Actually, It's Okay to Give Up

I was reading Mali's post on No Kidding in NZ, Success Stories, and it reminded me that I had thoughts about the "Never never never give up" quote that's so popular. 

Thanks, Mali, because my brain is a bit overwhelmed lately and I keep meaning to write a post and then poof, the time and motivation is gone. 

So, this quote. I keep seeing it everywhere. Mostly kitschy posters or signs in people's classrooms or HomeGoods stores. 

God, I hate this quote. It was such wonderful toxic positivity when I still believed I could control the outcome of my quest for parenthood with intentions, talismans, and wheatgrass. It is so hard to move forward from something when the chanting beat of never NEVER never NEVER EVER give up! Next time will work! You'll never know if you don't just KEEP GOING! 

Problem is, when you keep going until your bodily and mental health can't take it anymore, the quote rings hollow. And then perhaps you take scissors to an inspirational magnet and show it what you think about its bullshit NOW. 

Actual picture from 2017, The Year of the Imploding

So, when I see it as inspirational classroom wall decoration, I find it dangerous. 

Kids get messages all the time about chasing your dreams, and "you can do anything you set your mind to" and "if you can dream it, you can do it" and the absolute power of positive thinking. 

It's pretty hard to find inspirational posters that are about try, try, but move forward if it's unhealthy and swallowing your life. It's Okay to Quit is not exactly flying if the teacher store shelves.

Once I saw the harshest classroom poster ever to grace a catalog:

Oddly, I didn't order this one.

Good gracious. 

I'm in the middle. I say perseverance is great, but not when taken too far. It's okay to quit if something is clearly not working out for you. Sometimes the best decision is not to never never never give up, but to realize that giving up and moving forward is by far the healthier, more positive path. That, as a human, the message "you can be anything, do anything you set your mind to!" isn't as accurate as this gem I was sent: 

I wish someone had given me this wisdom when I was a teen. That optimism and hope are lovely, but sometimes it's not enough to go up against the reality that not everyone can work and work and work and meet that goal. Working towards a goal is amazing and meaningful and important, but not all goals get achieved. And it's so important to know how to cope when things don't work out. 

I think that's a positive message. 

Can't Get A Break

Have I mentioned that this school year is amazing? That my kids are insanely kind, and hardworking, and reflective? That I have (almost) zero stress relating to referrals, discipline gone awry, feeling alone and unsupported in my room? 

It's absolutely glorious. 

However, it is also for some reason one of the most tiring years, in that there is simply not enough time to get the things done that need to be done. I have a heavy lift for modifying materials for a couple of students (think adapting text to the 1st grade level with picture symbols for each paragraph, and then add in that the topics are things like the Triangle Factory Fire, Child Labor, Wounded Knee Massacre... no biggie). I have a huge range of student needs in my two co-taught classes for Social Studies 8 -- one class can have neurodivergent kids (both autism of varying degrees and significant ADHD), kids with learning disabilities, kids with behavioral struggles, and kids who have intellectual disabilities. I teach my self-contained English class, which I am very comfortable with, and then new this year is self-contained math, which is decidedly less comfortable. Lots of learning curve. I have my resource room, which is delightful, but all of it together is a LOT to manage. It feels like I am juggling and the balls are slowly being set on fire. It's all part of the job, but it's a lot this year. The day flies, but I am left feeling utterly overwhelmed by 2:40 and have had to stay until 5 or 6 (sometimes later) just to try to get on top of things. And this is with actually using my prep periods somewhat effectively! 

There's a lot of things that contribute. There are a LOT of new things all at once. 

But also... 

My right knee decided to go out on me. Like, totally collapse and leave me calling Bryce to bring me crutches at school. Couldn't put weight on it. Of course I had an appointment with the surgeon earlier that week that I cancelled because I was feeling great from the hyaluronic acid shots which were working amazingly well...until Thursday. I was told not to come in and say how great I feel, ha. But then I went in on Friday and...my knee is bone on bone for patella-femoral, and heading that way in the joint (but there are spurs from the arthritis). Awesome.

Do you see where this is going? 

I am having a knee replacement on my remaining original knee in mid-February. I will be missing a chunk of this lovely year. I am in a fair amount of pain day to day (although it's improving a bit, but I am using a dandy purple cane since I can't afford to fall). Pain is EXHAUSTING.

What the hell, body. 

It is something else to just constantly feel like my body is letting me down. Like nothing works. I'm excited to be fully bionic in my knees, but seriously WHAT THE HELL. 

I am grateful that I don't have kids, because it is a layer of finagling that I don't have to worry about. Both with having to finish my work staying late, and with taking 8 weeks off in the middle of the freaking year. I don't have that added stress. AND, I have plenty of sick time to cover my leave because I don't have to stay home with sick kids and I never took any maternity leave, which pretty much depletes your bank of days. So, silver linings? 

Wish me luck as I head back in to major surgery, knowing what it's going to be like (AAAAAA) but also knowing that after recovery it's a new lease on life. 

Again, what the actual fuck, body? 

Uncertainty

I am no stranger to uncertainty. I hate it, and have really never made peace with it. This even though infertility and adoption are incredibly rife with uncertainty. 

But now, everything is uncertain. I am worried about what's coming in January. I am worried about how much things can change, how fast. I am worried about books, and control over print, and control over information. I am worried for communities of color, and the LGBTQIA+ community. I am worried for immigrants, and people seeking asylum. I am worried about the sense that America feels very much a place of AGAINST rather than a place FOR. I am worried for librarians. I am worried about teachers. I am worried about the environment. I am worried about women. I am worried about my students and my friends' kids. I worry about the healthcare system. I worry about future availability of vaccines. I worry about mental health care. 

