Monday, November 20, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: Quote, Counterquote

Every day in the English class I coteach starts with a word of the day, and a quote of the day. I love quotes, but the quote on Thursday of last week really, really rubbed me the wrong way.

"You're never a loser until you quit trying." - Mike Ditka

Can you see why this quote is shitty? And not just for me, but for the many kids who have tried and failed things due to circumstances far out of their control?

I thought about just letting it go, and then I thought...SCREW IT and searched frantically on my phone while students copied down the word and quote from the board.

After the English teacher I work with explained the quote (it's important to always keep trying, never give up, blah blah blah), I said, "I have a COUNTERQUOTE!"

And I shared this gem, sent to me by a friend last year:


I said, "You see, there are times when trying over and over is NOT the best thing for you. Like for instance, when you are playing a sport and you are chronically injured but you keep playing even though IT IS HARMFUL FOR YOU TO CONTINUE TO DO SO."

He countered, "But I think the quote is more about motivation, like that mountain we talk about in the Wordsworth poem at the beginning of the year, that some people just want to be magically transported to the top of the mountain, but if you work hard and don't quit, you WILL get to the top! I don't think it's about playing football in a wheelchair."

And now the students were watching us like a ping pong match, because I had to keep going. I HAD TO.

"Except, sometimes you're climbing a mountain, and the conditions get really dangerous, and you are putting the rest of your life at risk by continuing stubbornly up that particular mountain, so maybe YOU JUST NEED TO FIND ANOTHER MOUNTAIN TO CLIMB."

He sort of went, "Hmmm" and then we continued on.

And when I came back for 8th period, the quote was different:

"Continuous effort -- not strength or intelligence -- is the key to unlocking our potential." - Winston Churchill

I just smiled, and it went without further discussion.

Later that night I told Bryce about it, and he said that maybe he changed it so he wouldn't have to deal with me being a pain in the ass. Which I took exception to, actually. I thought maybe he thought on it and changed it to something that didn't call people who move forward from something LOSERS.

The next day I did ask him. I said, "I noticed you changed the quote 8th period yesterday. Bryce thinks maybe you didn't want to deal with my soapbox two periods in a row, but I have another theory."

He said, "I felt SO HORRIBLE. I never thought of it that way, and clearly you have, and it really struck a chord with you and now I can see why."

Because I can't shut up, I continued on, "Oh, THANK YOU. Not just for me, but for all our kids who already know that life is not fair and don't have to wait to be infertile as adults to think on all this stuff. I think it's just SO important to let them know that sometimes you just don't get what you want, but you can readjust and find a new focus."

And he said, "Yeah. This new quote captures what I was trying to get at without the other stuff."

It was a bit of a bonding moment. He genuinely didn't think of how that quote could come across to people whose lives have taken unexpected turns despite all the trying in the world, and then he fixed it. I may have hipchecked him a bit and just said, "I so appreciate you."

I am so, so glad I spoke up. 

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays, maybe ones that play by the rules and are actually Micro? Go here and enjoy! 

Monday, November 13, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: Baby Parade



I went to our favorite Mexican restaurant without a bra on, thanks to my lovely new phoenix and butterflies. I'm healing up nicely, but it was awkward to be hanging out, free and loose in public. While we were wrapping up our dinner and margaritas, and I was sitting with my arms crossed in front like a makeshift bra, people we know but not well came in to celebrate a birthday, with their new baby in tow.

Please explain to me why people parade their babies around like no one has ever seen one before? I've noticed it for years, and it has to be connected to some kind of biological instinct, because the "carry, walk, and make your baby stare awkwardly at people, known and otherwise" move is a CLASSIC.

The thing is, this person knows that we weren't successful in this arena. Yet he held his (admittedly adorable) 4-month old baby and rocked him and just smiled at us like "isn't this awesome?" and DID NOT TAKE THE HINT that there's only so many minutes that you can coo and smile and wave at a baby you don't really know while your margarita is getting warm.

Finally Bryce rescued us, "Okay, well, nice to see you, enjoy your dinner, byeeee."

And sat there, and then pretended to say all the things we'd wished we could during this baby parading, this "look what I made" sort of Lion King moment:

- "Well, we're just going to go home and watch a little TV until we get tired! Then we're going to SLEEP IN AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE."
- "Enjoy that daycare!"
- "I'll be thinking of you when I wake up at 3 am, and then roll back over and sleep until 8!"

A little immature? Probably. But it made us feel better for the awkward moment at the end of our yummy dinner in celebration of my lovely new tattoo baby. You didn't see me walking around exposing my shoulder to everyone in quite the same way, did you? Ha.

