Tender Mercies

I said to myself, "Self, you went for two years feeling like you were a freak. The only one, and you can't let anyone else feel like that. You can't!!"

So, I don't.

Instead, I talk openly about infertility and adoption. I think it might freak some people out. Many times it opens the door to some of the stupidest comments I've ever heard. But my favorite times is when someone says to me, "REALLY??? Thank you. It's so good to know I'm not the only one."

And it has happened more than once, and lately more and more frequently. The more open I become about it, the more people confide in me.

Last week, I met the oldest member yet of the IFC. She was ninety-three years old. And even with her child bearing years LONG gone, it was still a tender subject. I'm not sure why she decided to open up to me but during our visit she looked at me with that look and said, "We were never able to have children."

I almost lost it.

I sat and held her hand and I told her that I was so, so, so sorry. And then she said, "It makes you feel like a freak doesn't it?" And I hadn't even said anything to her about our situation. I finished up my assessment and our visit. As I left she patted my hand and said, "I'm so glad you came to see me."

I will never forget her. And I wonder... Was she an answer to my prayers, or I to hers? Weird how that works, huh?

Nip and Tuck

You know you're in the know when you receive the following message from me.

"Hey. It's me. I'm on the rag and feeling like a wench. So, I thought I'd call and share the love. Call me back. Or not. Whatever."

The message was intended for the person who is in the know about most things, and yes even that. What I didn't know was that while I thought we were alone walking along the bike trails, I was wrong. I didn't know the fifteen-year old dorkus behind me would hear me and then laugh to the point of almost falling off his bike.

Jerk.

But since some prepubescent little puke will be reciting the story to his family over dinner, I thought you might as well know too.

But wait, the day and my state of mind did not improve much.

I was sitting at the computer debating between watching Steel Magnolias for the ten thousandth time, Susan Boyle for at least the tenth, or an old episode of House. Feeling very sorry for myself and my current state of affairs, I happened to look down. The beast I'm knitting has bigger boobs than I do.


Oh, heeeaaailll no! That would not do. So I threw him in the washer.

Much better.

Now his boobs are where most boobs end up- his belly.


Be afraid. Be very afraid. I'm on the rag and feeling like a wench.

Adoption is cool.

We are very open with Scrunch, even now, about adoption. Her placement, her birth mother, the whole bit. It is hands-down the greatest thing that has ever happened to us. We love our birth mom. We are huge adoption advocates. But it is complicated. Maybe it isn't, and we just think it is.

Most moms worry about their children growing up with a positive self image, and knowing that they are loved. I want her to be strong, and independent, and to feel confident in making choices. More than anything I want Scrunch to know how much her birth mom loves her. How much we love her. And when she's a teenager and "everything sucks" I want her to think adoption is "cool". Even if she thinks her mom is not.

But even if she does (think adoption is cool), I get that there will be days she will be sad she did not "grow in mommy's tummy." And you know what? I'm not going to tell her to have faith, or that there is a plan, or to be strong and be a good example. I'm going to tell her that it makes mommy sad sometimes, too.

God, bless the girls that get it.

I mean it. There is a special place in heaven for you. Should my vote count for anything, (but don't count on it, get a plan B!) I will vouch for you. I will call in every favor I have with every righteous person I know who's vote will count. If that doesn't work I will find someone to hold the back door to heaven open to sneak you in. I will find a way for you to make it.

Because you get it.

God, bless the girls that get it!

One of the things they get is that Mother's Day sucks. No offense, mom.

A sort of emotional countdown begins two weeks before Mother's Day. And they understand that this consuming, overwhelming emotional rollercoaster begins. And you try not to think about it, but you have to.

You have to because you have to shop for the best, most appropriate gift. Not just for the woman who made you, but for the woman who made you a mother. And thinking about her (a lot) makes you cry (a lot), and you cry (a lot) anyway because you're hormonally deranged (a lot). And you think (a lot) about how cool it is that you're a mom. But then you wonder (a lot) if you'll be one again. And up and down, and around and around you go. And it makes you tired, and it makes you cry. And it makes you not want to blog.

But the girls that get it, get that.