There is so much worry. And disappointment. And disbelief. 

I also realize that I am privileged -- that I am a white, cisgender, hetero woman. I am a woman who cannot get pregnant and so doesn't have to worry personally about choice, I am stable financially (until I am replaced by an AI teacher in the classroom). I have great health insurance (for now). I live in an area that (for now) is free from climate change disasters. I live in NY, a (for now) liberal state that has civil rights protections (for now). 

But I am worried. And filled with a sort of existential dread. 

So...what can I do? Here is how I am trying to be in this strange and horrifying time: 

- Spend little time on social media. 

- what little time I spend there, spread stories of happiness and kindness and good in the world. 

- do not engage in political crap online. No one is ever convinced of anything on social media. 

- Love my students, who are scared. Provide a safe space to talk and be themselves and learn about lives not their own. 

- Read. Read. Read. Read. Read. Read. Read. 

- Get out in nature. Walk in the woods. Work in the garden (even though it's being put to bed). 

- Do NOT overdose on news. Like, listen to the NYT The Daily podcast, and read a few articles, but no doomscrolling. No watching news. Limited watching of comedy news shows (although I do enjoy a Seth Meyers, Stephen Colbert, John Oliver, and Jon Stewart), because it can ramp up anxiety too. 

- Try not to doomspiral. But also balance that with vetting sources of information and figuring out when it is the right time to be truly freaked out. 

- Continue giving to the Trevor Project, Planned Parenthood, American Indian College Fund, and the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. 

- Be nice. Be as kind as possible. Spread kindness far and wide. 

I keep thinking of the Anne Frank quote, "In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart." 

I hope things aren't as dire as I fear. God, I hate uncertainty. 

Halloanniversary #15

We celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary over two weeks -- it's a little tricky when you have two anniversaries (the "legal" one and the "ceremony" one) and the dates get a little wonky for weekends. 

We have some traditions that I am so glad we keep up. 

One: The anniversary tombstone (from a catalogue, not a real one, haha). 

I've added a really nice one each year to our cemetery Halloween display for the past 3 years or so, and it is fun to see it grow.

The whole shebang.

Two: Anniversary gifts. Usually nothing too crazy, although Bryce outdid himself. 

I got Bryce this cute Halloween bat message (and the tombstone). 

He got me something I saw and loved in Boothbay Harbor this summer but was not feasible to get at the time, and he had it SHIPPED to our HOUSE! Behold, the Anniversary Puffin: 

Is he not the cutest? He's carved out of wood and perched on a lava rock. THE BEST! 

Three: Anniversary Ghoul. Every year Bryce does a pen and ink drawing for me of a ghoul, usually related to something we watched or talked about. This year, I got this: 

 

MOTHMAN! I love the creepy winghands. Amazing. 

Four: Anniversary getaway. We don't always go away, sometimes it's a nice dinner out, but this was FIFTEEN, so we went to a lovely bed and breakfast about half an hour south of us. The weekend was all about reading by the fireplace, wine, hiking, and eating good food. It's amazing that this area is so close to us, and so spectacular! 

Ahhhh, gas fireplace you can click on and off at will. 

I want this reading nook. It was so cozy. 

Golden Hour view out the reading nook window. 

We hiked in Naples, first at Grimes Glen (a pretty flat hike but a lot of rock-hopping along the stream to get to the waterfall) and then an insane trail at High Tor. 

somewhat accessible waterfall

This tree stump/root bundle is known as "The Grimes Glen Dragon" 

Heading toward Colyer's Gully in High Tor

That's the south end of Canandaigua Lake! We are sooooo high up.

No missteps, it's a looong way down

It was practically round, like a bowl! Very, um, non-guard-railed. 

Then we stopped at a scenic overlook over Canandaigua Lake that blew us away: 

It was a great trip. It was a great anniversary. It is SO important to hang on to these traditions and celebrate these milestones. We are almost to the point where we've been married and resolved as long as we've been married and trying to add to our family. 16 will be even, and 17 will be more out than in. THAT will be worthy of a celebration of its own. 

2009, old house, young us

2024, older us, new(ish) house, just as happy if not more!

Do You Have...

This school year is going great so far-- it's just been super busy with helping my dad with his move and acclimating to Western New York from Southern California. So I disappeared a bit.

I had a parent call last week that was awkward to begin with, and the mom I talked to was saying how her son was pushing for more independence, and it was hard because she's been a single mom and they'd been a tight unit forever. 

Then she said, "do you have kids?" 

And I said, "no." Silence. "It didn't work out for me." Pause. 

Then she said, "Do you have cats?" 

AND I HAD A MOMENT OF UTTER MORTIFICATION. Did she ask me if I had CATS and I just kept on how I can't have kids??? 

So of course, being the queen of awkward, I expressed as much."Oh my god, did you ask me if I had cats and I just told you personal info you didn't ask for???" (Okay, floor, just swallow me up. Right now. Blerghhhhh.) 

She laughed and said no, she asked about kids but her son told her I had cats, and he loves cats, and they consider cats part of the family, and so it moved in a less awkward direction. 

Good gracious. Thankfully it seemed to be much more memorable to me than to her. Sigh. At least there wasn't the usual trite follow up questions or comments... I'll take "do you have cats" as a response any day! 

A Reminder of Time

There are two students in my school who I've known since before they were born. Twins, born to a friend I met at an infertility support group at our first clinic. 

