, because I can easily tell you what I read and when. And I read some great books! Some were eh, but that's always the case. I'm proud of my list of 26 books, and feel a little freer knowing that I can read without parameters moving forward, that a challenge is fun but when it interferes with enjoyment...not worth it anymore. Plus I am so sick of doing the cat boxes. Ha.

In case you are interested, here is my list from this summer.

The Books of Summer 2017: 

1) The Raven King by Maggie Steifvater If you haven't read the Raven Cycle GO DO IT. It is SO good. This is the fourth and final book in the series. I cried when it was over, because it was such a great world to inhabit for a time.

2) The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud Loved this one for her voice, and maybe because I could relate to the main character in some ways. Great betrayal in here, too.

3) The Ice Princess by Camilla Lackberg Really good Swedish crime fiction. Super disturbing and twisty, a nice fast read.

4) The Nest by Cynthia D'Aprix So many people I know read this last year, so I decided to give it a try. I loved it. What a great interweaving of stories, what a great dysfunctional family.

5) The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas LOVED this book. If you enjoyed All-American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brandon Kiely, you'll love this one too. Also reminiscent of Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie. Really thought-provoking, totally relevant to current events, and the second book this year to have me looking up interesting stuff on TuPac Shakur.

6) The Raft by S.A. Bodeen Same author as The Compound, a really disturbing YA novel, and this one was a plane crash/survival at sea story. Gripping, and I want credit for reading it less than two weeks from leaving on a plane to California.

7) When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi This was beautiful, and haunting, and a lot of reading about death from the perspective of a doctor and the perspective of someone who is actually dying. It made me feel very sad, and while it was worth reading, I felt perhaps it wasn't the best choice for summer.

8) How to Pack: Travel Smart for Any Trip by Hitha Palepu This was a birthday present from Bryce, and it was the BEST BOOK EVER for streamlining my packing for the trip. Some of her advice is a little wacky (like when to get your manicure and blowout pre-trip, or having girlfriends over to drink wine and help you pack), but because of this book I discovered packing cubes and the joys of a travel jewelry case, and it was a lot easier to fit everything in my bags and not be overwhelmed. Great little book.

9) And the Pursuit of Happiness by Maira Kalman I love Maira Kalman, and last year got The Principles of Uncertainty for Christmas from Bryce, and this one I found in a little shop in Rhinebeck, NY while visiting with my best friend. It was a bittersweet thing though, because it was written when President Obama was inaugurated and was all about the hope and optimism of everything and now I am NOT FEELING HOPE AND OPTIMISM when it comes to our leadership, and so I think I may have cried while reading this one (and not for When Breath Becomes Air, which is just odd). But the illustrations are gorgeous and the paper is heavy and glossy and her thoughts are so quirky and fill me with joy. Love her.

10) Rabbit Cake by Annie Hartnett Loved this book, a quirky coming of age story involving deadly sleepwalking and potentially deadly sleepeating. It was really, really good.

11) Commonwealth by Ann Patchett I love just about anything Ann Patchett does and am slowly making my way through all her books. This one was a new favorite, and I didn't throw it across the room by page 26 (unlike State of Wonder, which had an infertility subplot that was pretty pervasive).

12) The Nix by Nathan Hill This was recommended by the English teacher I work with, and he read it twice last year because it was a new favorite. It was so, so good. I loved the twists, I loved the un-like-ability of some (most) of the characters, I loved the arc of the was just plain lovely. Highly recommend.

13) All Is Not Forgotten by Wendy Walker Um, this one I struggled with. For lack of a better term, it was real rape-y. The concept was interesting -- a treatment is available for people who have sustained trauma of various types that allows them to forget the traumatic experience, but is it really the best thing? If it keeps you from remembering things that could bring your rapist to justice, is that okay? If you don't have memories of the trauma but you still have the aftermath of having sustained a horrific trauma, what good is that? Fascinating premise, but SO MUCH BRUTAL SEXUAL ASSAULT. Again, not sure what I was thinking since I read this one in California.

14) Chemistry by Weike Wong This one made up for #13. It was really clever, very cute, lots of funny (and true) references to the hell of doctoral programs, a romance gone horribly wrong and a bit of a breakdown. Now THAT I could relate to (not the romance bit, but the falling apart and feeling like goo part). Highly recommend.

15) The Possessions by Sara Flannery Murphy This one was super creative -- sort of futuristic, a world where you can become a Body and take these pills called Lotuses so that you can become a vessel for a client's dead loved one's spirit. What could go wrong there? It has murder mystery, it has romance, it has intrigue, it was really a fascinating concept. Loved it.

16) How to Be a Wildflower: A Field Guide by Katie Daisy Ok, this one was totally a bit of a cheating choice, but Bryce bought it for me in Carmel-by-the-Sea and it was part beautiful watercolors and part inspiring things about the importance of surrounding yourself with nature on a regular basis, and it was just a real feel-good piece of fluffiness. And it was physically beautiful.

17) Mischling by Affinity Konar Nothing says summer vacation like Josef Mengele's "Zoo" where he kept twins captive for horrific experiments. While not a light, funny read, this was absolutely beautiful and a testament to resilience. It was brutal (because it WAS brutal), but also beautiful. An important read.

18) Life Without Baby: Surviving and Thriving When Motherhood Doesn't Happen by Lisa Manterfield I don't think I really have to say anything further about this, other than that I slowly made my way through it starting in May, and finished it over the summer. I still have some journaling prompts to do. This is a really helpful, but emotionally difficult, book.

