Decamping

Well, my Wordpress experiment continues. I have moved this blog over there. Come join me!

This Dog's Life

Now that G has been a member of the household for more than 72 hours, I thought I'd share some of my observations. Being new to this whole dog ownership thing, some of these will seem kind of 'duh' to those of you who have or had dogs. Oh well.

1) He is still camera shy, but my father-in-law tipped me off that if I took pictures outside when the red light flash doesn't work, I'll have better luck. And, he was right. There's a pic of my new man at the end of this post.

2) He farts daily. The silent but deadly kind, and uniquely doggie. I don't think I need to state that we have plenty of gas in the house already and don't really need anymore. Just when I begin to articulate this particular thought out loud, he gives me that How-Could-You-Not-Love-Me look and all is forgiven.

3) He's not above pooping in the street. That was yesterday's revelation.

4) While he's partial to ladies, he loves anyone with two legs. Men, kids, ladies. He must. get. to. them. And, they must pet him. We think he'll make a wonderful therapy pet.

5) He's not much into retrieving. He will happily chase after the ball, but then he'll toy with it and ultimately hide it somewhere in the yard. I'm still searching for the tell-tale day-glo green peeking out of the bushes.

6) He loves to go through any and all bushes, plants, planters, etc. He is particularly partial to monkey grass and boxwoods. He has transported quite an array of fauna into the house via his coat this way.

7) He sighs. A lot. As if the burden of being a dog is sometimes too much. Life is rough, buddy, and if I had to lay around all day with regular breaks to go run in the sunshine and roll around in the grass, with catered meals everyday, I'd be sighing too.

8) One brushing will yield enough fur to constitute a tribble. And there's still more fur. I have tumbleweeds of fur floating around my hardwood floors.

9) He will try to cram all 73.8 pounds of himself into impossibly tight places, usually during a thunderstorm, despite the fact that we got him a perfectly lovely crate and covered it so that it's nice and dark and enclosed and give him Quiet Moments tablets. He still prefers to cram himself under my desk.

10) He must roll in the grass at least once a day and pause in mid roll to give me that, oh don't you pity me look. And then he sneezes.

11) He has the most wonderful habit of laying down next to the bed and throwing his weight against the sides so you can feel the gentle thump as he eases down next to you while you sleep. And then he sighs.

12) He has discovered the forbidden joy of kitty kibble. I was struggling to open a can of green beans with which I was going to supplement his diet, since he's a bit on the pudgy side. While I was doing this, G mysteriously disappeared. I went around the corner and there he was, head fully engrossed in kitty bowl chowing kitty food while kitty looked on. Now, the kitty who's food was being purloined himself has been guilty of stealing food from others, namely his brother. So, I could not help but feel a little poetic justice while reminding G sternly that we do not eat the kitty's food. So, now Fluffy eats his dinner in the laundry room to prevent the Bad One from stealing it. The Bad One now eats in the guest bathroom to prevent G from stealing it. I don't think G will have any worries since Mr. X and I are not into dog food, or green beans for that matter.

Despite (or in spite of) all of this, how could you not want to take this home?

I wasn't able to resist either.

He's Just Not that Into You

I've been having a hard time convincing the kitties that their new doggy brother, G, is frankly just not that into them. They have put on quite the show for him, too: hissing, doing the Halloween cat, glowering at him. But, bless his Golden little heart, he could care less. He gives them a wide berth and heads in search of his peeps for a head scratch and general adoration.

The kitties, however, watch him like a hawk. Their eyes narrow whenever he lumbers near them and they peer imperiously from up on high at this shaggy four-legged creature in their midst. When they do deign to come down from their perch in search of sustinance, they mew at him as if to say, "I know what you are and I'm not going to let you get anywhere near me." G, for his part, just kind of looks at them, maybe takes a tentative sniff and then looks at me as if to say, "what is their problem?" Oh, G, I could write a book on that one.

G, however, is not a push over by any means. The other morning I was sprawled over the bed since Mr. X had since departed for work and I was enjoying my extra 20 minutes of bed dominance. G was issuing large sighs at the foot the bed but then made a loud, "rrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmphhh" noise while quickly getting to this feet. My first thought on hearing this was, "This is not good."

I got out of bed to inspect that all limbs and fur were intact on both sides of the Animal Kingdom. Everyone appeared to be intact, although the kitties were standing in the doorway, backs arched with large puffed tails and very, very wide eyes. I knew pretty quickly what had transpired. They tried to sneak up on G and he had very plainly stated that this was not allowed. The kitties retreated to the safety of the top of the kitchen cabinets and G just went about his day. They must have either forgiven him or were driven past their fear by hunger, because they began to mouthily indicate that it was time for dinner as usual and ate with gusto.

I suspect in a few weeks, G will be as much of a novelty to them as we are: not much more than furniture upon which they may drape themselves or otherwise climb over. It's not such a bad life, G.

image: applesticker

I Shall Call Him ... Mini G

There is a very large, golden blonde pile of fur in the X household, people. We have G____! We met him today at his foster home and we knew pretty quickly that he was a very special guy. We had some lunch and talked it over and decided to give it a whirl. So, we are officially doggy parents!

