Sometimes Sad Bubbles Up

Last week I missed Microblog Mondays because I was driving to southern Indiana, by myself, to go to my grandma's 85th birthday. (Nope, that's not a typo, she was 18 when she had my dad and he was 20 when he had me, so I'm lucky to have a young grandparent, even if the math makes eyebrows jump sometimes.) I did not mind driving, I prefer it immensely to flying, and plus I had my trusty new Bluebird to get me there. 

It was a whirlwind. I got to see my dad, my sister and her husband, many aunts, and uncles, and cousins, and my cousins' kids. It was a lot of activity and fun to see people I hadn't seen in 5 years (at my grandfather's funeral) -- and so nice that we were celebrating a life together while that person was still alive to enjoy it. 

I came home pensive, and was struck with the magnitude of what we've lost. I am so grateful for the life that we live, but it doesn't erase that when we turn 85 (hopefully), there will be no giant picture of all the descendants. Because there will be no descendants. There will be no family to throw a party and make a speech about the impact our lives have had on the family. 

Also, I enjoyed running after the kids and counting spiders in the windows of the hotel event center with one cousin's little boy and putting the bubbles from the wedding a few weeks ago to good use. It was a lot of activity, and then I came home and the house was so... quiet. 

Now, I also enjoy the quiet. I enjoy the time I get to read and do Pilates and garden and just sit out on the deck in our Adirondack chairs, drinking some tasty Bordeaux and watching for shooting stars like we did Saturday night. Quiet is nice. 

But I did have big fat tears rolling own my face as I talked about how my being sad at the loss of descendants, of the children who look somewhat like the children we might have had that I got to spend time with. And I felt like I had to caveat those tears, and be like "I LOVE OUR LIFE. I'M NOT SAD ABOUT OUR LIFE." 

It's just those two things can exist together -- the resolution and the loss. The joy and the grief. Sometimes it bubbles up and demands to be felt. 

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

Congratulations! (But Also This Card Is Judging You)

I went to a wedding this past weekend, of a friend from school. It was a beautiful wedding, small and meaningful. I have a soft spot for small weddings, and a grouchy-old-lady take on the bonanza that weddings have become in recent years -- so much money and time! This one was just perfect. 

I went card shopping beforehand, and holy WOW. 

You know how when people announce they are pregnant and it's like "welcome to the club" and "yay, momma!" and "This will be the greatest work you ever do?" I feel like most of the time those sentiments don't make it into greeting card prose. Or I've blocked it out. 

But imagining myself as a unpartnered person, shopping for a wedding card? UGH. Soooo many cards that said "Two is better than one" or something along those lines. Seems a big flipped bird, huh? It would be like if new baby cards were like, "Oh finally, you've made a REAL family" or "Now you're a valued part of society!" 

It got me thinking.... There's got to be ways to congratulate people without making one life out to be better than another.

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

My Corner Garden

When we moved into our new house, pretty much everything inside was all set, minus paint, but the outside was a blank canvas. It turns out it's a canvas that's very difficult to paint, as we have poor soil, invasive Jumping Worms, rocks, invasive weeds/vines/root systems, poison ivy galore, deer, rabbits, groundhogs, chipmunks, walnut trees (poison the soil with juglone anywhere within the dripline/where leaves fall/where squirrels put the nuts...which is EVERYWHERE), and now a pervasive drought. 

I have made the best of it and planted all the spiky, aromatic things with good survival skills and taken note of what works and what doesn't and chalked it all up to learning curve. 

One of my favorite garden spots is the corner garden. You can't see it from the house. This prompted a garden guy who was pitching to help with some hardscaping to say "Why would you ever plant a garden there? You won't ever see it!" We did not hire him. 

Corner garden earlier in the summer

Because, I had a vision. I wanted a garden that would be for everyone to enjoy. I might not see it from literally any windows in the house, but I see it every time I leave or come home. Anyone walking on the street can see it. And when there are no humans around, it is enjoyed by pollinators galore including honeybees, bumblebees, wasps, hoverflies, various butterflies and moths, and hummingbirds. Unfortunately the deer and groundhogs seem to enjoy it in the spring also, but once all the spiky/herby plants mature, they pretty leave it alone (although I probably just jinxed it). 

Spiky stuff

I love this garden because it is not just for me. It's for everyone, human and not. It is enjoyed regardless of whether humans go anywhere near it.

I also bought a bench recently, that I envisioned going against the house by my birdbath garden so I could sit and enjoy. It turned out that it was a weird space for a bench, next to a heat pump/AC unit, and so awkward and not really such a great place to sit. Oh well. 

But then, today, I moved it to the corner garden. Originally when I said I was going to move it there, Bryce said, "but will you actually sit out there?" And the answer is yes. I sat there for a good 40 minutes, despite the heat advisory and sweat EVERYWHERE. It's in the shade and it gives me a great view (and a sort of secret hidden feeling). I can see sitting there with a book, with a notebook, or just watching the bees and the visiting hummingbird. It's a lovely spot. 

Ahhh what a lovely spot! 