19) Britt-Marie Was Here by Fredrik Backman Last summer I read My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You She's Sorry by the same author, and loved it (it was one of two absolute favorites that year). This is a continuation of the story for Britt-Marie, a character who is not entirely likeable in Grandmother but who winds her way thoroughly into your heart in this book. Loved her, loved it. (Nope, still haven't read A Man Called Ove)

20) The Lie Tree by Frances Hardinge This was a birthday present from Bryce, and it was really intriguing YA fiction. It involves a tree that grows a fruit when you feed it lies that you've spread, and the difficulty with being a person of religion when Charles Darwin brought evolution to the forefront. There's "accidents" and murder and lies and a feisty young woman. Great historical fiction with a little supernatural bent.

21) In the Unlikely Event by Judy Blume Second plane crash book of the summer! I waited on this one until AFTER the flights to and from California, and was glad, but LOVED it. It was so interesting, in part because it really happened, and because of the masterful way Judy Blume interweaves storylines and so deftly writes coming of age stories.

22) The Red Tent by Anita Diamant I have had this book on my shelf for years, borrowed from my best friend, and I never read it. At first I was like ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME? because I was like, "ah, that's why I never read it, it's all about fertility and the womanly bonds of motherhood and blah blah blah." But it's about a lot more than that. And plus, it has the whole thing with Rachel who was infertile and had a baby through Bilhah...and if that sounds familiar it's because IT'S THE BASIS FOR THE "CEREMONY" IN THE HANDMAID'S TALE! Whoa. It was quite good once I got past the fact that everyone was getting pregnant or not getting pregnant and the central theme was reproduction.

23) Green Angel by Alice Hoffman This was another cheating one, because it's a real slim YA volume, but it was BEAUTIFUL. Nobody does magical realism like Alice Hoffman. The cover art turned out to be real interesting in the context of the book, too. Gorgeous little book.

24) A Night Divided by Jennifer A. Nielson This was YA historical fiction, but it wasn't WWII, it was the Berlin Wall era. A family is separated the night the wall goes up, and the daughter and son left behind by their father and younger brother need to figure out how to convince their mother that they need to get out from under the oppressive and brutal rule of the police in East Berlin, and then execute that plan without getting imprisoned or shot. It was tense and believable and the first Cold War historical novel I've read.

25) Thrillplex Theater by Brandon Swarrow File this one under "real weird." It was a question mark book given at Christmas to me by Bryce, and it was sort of a screenplay, sort of a novel, definitely someone who has an interesting view of teachers, and after going to Universal, particularly fascinating for the design of the Thrillplex Theater. I think it's self published (distracting things like a blank spread in the middle threw me off).

26) The Bright Hour by Nina Riggs. Okay, I know it's weird to end the summer with yet another memoir of someone dying of cancer, but THIS WAS AN AMAZING BOOK. It is one to go out and read, because Nina Riggs was a poet, and it is evident in how she writes this beautiful tribute to a life that ended so unfairly, but that she squeezed every last drop out of with her family and her friends. It's the kind of book that makes you shake your fist in the general direction of whatever diety or force you may believe in, but it makes you think about the glory of this life we get. I may have cried and cried while reading. At the gym. On my kindle. On the elliptical. I would read this one again and again.

The end...thanks for sticking around, happy reading!

Monday, September 18, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: So It Goes

This is a pretty good representation of how I feel right now. An old picture, but still relevant.

I got the email I was waiting for today, while I sat in my car waiting for the AC to gear up (summer is really hanging on with some seriously muggy talons this week in Rochester).

It didn't work. It was negative.

I feel a little shellshocked...I am sad, so sad, but I can't seem to express it at the moment.

I am grieving for this couple who is trying so hard to add to their family of two.

I am grieving for my genes which will never continue on, and for the realization that I won't be receiving any letters or pictures of a little girl or boy with curly hair or gray-blue eyes or knock knees.

I am grieving for my optimism in some ways -- how stupid I feel for thinking that it could ever go any other way when we are involved, that my hope that these embryos with someone else could become something more than yet another personal tragedy, with shockwaves racing outward from the Midwest.

I am just dumbfounded. And I can't help but feel that for as sad as I feel, the couple who received the negative test must be just devastated. I remember that feeling, and all the sadness-anger-disbelief-numbness that goes with it. I am just so sorry, even though I know it's not my fault.

Au revoir, the last of the Jess possibilities. I hope that the Bryce batch holds the secret to a positive outcome, somewhere in this tangled web of infertility.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Thursday, September 14, 2017

A Weird, Vicarious Two Week Wait

We had an update on the embryo adoption process, around Labor Day weekend. They decided to thaw the blastocysts, which are my eggs and donor sperm. 

One didn't survive the thaw, so they did a single embryo transfer. 

I am trying not to read anything into that. Why does it seem that we are cursed with everything that touches our infertility journey? We NEVER had any frozens not make it to thaw and transfer. I don't know if it's just that particular embryo, or because these embryos have traveled so much. It makes me nervous. 

You know what else makes me nervous? That the transfer was going to be at the end of August, we got an update that it happened and wasn't affected by Harvey (because wouldn't you know the clinic is in Texas, but luckily not an area that was affected by the flooding). And now it's SEPTEMBER 14TH. 

Those were blasts, 5-day embryos (technically frozen on day 6). So, uh, that test should have happened by now, right? 

Going to the other side, I cannot imagine going through a two week wait knowing that some other couple with some small (miniscule, really) stake in game is awaiting your news. That you have to accept that phone call, process it, and at some point (preferably sooner than later) update Snowflakes so that they can update us. That would be real weird. And I might feel a mite resentful in the moment. 

But we haven't heard anything, and I find myself in the incredibly odd position of NOT being in a two week wait (not my baby, not my pregnancy), but also TOTALLY being in a weird psychosomatic two week wait because this is the last of my genetic material that has a chance to become something, and I can't stop thinking about it. 

I can't stop wondering...did it work? 

