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. 

Can't Get a Break

Behold. My new sassy footwear accessory for the next few weeks, at least. 

I am not in school for at least the next few days because I can't put any weight on my right foot, because I badly sprained my ankle and top of my foot. My right foot. My driving foot. 

I had x-rays galore Saturday morning at my orthopedic office's urgent care, and they didn't detect any fractures, which is good. Except Sunday I was walking in the boot and then sat down and then got up and holy moly it felt like something had moved WRONG. I took the boot off and my foot was way swollen along the right side of my foot up through my ankle, and so I am worried that something I did...did more to my foot. 

Oh, and the magic number is 50. They are required to ask you if you could be pregnant until you turn 50, or they notice in your chart that you don't have the required parts. I asked because they didn't ask this time which was a minor miracle and very much appreciated. Less than 2 years until that question stops! 

Anyway, you might be wondering, "how did you do this?" Was it a Pilates injury? Something while on a hike or a walk? 

Nope. 

I got up to pee around 3:30 am Friday night, opened the door to let the cat out of the room, went to the bathroom, and while walking back to my bed stepped on the cat I thought I'd let out, lost my balance and stepped on him AGAIN (he's fine), then rolled my ankle right off my orthotic slippers (Vionic, I highly recommend for ankle support but not for sliding out of sideways). Bryce was awoken first by the indignant caterwauling of Lucky, and then the shrieking of me as I stood on one leg like a broken flamingo and realized I could bear absolutely no weight and it was ON FIRE. 

Not the best start to a weekend. 

So, I could put some weight on it on Saturday and with the boot I felt more secure, but I'm using crutches and now I can't bear any weight at all while standing. So gallivanting around a middle school is going to be challenging. I need to get a scooter, but first I need to be able to flex enough to safely drive. I've been elevating like a good girl but that's simply not possible when I'm not home. 

OH! And I was supposed to go to my 30th high school reunion downstate this coming weekend, and that's no longer feasible either. I wonder how much of it would have been kids kids kids kids kids, and I was hoping to be pleasantly surprised, but now I guess I'll never know, or at least not until the 40th when I'm 58. Good gracious. 

Well, it is never boring to be me. I just wish I was a tad less breakable. Here's hoping I heal quickly and there's nothing weird going on that would make recovery longer. 

Turning 48

My birthday is Sunday. I will be 48. 

Everyone who has struggled with fertility knows that birthdays and ages weigh heavily when it seems like the end of possibility runs concurrent with the number of candles on your (possibly metaphorical) cake.

There is something freeing about age just being a number, an inching towards AARP, signaling my 30-year high school reunion (which I am attending in May), and...nothing else. 

I personally cannot wait until I am old enough that the x-ray technicians don't ask if I could be pregnant. 

What's 48? It's not quite 50. It's got me supposedly in perimenopause. Thanks to the gift of an exorcism/hysterectomy 6 years ago, I know this not because of irregular periods (ha, that's MY WHOLE LIFE with a dysfunctional uterus and ovaries), but because of the joy of hot flashes, night sweats, migraines, anxiety, mood swings... So many fun markers. Lots of people see this as an end of an era, of the door finally shutting on fertility. HA! That door slammed shut years ago, so there's no emotional tie-in for me. 

I did have to warn Bryce that the unpleasantness of Lupron was just a preview of menopause. He was oddly not excited about that. 

I am excited though, at the freedom of growing older without strings attached. I feel like because I know what it is like to dread a birthday, it is a glorious contrast to be like, "bring it on, birthday!" I can't wait to blow out some candles on my slice of gluten-free cake. 

I Think We Are the Couple from Up

Oh, Up. A movie that is lovely and funny but starts with the world's most traumatic montage (even just hearing the music can make me cry). What the hell, Pixar? Is it necessary to weave involuntary childlessness and moving forward from unspeakable grief only to lose your person in the end into the first 10 minutes of a KID'S MOVIE? 

Anyway. If ever I need to cry, I just watch that montage. I know the first time I saw the movie, I sobbed uncontrollably. 

But, we always joked about how we are like that couple, in a good way. They have such a beautiful relationship and just get each other. They read in chairs next to each other and hold hands. And then, when the horrible thing happens and they aren't going to be able to have children, that depiction of grief, of sitting in the chair just numb, wow. I feel that. Carl trying to help his wife heal while hurting himself? Oooof, yes. But then, they plan to go on adventures!  They have a travel book to fill! They have a savings jar! So! Much! Hope! 