They are SEVENTH GRADERS. Next year, they could be in one of my classes. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? 

It's sobering, because my friend was pregnant when I suffered my ectopic pregnancy. Briefly, we were pregnant at the same time. 

And now they are in the middle of middle school. 

It's so weird to think that I could have had a 7th grader had that pregnancy been viable, or a 6th grader had I not miscarried my second ill-fated pregnancy the following summer.

I enjoy seeing these kids about the halls of my school. I enjoy that I saw pictures of them when they were just a few cells. It's doesn't make me feel sad, which is lovely. Not so very long ago it would have.

It's just surreal that so much time has passed since our closest brushes with parenthood. 

A New Start

This was the fastest summer ever. (It was, actually, shorter than usual by a week, but it still sped by at record speed.) 

This is my current state about school starting back up: 

That, friends, is a big blanket of denial. But, tomorrow is the second day for teachers and Wednesday is the first day with students, and my room is probably 80% there but I am feeling 2% ready for some reason. This is the time when I usually start panicking that I have completely forgotten how to teach. I know I haven't, and this is my 16th year full-time in my district and my 18th year teaching (HOW DID THAT HAPPEN!?), so I'm pretty sure it will all be okay. 

I do feel fortunate that I get a fresh start every year, that I can tweak things and reflect and try new stuff with a whole new group each September. 

This summer had a LOT going on: 

• Got my hyaluronic acid injection series in my non-cyborg knee and am thrilled that if I can do it again in the spring, I think I can buy time before my next replacement. 
• A summer of extremes led to the WORST gardening season of my life -- too much sun and heat, then too much heavy rain... I had a root rot container garden. So much of what I planted in the ground died, despite amending soil. It sucked. 
• Spent much of July and August apartment-hunting for my Dad, who unexpectedly (but excitingly for me) is moving here. THAT is going to be major culture shock, going from L.A. to Rochester, NY. For about a zillion reasons. But, he'll be here in about a month, and it will be the first time we've lived in the same state (much less general area) in 34 years, the first time ever as both adults. 
• Had a highly embarrassing and unexpected expense when I somehow backed my car into A PARKED CAR IN MY OWN DRIVEWAY at the start of summer, and so I will be VERY glad to have a paycheck again in a week and a half. (Then I came within about an inch of doing it again when my best friend came to visit. I apparently can't see giant silver vehicles.) I'm still sad I have a dent on the back of my car now.
• Even though it feels like I didn't do NEARLY enough, I still did a fair amount of work for school over the summer. 
• BUT, I also made plenty of time for reading and puzzles, and we finally put together the folding-leaf puzzle table Bryce got me for my birthday (It's actually really meant for a small kitchen/dining area, but it's a puzzle table to me!)
• I read 22 books this summer. My lowest number I've recorded, but this summer I decided I wouldn't shy away from big books, and read several big and/or dense books along with fun brain candy. If only I was good at goodreads and could figure out summer pagecounts!
• I saw my best friend TWICE! (Three times if you count a May visit, which is a record for us!)
• I walked, a LOT. It was so good to be able to do that again. Lots of 3-7 mile walks on rail trails and the Erie Canal trail. 

That's by no means all of it, but it was packed. I think I'm okay with having some structure and routine. (Check in with me at the end of September to see how I feel about that, ha ha.) I may be overwhelmed with paperwork, and feel like I can never catch up, but I am so very lucky to love my job. And, despite that blanket of denial, I am lucky to actually be looking forward to being back in my classroom with a new group of squirrelly 8th graders to love on and learn with. 

A Minor Vacation Miracle

The Bayside Inn -- highly recommend! Lovely hosts and location!

We went to Maine for vacation and family things, and stayed 5 nights in Boothbay Harbor at a charming inn. We'd stayed there in 2021, and due to COVID surging, there was no breakfast served. So, we went to a small cafe with outdoor seating across the street. This year, though, there was breakfast, and as you may know, when you stay in a small inn or a bed-and-breakfast, this can be an interesting time for social interactions with strangers. 

Case in point: We stayed at an inn for our anniversary pre-COVID in our general area, and breakfast was a landmine -- one morning a guest asked if we had kids, and when we said no, it didn't work out, she continued with "but it's not too late! You're still young! (I was 43) and finally I had to say forcefully, "I DON'T HAVE A UTERUS! IT'S REALLY OKAY!" Sigh. 

Back to Maine: We cycled through 5 different couples during our stay, and at NO TIME did ANYONE ask us if we had kids. Or why we didn't have kids. Bryce did offer up with one couple that we live "just us and the cats," but that particular couple was very interested in talking super loudly about themselves, so it didn't result in any conversation down that line. 

HALLELUJAH! 

Is it because now we're older? Or is it because people like talking about their own kids and don't think to ask if you don't volunteer information about your (nonexistent) kids? Were we just lucky? 

IT DOESN'T MATTER. It was glorious. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the new normal! 

And now, some gratuitous Maine pictures: 

Last day, soaking up Ocean Point

Lobster Cove

Bryce tidepooling at Ocean Point (low tide)

The gardens everywhere were gorgeous

Somehow, it wasn't even 70 but I was SO SWEATY

Ocean Point with Tropical Storm Ernesto high tide waves

Muscongus Bay in the fog

The Wedding People by Alison Espach

It's funny how time changes you as a reader. This is a book that, had I brought it on vacation even 5 years ago, I would have DEFINITELY thrown across the room and then put on indefinite pause within the first 25 pages. The description sounded fascinating -- a woman has left her tattered life behind and flown from Missouri to Rhode Island to a fancy hotel she has always wanted to go to but couldn't afford, because she has decided to end her life. But wait! That sounds terrible! The premise is actually that she checks in at the hotel, and finds out through an administrative error she is the only person in the entire hotel who is not a part of a big, fancy, Wedding Week for a very Bridezilla bride (and groom). She gets absorbed into the wedding shenanigans and... well, read the book. 