If it did, that will be bittersweet for sure, but it will be something happy for them and sad for us and happy for us at the same time -- one of them made it! It will probably create some level of feeling like WHY THE HELL COULDN'T IT HAVE BEEN US, and wondering if all the people who offered us their uteruses (some posthumously offered  uteruses that don't exist anymore, "oh if only I hadn't had that hysterectomy a few years ago!") maybe had the right idea and it would be worth the legal rigamarole and tricky logistics of gestational carrier in NY state. But there's hope that something good could come of all this mess, although it would be good in the most vicarious of ways on our end. 

I am terrified that it didn't work, and that the last of my possibility for passing some level of my genetic presence on has left this world. Which puts another layer of finality into our situation. I think actually a negative test would feel far worse at this point, because it would possibly have me relive the losses that brought us to this point, and feel the terminal nature of our situation. 

But now I am awash in a sea of uncertainty. Waiting for an email (thankfully the phone is no longer my frenemy in the voice sense). I stalk the red M icon that means I got a new message, and am always disappointed when it's actually something from a shopping site, or a credit card reminder, and slightly less disappointed when it tells me that my latest Stitch Fix has shipped. Ha. 

I go through the old cycling thought patterns...if they are waiting to notify us, is it good news? Bad news? Is it waiting to see that beta numbers are strong, or not having the wherewithal to call and say that yet another cycle didn't work out? I can't imagine adding that layer of complexity. It was hard enough to deal with those calls when it was just us who were in the loop. But every day that goes by without news has me wildly speculating all kinds of scenarios, none of them really productive or helpful. 

I cannot wait for all this to be over, and hopefully have good results. I hope it works. I hope that we hear sooner than later. It would be nice to have this one last uncertainty in this arena come to a close. 

Monday, September 11, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: Finding a New Quote for "Who I Am"

When rewriting my model "Who I Am" essay for my students, I realized I didn't just have to update the part about my dreams of having a child...I needed to update the quote in the opening paragraph, too.

Last year it was, "Accept the challenges so that you can feel the exhilaration of victory," said by George S. Patton. Well, I accepted the challenges but I wasn't left feeling exhilarated in my victory, but battered and reduced to transformative goo, so it just felt...wrong. The quote is supposed to relate to your life, to introduce this idea of Who I Am. And that just didn't feel like a representative quote anymore.

So I found this one:

"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved." 
- Helen Keller

Way, WAY better, no? And applicable to so, so many different types of trial and suffering. Good one, Helen Keller.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Monday, September 4, 2017

Who I Am

The beginning of the school year is a funny time. I feel an incredible degree of anticipation (and a fair amount of anxiety) for the new year. Teaching is like a miracle of rebirth -- you have this whole year to build up a community and have your classroom evolve into a brand new microcosm, and then it ends you start again with a different group the following year. You could do the same exact thing every year (but why would you?) and it would still be completely different because of the different personalities, the different climate of the world around us, the different groups of students, the different dynamics of parents, and clearly yourself -- the world builder. I love this about teaching, that it's got a sort of life cycle of its own, and every year is a new chance to have an amazing time with a new group of young people, teaching and learning and growing together.

I am really struggling with some dynamics of this coming year, though...and I am hoping that this anxiety will be short-lived and that this year will be the hardest of all the ones to come because it is a year of transition.

It's the first time I am starting a new year as a full-time, probationary/tenured teacher that I am not embroiled in family building (unless you count the continuing mystery of embryo adoption/donation). And I so recently was. That was so much of my identity, and now it is gone, past tense instead of present and future.

Which wouldn't be such a big deal if I wasn't so open about our journey, or if I didn't have students who are younger siblings of students I had when I had to give the "my phone could ring at any time" spiel, or if it was true as I thought that our websites from last year were going away at the beginning of the year rather than December, so it still says that we are "patiently waiting for the call that will change our lives" when that is just not true anymore. When asked "do you have kids?" I won't get to say "not yet" or "hopefully soon" or "we're working on it," I'm left with, "No." or "I have cats." or "That didn't quite work out as expected."

It wouldn't be such a big deal if I didn't have FOUR things that I have to redo because of this change:

- My website (we are switching to google sites, and I am woefully behind, but my About Me page won't have any mention of kids or their possibility.)
- My Quotes To Inspire Poster (in resource, now work lab this year, I had students pick a quote to lift them up on tough days and surround it with pictures (drawn or printed and colored) that share stuff about who they are -- mine had "MYSTERY BABY" on it with a pink and a blue question mark...clearly can't use that one anymore.)
- My letter for the gen ed English class where I am the consultant teacher (The English teacher I work with has this wonderful start to the year activity where he (and now me, too) writes a letter to the students about beginnings, family of origin, education, career, family, hopes for the year and then we have the students write one back to us. They tell us a TON about the kids. In the interest of being honest and showing that things sometimes take a turn you don't expect, I include my divorce and then  finding Mr. Jess, and then I mentioned the cats and our quest for parenthood through adoption. CLEARLY I have to edit that one. Working on it today and tomorrow and hoping to get it to a place where it is still honest but doesn't make people question my sense of boundaries...ha HA ha ha.)
- My project for my self-contained English Class, Who I Am. Oh, Who I Am. I did it for the first time last year, based on a very short personal essay in the literature textbook called "Who You Are" by Jean Little. It talks about how you can be a million different things and it's okay to not want to define yourself in ORs but instead with ANDs (I hear it in Lori Lavender Luz's voice all the time). That you can be an airline pilot AND a lighthouse keeper in your mind, that now is a time of possibility and you don't have to lock yourself in to one identity...and the identity you see for yourself may be different than what people perceive on the outside. It's short but powerful and I use it as a model text for the students' first piece of writing for me.