Fluffy and the Bad One are doing beautifully and G has shown zero interest in them. He already loves the backyard - including rolling in the grass ("Roll, roll, roll in ze hay") - and charmed everyone at Petco. Tomorrow we'll do our first walk and see how that one goes.

Right now he's conked out on the floor with me. He seems to be doing pretty well. We've also discovered that he is camera-shy. It might be a while before I can get pics up.

Smooches, Mrs. X and Doggie Mommy to G.

Trashy, Trashy

I have literally been in libraries since before I was born. My mother was a librarian and while I gestated for nine months, occasionally numbing her leg with a well-placed kick to the nerve, she was happy to peddle books. My maternal grandmother too was a librarian, although apparently not a particularly good speller and was thus made to promise that she would never work as a cataloguer in order to get her diploma. True story. My paternal grandmother also had a career in a library. Our family produced librarians like some produce doctors or lawyers. I even asked my mother when I was a precocious 9-year-old if I was required to become a librarian when I grew up. This was the last profession that I wanted, but I was sure that because of the family history, that it was my lot in life. Luckily, she absolved me of any requirement to be a librarian.

Just because I'm not that interested in librarianism, doesn't mean that I don't love books (or even libraries for that matter). Like with most things in life, I go through phases with reading. Some weeks I'm interested in non-fiction, others I'm into classic literature. This week's phase: trasy, trashy fiction. We all have those days when all we want to do is curl up with a trashy fiction novel and let go to the torrid affair being played out in between the pages. I didn't realize that I was in the mood for trashy fiction until I was at the library this evening and stumbled across one my favorite guilty pleasure authors: Philippa Gregory. History and soft-core porn rolled into one.

I can't wait to revisit Elizabethan England where in Ms. Gregory's version, Elizabeth did sleep with Dudley and consummated their great love. The husband and I also just finished watching the Masterpiece Theatre's "Virgin Queen", their version of Elizabeth's life, so I shouldn't have too much difficulty conjuring up the necessary costumes and finery. By the way, the young man they got to play Dudley in that version is nothing short of Walking Sex. I had to be careful not to drool all over Mr. X. Yum-my. He's apparently now tackling the role of Heathcliff, which should be extremely entertaining to watch.

Any other suggestions for truly trashy fiction? Keep in mind that I have already read the Gold Standard of Trashy Fiction, Valley of the Dolls. It doesn't get much worse than that.

image: oldtasty

Oh My G__________!

The hubby and I visited the in-laws this weekend, and while we were there I diligently checked e-mail and voice mail just in case we heard from the Dog People. Nada. This afternoon, Sweets and I were laying in bed (fully clothed people, get your minds out of the gutter!) and the phone rang. I assumed it was the in-laws calling to find out if we had gotten home, but I could tell immediately that it wasn't.

It was the Dog People.

And, that which I had lost all hope of happening, has worked out. G_______ has been matched to us!!!! Holy crapoly! Turns out, our matchmaker is kind of new to this matching thing and while she had put us in for G_________, she kind of forgot to tell us. So, the fact that he is listed as "adoption pending" is absolutely correct - our adoption pending!!!

Next step is hear from G's foster mom and go and visit the little man. If there is 'mush love' (their term) then, we get to take him home with us!

I seriously had begun to not believe in happy endings, but this definitely made me think twice.

This and That

I feel chatty, so I will recount the various goings on at the House of X. Get ready, it's pretty boring. I recommend having a pillow nearby in case you suddenly fall into a catatonic state from the sheer excitement.

I got an email last night from the Matchmaker at the Golden rescue organization which was worthy of a whoop until I read that they somehow had it in their heads that we had indicated we could not adopt a dog until July 28th. Um, nooooo. I sent a very nice email back essentially saying that wasn't us and could you please put us on the regular adoption track ASAP? They also sent some information on introducing dogs to cats. That should be an entertaining read. Although, I doubt they espouse Mr. X's idea of putting them all together in a steel cage match where only the winner emerges victoriously. Yes, he was kidding.

My parents are climbing the Swiss Alps. They called me yesterday to complain about a) how tired they were, b) how sore they were, c) how freakin' tired they were and d) how they didn't think they could do four more days of torture. I was a little incredulous since they had signed up voluntarily and I asked my dad if he really was secretly expecting an escalator, to which he feebly responded, "well, yeah." Oy. They both kept mentioning how many rocks there were. Well, duh!

I went to Bunco last night and thankfully, did not come home with Pinkey. In fact, I came home with $8 and had two ice cold Dos Equis to boot. Not a bad haul for a night spent throwing around little plastic dice and dishing about the neighborhood gossip.

Speaking of neighborhood gossip, I don't know how much longer I can handle being on the Board of Directors of our little home owners association. Our neighborhood is being torn asunder and divided into two camps: those who want speed bumps and those who do not. Oh, the horror! Seriously, people, we spent at least an hour debating this issue at the general meeting last year. Snore. Obviously, we live in an affluent community because the topic of greatest concern is whether to stick asphalt bumps on the road in an (ineffective) effort to control traffic speeds.