It sounds dire. But it was actually laugh-out-loud funny as much as it was a completely accurate and wrenching depiction of the loss and grief when your life falls spectacularly apart and you don't know how to "do life" now that your life is upside down. 

I was so angry, though, at the immediate infertility subplot (that actually turned out to be central to the book, no "sub" about it), that I went to the description in Book of the Month, and felt like an idiot because when you scrolled down a bit further than I had, it clearly has a content warning for "infertility, depictions of attempted suicide, descriptions of miscarriage, divorce." I felt less mad after that, and once I really got into the book, I forgave it entirely. 

This book is INCREDIBLE. [What follows are not actually spoilers, if you can believe it...] I absolutely loved Phoebe, the main character who has lost absolutely everything -- she's done 5 IVF cycles, she got pregnant with her last embryo only to miscarry at 10 weeks, she has an academic career as an adjunct professor of 19th century literature that's stalled out, her husband has left her, and she's lost her beloved cat. 

The descriptions of doing IVF and failing at it (or IVF failing you, to be kinder) are SPOT ON. 

A couple notable IVF quotes (chosen for no spoiler-ism): 

"Maybe I just need to accept that my life is a Russian novel. ... I just mean, a story can be beautiful not because of the way it ends. But because of the way it's written." [I love that SO MUCH.]

"For years she had been thinking about was what she should put in her body to make it a super womb, and she was tired of it. Fuck my body, she thought, but did not say it." [Relate, relate, relate... I had major fuckit-itis when we were done, too]

A couple notable funny quotes (chosen for no spoiler-ism): 

"Everyone at the gallery walks around like, Oh, my, look at this white canvas. Look at what this painter has done with all this white space. He has chosen not to paint it! He has defied the conventions of painting by not actually painting! Isn't that bold? Doesn't that make you want to pay thousands of dollars for it? And some people are like, Yes, yes, it does, actually." 

"...and then she goes off about how I might want to think twice about marrying an older man in waste management like she did."  "I thought Gary was a doctor?" "My father owned landfills. Gary is a gastroenterologist. Totally different jobs, but my mother is just like, Like I said, they're both in waste management. Two men, on a mission to help the country deal with their shit." 

Funny AND IVF related: 

"Technically, they're called retrievals. But they should be called Egg-stractions, right? I mean, come on. It's just sitting right there." 

This was a book that when it was over, I was sad not to exist with the people in it anymore. The characters were amazing. AND, the book was very satisfying. It didn't have a trite ending. It didn't make me mad at the end at all. I loved the message of it. I loved that it was serious content matter, but also seriously funny. Laugh-out-loud funny, disturb Bryce while he's reading a very serious math book kind of laughing. (On that note, I had a very embarrassing moment at breakfast in the inn we're at in Maine where we walked in to get coffee with our books, and a lady said, "that's some serious summer vacation reading material," and like a total dingdong I held up The Wedding People and said, "oh yes, this one?" and she looked confused and said, "ummm no, THAT one" pointing at Bryce's book, which is, sigh, this one:)

Clearly, obviously, the more "serious" book

Really, I loved everything about The Wedding People, except for the brief moment when I felt sneak-attacked and then realized I just hadn't read all the information given when I picked it. And then I loved it more for how it handled all the things infertility, loss, and involuntary childlessness.

You Don't Need Kids To Have Silly Fun

I have thought for years that Bryce and I sort of became our own children. We decided it was important to keep traditions like hiding Easter baskets, fun Halloween activities, building a campground in our backyard woodsy area, and things that we would have enjoyed with our kids, had that worked out. Why not have fun with ourselves?  Sometimes, this looks like...pranks. 

This is a red mylar balloon. 

It was given to me in MAY attached to a tote bag of goodies for Teacher Appreciation Day, from a student and her family. Does it look sad and a bit worse for wear? That's because it is a nearly THREE MONTH OLD BALLOON. 

Did you see that there is no string? Bryce did that. But cut slowly, over time, like a demented serial killer. 

He started by weighting the string with a paperclip, so that the balloon would not fly straight up to the ceiling, but instead float about like a creepy disembodied head ominously declaring TODAY IS YOUR DAY. It scared the cats. It startled me, all the time. 

It started sinking. I was like, "oh good, we can slit the mylar and put the thing to rest." 

Oh no, living with a scientist is truly an experience. 

He removed the paperclip. Then he started cutting sections off the ribbon, so that it would maintain what I think he explained as "neutral buoyancy." It continued stalking about the house. You never knew where it would end up -- floating down from upstairs, turning corners into the bedroom while you're innocently folding laundry -- and eventually, drifting into my guest/craft/puzzle room where I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, looked up to see BalloonHead sneaking into the room, shrieked, and then IT GOT CAUGHT IN THE CEILING FAN, which made a sound like machine gun fire (to someone who's never actually heard real-life machine gun fire). I screamed Bryce's full name, and then remembered he was in an important meeting in his office. Whoops. 

Why would I blame the wandering balloon on Bryce? BECAUSE HE KEPT HIDING IT WHERE IT WOULD SCARE ME. He put it in the damn REFRIGERATOR the other day. If I fall asleep on the couch, a delightful summertime luxury, he would try to set it up so it was floating over my head. So, even though he hadn't sent it up to scare me while puzzling, it makes total sense to blame him. 