Naturally, I write one about myself, too. And again my adoption journey made an appearance, and my hopes for a family of my own beyond me and Bryce. Because that's been so much of Who I Am.

So WHO AM I, now?

Now that I am not striving for something that just didn't come to pass, now that I am not beating my bloodied forehead against a wall without actually going through the door I'd wanted? Now that I had years of trauma and unhappiness trying to get through a door that apparently didn't exist for me, but once I took the other door (for the source of all this door talk, please go to Mali's amazing post about Infertility's Waiting Room, which is a must-read) I found a peace and the promise of a new life, although not the one I thought I'd have?

I think it's so important for students to know that you can work at something and have it not work out, and that you can BE OKAY if this happens. You can adjust your sails, or brush off the ginormous pile of shit you've landed in and take a different, less shit-laden path (yeah, probably going with the sails one if I'm going to address this with 13 year olds). I don't think I have to talk ovaries and miscarriages or anything, but it's okay for me to say we wanted kids and it didn't work out in the end after trying so many things and becoming exhausted in ways I didn't quite know were possible. That life goes on, and it can find a way to be beautiful.

So who am I? 

I'm a teacher who cares not only about her students' academic learning but the development of their character.

I'm a beloved wife of a beloved husband and in awe of the life we've built together, the parts that have worked out better than we'd hoped and the parts that are metamorphosing from the goo of our personal tragedies.

I'm a daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, daughter-in-law, cousin, friend, Mother of Cats.

I am a gardener, a cultivator of green things and fluttery and slithery things that come to visit my wild(ish) spaces.

I am a creator of cozy spaces in my home.

I am the creator of music (when I pick up the violin that has been fairly dormant recently, shame shame shame).

I am a reader, an escapee into different worlds both totally invented and incredibly true.

I am a writer, telling my story with honesty and a smidgen of dark humor. Putting it out there to both not feel so alone in all this and to help other people not feel so alone, to shed a little light on what it's like to not always get what you want, to end up "empty handed" at the end of the day (although my hands are often full of cat, and dirt, and Bryce's broad shoulders or stubbly face, and keyboard, and thin paper pages...).

The beginning of the school year is hard, but beautiful in all the possibilities that await. I will figure out how to rewrite the things that need rewriting in a way that is professional yet is true to who I am, and how things can turn out -- messy but beautiful, petals and thorns, and unfurling buds of all the good stuff to come.

This is not in any way a microblog, but if you'd like to read some actual concise posts, go here and enjoy! :)

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Embryo Adoption When You're Not Adopting Anymore

I haven't really posted too many updates on the embryo adoption process, because everything else was so much more front-of-mind. But we are still involved in it, which is more than a little strange given our circumstance.

Giving another couple a chance at conception, pregnancy, and parenting with the embryos we couldn't transfer has a slightly different feeling now that we aren't going to be parents anymore.

It still feels absolutely like the right decision. But now I really don't know how things will feel either way that this process goes.

The couple who have the embryos previously known as ours endured a negative test in May when they transferred another embryo that they'd had from a different family. I had mixed emotions because of course I was sad for them, they have been through so much grief through their infertility journey, but it also meant that "our" embryos were next in line for a chance. I was very sad for them, but at the same time I felt hope that maybe it will be our embryos that bring them the happiness we never reached. And a little guilt that I was secretly glad that we were closer to finding out how this will all play out.

They are transferring embryos this month (um, only a couple days left so I'm feeling a little antsy) and I have no idea if they are the ones that are my eggs and donor sperm or donor eggs and Bryce's sperm. I don't know if they planned to do what we would have done, had I been able to get to transfer at the end -- thaw the 2PNs (donor egg) and see what grows, then have the blasts (donor sperm) for backup if they don't grow to whatever stage they would need to get to to transfer. I feel like I am living vicariously through this couple and I don't quite have enough information so I'm doing it blindfolded.

Which is appropriate in some ways, you know? Because while I have a vested interest in what happens with these embryos, they aren't mine anymore. If they are successful (and I really, really hope they are) we will have a very strange place on the family tree indeed. We will get updates, and then letters and pictures, and we'll get to see what a child we created at the embryonic stage would have looked like, without it actually being our child.

And now, we will be on the sidelines watching all this play out without the benefit of being parents ourselves. Which in a way makes us feel more vested in what happens, but not in an inappropriate way.

We were talking about the embryos the other day, and I can say honestly that Bryce is a better person than I am. He thinks of the donation as mainly giving another couple a chance at what we couldn't have. He thinks of the couple first and foremost, and that he can give them something amazing hopefully with this gift. Which made me feel a little badly, because while I absolutely see the parenting possibilities of the couple as an amazing benefit of the donation/adoption, I thought more about the embryos and the chance they would get. I've said before that I do not believe in personhood as a general rule, but these embryos have a special place in my heart, because they're the only ones that still exist that have a piece of me or Bryce in them. It's probably easier given that none of them are BOTH of us, but it is still a funny thing, to have 8 of the 35 we created still out there in limbo, tiny cellular masses of different developmental levels just brimming with possibility.

And I'm okay that the possibility lies with someone else. There wasn't possibility with me anymore, and surrogacy is not an option for us. This is the best place for them to go. They will have a chance, and give someone else who knows our pain the chance we didn't have. And, selfishly, maybe we'll get answers.

If they are successful, if they get pregnant and stay that way, then we will know with some certainty that the issue was with my uterus, for sure. The ultimate issue, I should say. It will be hard, but also a release. To know would allow me to let go of some of the burden I hang onto. It will hurt, and there's a string of What Ifs that could strangle me easily if I let it, but it will also be peaceful to know an answer, finally. Also to know that we gave those little babylings a life, even if it's not with us. Which is hard to think on, that someone else is going to have a nursery and a child with the towheaded curly hair I envisioned, and I sit here typing in my office that has a smattering of board books and a little corner of wall decal to hint at what once could have been its purpose.