It's funny, because the first plants that went in were dug by my mom, because I was recovering from my hysterectomy and could not do any digging. Then, when I recovered, I dug a bed around those plants, and planted more. It's a little island with pollinator activity and public beauty. It's a labor of love. Every year I amend the soil (AGAIN) and weed and mulch and inspect what is surviving and what is not. And then I do maintenance. It was is a gradual process. I had a vision, which I then had to adjust, and now, slowly but surely, it is starting to look like I'd hoped it would. This is the thing with gardening. It requires patience, a long-term vision, and flexibility. All things which make it so very rewarding when it works.

I always wanted a place to sit and rest when working out there. And now I have it! So awesome when you have a vision and it can be brought to life... not by a miracle or fate, but because of hard work and flexibility and adjusting a plan as you go instead of hard-headed-ly continuing down the same path that isn't working. (Get the metaphor?). Now it is a place of peace and beauty and purpose.  

Look! Bees! Spiky things! A snake about to gobble a globe thistle! 

Chronology of a Corner Garden:

Back at the very beginning... April 2019

May 2019

August 2019

September 2019

July 2020

July 2021

And today! August 6, 2022

A Delightful Recommendation

Let me tell you about this book: 

This, while very very different, is my The House in the Cerulean Sea pick for Summer 2022. My evangelical read. 

I'll let Ross Gay tell you his premise as he writes in his Preface: 

"One day last July, feeling delighted and compelled to both wonder about and share that delight, I decided that it might feel nice, even useful, to write a daily essay about something delightful." 

"I came up with a handful of rules: write a delight every day for a year; begin and end on my birthday, August 1; draft them quickly; and write them by hand. The rules made it a discipline for me. A practice. Spend time thinking and writing about delight every day." 

Isn't that amazing? So simple, so beautiful. Then, this: 

"It didn't take me long to learn that the discipline or practice of writing these essays occasioned a kind of delight radar. Or maybe it was more like the development of a delight muscle. Something that implies that the more you study delight, the more delight there is to study. ...  I felt my life to be more full of delight. Not without sorrow or fear or pain or loss. But more full of delight. I also learned this year that my delight grows -- much like love and joy -- when I share it."

I love this book so much. It truly was delightful, and a reminder to make a practice out of finding delights in life, especially because lately everything seems so terrible. 

And IT'S AUGUST FIRST! Happy birthday, Ross Gay. Now go read this book and discover the contagiousness of shared delights. 

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

I Am A Podcast Guest!

There are many reasons to love Lori Lavender Luz, otherwise known as Lori Holden. She is a blogger,  the author of The Open-Hearted Way to Open Adoption: Helping Your Child Grow Up Whole, the host of Adopting.com's podcast, Adoption: The Long View. She is also empathetic, kind, constantly looking to learn and grow and help others to learn and grow, and an amazing friend. I could literally listen to her voice until the end of time -- so soothing! Like an auditory hug! 

I am so excited to say that I was a guest on Adoption: The Long View's Episode #306, now available wherever you get your podcasts (and in the link above). 

WHAT? You may ask yourself... But you didn't ACTUALLY ADOPT! Why on earth are YOU on a podcast about ADOPTIVE PARENTING????

Well, let me tell you! This episode is titled: "What if Adopting Doesn't Work Out?: Exploring the Uncharted Exit Ramp of Adoption." 

Yes, that's right -- someone who writes and talks about adoptive parenting, who is a parent of two through domestic infant adoption, who is sponsored by ADOPTING.COM, wanted to do an episode about NOT adopting. Whether it was deciding that was not an option to pursue like her other guest, Greg, or going through the process and eventually stepping away (albeit after the proverbial beaten horse was nothing but a puddle of bloody pulp) as we did, Lori wanted to give the perspective of resolving without parenting through the lens of pronatalism AND the fact that there are on average approximately 40 waiting, hopeful adoptive parents for every ONE infant that is being placed. 

I am so grateful to Lori, and I think you will also want her to be your very good friend after listening to her podcast. 

If you are a parent through adoption, please check out her entire podcast -- she features guests who are adoptees, birth parents, adoptive parents, adoption therapists, authors, advocates, and more -- and really does a bang-up job with presenting and validating many viewpoints, with the endgame of providing parents (and prospective parents) through adoption with resources to help in the long view of adoption, the marriage and not just the wedding, to quote her. If you aren't connected to adoption but want to know why you should NEVER say "Just adopt!" as if it is easy and simple, give it a listen. 

I am so honored to be a part of Lori's podcasting genius! It is so strange to hear myself talking, but I am proud of the message and the storytelling I offer in this episode, and of the message and storytelling that Greg offers from a different perspective, and the masterful facilitation of the conversation led by Lori. Thank you, Lori, for the opportunity to share a lesser-heard perspective, for empathy, solidarity, and support. 

Go forth and listen! 

Image from adopting.com

A Little Positive?

In our last IVF cycle where I was actually capable of receiving an embryo transfer, I peed on a stick. I figured what the hell, why not? It was one of the last times we would do it and I was feeling hopeful. I went to look at it, and couldn't tell if there was a second line or not -- it was fuzzy, I wasn't sure. I came back 30 minutes later and there was a faint line. Was it an evaporation line? Was I just a "little pregnant?" No way to know. 