Now the balloon has no string/ribbon. It skulks about, grazing the floor (and continuing to scare the cats). It somehow still makes its way on the stairs to other locations. It greeted me at the door from the garage today. And, apparently, I can't throw it out until it is truly beyond resuscitation. 

This is like a) a game you would play to torment your children, b) a weird dad joke kind of situation (it's totally something my dad would have done when I was growing up), c) a strange science experiment, and d) as much as it startles me, hilarious fun. 

I will actually be sad when the scary red balloon finally meets its end. 

Missed the Mark

Obviously, JD Vance is an idiot for his "Democrats are childless cat ladies" comments (among other reasons). This is the same guy who thinks that childless people shouldn't get the right to vote but parents should be able to vote: extra for each child they have. It is patently RIDICULOUS to say that people without children have no stake (or "direct stake" to quote more accurately) in the future. I want a better future for all, not just for the child I (didn't) bring into the world. Lots of people feel the same. 

However, I was very disappointed in the Washington Post's response to those comments as directed at Kamala Harris (gift link). 

It was a great opportunity for people to assert that yes, not having children (biological or not) is NOT A DISQUALIFYING CHARACTERISTIC. That your qualifications and stake in the future have nothing to do with the (in)activities of your womb. 

But, instead, it seemed the chorus became BUT SHE'S A STEPMOM! SHE'S MOMALA! which sure  made me feel like the message was "OH GOD NO, she's NOT one of those SAD childless women, she HAS KIDS she's helped to raise! She's really ONE OF US!"

This is not to besmirch the importance of step-parents at all, they are absolutely important. I have at least one. My sister is one. It's a hard and rewarding role. 

It just felt like a missed opportunity to fight the pronatalist status quo and point out that not having children doesn't make you an oblivious, selfish, uninvested stain on humanity. 

Sigh.

Pronatalism and Schools

Oh, school district meetings that make you feel distinctly othered...

We had a leadership meeting today, and it was about different strategic initiatives: changing start times, building usage (our 9th grade building is closing and merging with the grades 10-11 high school in two years), fiscal responsibility, future planning. 

Part of future planning is the looming specter of continued declining enrollment. It's been a conversation for a while, but the most recent comparison was that enrollment in the 2014-2015 school year was about 6,042 students, and projections for this coming year are 5,081 with it dropping further in projected years out to 28-29 to about 4,835. Sorry for the dry number talk, but what it basically means is, we are going to have continued cutting of things since we won't have as many students to staff for. 

This led to the weirdest brainstorming conversation ever. Basically, the community where I teach is an aging community -- the largest demographic age is 55 and up, and new housing that's being built trends more towards condos and retirement/downsizing opportunities. So, the vast majority of people voting (or not voting) on school budget stuff don't have kids in the schools anymore. And, apparently, when you don't have kids in the school anymore, there's no reason to care about funding.

Literally everything about today was done with the assumption that "we are all parents" and "we all know the struggles of parenthood." And then people started calling out things like "get the old people out!" and "we need more young people who are going to have families!" There was also talk about how all these 3-4 bedroom homes that used to have 2-4 kids in them are now either a) older people without kids in school who aren't moving out because their adult children want the family home to stay as is, or b) young people without kids who have the audacity to buy homes with multiple bedrooms and not procreate immediately (or at all). 

Okay, quick check on messaging: a) old people bad, b) families good, c) if you don't have kids, you shouldn't take up valuable real estate that could house potential customers I mean students, d) how do we attract the breeders? MORE CHILDREN! WE NEED MORE CHILDREN! 

We were supposed to make a newsprint visual of headlines to talk about how these initiatives could be received if they all go swimmingly. I half ironically said we should make one "Blessed be the fruit." I think I found that more appropriate than anyone else at my table. Oddly, it did not make it to the final product.

The whole morning felt like a total example of "as a mother" or "as a father," but really only thinking from your personal point of view. Like when it came to matters of transportation, participation in sports/clubs, and equity, people were like, "well, I drive my kid to practice..." and I was like, "Yep -- YOU drive YOUR KID to practice -- but there are so many families that don't have that option easily." Everyone's first frame of reference is a mirror of their own experience. 

I have paid school taxes for most of my adult life, and I have never had a child in the system. I pay because it's mandatory, but it's also because it's good for humanity, for the future generations, and for home values. A community that values its schools and libraries is important to me. It doesn't matter whether I have kids or not, it benefits EVERYONE to have a solid education system. I don't teach where I live, so I truly have no skin in the game. And the community where I teach is one where it used to be 75% of staff also lived there, and it was said today with some chagrin that now it's only about 52%. But these meetings always read like it's assumed that we all live in the community as well. 

It's super uncomfortable. 

But, when it comes to declining enrollment, it seemed certain realities are being ignored: 

- more people are choosing not to have kids (many young millennials are making this choice for reasons below)

- more people, if they choose to have kids, are having fewer

- more people are facing infertility and so having fewer or no kids due to factors outside their control

- it is expensive to have kids, and it is expensive to buy a house. To do both is prohibitive for A LOT of people

- our community used to be (and sort of still is) a very insular, Catholic community -- large families were a hallmark of the community. But large families are not the norm anymore, and I don't see that changing due to expenses and concerns about climate, among other reasons. 

It makes sense that schools are family-centric. We need children and families, because no students = no schools. But we also need to acknowledge that not everyone who works in schools is a parent, and the community members who are not currently rearing the next generation have value. And a voice. It feels like erasure when it's assumed everyone has the same experience. 