But it is a hopeful thought. I hope that these embryos are the answer for this couple who's been left answerless and grieving too many times. I hope that they have at least two children, one from each set, so that we each get the chance to have a person out there who shares our genetic legacy. That would be so cool. I don't know what would happen if only one set works, and one of us has that and the other doesn't, that would be difficult but no more so than any other situation we've found ourselves in over the past 8 years. I refuse to entertain a third option. I have to believe that somehow, something will go right somewhere in this sticky family building web we wove and tangled.

It will help ease the loss of the other 27 embryos that came and went, some more swiftly than others, if some of the remaining 8 can make it to another plane of existence. I wish it had been with us, but it makes me feel better to know that they have a better chance with this other family. Even better that we get the option of knowing what happens to them. Who knows what could happen? How strange it is to receive a call or email updating me on the progress of a cycle (or a pregnancy hopefully) that has so very little to do with us...and yet has everything to do with us. From a distance. Like looking in on some other dimension of possibility that's not for us but that we are linked to nonetheless.

I am grateful that this option exists. I am nervous for the couple who is probably far more nervous than I am about all the possibilities for joy and loss. I am hoping that everything goes well on all counts this time: for the couple's hopes and dreams, for the embryos' chance to be, for our closure and lingering feelings of loss. I would love to see something beautiful emerge from the ashes of our own hopes.

Monday, August 28, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: Things I Survived Recently

I know that I am better every day, and more at peace with our situation, because I am able to handle situations without flopping down onto the floor, face in the carpet fibers. Might I get into a bit of a funk? Sure. But I can handle some interesting things SO MUCH BETTER than even a few months ago (and really, it's only been a few months, so I'm calling this pretty effing amazing):

- I had to call the vet to renew my cat's prozac prescription (just let that sink in for a second), and they wouldn't do it without setting up an appointment for the following week. While information was being entered into the computer, the tech said, "Hey, how is the adoption going?" and I replied, "Well, it went. We're no longer pursuing that." She was a little caught off guard, and said "what?" so I explained (minimally) that this past year was incredibly difficult and we just hit the point where we couldn't sustain the mental exhaustion and cumulative heartbreak anymore, and so we decided to live the life we already have. And I didn't cry, not even when I got off the phone, and she said "Wow, that's awesome that you have the strength to do that." I mean, she told me about another client who brought their baby home after seven (SEVEN) years of waiting through adoption, and that she had no idea it was that hard, but she didn't say anything real dumb. And I didn't overshare. Or cry, which is a particular point of pride because I was really caught off guard and was thinking about how many other service providers I've forgotten will ask over the next year. BONUS POINTS TO ME!

- My mom offhandedly mentioned that they were cancelling their "grandparents' membership" at the local science museum, because my sister's stepsons are too old to be interested (19 and 24) and there isn't a need to have it anymore. I know it wasn't meant to be stabby, but is it necessary to tell me that you don't need a grandparents' membership anymore? Eh, probably not. I did not cry. I did not say anything. I just let it go.

- At a party celebrating the end of construction on my mom and stepfather's deck over the lake, a neighbor of theirs asked me if my cousiniece (my stepfather's brother's daughter, who feels more niece-y than cousin-y because her parents are only 7 years older than me) was my DAUGHTER. Um, she's SIXTEEN. And also, I lived there for a time while going through my divorce, and that was 10 or so years ago, so where exactly was I hiding my six year old? I did NOT say those things, I just said, "Oh! No, she's stepfather's brother's daughter." But then he said, "Well, then where are YOUR kids?" and I just replied with "Oh, I don't have any." I really wish I'd thought to say "I don't know, do you? Where are my damn kids?" But, he's older (and seemed a bit out of it) so I let it go. Even when he said "Who's that young man then?" pointing at my sister's stepson, and I was like, "oh no, he belongs to them" pointing at my sister and her husband. Sheesh. It seemed like he just wanted to find me some children. Which would have been nice, but it doesn't work that way. I did not cry or go hide in a corner and mope. I did not say anything horribly embarrassing or overshare-y. Which is a minor accomplishment.

So, there. Some moments more difficult than others, but I survived 'em all. Go me.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Friday, August 25, 2017

On This Day...

I keep seeing people posting things on Facebook that fall under "Memories" -- something posted on this day a year ago, or three, or five, or whatever. It's a feature I never take advantage of: I feel like it's negligible how interesting THIS year's posts are about my flowers or cats or food, so why go back to what will probably be some cringe-worthy thing from yesteryear?

But I was curious. So I clicked on a friend's post where it said "See Your Memories."

Well, August 25th was an interesting day over the years. I sort of wish I hadn't done it.

I am filled with consternation that while looking up whether or not "All By Myself" was influenced by or sampling Rachmaninoff's piano concerto (because I heard the piano concerto on Pandora and started belting), Wikipedia did NOT mention Bridget Jones' Diary as a movie reference. WHAT? But that's the BEST ONE!

My Knockout Rose bush mutated into a bicolor light and dark pink thing, with one rose split right down the middle.

I was apparently so consumed with the end of summer that I forgot the Emmys were on the night before. My god, what a thrilling memory that one is. 2014 me is SO FASCINATING.

Cute photos from a walk in a nearby nature park that has fairy houses and a swamp with boardwalks that I think just looks plain magical. We look so young (and slim) and happy here!


And our trademark goofball face

We saw deer and a fawn who did not even remotely seem bothered by our presence.

A freaking tree falls on our house (well, garage). Good news/bad news -- the shed was saved, and it only fell on the garage, but it took out the gutters and the fencing. PS, it was a totally clear and still night.