Saturday I woke up from a nap and felt...weird. My throat was super scratchy, I had a headache, I was foggy, and super bitchy. I sat there for a little bit on the couch while Bryce made dinner, and then went upstairs and tested. I'd gone to a conference earlier in the week and while I masked for most of it, there were social events where I got a little complacent, I was drinking and eating and schmoozing and I let my guard down. So I was like, oh god, this is what open bar gets you!

When I checked the test...there was a faint line. Almost just fuzzy, but definitely SOMETHING where I've never seen ANYTHING before. I looked at it under bright light, under my phone flashlight, and was like, Okay, this is it -- it finally got me. 

Bryce and I did a little research and apparently, any line is a positive. No matter how faint. False positives are very, very rare (a percentage of 1%). So, I emailed everyone I'd spent time with in the car ride home from the conference and who I saw for even a moment without my mask on. 

And then Sunday, I tested and it was negative. But I felt crappy and my throat hurt and my head hurt and I was tired and felt super heavy and sore in my bones. So I canceled everything I had early this week, including committee interviews for our new assistant principal, which I was very upset to miss. 

Tested today... negative. What the what? 

Is it possible that I fall in the percentage of a percentage point? Do I have superimmunity somehow? Did I get exposed and my body magically fought it off? I AM SO CONFUSED. I do know that I still feel like crap. I am following the protocol just in case, but what the hell is going on? 

Why must all the medical things fall under, "huh, that's a mystery," for me? 

If you have any insights, please leave a comment, I am flummoxed. 

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

Things With Secret History

A little bit ago I had an outdoor party for whoever in my special education department could come. A "Deck Party" is what we called it, since we have our lovely (ginormous) deck and really haven't used it yet to entertain given, you know, pandemic. 

About 17 or so people came over, which is more people than my house has seen since our housewarming party in March 2019, and that was an open house so maybe it's the most at one time, ever. It rained at first (of course) -- here we are in a drought but if you plan an outdoor party (and this was the RAIN DATE because it rained on the first date), IT WILL RAIN. We started in the garage (doors open, fans a-blowin') and then migrated up to the deck when it stopped and we had toweled off the seating. 

Very few people went inside, and masks were a requirement if they had to go pee or wanted a little tour of the house. 

You know what's funny? I realized that my house has several things that at first glance seem somewhat commonplace, but then have a sort of secret history, a deeper meaning that isn't immediately apparent. I am proud to say that I gave a tour of my house, not a tour of my memories of trauma and resilience. 

Someone said how much they loved our Buddha statue in the window going up the stairs:

Upper left corner, above the cat who was just making out with a roll of paper towels that's rolled down the stairs. Womp womp

I said, "Thank you." I did not say, "Thank you, he's a little boy reading a book because he was a Christmas gift from Bryce to commemorate our 2012 miscarriage, sort of like the little boy we thought we'd have (even though it was too early to know that sort of thing), and a way to remember and honor what we'd lost." That would probably dim the party mood, and I don't owe that to anyone. So, yay me for just leaving it at what it currently is -- a cool piece that we love, but that has private meaning and reminds us of our resilience more than our sadness at this point. 

Someone else noted our drying racks for glasses on the kitchen counter: 

I said, "Thanks! We love it too!" I did not say, "oh hey, that's actually a bottle drying rack called "Lawn" and the little branches and cactus are actually meant for bottle parts, but it works just as well for wine glasses and reusing zip-loc bags. One of the very few shower things we didn't return or donate after we knew we wouldn't have a baby." Yup, no one needs to know that. And if they look it up, they'll probably figure it out. I'm fairly certain I have never complimented something at someone's house and then looked it up though. 

I no longer explain that the "Craft Room" aka "Puzzle Room" aka "World's Most Uncomfortable Guest Room" aka "Eggi's Room" is furnished with a few pieces that were meant for our nursery.

We had chosen an upholstered reclining glider so it could fit in with the rest of our furniture later, and it lives in there. The cats have pretty much made it a scratching post so it's worse for wear, but we do use it. The dresser in the room is by Fisher Price, meant for baby clothes. Okay, if anyone is actually having a baby or knows someone who is, for the love, you do not need a special dresser. That was the biggest racket. This dresser LOOKS normal but actually has insanely tiny drawers. Two are empty for guests (LOL, COVID), and the rest hold gift wrapping supplies and laundry appliance maintenance stuff. They've been just "furniture" for far longer than they ever were meant for a tiny human, and it doesn't make me sad to see them. It makes me sad to see the clawed up upholstery, though. And that the bed we thought was a "daybed" is just an insanely uncomfortable twin bed on a very large frame with what we thought was a trundle but turns out to be a drawer. Which is for puzzles. Or I suppose, if you're boring, linens. 

I look at these things now as a map of resilience. They were sad at one time. They were reminders steeped in grief and what-was-supposed-to-be. But now, they have a purpose. And no one but us needs to know their secret histories.