Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Lewis Sonnet

A friend at work tonight asked me, "Doesn't it make you mad - seeing some of the people in this world popping out babies while you aren't?" And this Lewis sonnet instantly was in my head. No, I didn't start reciting it. But it was there.

You think that we who do not shout and shake
Our fists at God when youth or bravery die
Have colder blood or hearts less apt to ache
Than yours who rail. I know you do. Yet why?
You have what sorrow always longs to find,
Someone to blame, some enemy in chief;
Anger's the anesthetic of the mind,
It does men good, it fumes away their grief.
We feel the stroke like you; so far our fate
Is equal. After that, for us begin
Half-hopeless labours, learning not to hate,
And then to want, and then (perhaps) to win
A high, unearthly comfort, angel's food,
That seems at first mockery to flesh and blood.

Thank God for Lewis. His words are always a life raft. Because anger is just a handsbreadth away. Every month that passes, I feel like a big silent space somewhere in me grows just a little bigger. I'm not sure why that's the image that leaps to mind, but it is. These first few days, I always feel acutely aware of the place in my body where someone could be growing, but isn't, and I feel very ... still or empty. Thankfully, the sharpness of the pain I experienced, say, 6 months ago, has passed. This is much more like a prolonged sigh that sounds a lot like "someday".


Meanwhile. There are things to do.

Monday, June 29, 2009

The painfully obvious

Life is not a movie.

Were it, I would have found out on my 27th birthday that I was pregnant, and I'd be due on my Dad's birthday. I'm not and I won't be. The much anticipated progesterone crash started last night and once again, CD34 has turned into CD1. Or at least, it's about to.

We'll find out how J's counts are this week, but either way, we might have to give up on the next 3 months. Why? You ask. Well, the great July shag-a-thon will be meagre due to the both of us working at a camp for high school kids for the duration of that week. We might be able to sneak away once. I'm sure it'll be phenomenal. Then, J is going to Italy for three weeks next May into June and no way in hell am I going to risk delivering our first child with him in some foreign country. Apparently he would not cancel the trip even if I should end up knocked up and due while he's gone. I'm resisting the urge to glare. *sigh* So there's that. In all likelihood, no babies for me until the end of next summer. At best.

Screw that.

On a positive note, I had a really nice birthday. I slept in, in a quiet house (no kids, no hubby), sat around a bit, had an awesome awesome workout, read a book in the sunshine, sat around a little bit, and then I went to work. Not the ideal birthday day, but it was good. I have some very good friends where I work, and lots of very friendly acquaintances and I really enjoy being there most days. After work, a few of us went out to Applebees for a drink. We go just about every Saturday night, but this week, one of my friends found it necessary to tell everyone it was my birthday. Thankfully, they don't do birthday songs there. But since we go there a lot, we know a lot of servers. I had no fewer than 6 balloons tied to my wrists. It was delightfully ridiculous. But it was a happy day. Not bad for 27.

J got me a throwing axe. Have I mentioned that I throw knives? Not well of course, but recreationally and occasionally. Well, he got me an axe. Might go outside and try that out this afternoon.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

A summary of my day

J left before 7 for his "nerd conference" (technically referred to as a "Gaming Convention" - whatever. Nerd conference. Nerds like him congregate for an extended weekened and game. He does strategic gaming - apparently a more respectable version of gaming than the weirdos who dress up like Chewbaca).

I got the kids at 7:35 AM.

We went to Dunkin' Donuts.

We went to the park.

We went to the library.

We got three MILLION books on pythons, the planets, some Native American folklore, the ocean, fairy tales and cooking.

At some point in the late late morning, I put small male J (their names all begin with J - it's not fair) down for a small sleep while small female J watched a show. I, naively, thought I might also take a small nap. Hormones make a certain someone sleepy.

20 minutes later? SLAM (the door). He's up.

No way. This child, when he sleeps, sleeps for an hour. This stepmom? Desperately wanted an hour. So, she sends him back to bed.

20 minutes later? SLAM. Creak creak (on the stairs). I stomp from my bed to the door. SLAM (door opening). Sob sob sob. Small male J stands outside my door sobbing, "I have a button in my tummy. It hurts."

Combine fury (at being woken up. AGAIN.) with panic and you have a certain stepmom shouting "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE A BUTTON IN YOUR TUMMY? DID YOU EAT A BUTTON?" (It's possible, really.)

wail wail wail, "I don't know."