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

Friday, November 10, 2017

Enter the Phoenix

Yesterday was the day -- and I put the appointment in my calendar as "Enter the Phoenix." I am now the proud owner of a freaking GINORMOUS new tattoo.

Here's the thing. I was thinking on the evolution of this design -- that first I wanted this dainty, botanical dandelion illustration with all the fluffies and the two butterflies and it would be all wispy and feminine but also very, very sad. Very woe-is-me. Very "I am floating away on this tide of grief."

So I went with something that is the COMPLETE AND UTTER OPPOSITE of that feeling.

I saw the design, and it was the perfect mix of tribal-style badassery, some traditional tattooing stipple style, and the natural beauty of two detailed monarchs.

It was just a lot bigger than I imagined.

Here is some stencil preview:



I gulped a bit at the size, but was like, YES. Let's do this thing. It is big, it is powerful, it is no shrinking violet piece of art.

And so I lay on the table, wearing a leftover BeBand pregnancy band as a makeshift bra and my old sweatshirt backwards to give me some warmth and coverage. I love the sweet poetic justice in the pregnancy band being used for this purpose.

I forgot how much tattooing hurts. I'm not sure if it's the placement (apparently where you are ticklish is where you have a bundle of nerves, and it feels like a hot knife dragging through your skin), or the new needle styles, or the way the artist moved quickly through but also gave it the depth needed, but HOLY HELL that was super painful.

The outlining was the worst. It was the biggest needle, and he just sort of did the wings all at once and the tail, and I lay there, trying to squirm without moving my shoulder, tapping my hand on the table, singing, swearing up a storm, and laughing maniacally.

My new therapist asks why I laugh so much when I talk about really shitty things.

I laugh because I refuse to cry all the time. And it works.

I cried NOT ONCE during the two hours of outlining, shading, stippling, coloring in, and general torture.

I did, however, at one point yell, "I MAY COMPLETELY REGRET THE SIZE RIGHT NOW! Oh, SURE, let's do TRIBAL! Let's do a SHITLOAD of BIG, BLACK SHAPES! GREAT IDEA. Why is there no MANDATORY COUNSELING for this???" 

I don't regret it though. It is freaking beautiful. It is gorgeous, and powerful, and everything I wanted it to be. It will just slightly peek out of most clothing until the summer, but even then it won't ever be super visible at work. But it's there, showing my rise from the ashes of everything, my triumph, my strength. The two butterflies are transformation, but they are also memories of my two babies that almost got to be. They're not sad, though. They're beautiful.

Right after. My hair is a hot mess because I sweat like a beast when I'm in pain, and it was a hilariously HUGE cloud of curls and frizz when we were done. 
Today, more healed, less oozy, no longer bleeding all over the place. Hard to get the whole thing myself! 
It hurt, but I bet childbirth hurts worse. This was my birth. Bryce is slowly getting used to it: he asked when I'm buying my Harley and running off with some leather-clad guy named Bubba, but he'll learn to coexist with it peacefully.

Of all the things that happened this week, this was surely the most physically painful, but it was the most emotionally and mentally rewarding, too.

I love that this work of art on my back is a physical representation of all we've survived, of the pain and the strength and resilience that results from 8 long, difficult years.

I am a freaking phoenix. I am a butterfly. I am a warrior and a gentle soul all at once. I love when some things that are imagined and visualized can go from concept to reality.

Monday, November 6, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: Mishmash Update

It's been a crazy couple of weeks:

- I drove 9 hours each way to Kentucky for my grandfather's memorial service, alone (Bryce had to attend several classes during that time) -- a sort of weird new milestone of adulting
- I saw a zillion family members and the stabs were actually fairly few and far between (a different aunt from last time who commented how odd it was that neither me nor my sister have children, I corrected her that my sister has two stepsons, and then explained that children just didn't work out for us, faced the dreaded "why didn't you adopt" question and answered it with two years of the adoption process, and that was that)
- We had a cold and rainy Halloween but had 9 trick-or-treaters, a new record (in a positive direction) for us
- We had a little party with the neighbors to celebrate our anniversary and Halloween
- I got to dress up as just one thing this year, as I am mostly connected with the Red Team in my middle school, and so I got to be Dopey (of the seven dwarves)
- I managed to make it through anniversary season and Halloween season without getting too morose and woe-is-me
- I am struggling through some drama with adults at school right now...my kids are great but the adults are killing me slowly...but it will all work out
- I finished Stranger Things Season 2 FINALLY tonight

All in all, not too terribly bad. I am proud of my ability to cross four states alone and not be too terribly afraid while finding the local NPR station every 50 miles or so, I am proud of my 8 years of marriage to Mr. Bryce, I am making my way through an awkward year of school where adults are making me crazy, I made it to a memorial service for my grandfather who passed of complications from Alzheimer's, and I spent as much time watching a great TV show as I did driving to Kentucky one way. I'm ready for a bit of a slowdown (enter the holiday season, of course).

