Wednesday, August 28, 2013

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

How to taste wine...


1. Slosh
2. Smell
3. Slosh 
4. Place ear over glass to hear the flavor. 
5. Write short historical fiction starring wine.

Wine Cork Holder by Personally Posh Design via Etsy

P.S. I'm in Amsterdam at this very moment enjoying a delightful glass of wine.


(Almost) Wordless Wednesday


Oh okay thanks for the tip, I was actually planning on letting the bed bugs bite but good call.



Thursday, August 22, 2013

Vakantie

So yeah...AF just reared her ugly face...month 10 since surgery to repair my tubes and no pregnancy (at least not one that sticks around long enough to write home about). While I'm not surprised...it still hurts. 

In fact...it hurts a great deal. My heart feels heavy.

Do you know what will help to ease my heavy, hurting heart? 

How about a wonderful vacation to Amsterdam! 

I leave for my sisters tonight, we fly out to Amsterdam tomorrow. 


Michelle Yam Photography

I'll be cell phone free and completely unplugged...See you in 10 days!



Wednesday, August 21, 2013

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Whenever I see someone pick up an avocado, feel it, and put it back I pick up that same avocado and whisper "you're still beautiful" to it.

Tiny Avocado Beads by The Crafty Bead via Etsy

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Confession Time

Okay, yes, so I fart. I know plenty of times you're a farter too, but you won't ever admit that you are a farter. You know farting is such a social hush-hush; it is such a taboo that we didn't even develop a bailout word for it in our society. Okay, so you step on someone's foot and say, "I'm really sorry" and you get, "It's okay" You cough up during an important meeting, and all you need to say is, "Excuse me". For all you know, you may be met with "God bless you"

Farting? Un-an!

Now imagine, you are at a celebration dinner and you let go of that digestive panacea! Well, it’s not an "excuse me" or a "sorry" then, is it? All you can do is to sneak out and effortlessly slither into the most crowded place at sight, making yourself less of an easy target. The alternate is to run...before the army of air escapes and find yourself the most desolate spot in the universe to bury your crime. You need timing though...if the present gathering figures out that you always manage to be MIA when someone or the other has relieved themselves of some undigested food, the whole gathering knows in their mind that you’re a farter!




What about you...will you admit to farting?


Monday, August 19, 2013

La Mia Bella Vita

Today is 12 dpo and it occurred to me that I haven't updated you all in our ongoing quest for baby JaAdam in quite some time. Here's the Cliffsnotes version....

It's turns out that I do not have a clotting factor. In fact, other than my thyroid level being slightly elevated, everything else came back just fine. Honestly, it was bittersweet. I was hopeful that a clotting factor would help to explain 5 chemical pregnancies in 7 months but alas it was not to be. With this news in hand we decided last month to proceed with an endometrial biopsy and can you guess the results...it also came back just fine. At the end of the day...it all seems to boil down to AMA (advanced maternal age), high FSH and low AMH. While this isn't great news, it's also not "new" news. This is what I've suspected all along.

It's the hand that I've been dealt and while I cannot control the selection of the cards I've been dealt...I can control how I react and to be honest...I didn't "choose" to react very well this past weekend and as a result...what should have been a nice relaxing weekend was a weekend filled with me stomping around the house like a petulant child, taking my frustrations out on Adam. Not fair. Not fair at all.

I stayed up late last night wrapped in a blanket curled at the end of the couch thinking...just thinking. I sat there stewing in my own anger about once again enduring a month with no pregnancy. I was angry. I was bitter. I was feeling sorry for myself...like a spoiled little brat and I did not like it. 

The floodgates opened.

As the tears fell and my self pity grew...I suddenly felt rather silly. So silly in fact that those tears soon turned to laughter, at first under my breath and then a little louder. The reality of my life hit me straight up side my pretty little head.

As I sat there, in all my tear, snot and laughter glory...I started to compare myself with the rest of the world. Not with my friends and my neighbors, but with the world I live in. 

I have a beautiful home. I have shelter. I have food every day that keeps my belly full. I have clean clothes and fresh water. I stay warm in the winter. I have a job. I have my health. I have friends and family that care about me and love me fiercely. I have Adam.

I'd say, compared to the rest of the world I have a lovely, beautiful life.