I have been listening to iTunes radio today - switching between the R 'n B channels and classical. Yes, I have very eclectic taste. It reminds me of the Old School station I listened to in the town where we lived. I loved that station and our current city has squat. So, iTunes it is for my fix. I also have access to XM Radio online, but their R n' B stations just aren't cutting it for me. Now, their alternative stations - that's another story entirely.

Our latest Netflix arrived in the mail. We've been Netflix subscribers since 2005 and we love it. Netflix was the only way in which I was able to watch all three seasons of Grey's Anatomy in one summer just in time to catch up to the fourth season - and just in time for the writers' strike! Recently, we watched the first season of the Tudors and both agreed that while it was extremely entertaining, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers was no Henry VIII. The chicken legs are the first dead giveaway as is the whisp of an Irish accent and don't even get me started on the lack of red hair! But, Sam Neill was fabulous. We are also making our way through the Sharpe's series starring - wait for it - Sean Bean! Mr. X and I have been having a grand time watching these gems of 90s production values and bodice-ripping. And, of course, my weekly Sean Bean dose, fully endorsed and encouraged by Mr. X.

That's all the news that's fit to print for now. Scintillating as always.

Show & Tell: On the Walls in Paris

I'm a newbie to Show and Tell, but there's no time like the present. So, here's my first installment.

Parisians love their animals, perhaps more than their children. I saw some of the most well-behaved dogs in Paris that I have ever seen - all off the leash, but completely under control. The children should have been so well-trained! I found this love of animals in the street art and posters. Here are two of my faves:


I love this jaunty little spray-painted kitty. He even has little paw pads! I just think it's wonderful. So kitty-esque.


I imagine this kitty is thinking, dude, I am so going to kill you when you put me down. That tongue? I'm licking my chops for dinner of YOU. And the pooch, so cute. I think the translation is: Come Adopt! Doors Open All Day May 17 - 18.
___________________________________________________________________

In other news, I was distressed - but not surprised - to see that G_____ has an adoption pending (and it's not with us. We haven't even heard from the matchmaker yet). The important thing is he is getting a good forever home. Our dog will come!

For the Love of a Child

I had what I considered to be a pretty unremarkable childhood and upbringing. I was an only child not because of infertility but because my parents decided that they could give the best life to one child as opposed to two or three. I didn't quibble with this decision, even when I was young. Every so often, my father would ask if I wanted a brother or sister. One memorable answer put an end to the questions: "What? And have to share?!"

I was given lots of opportunities for self-discovery - ballet, horseback riding, art lessons, swimming lessons at the Y - pretty much anything I was interested in, I was allowed to pursue with vigour and support. My father was raised in a much different household and had to defend these expenditures to my grandmother who said that I needed some type of job - chores, whatever. To which my father replied, "Her job is learning." Lucky for him, I love to learn.

They listened at dinner when I regaled them with tales of my days in middle school science learning about Trouble in the Alimentary Canal. I just assumed that this was what all parents did with their children. It wasn't until years later that I realized that not many people want to hear about trouble in the alimentary canal as they are eating dinner. But, they never complained.

In high school, they cheered me on as I ran track - however improbable it was to go from flute recitals to track meets. My mother weeped when I was named salutatorian of my graduating class in a suspense-filled graduation ceremony since four of us were so close in grades, they couldn't tell until the very end. I had no limits on the number of colleges I could apply to or where I could go. They had made me a promise that I could go to school wherever I wanted - I had no idea then what an incredible gift this was. I certainly know now.

Even when we started to try to have a child, it did not dawn on me what a sustained effort my parents made to raise me to be a successful, productive member of society. I was reminded, though, when I was watching Spellbound this evening. I saw my parents over and over again in the parents who invested so much energy and hope in their children - not in the creepy-my-child-is-destined-for-Hollywood-way - but in the I-am-so-proud-of-my-child-that-it-makes-me-cry way. I've seen them give me that look and I didn't realize what a gift it was back then.

Their support didn't stop once I left home - it was just given over the phone and through email. They are looking to move here to be near myself and Mr. X. Hopefully, there will be a new generation for them to be proud of because my days of flute recitals are long, long gone.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Match!

We survived the home interview on Sunday! Sweetie and I were all scrubbed and clean, the house was in good order and the back yard looked inviting with lots and lots of grass (and of course, a secure fence). The interviewer showed up with her GINORMOUS Golden M___, who I swear was at least 1/2 fur.

M___ was very excited to meet us but the minute she caught sight of the kitties tried to hide behind her mommy. Apparently M_____ had been chased by a Persian earlier in her canine life and had a real fear of cats. Fluffy stuck around for a tentative sniff, all the while doing the Arched Cat Back of Warning. The Bad One, on the other hand, promptly decamped from the living room for the kitchen where he immediately got up on top of the cabinets. He was having nothing to do with the dog.

Sending M's discomfort, her mom suggested we go out back to inspect the fence. It was a pretty easy process and our fence passed with flying colors. M___ just kind of sniffed around and stuck with us.

