Long weekend, I love you. Let me just get that right out there.
I took a two-day work week this week in honor of the best.holiday.ever. I am thankful for two-day work weeks.
Now, I get it. I know that the origins of Thanksgiving are dubious and the pilgrim/"indian" component of it is cringe-worthy. I've never liked turkey and you know M doesn't "eat the bird because he loves birds." I know that the twitterverse is pretty much split down the middle with FML and pass me the wine I hate my family posts, and I'm so thankful and everything is beautiful in it's own way tweets.
While I am never one for shooting rainbows out of my ass, I have to confess, I'm falling into the Ray Stevens camp this year. Thanksgiving is so distinctly North American. It is the only holiday that's ever made me homesick when I've been far away. Being vegetarian has eliminated any need to feign delight while stuffing a dry, dead bird down my gullet and wow, there was no shortage of good stuff at the table yesterday.
You have to appreciate a holiday where gifts are not required, the focus is on food, it's totally ok to get tipsy in front of your parents/in-laws/family units, naps are not only allowed but encouraged, and the overarching theme is "hey you spoiled yankees, can you stop yer bitching about your first world problems for just a minute, look around you, and be grateful. If only for one day. Be grateful."
And so I shall. I will savor the shepherd's pie I made from leftover mashed potatoes and kale, sip some lovely porter, watch M play his new video game (purchased for the long weekend) and be grateful. For my home, for my husband, for my health, for my homies (that means you), for our daughters. Too often I forget - their short time with us was a gift. A Gift.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Boo for Sunday Nights
Dammit.
Sitting on the couch, getting myself stressy as I think about work tomorrow and whittle away at some tasks here and other little ones there and take in deep breaths as I catch glimpses of other ones I've been avoiding.....
This is me every Sunday night:
But it wasn't how I was planning to spend this one.
There's a WWE pay-per-view on tonight and we were invited to go watch it. With friends. Catch: at their aunt and uncle's house. Whom we've never met.
Alas, M's anxiety strikes again.
You can actually see it build. And progressively take over his body and brain to the point where he's not even thinking straight. Because all he can think about is this future social interaction in a place he doesn't know. With people he doesn't know. Where he will have little, if any control over his surroundings. It completely consumes him. He will definitely lose sleep, and will usually make himself physically ill in the process.
So I go from wishfully thinking "maybe this time will be different..." to cheerleader "c'mon! it'll be fun! give it a shot!" to mild annoyance, which quickly builds to flat out annoyance. And then crisis point is reached. And I need to downshift to concern, shake off judgment, and focus on the person who is truly in pain - both physically and emotionally - in front of me.
And then we cancel all plans.
And then, after a while, he's fine. But exhausted.
Me too.
So now, he's chillin'. I'm chilling. Disappointed, but I'll shake it off. It is what it is. As a penance, I'm making him find and download the tune that Eden rocked out to in one of her latest vlogs. His eyes are rolling at the premise of having to use his computer to acquire house music. I don't care. I WILL find some time to dance with abandon sometime very, very soon.
In the meantime, I'm wondering if any of you have partners who experience anxiety around social situations? Not the usual spastic colon Sunday variety - the immobilizing I cannot move even if wanted to kind. Has loss changed or heightened it? Coping mechanisms? Ways to address it? Soothing words? Open to all thoughts here. Anonymous comments are welcome.
And if anyone wants to tell me what's going on over at S*rvivor S*ries, I wouldn't mind that either.
Sitting on the couch, getting myself stressy as I think about work tomorrow and whittle away at some tasks here and other little ones there and take in deep breaths as I catch glimpses of other ones I've been avoiding.....
This is me every Sunday night:
But it wasn't how I was planning to spend this one.
There's a WWE pay-per-view on tonight and we were invited to go watch it. With friends. Catch: at their aunt and uncle's house. Whom we've never met.
Alas, M's anxiety strikes again.
You can actually see it build. And progressively take over his body and brain to the point where he's not even thinking straight. Because all he can think about is this future social interaction in a place he doesn't know. With people he doesn't know. Where he will have little, if any control over his surroundings. It completely consumes him. He will definitely lose sleep, and will usually make himself physically ill in the process.
So I go from wishfully thinking "maybe this time will be different..." to cheerleader "c'mon! it'll be fun! give it a shot!" to mild annoyance, which quickly builds to flat out annoyance. And then crisis point is reached. And I need to downshift to concern, shake off judgment, and focus on the person who is truly in pain - both physically and emotionally - in front of me.
And then we cancel all plans.
And then, after a while, he's fine. But exhausted.
Me too.