Kate Iredale

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

My friend asked, "How do cheestrings work?" I started to laugh, but then I stopped. How do cheestrings work?

via Tumblr

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

The Human Experince

When I started this blogging adventure I didn't really know what to expect. I figured I'd talk about my life and infertility struggle and cross my fingers that people might just be interested enough to read what I wrote. It strikes me as funny when I look back and laugh at the old naive me that had no idea what I was getting myself into?

Turns out, blogging is like real life. There are ups and downs, highs and lows, and everything in between. And while most experiences are positive and encouraging, every once in awhile I have a bad day.

Today is one of those days.

Sad. That is what I am feeling right now. I can give you a good number of reasons why I am sad, but that is not the intention of this post. I can also add a whole bunch of other emotions such as frustration, disappointment, anger and exhaustion into sad, but for now, I will umbrella them all under sad

The human experience is filled with a range of emotions. It is the experience of these emotions and the ability to deal with them that makes us complete human beings. Being complete, whole human beings is the goal we should instill for ourselves, it is at least a goal I try to attain for myself.

I not very good at trying to hide how I feel. I know that some people are but I often wonder about this paradox – that those of us who walk around devoid of emotional expression are more “normal” than those of us who express sadness. We are human, the point is, we FEEL. Feelings are sometimes good, and sometimes, they suck. Bad and sad things happen. 

Here’s the thing that we're missing...we need to get in touch with our sad feelings to understand what makes us happy. Sad emotions help us know and get in touch with what’s important to us, what we truly want to fill our life with joy, and sometimes it’s just about empathy and compassion. Without allowing ourselves and our friends to experience sadness, we lose out on the potential to experience true joy.

So, the next time you are sad, instead of avoiding or suppressing your feelings, try asking yourself what would bring you joy? That's what I'm going to do.

The Glorious Sadness by The Nebulous Kingdom via Etsy


Monday, August 12, 2013

Hypotheticaly Speaking

I like to think about how many times and how many ways I would have died already if I happened to be born 38,000 years ago instead of 38 years ago. I say I like to think about it because none of them have happened, so I can be glad. And I think you should too.

Here are the 4 most plausible deaths of my hypothetical prehistoric existence:

1. Eaten by a bear - I can be clumsy, and what little coordination I have doesn't stand up terribly well to high-pressure situations. I can all but guarantee you that if I was being chased by a hungry, large-toothed animal, I would trip over even the most unobtrusive rock or twig and be greedily consumed.

2. Fallen off a cliff - I was born with less than awesome vision. I had to wear glasses (and get teased for it) when I was in grade school. If I had been born before glasses were invented, I would have been stumbling around with my arms outstretched looking for a landmark or friend. It is perfectly likely that one of those days, I would have gotten too adventurous and gone half-blindly exploring near a cliff, quickly finding myself at the bottom of it.

3. Competition - I'm not a competitive person (other than in winning a game or scoring a goal that is). Sure, I have a vague interest in being good at stuff, but I'm not a head-to-head, "you're going down" kind of person with any kind of regularity. So if push came to shove, and food or water resources were scarce, I'd probably be more likely to share than hoard. This behaviour would benefit me if everyone else did the same, but in a life-or-death, every-woman-for-herself situation, I wouldn't be the one to let others die so I could live. So that would be the end of prehistoric me.

4. Infection - As clumsy as I am, I'm not as accident-prone as I should be, but I have had a few pretty bad, self-imposed injuries: falling off my bike, mangling my face; smashing my thumb in a car door, slicing into my finger while cutting tomatoes (I do this a lot). Had I done any of these things before hand soap and hospitals were around, I would have lost fingers to infection, if I didn't entirely succumb to it and die.

Oh, well.


Obviously, I am very glad that I was born in the 70's instead of 7,000 B.C. The fact that I have survived this long, despite my imperfections is impressive. That is what most call progress and what I call human beings being exempt from Natural Selection. 

Thank goodness.
via Excitable Dog
P.S. Today is 7dpo.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

“There is no friend as loyal as a book” ~ Ernest Hemingway

Here is my list of reasons why real books are better than e-books...