We headed back inside to sit down for a chat and went over some of the same ground that I had gone through in the application and the phone interview. She also did a very good grooming demonstration. It was very helpful. Then, with M____ literally pulling her out the door, the interview was over.

Now, we wait to hear from The Matchmaker. There is one pooch G____ who I have seen on their website and have simply fallen in love with. I sent the link to my dad and he wants to adopt G_____ now too! Unfortunately for him, I saw him first. I have no idea when we will hear from the Matchmaker - or even if they will mention G___ for us.

But, another step down!

Scenes in Paris: Jardin des Plantes

After we landed, we made it to our Parisian pied-a-terre around 10:30 in the morning to find that there was no electricity, no juice, no nothing. We called the apartment managers who found out that the electric company (EDF) had inexplicably turned off the power the day before. "It's France!" she told me. So it was.

This little situation didn't get resolved until about 4pm that afternoon, but we had used the time to nap and decompress after the long flight. There's nothing like trying to sleep in steerage to make you truly appreciate an actual bed! Once it all got fixed, we headed out to enjoy the rest of the day, such as it was.

We headed to the Jardin des Plantes (Garden of Plants - so original!) for a stroll and some late touristing. We timed our visit perfectly since it was May and all of the flowers were blooming, including roses as large as my fist. And they smelled heavenly. Yes, I stopped and smelled lots and lots of roses.

There were actually multiple gardens, within gardens, some next to the Museum of Natural History and some next to the zoo on the other side of the main garden.

We strolled and just took in the beautiful flowers which were everywhere. At one point, though, we heard the strangest animal sound. We each thought it sounded like a Kookaburra, a native Australian bird whose call sounds like a laugh. We were near the zoo, so we figured they probably had some. Weirdly, enough, though, we were walking away from the zoo and the noise got louder. We came upon a shallow water feature with a bunch of people standing around. I heard the noise again and everyone pointed at the water. There was no Kookaburra, there was a GINORMOUS FROG making that noise. It was so cool! And, the little guy was actually really cute. (No, I didn't kiss it.)

What was wonderful as well was how many people were there just reading and relaxing on the grass, as if it wasn't a Friday night and time had just stopped. It was very peaceful and pleasant. The perfect ending to our first day.

Some major highlight pictures:

Fire and Ice!

The fabulous carousel with strange (and possibly extinct) creatures.

Giant irises!

On to the Home Visit!

Despite my current funk, I am a wee bit excited that we have apparently passed the phone interview because I got an email yesterday to set up our home visit! I'm having whiplash this is going so quickly.

So, Sunday the home front will be visited by a volunteer with the rescue organization with her Golden in tow to inspect the premises. There will be a fence inspection to see if enterprising dogs can get out of the enclosure (we have a 6-foot wooden fence around the whole backyard) and there is also a grooming demonstration. Don't quite know what that will entail!

I think I will keep the kitties locked away for the visit to keep the hissing and swatting at a minimum.

How Much is the Doggy in the Interview?

I survived the phone interview on Friday for the Golden rescue group! It was about an hour and covered a lot of the ground that I had answered in the application. The main topic of conversation was the kind of temperment that we want in a Golden and how we plan to introduce a dog into the Kitty Domain that is our home. As it is, Fluffy and the Bad One reign supreme over their 2500 square feet. How will they react to a pooch invading their territory?

They are not without experience on this one. A few years ago, we hosted Sweetie's parents' dogs for a month while his parents were traveling out of the country. Granted these were two mutts who collectively weighed about 40 lbs, but after the first few days (and swats), a detente was established. They have been exposed to larger dogs, but only for short periods of time and usually weren't particularly happy about it.

The key is to get a Golden who has a low prey drive or that is completely uninterested in cats so that the kitties don't spend too much of their day being chased around the house by a large slobbering dog. The kitties do chase each other around the house, but that's different than being pursued by a dog!

We also talked about how I work from home so it is really important to get a dog who doesn't bark too much. Sweetie also isn't too fond of loud dogs so that was another reason behind that one.

Really the hardest part of the interview came with a question I hadn't been anticipating (but totally should have seen coming): how are you going to discipline the dog? I thought about it for minute - and totally thought back to all of the episodes of It's Me or the Dog I had watched - and answered that most behaviors that we consider "bad", like peeing in the house, usually have some reason behind them, so I would find out what that reason was and try to fix the underlying problem. After that I drew a blank - what was she looking for? I asked her if she could give me an example and she basically said that they were looking to see if I was someone who would use negative reinforcement rather than positive reinforcement. I answered most definitely that I would do positive reinforcement!

We also talked about how taking the dog to obedience training would help cut down on unwanted behavior. She asked if I would be willing to take the dog to training and I said absolutely. It is as much about training the dog as it is about training me since I've never had a dog before (no, not even when I was a kid - my first pets in my life are the beasties we have now). It will be a learning adventure for us both! And, I think it would be a lot of fun.

After the interview, I also had a good talk with Sweetie. I've been driving this particular train and I wanted to make sure he was still on board. I was very adamant that once we get to meet the dogs, he would have to agree to get one or else it is a no-go. This is a decision that we are both going to have to live with, so we both need to make it. He was ok with that, so I feel good that we are on the same page.