So now, he's chillin'. I'm chilling. Disappointed, but I'll shake it off. It is what it is. As a penance, I'm making him find and download the tune that Eden rocked out to in one of her latest vlogs. His eyes are rolling at the premise of having to use his computer to acquire house music. I don't care. I WILL find some time to dance with abandon sometime very, very soon.
In the meantime, I'm wondering if any of you have partners who experience anxiety around social situations? Not the usual spastic colon Sunday variety - the immobilizing I cannot move even if wanted to kind. Has loss changed or heightened it? Coping mechanisms? Ways to address it? Soothing words? Open to all thoughts here. Anonymous comments are welcome.
And if anyone wants to tell me what's going on over at S*rvivor S*ries, I wouldn't mind that either.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Choice, Infertility and Reproductive Rights
Last night, sometime around 9 pm, I set down the leftover beer and pita chips I was carrying, kicked off my shoes, sat on the couch and let out a "phew" And meant it.
I threw my very first grown up party. For a cause. At the fancy B&B next to our place. Catered and everything. And people came, despite the rain, despite the jillion other fundraisers and events that go on in a capital city on a session night. And we did grown up things like networked and shared business cards and made donations (!) and most importantly, made a commitment to identify pro-choice women that could become viable political candidates in 2012, to encourage them, to support them and to get them to this amazing 3 and a half day training event in January.
The best part about last night, I mean, besides the artichoke dip which was banging, was M whispering in my ear before he slipped out to let me "do my thing" - I'm really proud of you.
Asshole. He always makes me teary.
**
About a year and a half ago, when I started to feel somewhat human again, when I was willing to take a chance of venturing out into public again and believed I could probably carry on a conversation without sobs, at least most of the time, I sat down with a colleague of mine - someone who's considered a bit of a grand dame of lobbying for women's issues in these parts - and asked her, basically, what am I supposed to be doing with my life?
At that point in time I wanted to run away from my job, define myself as something other than someone that people whispered about (you heard what happened right? poor thing.....). I wanted to prove to everyone and myself that I was greater than my grief.
I just had no idea how.
She asked a very basic question: "What is important to you?" Find it. Define it. Immerse yourself in it. Volunteer.
So I did.
The chance to create and shape my family is important to me. To know that other women have this right - that is important to me. To know that no one will take away my ability to make the choices that are right for me and the people I love - that is important to me. Choice - this is what matters to me.
And some people got it. They really did. And supported me 100%. Others were baffled.
After all you are doing to try to have a baby, why are you doing this?
You've seen heartbeats - how can you support something like this?
You want to be a mother - what mother would be ok with this?
And on that last note, by the way, you might be surprised.
But what it comes down to, as I said in a post I published for the 35th anniversary of Roe v. Wade back in 2008, is this: Choice is not just about the “choice” to have an abortion.
Mississippi's attempts to redefine "personhood" reshaped this conversation for a lot of people. What's worse than learning that your attempt at IVF or a frozen embryo transfer resulted in yet another negative? What hurts more than knowing you are still so far away from the child you want so badly? It might be knowing that some people would classify you as a murderer for jeopardizing the "lives" of those little blastocysts.
What do you mean only 2 of 4 made the thaw? Why did you choose to risk that little embryo knowing your womb is less than hospitable? Who are you to choose which blast gets a shot?
Which one of us doesn't torture ourselves with these decisions each time we venture back into trying to conceive? Which of these decisions are done carelessly or without thought?
Which one of us would want these options taken away from us? Which one of us would want to be punished for "choosing" alternate methods like third party reproduction to build a family?
Not me, homey
So this is why I fight for Choice. This is why I give my time and my money and my efforts to groups like this one. Mississippi is why I think it is so critical to get more progressive women into office. Who do you want representing you when your state goes weird like Ole Miss?
I am in my state's capitol building almost daily. I can tell you who I see in the halls. Who I meet with. Who I plead my case to. Who I try to convince. I can tell you not many of them look like me. Or think like me. And as kind as they are to me in their offices, as nice or as smart as they tell me I am, I know many of those very same people don't trust me enough to make my own reproductive choices.
I know. I've seen the votes.
Let's fix this.
**
Stats show that the average female legislator needed to be asked six times before she even considered running. Six times! Look around you. Look in a mirror. I bet you know some smart women. I bet you know a lady or two that would kick some serious ass in a statehouse. Have you ever thought of asking her to run? Have YOU ever thought of running? I'm just sayin'
I think you should consider a run.