  • With an e-reader or smartphone app, I can hold thousands of books in the palm of my hand. Psh! Who wants to do that? If I literally hold thousands of books in the palm of my hand, THINK of how much stronger my wrists are going to be! Want a work-out? Get some real books and go for a walk. 
  • When I'm done reading an e-book and want to take a break, the reading device will remember exactly where you are. Which is great...if you're lazy! Come on! Give me an old school bookmark or a folded up piece of paper to keep my place, any day! 
  • If you want to read, but your spouse is sleeping, you can totally read an e-book in bed, right next to them. You can even adjust the backlight so it doesn't disturb them. But you don't want to do that, do you? No way! Take your old school "real book" out to the couch! Read a little, fall asleep on the couch and wake up in the middle of the night, confused by the slobber on the corner of your mouth and the book in the middle of the floor. That's way better! Am I right?
  • With an e-reader, you merely have to tap the side of the screen when you want to go to the next page. But think about what you're missing! The paper cuts that make your skin calloused and stronger. The constant losing track of what page you were on when you mistakenly lose hold of the page...instilling patience training that you would have otherwise missed.
  • If you are using a device to read books, you can adjust the size of the text, according to your vision. Again...lazy! Give me some two-dollar Walmart glasses and I'm good to go. You wanna adjust the text size? Hold the book closer! Come on, man! 
  • When you're done with your current e-book, all you have to do is press a few buttons and - BOOM! You've got another new book to read, instantly at your disposal. What's the fun in that? Half the joy of reading is the trek to the bookstore, combined with the time spent looking through book after book. Keep your convenience. I want to work for my books!

by Urban Design Ink via Etsy

What about you...which do you prefer?

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Rhinos are really just old, fat unicorns. Don't argue. You know I'm right.

via


Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Feet, Pieds, Voeten

Dear Feet,

It’s been fun. Really it has. Tripping. All. The. Time. Tripping in the entrance to the office, in the parking lot, at the mall. Really it’s been a blast, but all good things must come to an end, and I think the end has come, don’t you?

Yes, I realize there was a rug in front of the door at the office, and technically, you shouldn’t be blamed for that. But you did manage to insert yourselves under the rug, and not just any rug, but one of those industrial, non slip, rubber around the edges, not even old ladies will trip on this rug, rug. Thankfully there was a door there to catch me when I flew forward or...feet...you and I would be parting ways. I can get prosthetic feet. Best of luck to you finding a prosthetic body.

I’m sure you want all kinds of recognition for this morning, when you managed to get the toe of my new super cute sparkly TOMS caught in the tile grout at the mall, but guess what? No kudos from me. Big freaking deal is what I say. Yeah, yeah, thousands, (millions?) of people walk through that mall in a given year and not one person has managed to trip over the grout, but, really, there’s nothing amazing about the fact that you did. The grout was deeper than your ordinary household tile grout. Anyone could have tripped over it. Anyone!

I suspect you’re doing this to satisfy, what you think, is my ever constant need for attention. Attention from the internets I want. Attention from everyone in public, every single day, as I fling my shoe across the store/street. But you are wrong...I could live without this.

Like I said, it’s been fun. But it’s over. I will cherish the memories. Laugh about them every once in awhile. Maybe ten years from now, you can throw me down a flight of stairs for old times sake.

Best wishes,

Janet
Working Feet by Rob Mills Fine Art Photography via Etsy

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Beginning My Thirty Ninth Year

Well, here it is. August 3, 2013 - I am officially 38. Which technically means I am beginning my 39th year of life...but for my sanity and the fact that last year was pretty crappy...my best year ever begins today. Hurrah.

So let’s begin with a first day check-in. I feel the same as I did yesterday (at least I think I will...I'm, at this very moment, likely hanging out on a granite cliff 200 feet up enjoying the view that Bon Echo so beautifully provides and writing this post August 2 cause I can't post from the middle of nowhere yo).

What do I plan to do this year? Let’s see…here are a few of my intentions for The Great 38.

  • Get Published. Anything really. Amateur or professional - just published. This is something that I have been thinking about since I was a little girl
  • Get my body back - sort of. I want to prepare my body and soul for baby JaAdam but I'm not willing to endure much else in the way of drugs/treatment to conceive baby JaAdam...if that makes any sense at all.
  • More quality time with my best friends. The ones I love so much and miss everyday because we live far apart. More trips with the intention of visiting and more attention on them rather than on me.
  • Vacation more. Sure there are many destinations I would love to explore. But let’s face it, life gets in the way. When I can travel, I will. And I will enjoy exploring sites, taking adventures and living the experience. I've already got a running start to this one...first up...Amsterdam in three weeks with my sister.
  • Walk with my fears instead of running from them. Well, walk with some of them. That’s a start right? I'm 38 now so i guess its time to work on my mental toughness a little more.

My birthday wish as always is for inner peace and to listen more than talk. I came close to finding some inner peace in year 37. I am hoping I can put most of my emotional and mental roller coaster ride from the last few years behind me and start over-living instead of over- thinking.