Another Podcast About IVF

I've been listening to This Podcast Will Kill You for a little while, and I really enjoy it. I mean, I have to be careful because I pretty much convinced myself that I had MS, lupus, and Parkinson's through listening, but I have also learned about menopause, migraine, asthma, arsenic, skin cancer, lightning, thalidomide, endometriosis, alcohol, and Henrietta Lacks and the HeLa cells (sounds like a band but it's not). It's a little risky if you hear symptoms and immediately think OMG I'M DEFINITELY DYING. I have been focusing more on the episodes that either a) are things I already know I have or b) aren't things I think I could develop.

I love it because it's two women, both epidemiologists and disease ecologists, and they discuss the topic from multiple perspectives -- history, biological, technological, and first-hand accounts. So much centers on how women and people of color have been done dirty by the medical establishment, particularly the research arm, and how misconceptions have either been debunked or persist in various aspects of women's health. Also, each episode gets a specialty cocktail, the Quarantini, and they also have an alcohol-free Placebo-rita. Which is fun. 

The most recent two episodes and the episode coming this week, though, focus on...IVF. I debated listening to it. Listening to the NYT podcast The Retrievals was both informative/validating but also brought up a lot of feelings. Sad feelings. A bubbling up of my grief magma. I'm glad I did it, but it was at a cost. This, though, promised to be well-researched and peppered with first-hand accounts. 

It's really good. 

And what I love best is that the first-hand accounts are a mix of people who ended up with babies, and...not. And a lot about the complex emotional toll of IVF, and the wide, WIDE range of experiences. It was FASCINATING to hear what goes in to success rate data (was it fresh? frozen? success per retrieval? success per person?) and how the actual numbers are closer to 25%, which is a lot lower than what's typically touted. I'd nab it exactly but the transcript for the second episode isn't up yet. You can hear the hosts realizing the complexity and the impact of IVF throughout the episodes. 

One first-hand account was self-described as an "IVF Long-Hauler." I've never heard that term, but I guess that's what I would have been considered. She listed off all the cycles that they did, and how having insurance made a difference because they have funds to try gestational carrier as they've exhausted the ability to do transfers (in all the ways you can exhaust -- physically, emotionally...). She said they'd reached their "Heartbreak Threshold" for that part of their journey. I do love that term, "Heartbreak Threshold." I remember someone quoting from the play "The Miracle Worker" to me -- "How many times are you going to let them break your heart? Oh, countless." I think it was less inspirational than cautionary, but it stuck with me. (Even though persistence in that case wins out eventually, and it decidedly did not for me.)

I love that there is such a variety of voices, and that those that didn't end with a baby make sure to state that WE EXIST. 

I plan to listen to the third episode, which will focus on the industry and current technologies. I really hope they talk about the influence of it becoming an industry and the ways people are vulnerable to claims and "extras." The hosts are doing a great job so far, so I can't imagine they won't touch on the seedy underbelly. 

So, take a listen, or just feel good knowing that there's another place where the stories of people who didn't find success in IVF are a part of the mix, just as much as those who left with a baby. I'd be interested to know what you think about it.

Note: There is one IVF evangelical person who talks about their "miracle baby" ad nauseum that sort of made me want to stab things, but most of the firsthand accounts aren't like that.

Illicit Picnic

I am not what you would call a risk-taker. Bryce makes fun of me (gently) and calls me "Safety Jess" because I am constantly reminding us about the rules, and the safety things, and not breaking the rules, and OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU BREAKING THE RULES?. 

So it was surprising that I went along with a spontaneous plan that was definitely not within the rules yesterday. 

We had a lovely 4th of July picnic, where we found a spot, cooked up some burgers on Bryce's portable gas burner, and sat enjoying an epic view.

It was a great spot... but it was totally AGAINST THE RULES. There's a big hill with a fancy hotel/golf course at the top, and many office parks off the road going up, up, up. This was a patio at one of those office buildings.

OMG, so much rule-breaking! We cooked, we enjoyed, and we sat and read in the chairs you can't see. We also wiped down the table and left things better than we found them, which made me feel better. Especially since there was a camera on the lightpost in the parking lot, and it was pointed at the patio, and so maybe we gave a security guard something different to watch? A car pulled up at one point and I just about had a heart attack, but it sat behind that pine tree for a moment and then drove away. I wonder if they also had the idea to picnic here and then saw us and thought maybe we belonged? 

It was spontaneous. It was thrilling. It was definitely something we wouldn't have done had we had children. 

We also had the wacky idea to maybe come back and plant some drought-resistant flowers in those pots and see what happens. They are currently just overflowing with weeds. Then we could be like cat burglars who also polish the glass cases that once held the jewels, haha. It also took a lot not to weed the plantings they had around the border. 

I am proud that I didn't freak out the whole time, and that I agreed to do it. I will admit I was listening for sirens and expecting a security truck to come yell at us at any time. But, 4th of July, so many people had off and the place was deserted. So, we had a very respectful squatter's picnic and enjoyed the breeze and the view and Bryce's tasty burgers, and celebrated our nation's independence from a king which feels, um, particularly poignant at the moment. 

Happy 4th!

Start of Summer

Today is the 5th day of my Teacher Summer, and the third weekday where I did not have to wake up to an alarm. Sometimes, I make overzealous plans of all the things I will accomplish over the summer. I don't think I'll do that this year. 