It's funny, because my first birthday after we had decided we weren't going to continue with adoption and we were going to be childless forever, Bryce gave me a whole bunch of travel-related things. A how to pack, a how to travel, Atlas Obscura, and a travel journal. And we made plans, seven years ago (almost exactly!) in 2017. 

Instead of waterfalls in Venezuela, we planned to go to Scotland, to Ireland, to Iceland, to all the misty, rocky, cold places where puffins live. First we took our extravagant California trip, and that was amazing. Two weeks of California coast, of ocean and woods and food and wine. 

Then I had a hysterectomy. 

Bryce got deep in his PhD. 

We started planning an itinerary for Scotland, in late 2019. As we worked to solidify our plans into actual trip details, a freaking pandemic hit. No puffins for us. 

Traveling during high COVID times was not going to happen. 

And then my knee decided to go real bad. All of the -lands of the puffins have, um, rocks. And hills. All things it's really helpful to have functioning knees in order to do. 

I had a knee replacement. I recovered from my knee replacement, which turns 11 months in two days. 

AND THEN, QUITE RECENTLY, MY RIGHT KNEE STARTED ACTING LIKE IT WANTED IN ON THE TITANIUM. 

So I went to the surgeon, who took multi-view x-rays of my "good" knee. 

Guess what? Not so good anymore. Significant weathering on the right side of my patella, and considerable arthritis below. I got a cortisone shot, and was told, "You know the drill. You can schedule a replacement any time you're ready." 

MOTHER EFFER. 

Not doing it this summer, because I wanted a nice summer where I got to enjoy my new knee (which is now a questionable endeavor given Right Knee's behavior), but it is happening within the year, because I do NOT want to wait until I can't walk it hurts so bad to replace it. Which means next summer will be recovery, in some shape or form. Which means, hopefully we will be able to plan our international travel for... 2026? 

Our metaphorical jar keeps getting smashed. 

We are lucky. We have good health insurance, and I can do the knee replacement and then have TWO bionic knees. Take that, hills of Scotland and Ireland! Take that, volcanic geyserville of Iceland! I just have to be willing to wait. Again. 

I am really, really tired of all the waiting. But, at the end of it, hopefully there is a glorious puffin trip in places with fun accents. Because I would like the similarities to Ellie and Carl to stop, please. They are a lovely couple, but it doesn't exactly work out as planned and the trip with each other never happens. And it gets real sad and explains why Carl is such a curmudgeon.

So, right knee, get yourself all shiny and new, you diva. And then do your job so we can see those puffins together and go frolicking through the heather on the hill. 

ADHD and Clutter

I haven't really written much about the whole ADHD thing lately, but yup -- it's a thing. I am taking a medication that does seem to help, but really seems to help more with seasonal depression and general mood leveling, so the jury's still out on that one. Still not a stimulant medication. 

I have been focusing on skills, though, and I cannot recommend the YouTube channel "How to ADHD" enough. It is SO HELPFUL. And, the creator, Jessica McCabe, has a BOOK by the same name now! 

I have not gotten super far into the book, but I am looking forward to it. Particularly the chapter called, "How to See Time." Holy Moses do I need that one. 

Anyway, I was feeling overwhelmed in my office, which had become rather...crowded. Piles of books on the floor. Piles of paper on my desk. And the floor. And "hiding" under the chaise longue. I love my cozy office, but it wasn't an area I enjoyed being in anymore. It had turned against me. Ha, rewind that. I had turned against it, and it was so overwhelming that I just couldn't get a handle on it, and for me... when I feel overwhelmed, I just sort of selectively unsee messes. Because if I see it, it causes me stress and I want to fix it but I know from experience that it will likely just return to its original state. It feels hopeless. 

Well, I had some extra time over break and was able to get started on organizing and throwing crap out and making a space that I can feel good about. 

What helped? This video: 

She has a whole series of videos on wrangling clutter and reframing the idea that you are just a messy, disorganized person. WARNING: She also has a lot of videos on ADHD and pregnancy because she just had a baby, but you don't have to watch those if they don't apply (I certainly don't). This one was cool because it has an actual resource in the comments -- a worksheet by an organizational design team that is ADHD friendly. SO HELPFUL. 