See the grill? We were literally standing there less than two hours earlier.
PPS -- this was not the most disastrous thing to happen in August, as I also miscarried that summer. Just a couple weeks earlier.

"Home again home again jiggety jig." Seems, innocuous, right? Until you see that it's home from the HOSPITAL where I had my EMERGENT SURGERY to remove the ectopic pregnancy before it tried to kill me, and my right tube. Many, many comments of support and disbelief on that post. I cannot believe that was six years ago. How is that possible? It seems like both another lifetime away and like yesterday.

"Birds flying high you know how I feel; sun in the sky you know how I feel; breeze driftin' on by you know how I feel..."
That's courtesy of Percoset and my first retrieval. The birds weren't the only ones flying high.

Odd question about beer in the fridge, since I had just gone gluten free due to celiac and wasn't sure how long it would stay good or if I should just gift it to people now. Also apparently I was singing the praises of a local barbecue joint. Oh, pre-IVF me, such simple issues and joys at your disposal...

It was interesting to look back and see what this day held year after year after year, starting with the summer before we got married. And also, more than a bit sad.

See, I don't hold those dates in my head. I keep them here. So I didn't realize that today and yesterday held significance. I know that summers were awful, and I remember August 2011 and July/August 2012, but I don't remember the dates. If I feel a need to remember acutely how I felt in those moments, I can reread my posts from the ectopic debacle, or my miscarriage a year later. I do actually do that from time to time, but I don't feel the need to burn into my brain exactly when those things happened. So I was caught a little off guard.

Bryce said that he thinks it says a lot about Facebook, this memories thing. Most people post positive things. Most posts are likely "oh, look, that's the day so and so was wearing that rabbit onesie!" or "What a great date that was!" or "Ahhh, what a great barbecue/bottle of wine/walk along the lakeshore that was!" But here I was like, "Huh, I didn't realize this was the day I came home from the hospital, AND the day I was loopy from my very first egg retrieval, AND the day a tree fell on our house after we had a miscarriage (definitely leading us to believe that we had somehow wronged someone horribly in a past life or something). I wonder if the reason I forgot about the Emmys was because I was in the tail end of fertility treatment and I probably had just failed my frozen egg donor cycle and was reeling, looking for answers I would never find. It's a lot of not so great moments in our life, which peppered the last 7+ years like I pepper my cottage cheese (I like it practically gray).

But on the other hand, the rose is unusual and pretty, I love those pictures of us in the magical swamp, and I am always cheered up by a very drunk Bridget listening to Sad FM. Those were memories that made me not so sad.

I look forward to having more positive things to look back on as the years go by -- less reminders of personal tragedy cropping up unexpectedly, and more pictures of us happy and having a good time together. Maybe on a coast somewhere.

Monday, August 21, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: I Should Have Listened To You

Remember back in May when you guys gave me the sage advice to find another therapist? Because it seemed like she didn't really get what I was all about, because it seemed she was trying to make me rethink my decision rather than helping me move forward with the decision that was most definitely, thoughtfully made?

Well, I am a dumbass.

Because while I had a phone conversation before having another session, I did stay with her -- I made it clear that the decision was done and I was looking to work through the grief associated with it but not examine whether or not I made the right decision. And it worked out okay, for a little while.

Until I shared before our vacation trip that two people that I knew had brought their babies home through adoption, and that it had thrown me for a loop and put me facedown on the floor and I was really feeling like the Universe was flipping us the bird and testing the strength of our decision making process.

Well, I was encouraged to examine my decision, and assured that "no decision is ever final" and that examining the "what ifs" of how we got to this point is not a futile exercise that has no worth because YOU CAN'T CHANGE WHAT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED, but worth looking into. (Why? To see if I have regrets? Who doesn't question decisions along the way? But that doesn't translate into REGRET, per se. Also, we passed the test of our convictions, thankyouverymuch.)

I felt misunderstood, I felt like the last thing I need is someone who is encouraging me to keep a door open that it took a shitload of strength and presence of mind (with the health of my mind and body in the balance) to close. I don't want that. I don't want to leave feeling worse than when I walked in. I don't want to have my (admittedly borderline inappropriate, gallows-type) sense of humor misinterpreted, misunderstood, and having generally confuzzled the person listening to my stories.

So before I left the parking lot, I called a social worker who we saw for some couples work during some adoption decision making and left a message to set up an appointment, if appropriate. Why "if appropriate?" Because she is my amazing therapist who moved away's MOTHER. (Small world here, I guess.)

And you know what? I freaking wish I had listened to you the first time. The first lady didn't get it. This new(ish) person GETS IT and GETS ME and...TAKES INSURANCE. Not only that, she asked if I have an HSA account because I could pay with that. The amount of money that flew out of my account with someone who didn't quite fit right makes me so mad at myself. This is a better fit in every possible way. (And not just because she dropped at least two f-bombs in our session, which is a total plus.)

I feel like I am finally on the right track.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Sunday, August 20, 2017

California "Honeymoon": Carmel-by-the-Sea

While Napa had my absolute favorite place to stay, I have to say that the Carmel-by-the-Sea leg of our trip was my favorite for cool things to do, and beautiful beach, and great weather.

We left Napa on Wednesday, and decided to drive through San Jose to get to Carmel-by-the-Sea so we could see the Winchester House. And get some Philz Coffee. In whatever order made the most sense.

We went to the Winchester House first, and packed everything in the car in ice (some cheese, a salami, most importantly the wine from Biale and the half bottle from the Inn on Randolph welcome basket...heat will destroy cheese but it REALLY kills wine), and off we went for our hour tour of 110 of the 160 rooms in this wacky house. Sadly I have no pictures from the front, and none inside were allowed, but the two from the side and back show the expansiveness and oddness of the house.