Random Friday- A Tidbit from my Husband

Last night I called Husband 15 minutes before he normally gets home and said, "You need to come home right now. I'm hungry."

Later he told me, "You're Beauty and the Beast. Depending on what side of the meal you're on." Seeing as it was close to dessert, he lived to laugh about it.

Cart WAY before the horse.

We've started house shopping.

Didn't you know? I am independently wealthy and I redecorate with the seasons.

The dream house comes with dream furniture.

And then I wake up.


States of Grace Quilt Kit
Espresso Two Drawer Bench
Rojo Cabinet- Crate and Barrel
Carousel Hooked Wool Rug by Company C
Poppy Welcome Mat
Malabar Armchair- Pottery Barn

Rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous.

John Bytheway, Ben Affleck, Gary Marshall, and now...

Lorna Miser

I was almost as excited as the morning Ben Affleck's autographed picture was under the Christmas tree. Almost.

It is official. I am getting old and boring. Not because I still own the Ben Affleck picture but because having autographed knitting books is cool. Rich, famous, popularity- it's all relative.

Like I need another excuse.

Now I have a sore throat.

Here's me wallowing in self pity.

Two excuses.

Can't really blog now. Completely unable to focus enough to make a coherent sentence. Jedi, the dog, sleeps under the computer chair. He's having intestinal problems. As in, he smells like something crawled up his butt and died! And my foot is killing me.

Totally random picture from the webcam.

That'll teach ya.

The definition of complete irritation with one's self is busting the glass in a brand new frame while attempting to make a wall hanging, but then forgetting about it and tripping over the glass in the dark while heading to bed. The clincher is being too wide awake to sleep and the throbbing in my severed toe. If these steri-strips don't hold I'm going to go from irritated to just plain ticked. The last place to be on a Saturday night is the ER.

The bunionectomy I had contemplated has been taken care of. No appointment necessary.

And my good friend thought her skeelz would go to waste by becoming a SAHM. Not on your life, babe! Since I know you're not working, and you're up all hours of the night being a milk maid to your wee one anyway, I don't feel bad about texting you in the middle of the night so you can re-attach my appendage (should it come to that).

Simmer down. I didn't actually sever anything, but if I'd been insistent they might have given me a stitch or two. Instead, I'm very impressed with myself and the bandaging job I did. I had to talk husband through helping me clean it. I shaved right next to the bone, and even though it looked really cool- I thought I might pass out. I can poke and prod all the live long day in someone else's wound, but the sight of my own blood makes me woozy.

Missing the forest for the trees.

They look at you like you're the spawn of something evil when you ask for plastic. Yes, I still take plastic. So sue me. As long as there is cat litter in the world- there will be a need for plastic bags! Get off my back!

So, there you are feeling like a jerk for polluting the earth and they proceed to print you a fourteen foot long receipt.

Friday Random: Q and A Style

I never know if I should answer questions from the comments in a comment or if they are simply rhetorical. At any rate, it adds to the randomness of my Friday posts.

Question 1- "Is that just your insurance or most insurance in general?"
Answer: In my experience insurance companies vary widely on what they will and will not cover when it comes to fertility treatments. Many are coming along and are starting to cover more and more. If I had an accompanying medical condition such as PCOS, endometriosis, etc then it would be easier for me to prove that there was an underlying medical condition. Unfortunately we fall into the camp of "unexplained" so I have to dig up medical records to prove "medical necessity".

Question 2- "What moron decided that infertility was elective?"
Answer: I don't know but when I find him (and I agree it was definitely a 'him'), I'm going to rip his arms off and beat him with them.

Question 3- "Does this mean that you're starting fertility treatments?"
Answer: I have been pursuing one form or another of fertility treatments for four years. Most of my "treatments" have been considered alternative such as herbal supplementation, transdermal hormone replacement, acupuncture, etc. Most recently I have done a round of Clomid with HCG trigger shot. Fertility treatments are not a one size fits all process, and take a long time. (Not the treatment themselves but because it's all based on waiting for your cycles, timing, blah, blah, blah.) I'm not a candidate for certain treatments because you have to be able to find what's wrong before you can fix it. I respond very well to treatments, but that doesn't mean I stay pregnant.