Shout shout shout, "What do you mean you don't know? Did you chew on a button?"

wail, "no"

Shout: "Did you eat a button?"

wail, "I don't know?"

(vague wondering: how do you NOT know if you ATE a BUTTON.")

Continuation of same pattern until a certain stepmom says, "OK, I'm going to call Daddy and see if he thinks you need to go to the hospital."

At which time a certain 5 year old wails, "Don't tell Daddy! Don't tell Daddy!"

*eye squint*

"Lay down in bed while I call Daddy."

Panic: "Don't tell Daddy!"

"Did you really eat a button?"

wail. "I don't know. My tummy hurts."

Panic-fueled fury ensues.

Child is planted in bed. Small child's elder sister and daddy are consulted.

As it turns out, after the first time I sent the beloved child back to his bed, he laid there and cried and hissed himself into an absolute lather and stomach ache. He did not eat a button. He came up with that to avoid the nap. Which he then took for 45 minutes after being planted back into his bed, discussed with, and threatened to the very brink of his life. He's been a saint since.

Yes, he is still alive.

Dinner was not, as I was tempted to make, button soup.

It was, though, constituted by some phenomenal pork tenderloin, steamed green beans, yummy salad, and HOMEMADE (*bow bow*) garlic-herb butter. AND French rose wine. YUM.

*nonsensical griping deleted*

However, I do have my stepkids to care for. And something to sew for someone I've never met but care a great deal about.

Thank God in His mercy for giving us neighbors, lest we collapse in on ourselves.

So there we are. 9:07 PM on June 24, 2009.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Counting on fingers

Well, due to a small miscalculation, and resultant "hiccup", we had to put off J's visit to have his swimmers counted. They ask for abstinence at least 48 hours (very minimum) before the test. Sunday is not 48 hours before Monday. So, our swimmy-counting expedition has been put off til early next week. *snicker*

I am pretending not to notice that it could be a moot point by next week.

In all likelihood, I will be a grouchy bleeding mess, and he will be a grouchy lab rat on Monday next.

Ah, the familiar madness of rolling the CD over and over in one's mind; of ticking off the DPOs and making sure that today, still Tuesday (STILL?) is 12dpo; of being quite thankful for the wisdom of not having bought any HPTs in the last 8 months or so; of trying not to imagine or hope or whatever. My sense of humor has kicked in this round and I'm finding the whole thing still a little tragic, but in an almost funny way. My body is being quite kind - none of the typical PMS symptoms have shown up yet, which means as a direct derivative that there are no symptoms for me to overanalyze. Thank you, thank you.

Well, me and my 12 progesterone friends are going to go back and finish this cute green and pink handbag I started a bit ago.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

My dad

My dad was friends with the UPS guy. I don't mean he had a friend who was a UPS guy. He was friends with the UPS guy.

I remember being a kid and hearing, on what seemed like a daily basis, the *beep beep beep beep beep* of a truck backing up our driveway. Once or twice during the summer, a birthday box for me or my brother would be arriving. But most of the time it would be a new tool for my dad's workshop.

And I remember going out there and seeing him, box tucked up under one arm or set protectively at his feet, one foot on the fender of the UPS truck, just chatting away with this guy he wouldn't have otherwise had any reason to meet. I don't know what they talked about exactly, but I'm pretty sure the UPS guy was married and had at least one little kid. My dad would know.

He's that kind of guy.

My dad is a fireman and a carpenter, and those two things somehow seem to say so very much about him - to me. He is a hero, and he is honest, and he works hard, and whenever I smell diesel and rubber or sawdust and varnish or soap and sun tea, I think of him.

I don't think he knows just how golden he is.

All he sees is the stormy temper and the blue collar, and I suspect that he thinks those things just about sum him up. It's both endearing and tragic, really. If he knew, he wouldn't be as real and humble as he is. But not knowing, I think, causes him more pain than he ought to carry.

He is the sort of guy who can chat up the UPS guy and end up with a friend. He cares about people and somehow often manages to get to the bottom of them, finds out what makes them tick, and sets them in motion. He's a cool guy to have in a church. He's a cool guy to have in your corner. I think this key is this: he really cares, and I'm not sure that's as common a characteristic as we would wish.

I wish you knew my dad. And if you do, I wish you knew him better. I know I do. Not that he's a stranger by any means - he's not one of this distant dads. But you know those people who you like more and more the more you know them?