I threw my very first grown up party. For a cause. At the fancy B&B next to our place. Catered and everything. And people came, despite the rain, despite the jillion other fundraisers and events that go on in a capital city on a session night. And we did grown up things like networked and shared business cards and made donations (!) and most importantly, made a commitment to identify pro-choice women that could become viable political candidates in 2012, to encourage them, to support them and to get them to this amazing 3 and a half day training event in January.
The best part about last night, I mean, besides the artichoke dip which was banging, was M whispering in my ear before he slipped out to let me "do my thing" - I'm really proud of you.
Asshole. He always makes me teary.
**
About a year and a half ago, when I started to feel somewhat human again, when I was willing to take a chance of venturing out into public again and believed I could probably carry on a conversation without sobs, at least most of the time, I sat down with a colleague of mine - someone who's considered a bit of a grand dame of lobbying for women's issues in these parts - and asked her, basically, what am I supposed to be doing with my life?
At that point in time I wanted to run away from my job, define myself as something other than someone that people whispered about (you heard what happened right? poor thing.....). I wanted to prove to everyone and myself that I was greater than my grief.
I just had no idea how.
She asked a very basic question: "What is important to you?" Find it. Define it. Immerse yourself in it. Volunteer.
So I did.
The chance to create and shape my family is important to me. To know that other women have this right - that is important to me. To know that no one will take away my ability to make the choices that are right for me and the people I love - that is important to me. Choice - this is what matters to me.
And some people got it. They really did. And supported me 100%. Others were baffled.
After all you are doing to try to have a baby, why are you doing this?
You've seen heartbeats - how can you support something like this?
You want to be a mother - what mother would be ok with this?
And on that last note, by the way, you might be surprised.
But what it comes down to, as I said in a post I published for the 35th anniversary of Roe v. Wade back in 2008, is this: Choice is not just about the “choice” to have an abortion.
Mississippi's attempts to redefine "personhood" reshaped this conversation for a lot of people. What's worse than learning that your attempt at IVF or a frozen embryo transfer resulted in yet another negative? What hurts more than knowing you are still so far away from the child you want so badly? It might be knowing that some people would classify you as a murderer for jeopardizing the "lives" of those little blastocysts.
What do you mean only 2 of 4 made the thaw? Why did you choose to risk that little embryo knowing your womb is less than hospitable? Who are you to choose which blast gets a shot?
Which one of us doesn't torture ourselves with these decisions each time we venture back into trying to conceive? Which of these decisions are done carelessly or without thought?
Which one of us would want these options taken away from us? Which one of us would want to be punished for "choosing" alternate methods like third party reproduction to build a family?
Not me, homey
So this is why I fight for Choice. This is why I give my time and my money and my efforts to groups like this one. Mississippi is why I think it is so critical to get more progressive women into office. Who do you want representing you when your state goes weird like Ole Miss?
I am in my state's capitol building almost daily. I can tell you who I see in the halls. Who I meet with. Who I plead my case to. Who I try to convince. I can tell you not many of them look like me. Or think like me. And as kind as they are to me in their offices, as nice or as smart as they tell me I am, I know many of those very same people don't trust me enough to make my own reproductive choices.
I know. I've seen the votes.
Let's fix this.
**
Stats show that the average female legislator needed to be asked six times before she even considered running. Six times! Look around you. Look in a mirror. I bet you know some smart women. I bet you know a lady or two that would kick some serious ass in a statehouse. Have you ever thought of asking her to run? Have YOU ever thought of running? I'm just sayin'
I think you should consider a run.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Teaser
Shit. It's been a month since we've last chatted (you didn't see it, but I accidentally wrote "shatted" That made me laugh. Thought I'd share).
As is usually the case, the fewer words here the more going on out there. Some mundane (work. conference. long hours. waah.) others not so much. My goal is to get back here by the end of the week and fill you in. Until then, I'll share the list of words that I stick on my 'droid to help me not forget all of thoughts rolling around in my head. Thoughts on:
http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2011/11/mississippis-initiative-26-personhood-bill-horror-movie/
And while you're there, go ahead and read her post on Social Media and how the game has changed because it pretty much encapsulates the feeling I'm having of being stuck in the rapids and trying to paddle free:
http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2011/11/social-media-the-game-changed/
Later gators. Late again for yet another meeting. Ugh.
As is usually the case, the fewer words here the more going on out there. Some mundane (work. conference. long hours. waah.) others not so much. My goal is to get back here by the end of the week and fill you in. Until then, I'll share the list of words that I stick on my 'droid to help me not forget all of thoughts rolling around in my head. Thoughts on:
- personhood
- the importance of Choice (with a capital C)
- cognitive dissonance
- S*ndusky
- house hunting (and finding)
- treatments and diseases (and deciding which is worse)
http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2011/11/mississippis-initiative-26-personhood-bill-horror-movie/
And while you're there, go ahead and read her post on Social Media and how the game has changed because it pretty much encapsulates the feeling I'm having of being stuck in the rapids and trying to paddle free:
http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2011/11/social-media-the-game-changed/
Later gators. Late again for yet another meeting. Ugh.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Now where did that thought go?