Question 4. "You should publish a book." That wasn't a question, but the statement made me laugh.
Answer: A whole book? That's a lot of spewing. I will admit that I have been in the brainstorming process to submit an article to a magazine. And now that I've said it out loud, I think I'm committed. The IFC has joked about a collaborative writing effort entitled, "At Least I Have A Working Anus."

Questions 5. "Are you going to get her hair done more often now that you are growing yours out?"
Answer: No, just her bangs. But I do have my hair in a pony tail today. I don't think it counts as an up-do because of the number of bobby pins that are holding it there, but we're getting closer. August 6th I can cut it, if I want to. I told my husband I'd give it till my birthday.

Question 6. "Have you ever tried a rag quilt?"
Answer: Yes, but I'm not a fan. I've done a few for quick gifts and charity but for personal use I'm not a fan. They just aren't my style (purely personal preference). They make great, FAST gifts, though.

Question 7. "Did you really make that hat? Can you share some (talent)?"
Answer: Yes, I made Scrunch's hat. Can I share? Yes, but seriously folks, it's not rocket science. I'm not even that good. Honest. Go on-line and search. Etsy is full of people who can call themselves artists and have talent. It's about not being afraid to try new things/projects. I (obviously) don't take pictures of things that don't work out. And I don't play the piano or sing. Those are talents. This is stuff to kill time and relax.

Anything else you'd like to know?

The Happiest Quilt of My Life

It's like a rainbow at the end of the week.


Except it's not the end of the week. Not even close. And that's a horribly cheese-ball thing to say. I'm going to pretend it isn't on both counts. Pretending it's the weekend and pretending that rainbows and lollipops are norm for me. And that I don't have other things to do. And when I finish this quilt, there will be a pot of gold. Yup, pretending lots o' stuff.

Insurance policy.

I have health insurance. Always have. Even when we were broke, worked part-time, and payed an arm and a leg for it. It's just something I think you should have when you're a responsible grown up (if you can help it).

Thankfully, gratefully, I can say that we have rarely, if ever, needed it. And I'm even more grateful for that today than I was yesterday. If I had to deal with them, meaning those big bad insurance bullies, more often- I think my head might explode.

If I lived under a rock, and had never heard that smoking was bad for you and ended up with asthma, emphysema, or cancer- my insurance would cover my treatments.

If I was a bigger, irresponsible schmuck who drove drunk and smashed their car (or golf cart) into a tree and broke my collarbone and arm, and fractured my femur- my insurance would also cover that treatment. And probably even a nurse who'll come to my house and be ever so polite and professional even though the whole time she's thinking, "WHAT A SHMUCK!"

If I didn't listen to Richard Simmons when he told me to "Shake it, baby! Shake it!" and I grew to the size of a killer whale, putting stress on my heart, kidneys, and every other vital organ- my insurance would also cover that.

STD's and drug abuse? Ay, ay, ay. Head exploding.

Then explain to me, why insurance companies do not want to cover fertility treatments? And I'm not talking Octo-mom stuff, just your basic any-good-OB-can-handle-it kind of stuff.

After spending an hour on the phone with everyone and their mother and taking an unplanned field trip to a doc I haven't seen in YEARS to sign a release so I can get copies of my medical records, I'm feeling a little peturbed with the whole system. Actually pissed off as all hell gets, is slightly more accurate.

The point is...well I don't know what the point is. The point is that it all just bites. It bites! Bites! bites! And it's irritating, infuriating, and unfair.

Not to mention these sudden fluctuations in my blood pressure cannot be good for my cardiac health. Thankfully, gratefully, I'm pretty sure if dealing with the insurance do-dos is the root cause, they can't classify my high blood pressure as a pre-existing condition.

I am a hypocrite.

I stole a balloon from the grocery store when I was little.

I ate all the ice cream from my Aunt and Uncle's house when I was house sitting and taking care of their bunny.

I have been rude, impolite, bratty, and downright mean on SEVERAL occasions to members of my family, including my husband.

I haven't done Visiting Teaching in several months. My excuse? I'm lazy.

