Summer is here...and af won't leave!

Dear Auntie Flo,

It is so nice to see you after your three month vacation. I'm very glad to see you and Ovy have worked out your differences and life can commence as before. I understand that you have missed me oh so much. In the past few months you must have been dying for some attention and human interaction...but...

You have been here three weeks dear aunt! Three! I love you just as any other woman does but honestly Auntie...don't you have somewhere else to go? I'm not trying to be rude or cross with you its just that I would love to spend at least some of my summer vacation lounging in the pool. It is rather hard to do that when I am with you all hours of the day. I desperately miss my husband and frankly, you seem to get in the way.

Auntie Flo, you know you can come back next month for a few days. It isn't like we won't be seeing each other again I am sure. I know you fear that whole baby thing but honestly, it would take some serious walkin on water type miracle stuff not to mention a whole pharmacy full of meds so you have nothing to fear seeing as how I haven't yet mastered the whole walkin on water thing and I haven't won the lottery to buy a pharmacy yet either. See there. You can come back next month. Honest. Just go enjoy yourself for a few weeks. Go to Bermuda and sip tiki drinks with tiny umbrellas.

I'm begging you kindly to heed my words. Hubby is getting rather grumpy and we both know how fun that is sleeping beside a grumpy deprived man. I know you would rather do something else than listen to him whine and gripe! I'll put up with him, you just go enjoy yourself. What about the mountains? They are always nice this time of year!

I guess Flo, what I'm trying to say here is Get Out! I'm tired and I need a break. You are just gonna have to vacate for a little while and let us sleep for a few weeks before you come back. I can only handle you in small doses and to be honest you have worn out the welcome (a couple of weeks ago might I add)! I will give you 24 hours before I myself start packing up your stuff and calling in Provera to lug all your crap somewhere else! I tried to be all nice and hostessy for you but honestly! Some people just don't know when to leave!

So, until next month my lovely aunt! Next month!

Sincerely yours,

Arian

Words just cannot express...

The news has struck our town deeply. We live in a neighboring town of the Chapman family and my heart lurched at the news this morning. I remember as a teen, I used to go to the concerts each year that he gave to help raise money for the school his children attended. The Chapman family is a wonderful, caring, and generous family. They have done so much for their community and the world!

Maria was adopted from China as were two of her sisters Shaohannah and Stevey Joy. They have advocated so much for China's orphans as well as for adoption in any form.

The pain they must be experiencing is unimaginable and my thoughts and prayers are with them.

His song "Cinderella" from his latest album "This Moment" shows the love and wonder he had for his children. My heart breaks for them...

The club that has no welcome committee...

The music teacher at our school is about to complete his first year there. He is a wonderful guy that has brought life back into our programs and he has filled our children once again with music. Before him, we only had assistants like myself that did not care whether the children truly learned the love and beauty in music. They were only concerned with getting through the class and taking a much needed soda break. This new music teacher is rather pleasant to look at, and his energy and charisma is contagious, so of course every single woman in the whole school rushes to his side batting her lashes as she offers to carry his soda for him. He is of course married and just like that perfect guy, he takes the attention graciously and humbly and goes on about his next class.

I had caught wind from somewhere in the building that he and his wife were expecting. I suppose now that I must have heard it from him or just imagined it because several weeks ago the whole faculty was aflutter with the news of a baby in the works. There were of course pictures to be passed and everyone just gushed over how exciting things were. She was only eight or nine weeks at the most apparently (although I disagree with that according to the pictures and such).

He came to pick up my mom's children for music that day and couldn't help but proudly pull out his pictures to share with everyone. My mom, not thinking at all, calls me over and encourages me to coo and purr with everyone else. I tried to smile and look really busy, but of course that didn't work. I ended up looking at the pictures and awww'ing with everyone else. I hope it wasn't too obviously strained.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks and spring break was right in front of us. At lunch there had been jokes of there being a "burrito in the oven" due to their Latino/Spanish heritage. I avoided the teacher's lounge during that week but didn't avoid hearing how they had planned to fly up to see her parents during the break and announce their news. I immediately cringed thinking that wasn't wise. What if something happens. I realized that thought only came to those who were jaded by experience and I quickly changed my thoughts to something more manageable for work.

