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.