I wanted to throw my glass of orange juice at the screen on a few talks during Conference.

I was an idiot and texted the wrong person the wrong text. I had to call and eat my words.

I want my daughter to grow up believing that clothes, and hair, and stuff don't make a person, but I love to dress her up in cute clothes, and I would love to spend an obscene amount of money on clothes and shoes myself.

I don't always try to be better than I am.

I watched Blue Collar Comedy Tour last week and haven't laughed that hard in a long time.

I have woken up in the past and thought that there is no point in going on.

I am selfish.

I ordered an iced tea (a no-no for us Mormons), thought better of it and got a lemonade instead. For hours afterward I still wished I had gotten the iced tea.

I like a piece of juicy gossip.

I don't always try and be better than I am.

I think crude humor (like Bob Barker beating up Adam Sandler) is a fantabulous way to mask deep pain on a day where the truth is I stood in the kitchen sobbing and coming to grips with the fact that my body rejects creation. What is really, really easy for some people is impossible for me. I have a difficult time dealing with that.

I have struggled almost my entire life with my membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

I interject the "real thing" when I hear people use the words "hecka", "fetch", and even "crap". Mostly in my head, but not always.

I am rarely as mature as I ought to be.

This list is just the tip of the iceberg.

I love God and my Savior.

Oh, yeah. And I also cuss on my blog.

Unless you already knew all of those things, you don't really KNOW me. You read my blog. If you really knew me you'd know that cussing as I type is WAY far down on the list of things I need to work on.

That being said, I have a huge amount of respect for someone with guts who is willing to say what they think (published and unpublished). That's what I (try to) do here. I type what I think. Not all of my thoughts are wholesome and pure, and I will be held accountable for all of it.

Catch up

Last week I let you take a few days off of the 'ole blog. No cussing, no uncomfortable shifting when I say something too true for you to handle, no eye rolling, and least of all no controversy. I hope it was the most boring week of your life. Admit it. You missed me.

In order to catch up be prepared to be slammed with pictures no one cares about, but that I stay up late going over, and over, and over. We're calling it Cutefest '09.

Wednesday- Aquarium of the Pacific: Where usually boring outings are fun again because you've got kids. I never thought I'd use the phrase, "Plum tuckered out" but what else does this face suggest?


Thursday- Hanging out with my Baller Baby.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Friday- I got to meet my sister's new boy friend. Or exclusive make-out buddy as they like to call each other. He was scared to meet me (as he should be), so I let him beat us at bowling. Either way I got ice cream.


Saturday- Procrastinated sewing and a hellacious drive home.


Sunday- The Blessed Event or THE baby blessing. Whatever you want to call it. All the really important people were there.


Scrunch has missed her Grady Bear- a scene that shall not be re-enacted for another twenty seven years. I got a wet Grady kiss too. Swoon.

And we're back.

I've just come off a week where I spent four days with my sisters and twelve hours in the car. I might have a few things to say...

You know you missed me. wink. wink.

Not the real meaning of Easter, but....

Chocolate and new dresses are definitely perks of any holiday.

If you're going to dress like an Easter egg, then Easter Sunday is the day to do it.

Spring Break

My husband is a literal sort of guy. When I say, "I'll be ready in two minutes" he starts counting 120 seconds. Not out loud, but I know he's doing it. I must drive him nuts. That's a little farther down the list of reasons than most things, but saying 'hold on a sec' when I really mean ten minutes is definitely on the list.

He must be so relieved to find out that when I started calling this week Spring Break I literally meant SPRING BREAK. The weather is perfectly Spring-ish and in the last 24 hours the number of diapers I've changed, bottles prepared, meals made has been very limited almost to non-existent.

Do you have any idea how much knitting, sewing, and sightseeing you can accomplish when you don't have to do cook, clean, or do laundry?

Awe! Some. Literally.

I'm Outtie!

Do people really talk like that?

I think they do.

But just so you know, not all Californians sound like valley girls. Just like they're not all blonde. And we don't all live across the street from the beach. But we still really like some people who happen to be blonde and happen to live closer to the beach than we do. My mom included.

But I have to say that it makes for like a totally like super like great Spring Break destination! Yay for Spring Break! Like, yay for trips to the beach!