He's that kind of guy.

Happy Father's Day Dad.

Friday, June 19, 2009


Well, the doc called. Actually, one of his nurses - my favorite in fact. I've only spoken to the actual doctor twice. But I speak to his nurses often. In any case, she called tonight with my results.


You need at least a 3 to confirm ovulation, and anything over 9 indicates a "nice lush lining". I'm nice! And lush! Twice in a row! All on my own! For the first time in at least *counting on fingers* 5 years!

Knowing that needles aren't necessarily an inevitability is making me very happy right now.

Plus, I can now say that we are 8dpo. Hoo hoo hoo! That does put us on track for a 34 day cycle ending on June 29.

Have I mentioned that my birthday is June 27?

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Commence twitching

Happy Thursday.

Bloodwork day. Did I ovulate or are there daily needles in my future?
Kids whining and fighting.
Elder kid whining to daddy about evil stepmom having the gall to break up said fight and make recommendations as to how to avoid/escape them in the future.
Hubby griping about location of clean laundry (admittedly not in correct location).
Hubby griping about just about everything that's out of place. Really, I'm trying. I just haven't managed to get ahead of things lately, so they're backed up and I apparently stink at guessing which thing is going to bug him next. Hello, I have 2.5 jobs. Oh, plus stepmom housewife duty.
Insane employer being her typical irresponsible unreliable disorganized self.

Commence twitching.

Next entry will be a happy one. Promise.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Spitting it out

Wow. Why are these days so hard? It set in two night ago, and I can't shake it. I feel like there's a wrinkled green creature squirming around in my chest. This usually sets in more around the time of the Red Menace, not around the time of alleged ovulation. It's poison, it is, if you let it sit. So here I am, spitting it out.


*shake shake*

Getting on with things...

Monday, June 8, 2009


There is a debate in the philosophical world, and has been for quite some time, as to whether the mind and the body are distinct things, or two manifestations of one thing. In other words, is the mind something other than the body, or just a function of it. And then some folks throw the soul or spirit into the mix just to make things fun.

I have to say, I'm not sure. We're certainly material-spiritual amphibians, but how that works and how the mind figures in and where they all connect is not something I have an answer to. I don't honestly know if I really care, haha.

Preambles, preambles. Where I'm going with this is an observation. When this TTC thing starts to get to me, I can feel it in my body. It's a tightness in my chest and electricity in my arms. Weird? Perhaps. But there it is. Unfortunately for my sanity, it's dark and rainy out and I'm stuck in front of my computer stewing, I mean, working. All day. Bah. My pile of brightly colored fabric is, literally, 24 inches away from my elbow, along with my newly fixed sewing machine. I'm itching to dig in.

I'm going to try to open up a shop on etsy.com and see if I can sell some of the results of my self-medicating (not medicated) sewing therapy. :) I'll post the link when it's up and running. We'll see. If none sell, I'll simply foist them upon my unsuspecting friends and relatives. Luckies. har har har


I've been in a tussle in my mind (whether that's located in my brain, or otherwise linked to it, haha) about the subject of prayer. I've found lately a certain stilling in my prayers. It's not that I don't want to - it's that I seem to be losing any sense of what to say. The Orthodox prayers are full of acknowledgements (otherwise known as praise, but they feel more like statements of fact than statements of emotion... does that make sense?) and petitions and lots of "Kyrie eleison"s. I suppose there's a hint there.

But what do you do when you feel blessed beyond expectation or hope - knee deep in treasures - how do you possibly work up the gall to ask for more? Obedience is the answer, I know that. We are told to pray for our daily bread. Not just the starving are told to pray. We all are. And we are told to give thanks when it comes. But ask nonetheless. So it's obedience, again and again, that is required.

But it feels like audacity.

And how do you pray for specifics? All I've found myself capable of asking for lately is, "Whatever You want to give" because to say, "Almighty God, I want this" just seems... odd. I suppose that's why the Orthodox repeat Kyrie eleison. Mercy, please, as I ask for something that maybe I ought not have. Mercy, please, and give me wisdom as I ask. Mercy, please, and teach me how to seek the things You are pleased to give. Mercy, please, I want that and it's breaking me. Mercy, please, patience. Mercy, please, comfort. Mercy, please, gratitude. Mercy... please... Mercy, please. Mercy, please, and forgiveness for silence.