My sister, me, my dad, my stepbrother in the basement of the church. A rare all-siblings-on-deck shot.


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

Monday, October 23, 2017

#Microblog Mondays: The First of Two Anniversaries

Love the chili peppers in my bouquet and Bryce's boutonniere

It is confusing to people to have two anniversaries. Today is our "legal" anniversary -- we were married by a Justice of the Peace at our favorite Mexican Restaurant 8 years ago today. It's nice, because it's a private sort of anniversary--we celebrate it with each other and give each other the "serious" anniversary cards (as opposed to the Halloween love cards we give on our wedding anniversary, which contain my annual Anniversary Ghoul drawn by Bryce...a little scared of what this year might have in store for me).

The second anniversary is our more public anniversary, the Halloween anniversary of our actual tiny little backyard wedding. We usually go out for a fancy dinner for that one and that's the one people recognize with cards or calls or whatever.

This year we had a lovely, extravagant little anniversary celebration of two with a cheese plate, mini champagne bottle, a tasty dinner of apple cider/mustard/thyme roasted carrots and parsnips with wine & cheese rope sausage, and a lovely bottle of Amarone.

We exchanged cards and enjoyed that this is the first year where my card focused on the adventures ahead, just us two, rather than the arduous journey and the hopes for different sort of future this year, maybe this time, as all the other cards have noted (Bryce's had a nod to the difficulties of the past year, but it was focused on the joys of what's to come and the pride of having made it through our own personal Hell intact).

Here's to 8 great and terribly beautiful years, full of adventures and sorrows and new beginnings and a whole lot of love and laughter.

Toasting on our porch with wine and classic cheeses

Handsome man, creepy spider lurking behind him inside that shutter...

Oh hello!  
I seeeeee you


Stylized shot of the flowers I miraculously got (flowers from a practical engineer are like unicorn sightings)

Awwwwww

Amarone, and a crotchety looking Bryce (even though he's not)

Wedded bliss now and for eternity, although I like the way we looked in 2009 better than our skeletal versions... ha
Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Saturday, October 21, 2017

File Under: WTF

I think it's a universal thing to go through old family photos when you are preparing for a funeral/memorial service. I've done it for Bryce's Grammie, for my own grandmother, and now the process has begun for my Papaw.

Sometimes when you go through old photos, you find baby pictures.

And then you might feel the urge to compare baby pictures with babies of the new generation.

Which is a really fun thing to do, if it's like mother-daughter type stuff.

It's far less fun when someone in your family posts a picture of YOU as a baby on the book of face, and you recently made the decision to resolve your infertility and adoption journey childfree not by choice, and then posts a picture of a cousin's baby right next to it and the genetic resemblance is downright eerie.

Then, there just might be immediate waterworks and downright wailing and a deep sense of loss on the part of the person who is coming to terms with not ever having children, and who years ago had to come to terms with the reality that biological children who resemble them strongly like that are a complete impossibility.

Then it may be HIGHLY ILL ADVISED to make that comparison, because it may be like a dagger to the battered heart of the person who is now faced with a comparison between her baby picture, 41 years ago, and the baby picture of SOMEONE ELSE'S BABY, who looks sort of like what a mythical baby with the same genetics might have looked like, if that had been possible in another dimension, in another time, where life wasn't so freaking unfair.

Then it would suck.

And then you'd be faced with a conundrum -- do you say something, knowing that the person who posted it just lost her father to a terrible disease and emotions are running high and the wine is probably free-flowing?

Or do you let it go?

If you're me, and this was your Saturday evening, you write this as a comment and then hope that the funeral isn't a complete shitshow of (unwitting) insensitivity:

Whoa, uncanny resemblance. Not gonna lie, made me real sad though. Emotions run high at times like these and it took me off guard. Amazing to think on what the child we'll never have could have looked like. 💔💔️[cou[ {cousin's name}, your daughter's quite a looker if I do say so myself, ha ha! Looking forward to meeting her in person.

How'd I do? Heaven help me if this is a preview of what to expect when I go there in person in a week and a half. File under WTF indeed.

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 aunt...you 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.

Except.

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 "kooltattoideas.com" 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 story...it 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! :)