So, we once again wait. Although, this time I'm not nearly as impatient. We've got the process started and that's good for now. We will either hear back very soon or not for a while. We will hear back very soon from the adoption coordinator if there are "issues" with our application. Otherwise, we won't hear anything for a few weeks when we hear from a volunteer to set up a home visit. So far, we haven't heard anything - no news is good news!
image: Valley Vistas

Paris Adventures: Versailles

As you may have seen from my other blog, we have returned from Paris, thoroughly tenderized, mellowed and marinated in good French living. We ate, we drank (and drank some more - after all, it's really hard to find 1664 on draft here in the US!), we strolled, we walked, we gazed, we lingered and most of all, we just enjoyed ourselves. Of course, I have to share my stories with all of you since the next best thing to going yourself is hearing about someone else's trip, right? No, I never believed that either, but stick around anyway for some good stories.

For my first story, I'll start with what we did on our last full day in Paris. We actually left the city and headed to Versailles, home of France's kings. Now, boys and girls, think back to your World History class in high school when your teacher talked about the French Revolution or when you read A Tale of Two Cities with Madame Defarge and her knitting needles. Versailles is where the perceived villains of the Revolution let them eat cake.

We were supposed to go on Thursday, not Friday. On Thursday, after we had trekked to Gare d'Austerlitz ('gare' meaning station) and found our way to the correct area, we found ourselves trying to buy train tickets. At that moment, a helpful transit worker asked us where we were going and we told her Versailles. She told us in her deliciously accented English that the chateau (that's what they call it over there, so quaint - it always makes me think that it's some little cottage, not a ginormous building with enough gold to cap teeth to kingdom come) was closed. "Greve", she said. Greve? Between the two of us, Sweetie and I had a lot of years of French language education, but neither of us knew what 'greve' meant. Our confused faces must have said it all, so she said, "Strike." Ahh.

One thing I did remember from my classes in college about Europe was that the French have a penchant for striking. Normally, I don't partake in global characterizations, but frankly, it seems like every other day there is a strike somewhere in Paris or France, or both. Unfortunately for us, this time it was Versailles. Thankfully she saved us the pain of getting there only to be turned away. Not to be undaunted (and frankly because I really wanted to see it), we headed back to Gare d'Austerlitz the next day. This time, no greve was in our way.

We found the right train - we knew this by the bevy of the different tourists milling around the platform - and hopped on. Forty-five minutes later we arrived at Versailles Gare Rive Gauche and after some difficulties getting out of the station (our tickets were only good inside of Paris - oops!) we emerged with the rest of the throng of fanny packs and water bottles and headed towards the Chateau....

In the next installment, the Gardens! They just kept going and going and going.

Hurry Up and Wait (*updated!*)

Isn't it funny that once you finally decide to do something and you take that first step, you immediately have to wait?
image: SkyWideDesign
Yesterday, I officially completed and sent in an application to adopt a Golden Retriever! But, now, we wait. The next step is for them to contact us to make an appointment for a phone interview. Assuming I don't put my foot (or is it paw?) in my mouth, they will then come out for a home visit. I think I have managed to convince Sweetie that it would not be a good idea for him to wear a wife-beater, throw beer cans around and deck the kitties in stud collars during said visit.

If we pass the home inspection, then, and only then, are we deemed worthy to be able to meet an actual dog. All waggy tailed, and drooling.

As I've mentioned before, one of the main reasons we chose this particular group was because they do such a thorough job researching potential adopters and matching dog/human temperments. But, that requires time. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. My canine biological clock has begun to tick people! Now that I have decided to get one, I want it NOW!

I am not without other distractions, however. I'm still sorting through the pictures from Paris, the quilt won't machine quilt itself (and she's due in June!), I need to do the scrapbook of the quiltmaking process, and I'm fishing around for a new cross-stitch project since, frankly, I've grown bored with my current one. There are only so many leaf veins one can do before it's time to take a break!

But still, sometimes it's more fun to complain about the wait, n'est pas?

*Update* I got an email today (5/26) from a volunteer with the rescue organization to set up a phone interview for some time this week! I usually do really well over the phone - I spend about half of my work hours on the phone talking to people - so I think I'll do really well. But, how do you prepare for a phone interview about adopting a dog?!

Progress Report

It occurred to me the other day that it's been a while since I had made my list of goals to accomplish during my sabbatical from infertility treatment. I haven't blogged much about my progress, other than on the pooch hunt front. I thought it was time to take stock on how I've done so far.

I'll list them this time from easiest to hardest:

* Learn some new distracting skills. I think I want to learn jewelry making and how to play bridge. Luckily, our local school district offers classes in both.

I have looked into these options. Unfortunately, the bridge lessons through the local school district this summer are offered at the senior citizen time of 1-3pm on Mondays. Not an option. The American Contract Bridge League has listing of master teachings all over the country and I have talked with my friend to see if she's still interested. The jewelry making classes through the school didn't look that interesting, but I'll keep looking, probably at local bead stores.