Cheers!

Happy August 3rd to you.

Antique Original Brass Mining Tag Number 38 Vintage by The Old Time Junk Shop via Etsy


Friday, August 2, 2013

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Only One?

On my lunch break today I drove up to the road to Walmart to purchase a few things...
  • Twin pack of deodorant
  • A pair of sandals
  • Cat treats
  • A pair of thong underwear
  • A four cheese frozen pizza
As I approach the checkout area, I try to determine who will be the least judgmental cashier. Why, you ask, would the cashier be judgmental? Uh, did you read my shopping list? Who purchases all those things together?

It doesn't take a genius to figure out my plans for the night. Sit around in my thong underwear and snazzy gold sandals whilst eating pizza, coating myself in deodorant and feeding my cat salmon flavored cat treats like Princess Leia fed Jabba the Hut grapes. If she did that. I haven't seen Star Wars in a really long time.

I select the line of the less judgmental cashier, meaning she’s older than the teenage Barbie doll tending the other line, and wait with my goodies.

And then the unthinkable happens. The teenage Barbie doll finishes with her customers before the older cashier. And she’s like, “I can help you.” And I'm like, “No that’s okay.” And she’s like, “But I’m open. I can ring you up.” And I'm like, “no I like to wait. I’m practicing patience.” And I start looking around for someone, anyone, who’s about to check out, so I can wave them down with my pair of underwear and usher them into the teenage Barbie doll’s line.

But no one comes. So I walk. Ever. So. Slowly. To her line. Hoping some crazy teenage boy with no respect for his elders will push me out of the way to purchase the newest Xbox game. But apparently all the teenage boys are poppin’ wheelies in the parking lot, or whatever it is teenage boys do when they're not purchasing Xbox games, and I finally reach the teenage Barbie doll’s line and she’s all smiley and perky, but inside she is judging me. I know it.

I begin to place my items on the conveyor belt and suddenly I realize how silly I am. My shopping list isn't all that strange. And even if it was, I'm sure there girl has better things to do, like thinking about her next Twitter tweet, than care about what I'm buying.

I'm starting to feel better.

And then. It’s time. To place the Pair on the belt. And suddenly, I realize. I have been worrying about the wrong thing. I should be stressing over buying one pair underwear.

Who buys one pair of underwear? One?

People who just peed their pants. Or pooped them.

No one just sits around thinking, “Hmm, I think I'll go to Walmart. I need some deodorant and my cat is out of treats so I should probably pick those up too. And let’s see, what’s in the fridge for dinner? Nothing. Might was well grab a pizza while I'm out. And I'll probably impulsively buy a pair of shoes. Oh, and underwear. I think that too. But just one pair.”

You either need underwear, or you don’t. You don't need just one pair. Unless you just peed or pooped your pants. This is exactly what is going through my mind as she is ringing them up. And it is on the tip of my tongue to say, “I crapped my pants.” Because if I had the choice of her thinking I'm buying underwear because either I peed my pants or I pooped them, I am going with pooped.

In case you fail to see the logic in that, allow me to explain.

Have you ever been sitting in the car, or in a work meeting, or shopping at Walmart, and you feel that familiar pang in your stomach, followed by severe cramping, followed by intense panic, followed by the dire need to locate a bathroom ASAP? You make it to the bathroom just in time. And you think, “that was a close one.” And you are so relieved you didn't poop your pants. Because that is gross. But guess what folks, sometimes explosive diarrhea happens. And sometimes you don’t make it to the toilet in time (this has never happened to be me luckily)

Explosive diarrhea happens. But explosive peeing? That never happens. No matter how much you've had to drink, no matter how long you've been holding it, no matter how hard your friend makes you laugh, people expect you to hold in your pee. Take it from these girls I know who, throughout their lives, even into their late teenage years, periodically peed their pants. Not for fun or anything. Just when something was really funny. They did their best to keep this fact a secret, but sometimes people found out. And when they did, never once did those people smile sympathetically, nod their head and say, “explosive peeing. It happens.” No. They said, “what is wrong with you? That is so gross.”

So the next time you're faced with the decision of telling someone you either peed your pants or pooped your pants. Go with the poop. It’s, surprisingly, much more respectable. Or you could buy your underwear at La Senza or La Vien en Rose. Those two options are probably better.


Vintage white pettipants/vintage underwear by Mella Fina via Etsy

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