Two days before spring break we came into school early and there was a group of teachers whispering at the end of the hallway. They wanted to know if we had heard. Well of course not. Music man and his wife had lost the baby. I was not prepared for that. It was like someone throwing you a bowling ball at full speed and you managing to catch it in your stomach just as it hit full force. I couldn't let anyone there see the way I felt. No one knew we were trying (much less that we had been for 5 years). These were my coworkers but they were more importantly my mom's coworkers and all of them were much closer to her in age. They associated with her and I knew they wouldn't understand.

That day they took up money for Music man and his wife. They bought a gift card for them. Everyone figured that would be the best thing as they were still planning on going to see her parents. Every time someone mentioned it I felt like I had been sucker punched. It was a hard day for me. I felt their pain so acutely. I wanted to yell at these people that they didn't want a gift card or flowers. They wanted their baby back. They didn't want to see crowds of people and hug everyone and nod as the sympathetic "Oh poor you" look was cast their way.

At the same time, I found it (and still do) impossible to look him in the eye. I wanted so much to go and tell him I understood. I had been in that trench for years. The pain he felt was horrible and that I was there for them. I couldn't do it. Each time I ran into him I would duck tail and run. I couldn't face him or deal with the pain he brought to me. I hated the thought that I seemed callous or uncaring but the fear of dragging up years of heartbreak overruled those worries.

I wanted to ask where my flowers were. I wanted to know who cared about my baby. My mom very quickly donated to help Music man, but when we lost our first she showered me with things like "It just wasn't time," or "Well, you all couldn't afford one right now anyway." I heard things like "Well you all are so young and there is plenty of time for that." Each month I suffer through a negative test or the arrival of Flo silently behind the safe closed doors of our apartment. My husband and my internet family being my only comfort.

I guess I have finally reached that bitter place I had always hoped I could avoid. I remember someone talking about Music man and thinking to myself, "Well, another one joins the club." I thought how sad and unfair it was that there was a club that had no welcome committee. No one wants to shake your hand in this club. They want to hide from you and lick their own wounds.

Have you ever found yourself in this situation? How do you handle it? I hope I am not the only one that feels this way. Maybe someday I can go shake his hand and let him know how sorry I am that he and his wife were forced to join this wretched club....

Blah...

I hate this day and just the thought of posting made me queasy but I feel the need to so I must.

First of all... Happy Mother's Day to all.

I really expected to wake up this morning with feelings of bitterness and pain. I wanted to be angry as I walked into a nursery full of babies at church this morning (have I mentioned my part time job? Am I a glutton for punishment or what???). I didn't find those feelings though. I went on with the day like any normal Sunday. I spent a lot of time with my mom today and planned a surprise dinner for her tonight. I did recognize the day and why it should be painful but then I moved on and life was just life.

Hubby grilled chicken and we cooked some yummy goodness for my mom. Before we left mom's to head home where hubby was starting to cook, hubby called to tell me he had a gift for my mom and me. When she walked in he handed her a dozen roses. I thought it was very sweet and I wanted to just smother him in kisses for it. He and my mom have had a lot of outs and this was a really cool thing for him to do in her eyes.

After he did that though, he walked out with another dozen roses for me. I felt silly holding them in front of my mom. I try to keep our infertility woes quiet and my mom has proved to be much less than understanding about our wanting to have a baby. I stammered a bit and remarked that they were beautiful but that I wasn't a mom and he didn't have to do such a sweet thing. Without missing a beat, he said "But you were a mom five years ago and she just couldn't stay with us." I wanted to melt into the floor. My mom's eyebrows rose and a smile crossed her face. I think there was a glint of a tear there too.

I never talk about it because I can't be sure. In our first year of marriage, my husband went into the military and I moved in with my grandmother for a while so I wouldn't be alone. He had a medical condition with his eye that had been overlooked and he was sent home six weeks later. During those six weeks, my best friend died in a car accident and I missed my husband terribly as I adjusted to living with my grandmother who unbeknownst to us was beginning to show signs of demetia. I never noticed until he got home that I had not had a period in a long time(before he even left). We eagerly went out to buy every test we could (oh how naive we were...) and we came home to pee. I had several positive tests and I was over the moon excited!