Totally.

Indulge me.

I need an ice cream cone.

That's my comfort food. In the book I'm listening to the main character's is Spaghetti a la Puttanesca. That sounds better. Now I wish we weren't having left-overs for dinner.

Double the ice cream.

For a week Scrunch has pointed out every single munchkin we have come across. She points and very loudly exclaims, "Be-bey." If I ask her if she's a be-bey, she adamantly shakes her head no.

My baby is no longer a baby. I think they call this stage Toddler-hood, but I'm not ready to go there yet.

Two milestones today.

BIG ones.


So what DO you do with the envelope of be-bey locks?

Progress Report

We experienced one of our first public meltdowns this week as we stood in a checkout line. Not because she is a baby brat, but because I am trying my best to be a mean mom. It seriously would have been easier to let her ignore my "No." I was embarrassed and frustrated. I immediately took the opportunity to ask my sister, a professed child development expert, if I had handled the situation the right way. She confirmed that I had. Better now than later, and she told me to keep it up.

As I lay in bed that night discussing with my husband the day I told him, "I wish we could get progress reports on our parenting." He laughed and we fell asleep. But I was serious.

The time tested adage held true, "Be careful what you wish for." This weekend marked the 179th Annual General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The bi-annual O.C.H. (Official Church Holiday) and a spiritual progress report.

Let me just say that it is a misnomer to really call it a Church Holiday when the usual three hour weekly meetings is actually an eight hour long weekend event. But we get to watch in our pajamas and I get to knit during church. My husband won't let me on non-holiday Sundays.

I love Conference weekend, I really do. Don't fall off your chair. The Mayor has a spiritual side and deep rooted convictions. But I digress.

I asked for a progress report, and that's what I got. As we listened I noticed that I felt the same embarrassing discomfort as I felt earlier in the week when there was something that "needs improvement" in my life. If I didn't like the talk most likely it was because it held a little too much needs improvement for my liking. I didn't like the eighth grade teacher who gave me an Unsatisfactory on my school progress report, either.

Like it or not, I received a very clear and detailed progress report on where I stand in my spiritual progression. Better now than later. And I can picture my Savior saying, "Just keep it up."

The Best Things in Life are Free

Like free on-line sewing tutorials.


Eddie Cap Tutorial from Mushroom Villagers.

It's Friday. It's random.

It shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but I HATE how Costco has started packaging the milk.

We give the brown (nasty) Jelly Belly's to Jedi.

My favorite of Scrunch's growing vocabulary is 'cool!' But it sounds more like 'ghooooul'! Everything is 'ghoooooul'!

I did not truly understand the meaning of happy shoes until I bought these. If you don't like them we may have to redefine our friendship.

Although the bag I made last night is pretty happy looking too.


I don't post what we do in the format of "Today we...." because most days are truly uneventful. Yesterday we bought new underwear.

I'm having doubts about my Easter sewing plans. My sister said we're going to look like Easter eggs and last night Husband described the fabric as "Ahem.... loud". I may have taken my funky groove too far.


I was stunned speechless by the ballzy-ness of some one's comment this week. Speechless does not happen very often. Holly was not left speechless. Tawanda!!!!!

I spent an hour this week researching geocaching. I need another hobby like a hole in the head, but it sounds very, very cool.

How do you end a completely random post? With a completely random YouTube video. If you're going somewhere on an airplane for Spring Break, I'm totally jealous.

Why? Why? why? why? why? why?

Because sometimes timing is everything.

Read this.

It made me feel better about why fertility treatments don't work, but why we don't feel ready to finish the paperwork for our second adoption yet either. Maybe our baby just isn't ready yet.

Silver lining and a final lesson on Jelly Belly's

On the bright side (how very Pollyanna of me), I can go back to yoga. I like (actually love) yoga, but I would have also liked the excuse of being able to gain twenty pounds without anyone batting an eye.

And on Jelly Belly's. This will be the last and final lesson regarding the artificially flavored little demons as they are almost gone.

You should not eat an entire Costco sized container of Jelly Belly's unless you yourself would like to acquire a jelly belly.