I will say, I am glad that I had pretty much a full day to dedicate to Operation Office, because if I hadn't had enough time to go start to finish, it would have been a disaster. I could see me lying on the floor, surrounded by crap, in tears and frustrated. But woohoo! Break meant I could do it. (I really have a hard time doing things in stages, it's like an all-or-nothing thing with me, and if I get into a bigger project than I was ready for, there. will. be. tears.) 

Looking for "before" photos was hilarious. Oddly, I don't tend to take pictures of my hideous messes. But here are some sneaky blurry background shots of my giant piles 'o books: 

So this doesn't look too horribly terrible, but it's all TBR and I had it all "organized" pretty by color.

The dark underbelly... if you look behind my shoulder you can see that there is a stack of books on the floor next to the stack on top of the bookcase. And what you can't see is that there are actually four stacks of books on the floor. FOUR. So, from outside the door, you just saw stacks, which was icky, but I couldn't actually see what I had there. It just...lived on the floor.

Oh. My. Gosh. Is that a clear surface I see on top? So, it pained me to do this, but I stacked the books vertically and 2 stacks deep because it is a pretty deep little bookcase and I could fit everything on it this way. The stacks are by genre now, and staggered so I can see everything, and if I can't totally see it, I just slide a stack. And look! Floor! 

Now, my desk. I do not have a picture of it messy, but I can show how it's been organized THRICE in the past year or so, because I can make it pretty but it's so hard to make it sustainably functional. Imagine GIANT piles of papers, mail, and books on either side of my laptop for before shots. 

First Iteration: 

You can kind of see the pile I'm trying to hide on the left, and also pieces I've cut out of my pretty Katie Daisy desk calendar because I was TOTALLY going to use them for something. 

Second Iteration: 

I bought this desk organizer shelf thing after reading a BuzzFeed list (I am a sucker for that stuff) and I actually love it, but you can see how there is crap on the other organizer to the right, and on the desk to the right, and behind my laptop, and there's a pile you can't see to the left of my laptop, and there's some junk hidden behind the sleeping cat. Lucky, you're so cute! I'm trying, but not quite there yet. 

Third Iteration: 

AHHHH! I actually threw out stuff! I rearranged things so that it's useful, but also pleasing, and LOOK AT ALL THAT WORK SPACE! The blue laptop desk pad is another BuzzFeed find, and look how pretty my planbook is. I bought a really organized fancy planbook in the hopes that I'd actually be motivated to use it more often and keep up. I am actually mentally very organized, but paper and things are my enemy. (Also, full disclosure, there is ONE small pile of papers and notebooks on the floor behind my chair that you can't see, but I feel like it's disingenuous not to confess.)

It is wonderful to see empty space. I am hoping it is motivating to try to keep it that way for longer this time. How much time did it take to tackle this? Oh, probably about 7 hours. But it was worth it, and I kept myself off the floor so that I didn't feel tempted to just shut the door and walk away and pretend I don't have an office anymore. 

One last thing -- I did actually get rid of some books. It pained me, because I hate culling books, but in organizing my TBR pile there were a few that I knew I wasn't going to read (either because I'd picked them up and put them right back down, or they were "should" books), and there were a few on my Read shelves that I felt I could let go of. I took a page from Lori Lavender Luz, who had the brilliant idea of driving around to find Free Little Libraries and depositing books like little treasures about town. So we did that, and found four different Little Libraries, including one that was Harry Potter themed (painted gold with the Marauder's Map and "I Solemnly Swear I Am Up To No Good").  It felt really great to be a secret twilight book fairy. 

We are trying to reduce our "stuff" bit by bit, because there's really no one who is going to help us when we're old, no kids/grandkids to take any of our treasures. It stresses me out so much when we have to tackle a room. It feels unsurmountable and overwhelming. But, with the tips from the How to ADHD team and knowing that I did it once and could do it again, I think it's less so. As long as we do one space at a time, and I have absolutely nothing else going on that day. 

It is lovely to have a pretty, functional space, and to know that although I made it a disaster, I also made it something that works for me and makes me happy, not stressed. 

Adoption Unfiltered Podcast: Bucking Societal Pressure and NOT Adopting

I am so excited to share that I had the honor and privilege of being a special guest on Adoption Unfiltered, the podcast (and YouTube channel)! The episode dropped yesterday. You can watch it here (linked to the YouTube channel): 

You can also listen anywhere you get your podcasts, or at the Adoption Unfiltered podcast page. 