The waiting time to see the doctor was a long one (7 weeks) and instead of seeing a happy heartbeat we were told that we were not pregnant. They did bloodwork and decided that it was a missed pregnancy and that was that. I was devastated but because I never had a positive from a doctor's office I was never sure what truly happened. Hubby and I never bring it up now. It is a very painful memory and I would rather pretend it never happened than to wallow in all the questions.

Today, he remembered and it made me feel loved. He told me that I deserve to be a mom and that if anything, I should celebrate what is to come for us.

I think I'm going to remember to celebrate how much my husband loves me too....

Liberated!

I have managed to spring free from the abyss! That little "cold"? Well it was a nasty respiratory infection that took (and is still taking) its sweet ass time to leave! I'm getting better though. It was made a bit more challenging by the absence of migraine meds. I have kicked them finally and I am now hiding in the shadows hoping the migraine monster can't find me. The migraine meds seemed to have affected my hormones in a terribly way though and my period has run away with every other hormonal symptom it could cram in its nasty little pocket. Oh well. I am sure that both Auntie Flo and my wonderful monster will find me soon and life will go on being painful and teetering on the edge of unbearable once more....But anyhoo, on to the post....


Recently, my mother and I took an opportunity to work in our community's "Care Kitchen." A local church has set up a program to feed hungry families once a week in our community and a network of churches throughout town volunteer once a month to come in and help serve and work with them. We had a wonderful time of course and I saw several children from the classes I work with. It was a very difficult thing to see some of my kids at school coming with their families to eat there. I'm happy to know they have a safe place and a warm meal though even if it is once a week.

After we had finished serving and the other team had moved in to clean up, I quickly made my way out of the dining area to hunt down a bathroom.

The church that we were at happens to be where I went to day care as a little girl. During that time my grandfather was helping build a kitchen (the very kitchen we worked in that night) onto the back of the church. He would often come through for a drink of water or whatnot (often in my four year old memory mind you! He probably only did this a couple of times) and I would get to see him.

We had this matronly rather strict teacher at the time and after lunch each day we would all line up to go potty and then lie down on these green cots for nap time. Toilet time was frustrating though. This teacher would insist we all use three squares of toilet paper. She would occasionally peep in to make sure you did as you were told. I hated it! I never felt I got that clean tushie feeling with only three sand papery grade squares!

Being the rebel that I was at the time, I ventured out occasionally and used four squares just to spite her. One of those days, I happened to get caught and berated for my gluttonous use of squares. I was angry and I sulked on my cot for the remainder of the afternoon. I remember my grandfather coming in and asking me what was wrong. I told him and he just laughed and informed me that as long as I was at day care I would just have to make do with three squares and get over it.

It has stuck with me for years! To this day I use an overabundance of paper on my tush. I will admit, I turn off lights, and faucets to conserve. I recycle my cans and paper at work, but I Arian, use a great deal of tp. It is a complex derived from that day and every time I go to do my "business" I think about that grumpy old lady looking down at me as my feet dangle with a wad of paper guiltily held in my hand.

So anyway, on this night that I was hunting down a bathroom, I made my way out into the hallway and followed a sign that pointed me in the right direction. I found myself in a miniature room painted with bright cheery colors. It felt oddly familiar and I instinctively reached for a door that I knew would be the restroom. Sure enough, there it was. There was no lock on the door and so I reached out as I sat upon the seat to hold the door. All of a sudden, I was four years old and my feet dangled! This was the very bathroom that had caused me my complex so many years before!

I sat there a moment taking it all in, and then.... I did what any mature adult would do. I grinned, pulled off a wad of squares any kid would be proud of and flushed it right down! As I pulled up my pants and made my way back to the other side of the church I felt a bit lighter in step! I had been freed! How many times are we allowed to go back and claim justice on a wound of childhood? Very rarely and I am going to take full advantage every chance I get!