I feel as if I went to sleep last night with this fantastic idea for a post. One that had nothing to do with loss or trying or failing or anything related to family-building. But it had to do with ME, with something I was feeling, or thinking through, and thought some of you might be too. It was something I wanted to talk about.
And damn if I can remember.
I spent some time this morning looking around my desk, in my purse for that mythical post-it note or scrap or napkin I hoped I had scribbled something down on (do you do this?). Sigh. Nothing. Except for that other note about that other post that I hadn't forgotten about I've just been too lazy/busy to do.
Damn it.
About music? Hmm, maybe, don't think so. Work? Perhaps, but what do I have to say that's new there? Politics? Well, it is a shitty time for women in general....argh. I'm not young but I am FAR too young to let cogent thoughts slip through my fingers like this.
So, as you can see, it's driving me crazy. And to add to the crazy, I've got this general sense of unease. It's like as I'm sifting through my brain, instead of finding the data I want, I'm unearthing all of these other things - like, oh, I said that last week? I probably shouldn't have. I mentioned this to that person. Oh dear. Bad idea. Instead of discovering my brilliant idea up in there, my brain is handing me a stack of reasons to doubt myself and make me feel like crap. "Hey, m., here's a list of all the ways you sucked recently."
Stupid brain.
So there you have it. There's something I wanted to throw out there. I can't remember. I'm sure once I do it won't be nearly as fabulous as I originally thought. It's early. Perhaps my mind's still hazy. Perhaps there's just too much in there.
The writing of this post was interrupted by a 15 minute call from boss which is indicative of how things have been lately. Working while at home. Taking care of non-work things in the office. There are no boundaries. I'm struggling mightily with the mystical/mythical work/life balance. But when work invades my dreams nightly, that's when I get cranky. I should not be dreaming of agendas and emails.
I should be spending more time remembering what the hell it was that I wanted to write about.
I'm feeling a need to cleanse. To wash away some of that junk in my brain. To find some space between life and office. To get rid of some unnecessary static -like the revelation I had the other night. If this person's posts make my eyes roll, why am I reading them? If these status updates make me grit my teeth, why are they in my reader? If my shoulders tense when I see that number on my phone, why do I answer it right away without taking a moment to breathe? I don't have to add to my own grrrr. Yet I do. I need to stop. And pro-actively start cleaning up my space. Physically and mentally.
I'm thinking of a Reiki session or two. Because I've been thinking about it for a while and my acupuncturist is on vacation.
Thoughts on Reiki? Good, bad, indifferent? Will I leave just wishing I would have gotten a real massage?
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Super Quick Fast Post
- Oh, there is nothing like a 7 am email with a link to a front page article about "w*ste, fr*ud and ab*se" in your industry to jolt a communications director out of bed. Screw the coffee. I just now went to the bathroom, even though I've been holding it since about 10 o'clock. My phone is quiet now, which is somehow making me MORE nervous than if it were ringing. Helloooo? Anybody want to hear our side?
- Your comments and this conversation that's flowing from the haunted house (and the fact that our Realtor called and said, "the seller is Motivated. Make an offer. Any offer") has us thinking about the big yellow house again. Did I mention it was yellow?If something keeps falling into every conversation we are having, it feels like it deserves a second look and maybe some serious consideration. I think it was Angie's comment (that I totally interpreted in a different way) that is making me want to go back. I really, really appreciate all of your thoughts - many of them align with ours. Its not just a house - its about moving forward, about moving forward with hope. Or moving on. Or both. It's a distraction, its a "here is one thing we DO have control over" kind of thing. Wheels are turning. I'll keep you posted. And,
- That Mo, she is in my head. I'm thrilled that she is back on the blogging wagon after a long summer, but even more excited that someone has been able to put into words the feelings I am having as we explore gestational surrogacy. There are just so many questions and so many thoughts that aren't resolving themselves just yet. Like Mo says, its just hasn't clicked yet. I'm not saying it won't, but I am telling you I am in the process of turning over just one or two more stones before we move on.
- Tonight is dodgeball. Have I mentioned my team rocks? We kept the best from our team last year, recruited a few more people we knew would kick ass and then got a few unexpectedly good players we weren't planning on (friend of a friend, coworkers with friends, etc). And holy shit. Last week's games were over so quickly and were so one-sided we almost felt bad. Almost. I cannot tell you how great it feels to be part of a winning team and to know that in five hours I get to throw things at people and get cheered while I do it.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Awfully Big for Two People....