It was an amazing conversation with Sara Easterly, Kelsey Vander Vliet Ranyard, and Lori Holden (aka Lori Lavender Luz and my friend!), an adoptee, birth mother, and adoptive parent, respectively. I was on to talk about the pressure of pronatalism, the difficulty when you try to "just adopt" (insert heavy sarcasm here) and find yourself facing a zillion ethical questions and unresolved grief. 

I have always struggled with the idea that maybe I "didn't want a baby bad enough" to stay in the game. But I think this conversation speaks to the push-pull of desperately wanting to be a parent, but discovering that there are intangible costs that we didn't initially realize and couldn't overlook. 

I am not better than anyone else. I didn't find out more about the underbelly of adoption and then say "That's IT! We're out of here!" on purely ethical grounds. We stopped the adoption (waiting) process ultimately because of my health and the toll everything took on my body and my mind. But, we did wait longer in part because we weren't willing to say "baby at any cost" and go beyond our comfort level, which narrowed instead of widened the more we explored beyond the marketing machine. Listening to adoptee voices. Being willing to be uncomfortable. Being willing to really examine our own limitations. Getting familiar with shifting power dynamics. 

Our story is just that -- our story. I can't say what would have happened if things turned out differently, if we had been chosen. I would hope that I would do the same sort of researching, and connecting with people, and listening to voices typically unheard so that I could do my best to do no harm beyond what is inherent in adoption. Because even if you do it really well, which was my hope, there is grief and loss in separating families to make a new one, even when the intentions are good. 

If you are so inclined, give it a listen! Or a watch, if you want to see me making weird faces and hand gestures, which are my specialty side dish to honesty and vulnerability. Thank you in advance! 

Total Eclipse of the...Clouds?

We were so super excited about the total eclipse today -- I feel like we've been planning for at least a year. It was really cool, but it was also an exercise in practicing being appreciative in the face of disappointments (which so many of us are REALLY good at, unfortunately). 

1) My best friend was supposed to come up with her husband and 3 teenage kids and camp out on our floors and couches. They were in a 93% area, but wanted to see totality. We were nervous about having so much activity in our very, very quiet house, but we were ready. Until my best friend got sick. She's been super stressed lately, and her body picked this moment to just need total rest. So, she needed to take care of herself, but it was disappointing. (And we have SO MUCH FOOD, thankfully a lot of snacky frozen things, but we are ROLLING in snacks and should have a party.)

2) Apparently 500,000 people were expected to come to Rochester, NY, where I live. So we made plans to not go anywhere. And for a while it seemed weird, like...we are one of the cloudiest cities in the country...why would you come here if there were other choices? But, Rochester is also very unpredictable with weather thanks to Lake Ontario, so maybe we'd get lucky. 

3) We did not get lucky. Yesterday was absolutely gorgeous, blue skies, just a perfect early spring day. Today looked like this: 

This is actually during the first half of the eclipse, so the clouds do look kind of funky, but STILL.

 We tried so hard to be excited and will the sun to come out. I wore a sparkly eclipse outfit: 

We got a split of champagne: 

And then it just. didn't. clear. up. Here is Bryce, trying to get his pinhole viewer to work (because it was so cloudy we didn't need our glasses): 

It did a great job of projecting...clouds. 

We were super bummed.

4) But, the light did get subtly weirder, until totality happened. Even with clouds, it was FREAKY. And cool, so cool. It was like a curtain of darkness just went SWOOSH over us. It happened super fast. I can see why people used to think it meant end times. That would scare the bejeezus out of you if you didn't know it was coming.

Maybe 15 minutes before, the clouds got real weird.

Holy crap! It was dark, like PITCH dark

And then it started getting light a few minutes later, but it felt long.

It would have been really cool to see the whole thing, clearly. It would have been amazing to see the sky turn dark and stars come out at 3:20 pm. But, it was actually pretty darn cool. The temperature dropped about 10 degrees in just a few minutes. Seeing the birds roosting when it was getting dark and then seeing freaked-out moths making a beeline for cover when it suddenly got light out again was entertaining. The irony: my best friend may have had 93% and no totality, but she had sunny, clear skies. Totality was awesome, but probably not worth a road trip under cloud cover.

We ended up having a good time, even with the clouds.