If you don't know the story (I didn't until Bryce said he was dying to go), the house belonged to Sarah Winchester, whose husband was of the firearm Winchesters. They had a lot of money but the story is real sad, since she lost her daughter as an infant to an illness and then, fifteen years later her husband died of tuberculosis, leaving her a (ridiculously wealthy) widow. They didn't have any other children (maybe she was one of us). She believed in mediums and seances, and apparently was told that the spirits of all the people killed by Winchesters were restless and would come after her, too, if she didn't keep building onto her house (maybe that medium was in cahoots with the lumber company, I don't know...). And so she did -- she had to build EVERY SINGLE DAY, 365 days per year, to make the spirits happy. She'd have a seance that would tell her what to do, and the builders would get going right away. There is all kinds of wackiness in the house -- 160 rooms for one -- stairways to the ceiling, a door on the second story that opens to nothing but fresh air and a drop, windows and patterns that honor the number 13, tilted walls, switchback staircases (with rises of about 2 inches, less spooky and more to accommodate her elderly mobility needs)... it's insane. So we went on a guided tour.

The side of the house, see the Door To Nowhere?

A view from the back. From those terraces up top you could see the insanity of the rooflines.
 It was highly entertaining. Also, in case you were afraid for it, the wine and food for lunch survived the heat of the parking lot.

We ate our baguette and cheese and salami, a very French picnic lunch, in our car in the parking lot of some manufacturing facility that had the back entrance to a Beni-Hana. Not even remotely scenic, and I think we scared some employees, but it was yummy and we didn't have time to search for a better place as we wanted to get our Philz Coffee and get on the road to Carmel.

Philz Coffee is an amazing invention, where you choose your roast and then they make it, ONE CUP AT A TIME, with a slow pour that is invisible behind the high counter. It is amazingly good. I was sad we only got it once, but that one time was well worth it. I didn't take a picture of anything but their bulletin board of analog memes outside the restroom. They were hilarious.

If you can read these, they are really funny. I didn't get to go to bathroom though because someone apparently decided to set up shop in there, so it looked like I went back there just to take a picture of the pre-potty reading material. Huh.

And then we arrived in Carmel-by-the-Sea, after experiencing some California traffic.

After checking into our hotel, the very lovely Carmel Country Inn, we walked down to the beach. And by down I mean DOWN, because the town is basically built on a hill that leads straight down to the ocean. After San Francisco it was not that bad though. Carmel's beach was amazing, and we went most nights for sunset, and one afternoon to mess around in the surf in our bathing suits (thankfully for you, no pictures of that!). We had four days in Carmel, so beach time was a must. Carmel is amazing for natural beauty. And now, for a ridiculous number of beach pictures.

Just look at that! And not at Bryce's elbow...

The water was...COLD

Seriously, the SUNSETS

Quite possibly my favorite picture of Bryce, EVER

That is just to beautiful to be true! But it is...

Happy, relaxed, sunset shot at the top of the stairs from the beach

See those two dark blobs a little left of center? Those are sea otters. Swimming RIGHT THERE! They were adorable, but too difficult to photograph without fancy telephoto lens stuff, so you get adorable blobs. Sorry.
It was insanely gorgeous. And what I loved about Carmel-by-the-Sea was that it had surprising everyday beauty, too, that was just waiting to be discovered by people who noticed.

These are tiles in the sidewalk, that you might not notice if you didn't look down. 

Beautiful butterflies

A heron

For some reason these little quails were everywhere in California

Sweet statue at a corner park, something to aspire to

These are the street flowers. I have petunias and impatiens at home on the streets, and they have heliotrope and verbena! Gorgeous!

Our hotel had beauty, too -- we had a suite here with a sitting area and gas fireplace (we loved our gas fireplaces!) and a little veranda with a sliding glass door. The weird thing was that they didn't have air conditioning, because it's pretty much always 65 during the day (and 50s at night), but there was a bit of a heat wave when we were there and it was 70, so it got a bit hot. The solution was to leave your windows open and the screen door open, except there were NO SCREENS. Everyone did it, and it seemed safe, but I could not get the idea of skulking killers trying to get into our room to kill us in our sleep, so we had fans and shut the sliding glass door when it was time for bed. The people at our inn were really friendly and personable, and it was gluten-friendly! Not quite the smorgasbord of food we had in Napa, but there were mini quiches that were crustless and gluten free, and they had a selection of gluten free breads and...a gluten free TOASTER! That may seem weird, but I really need a separate toaster due to cross-contamination. It's parts per million that can get me sick, and these people got it! It was lovely.

The bedroom window

From our veranda... I mean, who's going to climb over that? But still. Shut the door. 

All the doors were dutch doors, and you kept the top open as long as you could until bed. Good thing there's really no mosquitoes! 

One of the days we were in Carmel-by-the-Sea we went to the Monterey Aquarium. We thought maybe going on a Thursday would be less crowded, because families would go on the weekend...but we totally forgot about summer camps. Even crowded, it was phenomenal. I took about a bazillion pictures, but here are my favorites:

Hey shark! And that cloudiness is the anemones letting off spores or something.

Hey, what are you looking at!

Adorable little sandpiper


More Jellies!

Tiny, lightbulb filament looking jellies!

Some kind of squidy thing


Pacific octopus egg strings

This is a baby cuttlefish...eating some kind of tiny krill! Zap, it caught it!

This is a flamboyant cuttlefish, and the colors on its back pulsed like disco lights.

Creepy alien nautilus 

Odd snake (there was a Baja California exhibit with desert things, this snake just shed its skin which is why its eye is milky and vulturelike, a la "The Telltale Heart"
Flotsam and Jetsam! 



Swarm-y anchovies!