* Limber up.

I've been walking like it's going out of style, but I haven't started yoga since my ovaries are still not back to their usual selves. Friday was an excellent reminder of this.

* Read, read, read. I'm seriously behind in my magazine reading (I subscribe to the Atlantic which I love, but I'm still on October 2007's edition - and it's a monthly!) and I'm still on a quest to enhance my literature repertoire. For example, Great Expectations has been sitting in my nightstand drawer for years and I still haven't read it.

I'm slowly catching up! I'm almost finished with my March editions of New York magazine and I finished the October 2007 Atlantic. Unfortunately, the 11 books I bought at a used book sale a few weeks ago have been added to the pile, thus increasing my overall reading deficit. I anticipate clearing out a huge magazine backlog on the flights to and from Paris.

* Get a pooch. We have two of the most adorable kitties on the planet (seriously, mine are way cuter than yours. Really.), but I've always wanted a dog. We have gone to the shelter twice now in search of The One and so far, no luck. But we are in no hurry and we know that we'll find The One eventually.

I have narrowed down the choices of where I want to adopt from to organizations that do a lot of background on the prospective adopter and matching the dog with the person and vice versa. My friend also found a dog who is available through another rescue organization who she thinks would be perfect for us - I looked at his pics online and he is absolutely precious. If he's still available for adoption after we get back from Paris, we'll go meet him and see if he is the One for us. If not, we'll go to the Golden Retriever rescue organization.

Oh, and my kitties are still way cuter than yours. Really. Although I have to admit that Tigger is awfully cute, jp.

*Reconnect with Sweetie in areas other than infertility. Without a doubt, infertility has strengthened our marriage, but so many of our conversations these past few years have been about the trials and tribulations. We are starting to talk more about non-infertility plans and futures. I want to continue with that.

I think we've been making great progress on this one. We've been taking almost daily walks together in the evenings and just talking about work, life, kitties, etc. And it's been wonderful. We have also talked about infertility, our losses and the path forward. But those conversations are not the only ones we have these days. They are just a few of many.

* Learn how to be happy with what I have, not what I want. I have no problem with this with respect to material things like cars, houses, etc. I don't covet my neighbor's Yukon (particularly not with these gas prices) and I don't want the giant house down the street (its disproportionate). But, when it comes to pregnancy and babies, I can't seem to get past the envy and WANT.

This one's been a hard one. I won't lie. And, I can't say that I have found the answer on how to achieve this for me. But, I've been working on it. Part of it has been focusing on living in the now which helps me focus on what I have, as opposed to what I don't. I've also been able to step back and realize how lucky I am in other areas of my life. It's not just lip service to say that I have a wonderful marriage, a beautiful home and a good job. I am learning to appreciate those things for what they are. If for whatever reason we don't end up having children, this will be a particularly important skill.

This question also fits in with my last goal:

*Be more comfortable with pregnant women. I know this sounds strange and strangely infertility-related, but I have to do this. It's the only way that I will be able to make it through however much longer we have before we get the two-legged non-furry child that we want. I can't keep avoiding them and getting depressed.

I've spent a lot of time questioning myself about why I get so envious of women who are pregnant and mostly it is because it is something I haven't managed to do. So, it really is about me, not them. When I remind myself of this, I can at least understand the feeling even though I can't eliminate it. Some days, though, I am just too raw around the edges that no matter what I tell myself, it still hurts. I'm also coming to understand that I am jealous of the experience that they are having not necessarily the final outcome. I haven't figured out how to get through that, but recognizing it is still an important step.

So, there you have it. The progress report as of now. I can't check any of these goals off the list, but I've made strides on each one. Onward and upward!
images from top to bottom: Copleys, CarbonNYC, Sugar Pond, *S4N7Y* !, 9-lives

Got Tips?

Many of you have offered to provide me with your tips on the Best of Paris for which I am grateful - but why should I be the only one who gets to hear them? So, I'm inviting everyone to post their favorite tip, place, whatever for Paris - how every many you want! - so that I can use them on this trip but they can be shared by everyone else as well. Comment away! If there is something that you think I must absolutely do, try, eat, find, let me know!
image: wallyg
Now, of course, more details just to make everyone jealous. We'll be staying in an apartment in the 5th Arrondisment which is known primarily for the Latin Quarter, the Sorbonne, the Pantheon and the Jardin des Plants (Garden of Plants). It is in the center of the city, but on the west bank of the Seine.

So far our plan is not to have much of a plan. We are definitely going to get to Versailles - particularly since we watched Marie Antoinette which was filmed there and I have read part of the Antonia Fraser biography of her. Sweetie also wants to go to Reims to see the cathedral. Apparently, Reims was also the site of the surrender of Germany at the end of World War II and they have the room where it took place exactly as it was all those years ago.

Other than these two excursions outside of Paris, we plan to just wander where we may. We have been once before, but that was in 2000 and in the winter. We both agree that sometimes the best parts of a trip are when you just stumble on to the good stuff. We'll do this in the vicinity of the big touristy places like the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, etc., but we'll also get to know the Latin Quarter.