"This is an awfully big house for two people...."
"Wow. This place is huge. Two people could get lost in this..."
"A lotta house for just the two of you...."
**
He must have said it at least 10 ten times ten different ways. And yes, we did bring M's dad along for his advice and yes we did want his opinion, but after the third or fourth round of this refrain, I was done. I didn't want the house. I didn't want to be reminded we are ONLY TWO PEOPLE. I didn't want to go back home to our equally empty (and mind you, nearly as big) apartment. Just the two of us.
Shit.
Let me back up. We are not in the market for a house. It was just one of those instances where you see something that looks like the steal of the century and your curiosity gets the best of you and you do some math and think, hmmm....and maybe you start dreaming of house parties with live bands. Maybe.
That's how M and I and our real estate-obsessed pal S and M's dad along for good measure found ourselves in a turn of the century 3000 square foot house yesterday. And yes it had original stained glass windows, and yes, it had funky things like secret stairwells and a wrap around porch. But it had something else that I can't quite put my finger on.
We were all wondering aloud what was making the owner sell, especially since she had just purchased it a little more than a year ago. Did the heating bill do her in? Was it just "too much house?" Did something happen here? "Oh no," our Realtor assured us. "They have to disclose if the house has been stigmatized."
"Stigmatized." Did you know that? I didn't know that. Do we have to disclose if the buyers are stigmatized?
Anyway, we're walking around and looking around and M's dad is punctuating about every 5th steps with the remarks above and I just say, "this place is creeping me out." S. nods. But quickly recovers and starts talking about painting trim and color schemes.
And then we find a note from the owner in the kitchen. It's her grandparent's house. They were the original owners. She talks about holiday dinners here as a kid, about how she bought it the first day it went back on the market (not really true, this house sat for almost a year at one point). But there was enough truth in the note to break my heart. I looked at M and could tell instantly he was done with the house too. Too many memories. Too many ghosts. Too much baggage. And goddess knows we have enough of all of that on our own.
So, there is a little relief that we are sticking with what we know, our little urban abode in a secure building that we can vacate at any time. A little sad. House parties could have been cool....A lot of other sad.
What if we weren't just two? What if there were four....
Sigh.
Whatever. The place is haunted. I know it.
"Wow. This place is huge. Two people could get lost in this..."
"A lotta house for just the two of you...."
**
He must have said it at least 10 ten times ten different ways. And yes, we did bring M's dad along for his advice and yes we did want his opinion, but after the third or fourth round of this refrain, I was done. I didn't want the house. I didn't want to be reminded we are ONLY TWO PEOPLE. I didn't want to go back home to our equally empty (and mind you, nearly as big) apartment. Just the two of us.
Shit.
Let me back up. We are not in the market for a house. It was just one of those instances where you see something that looks like the steal of the century and your curiosity gets the best of you and you do some math and think, hmmm....and maybe you start dreaming of house parties with live bands. Maybe.
That's how M and I and our real estate-obsessed pal S and M's dad along for good measure found ourselves in a turn of the century 3000 square foot house yesterday. And yes it had original stained glass windows, and yes, it had funky things like secret stairwells and a wrap around porch. But it had something else that I can't quite put my finger on.
We were all wondering aloud what was making the owner sell, especially since she had just purchased it a little more than a year ago. Did the heating bill do her in? Was it just "too much house?" Did something happen here? "Oh no," our Realtor assured us. "They have to disclose if the house has been stigmatized."
"Stigmatized." Did you know that? I didn't know that. Do we have to disclose if the buyers are stigmatized?
Anyway, we're walking around and looking around and M's dad is punctuating about every 5th steps with the remarks above and I just say, "this place is creeping me out." S. nods. But quickly recovers and starts talking about painting trim and color schemes.
And then we find a note from the owner in the kitchen. It's her grandparent's house. They were the original owners. She talks about holiday dinners here as a kid, about how she bought it the first day it went back on the market (not really true, this house sat for almost a year at one point). But there was enough truth in the note to break my heart. I looked at M and could tell instantly he was done with the house too. Too many memories. Too many ghosts. Too much baggage. And goddess knows we have enough of all of that on our own.
So, there is a little relief that we are sticking with what we know, our little urban abode in a secure building that we can vacate at any time. A little sad. House parties could have been cool....A lot of other sad.
What if we weren't just two? What if there were four....
Sigh.
Whatever. The place is haunted. I know it.
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