Just us in the kelp forest
It was way cool. When I was little I wanted to be a marine biologist, and this brought all that excitement back.

Before I share our Pacific Coast Highway adventures, let's talk food in Carmel. They had some seriously delicious food options, and I ate like freaking royalty, all gluten free. I didn't get sick ONCE on this trip, which is phenomenal (and a low benchmark). We went to a little French restaurant TWICE, La Bicyclette, because it was so yummy and we enjoyed the ambience. We went to one of the best Mexican restaurants we've been to while traveling, too at the recommendation of our server at La Bicyclette -- Cultura Comida y Bebida. And, not pictured, we had yummy oysters and I had fish and chips (FISH AND CHIPS! GLUTEN FREE!) at Flaherty's, which had an extensive gluten free menu. Even the aquarium had a restaurant that had delicious gluten free options. It was heaven.

Stone Fruit Salad at La Bicyclette

Roasted Mushroom gluten free woodfired pizza...the "sauce" is a carmelized onion jam (!)

Bryce's "normal" margherita pizza

The right side of the restaurant was done up to look like a French street cafe (tried to get a shot with no people)

Rockfish tacos at the aquarium! Oddly enough I saw a rockfish earlier in the day. 

Yummy wild mushroom soup at La Bicyclette, second fancier night

The best duck I've ever had in a restaurant. It had fig sauce, and a fresh fig, and roasted celeriac (that's the worm looking thing), roasted kale, and romanesco (that fractal-y broccoli-looking thing). It was to die for. 

Bryce's crazy seafood linguine. There was lobster and octopus and mussels and clams and all kinds of crazy stuff in there!

Isn't that cool for an entrance? Cultura was amazingly good food and ambience.

I should have worn my napkin on my boobs again. This is before I got queso fundido grease all over my nice chambray top. (I made matters worse by trying to get it out with water and soap in the bathroom, then I had a greasy WET top on. It did come out though, so I win.)

They mixed the queso fundido at tableside with flaming mezcal added in, and you could add the chopped chilies to the level of heat you were comfortable with. It was completely delicious. I forgave it for making my shirt look like I was a 3-year old.

Bryce got a mezcal flight, and it came with accompaniments including chapulines, surprisingly delicious roasted crickets (or grasshoppers, but they look tiny for grasshoppers). I ate TWO...aren't you proud? 

Street tacos, one chicken and one beef. Nom nom nom

Completely delicious and cheesy street corn

To top it all off, two tiny mugs of Mexican hot chocolate.
It's a miracle I still fit into my pants. I think the reason why is that there was good walking and good hiking... thank goodness!

We took one day to travel down the Pacific Highway as far south as we could until it was closed due to landslides (and apparently a bridge that went out, gulp). That was seriously beautiful. We stopped early on in Carmel Meadows for some seaside hiking, and then went straight down the highway, only stopping at a couple turnoffs for scenic views, until we got to the Big Sur River Inn, where we had lunch by the river. (Surprise surprise, street tacos! And a burrito for Bryce.) I was sad I couldn't get to McElway falls, and we wanted to hike where the ocean was, so it was suggested that we go to Andrew Moleta State Park. It seemed like a very touristy beachy place (there were people in flip flops on the dusty trail to get to the beach, and people with surfboards and sandcastle equipment), but once we got onto the beach and walked away from the immediate trailhead, it was a surreal and beautiful place. We stopped at some overlooks on the way back up, and went to Soberanes Point in Garrapata State Park, which was absolutely gorgeous. It was a great day of hiking and overcoming my fear of heights and bridges, all at once.

Carmel Meadows Park. I hope the answer was YES!

Gorgeous! I love that the rock looks like a cat.

One of a zillion lizard friends.

Gaaahhh! So beautiful! It was foggy when we started out, it only lifted when we headed back north.

These beautiful succulent flowers were everywhere and then look! A morning glory, just like at home!

Okay, first scenic overlook off Hwy 1. As you can see it is foggy, which is probably good because we are WAY THE HELL UP THERE ON A CLIFF, as I discovered later.

Yeah, that's high up when the fog is a little clearer

That's the road. I will not lie, there was some serious hyperventilating happening.

Second scenic overlook. That is where I stood...

And THAT is what you see when you look straight down through the fog. GULP

Hmmm, the road isn't feeling more secure the further south we went...

The mountain trail to the beach at Andrew Moleta State Park. There were serious warnings about mountain lions, and I started wondering why we insisted on being somewhere that while beautiful, was able to kill us pretty handily.

We made it to the beach! This part felt a little ho-hum and we were initially disappointed.

Getting better...

So happy to be hiking on the beach together!

What the what? We found a sandy little lime green frog. We looked it up, it's probably a Baja Tree Frog, in a place with absolutely ZERO trees.

Hi little green crab!

Okay, THIS is much more like what we were expecting! And the fog is headed out.

A stop on the way back north, you couldn't get down there but it sure was beautiful.

Uh, so this is NOT what you want to see when on a highway that has a hairpin turn around that bend that is canyon on either side. We were stuck for a little while, and it turned out a Porsche convertible had gone over the right side of the road. It was on a tow truck with a winch. It did not look like it was a happy ending. It was a sobering moment.

At Soberanes Point, is that not gorgeous!

Little waterfall heading down...

And the stream headed out to sea.

It was full of these gorgeous little coves.

You could hear seals or sea lions AURGH-ing, probably from that rock way out there.

Every turn held more beautiful coves! 

Bryce on the bridge over the waterfall

The mark of a great day of California hiking -- ridiculously dusty, dirty legs and feet.

So that was Carmel-by-the-Sea. I would totally, absolutely come here again for a vacation. It was just spectacular, all the way around.

Next up: The Pasadena and Family Visit Leg