My father is flying in the day before we leave to take care of the beasties while we're gone. He loves his grandkitties so this will not be a hardship. We are certainly looking forward to a much needed break and are incredibly thankful that we get to it in such an amazing place!

Say What?

Since Sweetie and I met on the Internet, language has always been important. We are constantly making each other laugh in part because we both have such twisted senses of humor. Here are some examples.

Friday Afternoon at Lunch

We tried out a new burger joint near Maison d'X that has been open for some while but we hadn't tried. From the street, it appears to be a large warehouse, but in the back is a huge porch and further out is a field for the kiddies to run around. Friday afternoon there were quite a few people and quite a few kids playing kickball, etc.

I watched the kids for a while and turned to Sweetie with this observation: "It's like a dog park for kids! They are off the leash and just get to run around until they get tired!"

Saturday afternoon

I finally spent my gift card from Nordstrom's on stuff for Paris. I needed a good pair of shoes for walking but not my natty tennis shoes. I'm going for the more Euro look so that I don't look like a complete American McDonald's-eating-Bud-swilling tourist. I found some great Pumas that I managed to get for 10% off since they were the display models and had some marks on them.

I show them to the man and he says, "The look very froggy." As in French. I guess I accomplished what I had set out to do.

Who knows what either of will say next. It's not even Sunday yet.

The Password of Power

Mr. X has an addiction. Well, I should re-phrase that. He used to have an addiction, now he is just a casual user. Part of the reason he is a casual user is because I am his supplier now. He can't partake unless I allow him to. In a transaction that takes less than 30 seconds, he can get a fix.
image: Jean-François Chénier
Lest you should call me a pusher, I should point out that I only enable him when he requests it. So, maybe I'm just an enabler. My method? Password protection. Yes ladies and gents, I have the password to the parental controls on his World of Warcraft account. He can't play unless I say so.

His brother was his first pusher. He gave him the software for Christmas in 2004. Shortly thereafter, my man was hooked. He played pretty much when he got home from work until bedtime and on the weekends. By early 2007, he was averaging 25 hours a week on top of work. I was beginning to seriously resent the game and the fact that he was constantly playing. When we went on vacation in 2007, where there would be no internet access, he decided that this was the right time to give it up. He went cold turkey and it was so nice to have him back again.

He talked about getting back into it and I would remind him that he had quit for a reason. Eventually, though, he - with my blessing - got back into the game. But, this time we made a compromise. He would play 11 hours per week but I got the parental control password. It is locked until I get in there and change it. And, if he doesn't get out on time, it kicks him out.

So far, it's been a good system. He gets to play, I get some me-time, but we also get to spend lots of time together. And, I think he is happier being able to play again because now he uses his time much more wisely and gets more out of the time that he does spend.

And, I'm happy that I have the password. It is also one that he would never, ever guess (not that he's tried ... yet).

Full Circle

In honor of Earth Day, I have a funny story. We'll go back to Mrs. X's callow youth when she attended her first (and last) outdoor Earth Day concert. I don't remember much about the concert itself. I went with my best friend and her boyfriend. It was at a well-known ampitheatre several miles away from home and had an indoor and outdoor section. We being cheap high school students got tickets for the lawn.

As it was Earth Day, it was in April and either it had already rained or it was predicted to rain. Back then, of course, a little rain really wasn't going to make much difference. So, we went to the concert and the only act I remember is Midnight Oil, complete with the crazy lead singer with his bald head.

Being the prepared little Miss X that I was, I grabbed a blanket for us on the way out to the concert. We would need something to sit on, after all. I grabbed the drab olive green blanket and headed out the door. As usually happens, rain mixed with dirt = mud. Most of the mud ended up on the blanket, which was precisely what I had intended.

Miss X arrived home after the concert with said muddy blanket and her mother had herself a F-I-T. Now, if you were to ever meet my mother you would be immediately impressed by how calm and easy going she is. So, when she gets riled about something, she gets pissed off. What I didn't know at the time was that the drab olive green blanket that I had chosen had not been purchased somewhere. Oh no. Mom knitted the blanket after my parents were married but before I graced (or cursed) their lives. It was made out of 100% wool that was hand carried by her friend all the way from Ireland just for her. It was also enormous and extremely intricate. She obviously worked very hard on it. So, of course she'd be pissed that her callow, thoughtless daughter would take it to an Earth Day concert and get it thoroughly, disgustingly muddy. I would be.

In the end, all was forgiven because she was able to wash the blanket and it came out perfectly. At the time, I didn't realize how stupid I had been to take that particular blanket or how lucky I was that it was salvageable.

Fast forward about 18 years. I got an e-mail from my mother a few weeks ago asking me if I remembered the green blanket. Of course, I replied. That was the one I took to the Earth Day concert and got all muddy. My mother replied, that's the one. She asked if I was interested in becoming the new owner of the blanket or else.... she was going to sell it on ebay. Now I found this so incredibly ironic. The blanket that brought me this close to corporeal punishment, that I was castigated for getting dirty was now going to be sold on eBay?!