So far, summer looks like: 

- long walks on the rail trail
- reading books
- digging holes and planting things
- waking up when I want to (which is often the same time as usual, but then I read and hurkle-durkle, which is lovely)
- afternoon naps
- sitting outside
- doing puzzles

Sooooo... a whole lot of recovery activities and giving myself permission to be goo for a little bit. I did not have a particularly stressful year, but it still takes a lot out of a body to be "on" all day, to not laugh at middle school double entendre jokes when you desperately want to, to not be able to pee when you need to, and to have way more stuff to do than you have time to do it. Not to mention doing all that in extreme heat. I am so so so grateful for both my home air conditioning and the cooler weather these past couple days.

However, I cannot just step away entirely, as evidenced by my delight in receiving a package today that contained... my NEW PLANNING BOOK for next year! And it is a thing of beauty. I used to make my own in a binder, but last year I decided to treat myself to a pre-done one that is beautiful and organized and might actually motivate me to get what's in my head down on paper, and it worked. But this year? I discovered you can CUSTOMIZE the COVERS: 

Front

Back

Now, when I look at my planning book, I will see my lovely husband, my adorable kitties, my flowers, and my best friend. They will be with me, silent and stationary, all day. I couldn't wait, I put all the holiday stickers in and marked all the places where there are Superintendent's Day Conferences and breaks and such. 

So, still relaxing, but also a peek into things I can do to make my next school year, which unfortunately is foretold to be much more stressful, more pleasant for myself. Ahhhhh. 

Feeling the Heat

Today was the last day with students, and holy hell was it hot. It got up to 94, but with the air quality and humidity it was a heat index of 101. Then take into account our 1960s brick school buildings that soak up the heat and do not release it, and it was a very sweaty day. 

This time is always bittersweet, because we are saying goodbye to students, but we are also ushering in summer... next week. The kids were a mix of energy, both positive and angry/sad coming out sideways. And hot. Everyone was hot. (And sweaty. And stinky.)

Elementary students are still in school this week, so because the heat is just supposed to continue through at least Thursday (and those brick oven buildings will hold the heat longer), they moved to a half day schedule. I was in the hall with another teacher and said, "I'm so glad they are doing this for the littles," and she replied, "yeah, well, it's a childcare nightmare." 

Oh... hadn't thought about that. Totally off my radar. 

I have been acutely aware of the wonders of my childless status as it's been hot or stressful or very busy, and I can go home and just...sploot on the couch. Or floor. I can take a shower and then a nap. I can say I need decompression time and go puzzle for an hour without anyone talking to me. If I had kids, I would not be able to do any of those things. (But then again, if I had kids, we'd be having Father's Day barbecue for Bryce this past weekend, and enjoying all the joys of children, too, so I take that with a grain of salt.) My colleagues who have kids (some 2 or 3) have that second shift. 

I do love being able to leave school and come home to quiet and the possibility of taking care of myself. I would have loved having children, but that didn't work out so I embrace the benefits I do have. 

Tomorrow, no students, just work time but some air conditioned spaces where we can go to get work done. I will NOT be cleaning up my room in this heat! It's supposed to be cooler next week, and we have Monday and Tuesday, so I think room things will be fine waiting until then. Then the rah rah end of the year celebration, wrapping up, and...another school year, DONE.

This is one thing I love about teaching -- I live with my students (at school, and in my headspace) all year, and then we have to say goodbye... but then the cycle starts again in September. It's always turning over. And today I saw a student who is a cousin to one of my current students... who graduated 2 years ago and still came to visit! Sometimes they come back. Saturday I'm attending another student's graduation party, from the year everything shut down. So it's not necessarily always goodbye goodbye. I love those reminders.

I hope wherever you are it's not too hot (the rest of the week is supposed to be heat index of 107, ew). Only a handful of days until the sweet freedom of summer! 

Hidden Treasure

There are five, FIVE! days of school with students left. It's a bittersweet time, because I'll miss my students, but also...summer is coming. And with summer, time in the garden.

My ankle/foot is out of the boot, and I was feeling ambitious enough this weekend to do some real, heavy-duty gardening. I aggressively pruned back an invasive tree (autumn olive, sounds lovely but is a BEAST), weeded an area that had become Soil of Death, and then tilled and amended the soil with a boatload of Bumper Crop soil builder. THEN I planted things in the new, hopefully less lethal, dirt. 

There was much digging and raking and sawing and lopping and dragging things down the hill to the area where we put yard waste. In our area, teeming with invasive trees, plants, shrubs, and vines, there is a serious need for this waste pile area. I was so grateful that my new knee was performing amazingly, and my ankle was holding up, and my right knee that is headed for replacement was actually not too terrible. Until later, when every part of my body was pissed at me. 

I brought wheelbarrows of pruned branches and yanked vines down to the waste area, and I found this: 

See it? Let's zoom in...

WHAT? A crop of absolutely gorgeous and either wild or drifted from elsewhere foxgloves! Beautiful spotted beauties, among the junk. 

I have no idea where they came from. I have some foxgloves in the Birdbath Garden, the aforementioned Garden of Death, but they are a perennial version, Arctic Fox Arctic Rose: 

Not the same at all in color or shape. 

Where did these lovelies come from? And how did they end up in a very bizarre, hidden, out-of-the-way area? 

It was a moment where I was dumping detritus, and BOOM! Gorgeous hidden treasure. Something beautiful in a junky area, totally unexpected. It's a great reminder that even when things are mucky and weedy and gross, there can be good things hiding in there, too. 

Everything will fill in and get nice and bushy, and you can totally see amended soil vs crap soil. I am constantly fighting the encroaching wilds in my little garden areas. All these plants are pollinator havens, though! 

Can We Just Ban the Phrase "Get Over It?"

Grief is complicated. That seems like a "file under DUH" statement, but it's a needed reminder, because apparently people are still using the phrase "get over it" when dealing with other people's grief. As in, "it's been [insert period of time here], shouldn't you be over it by now?" Or "I'm worried about you, you didn't seem to be able to get over it." 

There is no over. There is only through. 

Over to me is this idea that you can leapfrog the complex and uncomfortable feelings associated with grief, particularly the kind that comes with the death of a dream or the complete undoing of what you thought life was "supposed" to look like. Just skip all that unpleasantness, paste a smile on, and get over it. 

This pretty much benefits only the people around you, the ones who are uncomfortable with raw and oozing emotions and/or the reminder that bad things happen to people, for absolutely no reason. 

To get through something is to acknowledge the yuck, the lying-facedown-on-the-floor, the sadness and anger and even jealousy that comes with a traumatic undoing, and to know that you have every right to trudge through that emotional swamp at your own pace. It means you can get to the "other side," but the mud and goo you tromped through sticks to the soles of your shoes and the odor lingers in the fiber of your clothes. It's still there, but it's not as consuming as it once was. However, you can also on occasion step in a sinkhole that douses you in the goo all over again, out of nowhere. You can get out of the it, but there are going to be sinkholes, and they don't have an expiration date. 

I have had to mourn a life turned upside down twice, and the grief worked totally differently and also in some ways very much the same. For me, the process looked like this: first, disbelief and a numbness that this can actually be happening; then, a lot of lying face-down on the floor. This is where the two experiences fork. 

For the dissolution of my first marriage, I was absolutely devastated but then wanted to make the best of the shitty situation. I enjoyed being alone. But then I would cry about being alone. And even today, little snippets of my life Before will pop into my head and make me sad, but it's different. I am sad for the person I was, who didn't see her own worth. I am insanely happy for the life I lead now, which is only possible because of that horrific loss, and learning how to love and forgive myself. It was a bit easier to move forward once I could acknowledge that I'd been living a pretty miserable life and this was, actually, a freeing event.

For the end of the quest to be parents, it was different. In one way, because I was mourning with my person, someone loving and kind and supportive. The raw part also lasted a hell of a lot longer. And it feels like much more of a finality, of a loss of an experience that impacts the entire rest of our lives and beyond. I can find ways that I have benefits for not having kids, but there wasn't a moment when we were desperately trying that I didn't want to have them. 

The things that are the same: I carry these losses with me. They aren't constantly weighing me down, but occasionally they pop up and surprise me with a fresh wave of loss. For things I've experienced, and things I'll never experience. 

Everyone's grief is different. My grief over two life-altering events is similar but not the same. One thing that's constant is that there is no magic wand to make the grief go away, to skip over the hard parts, to make it so you're never sad about losses ever again. I wouldn't want there to be -- these experiences have made me who I am, and while I'm not grateful for the personal tragedies, I am grateful for how they altered my perception. How they made me grow as a person, even if it was kicking and screaming. 

I truly believe that there is no "getting over it" or "moving on" as if you can put loss in a box and give it away. I wish there was more understanding of grief as something you carry with you, but move through to a place you once could never imagine -- one of acceptance and finding joy in a new reality. 

Updating "The List"

When I went through my divorce that capped off my 20s and started my 30s, I had a therapist to help me try to make sense of this complete change of direction in my life. She was the type who gave homework, and one session she was like, "make a list of 20 things you want in an ideal partner." The point was to really examine what I wanted (and what I definitely did not), so that I would eventually make decisions on partners that were more in line with what I wanted my life to look like and what I felt I deserved. 

She told me I could not even consider a date with someone who had less than 10 attributes on the list, and I couldn't seriously date anyone lower than 15. It was daunting, especially as I felt pretty low about myself at the time, but I made my list. 

HOW I WISH I STILL HAD MY PAPER COPY OF THIS LIST. I should have framed the damn thing. 

I do remember enough that Bryce looked pretty good from the start, and then once I got to know him better, he ended up having 18 things on the list, which is a 90%. The only two he didn't have were a) like dancing (he will gladly do one slow dance with me, but fast dancing at weddings is alllll me), and b) buy me flowers (his engineer-then-scientist brain equates this to buying me decay, which is not romantic). 

Not a big deal, because I have no problem dancing by myself on the rare occasion that opportunity and mood strike together. Flowers? I can buy myself flowers. I get the whole "it's a slow death and dying exercise, how is that romantic???" but at the same time, flowers are lovely while they're not dead and I enjoy buying myself long-lasting bouquets out of passive aggressiveness. 

But, for my birthday this year, BRYCE BOUGHT ME AN ARRANGEMENT FROM A FLORIST! A new florist shop opened up near us and their signage by the street is always festooned in gorgeous fresh flower garlands. I hinted rather shamelessly that it would be lovely to have flowers appear from there sometime, and that I would even give the monies so it was me paying for decay and Bryce just picking out the slowly dying pretties. 

But on my birthday weekend, BOOM! Here was this gorgeous vessel with flowers (front and back): 

Note the very cute but very naughty photobomber. 

Huzzah! Bryce is now a 19/20 guy. It's important to note that I believe one of the list items was "want children," which he very much did, and obviously I did as well... but it just didn't come to pass. But with 19/20 wonderful, ambitious, sexy, outdoorsy, adventurous things on that list... I count myself as insanely lucky. I would far rather have an amazing life partner and no children than the reverse.