I mentioned this to her and she then got riled all over again with the memory of what I had done. Several discussions on the phone with both my mom and my dad ensued each giving their memory of the particular incident (neither one painted me in a particularly sympathetic light). In the end, though, she was forced to admit that, yes, it was rather ironic that the blanket in question was now going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Well, I decided that given its history, particularly with me, I decided that I would give it a new home. It's now sitting on the futon here in my office, where it will probably be adopted by a furry animal and turn from green to grey. At least it won't be getting muddy again.
image: TalkingTree

$4 and a Plastic Pink Flamingo

I knew this day would come. I knew that eventually it would be my turn at the table of humiliation. I knew one day, I would get the Pink Flamingo of Shame. That day was yesterday.
Behold, my drunken master.
Last night, I headed down the street to my neighbor's house with $3 in my pocket and the promise of some good finger food and decent wine. All of the neighborhood ladies were there as usual and soon the talk turned to how awful the new grocery store is up the street, and other heady topics of conversation.

Then we got down to the gambling. The game? bunco. The stakes? $3 per person. Typically, we play 12 rounds and then divvy up the winnings afterwards. It's so easy to win money, too. You can win if you have the most number of wins, the most number of buncos (which is when you roll three sixes at once), if you have an even number of wins or losses - and you can even win money if you have the most losses ($4 in fact!). But, if you have the most losses, you get a little something extra. You get my plastic friend here.

Yep, I had a whopping 11 losses last night. Blame the cheap wine, blame the lack of concentration, but mostly just blame luck, since it is literally the role of the dice. So, for the rest of the month, and into next month, Pinkey here will be in front of my house, declaring to all who know that I was the biggest loser at Bunco. Here he is again trying to sneak out of the front bushes:

Oh, the humanity.

Spring Shearing

Spring usually brings lots of changes. The butterflies emerge from their cocoons, it's lambing season (I can say that I have seen lambing season in Tasmania and there is nothing cuter than baby lambs hopping arouund - I can't eat lamb now, I just see those little guys), leaves emerge on the trees, and flowers bloom after winter's hiberation. But, something else, something ... curious happens:

I get the urge to chop all of my hair off.

image: Dunstan Orchard
Every year for the past few years, I have had this urge. It usually strikes in February or so, but it's a little late this year, no doubt due to the rather exciting February I had. So, now I'm feeling it and it gets worse everyday - bangs in my eyes, neck hair itching, it drives me batty. And, once I've made the decision, I have to stop myself from grabbing scissors and just going to town. (Don't worry - I'm too vain to consider actually doing that. I have an appointment with an excellent stylist on Saturday).

For some reason today, though, I asked myself for the very first time, "why do I get this urge every spring?" I began my journey of hair self-discovery by asking my parents why I always had short hair when I was a kid. I figured maybe if I knew the answer to that question, I could get to what I was certain was a deep psychological need for short hair.

My father chimed in first with his theory that it was because that was what all of the kids had at the time. I'm pretty certain this isn't the case - except for the boys with the "8 Is Enough" haircut and I know even back then that I wouldn't want to look like the boys on purpose. And, I have enough memories of elementary school to remember that most of the girls had long hair.

My mom thought that it was probably a practicality thing, to give them one less thing to deal with. Getting interested in the topic, she also rolled out the subconcious theory. Maybe she was really just trying to spare me the horrors that she had as a young kid growing up with long hair. What horrors? It seems that one day my grandmother got so tired of dealing with this long hair that she took my mother to a barber and had him cut of her pigtail braids - while they were still braided. Or, there was the time that her cousins decided they wanted to "style" her hair and she endured some pretty painful hours while they brushed and brushed.

I shared with them why I was asking the question and my dad gave what was the most boring, but also the most likely reason: it's about to get hot and I want something that is cool and breathes well. Typical that the answer to my deep-seated question would be so damn practical. Personally, I think he's right but not entirely. I think it's mostly sheer (or maybe "shear?") boredom. There are so many constants in my life now - Sweetie, the kitties, our house, my job. And, I don't want to change any of these. But, that doesn't leave a whole lot that I can change around, rearrange, and just plain shake up for variety's sake. I'm pretty much left with two outlets: my hair and my clothes. I did clothes a few weeks ago. Now it's the hair's turn.

In any case, I will probably be going for the pixie cut which I've tried before, but for whatever reason, it didn't work. My current hairdresser has a knack for cutting my hair so maybe she can pull it off. I have learned that the key for me is the piecey bangs.

One of these days, though, I still may just shave it all off.

Left to My Own Devices

Sweetie's job entails a certain amount of travel, although it's been relatively quiet on that front for the past few months. Today, though, he left today for a three-day trip and once again, I am a travel widow. But, I'll share a secret between you, me and the Internet: I like having the house to myself. I can clean and things don't get moved around unless I move them. I can hog the sheets and there is peace in the house after 5pm, the time he would normally get home. I do miss him when he's gone, but I also enjoy the solitude.

His leaving for a trip, however, reminded me of a funny story about one time when he came home from a 5-day trip (Monday through Friday). It was Friday night, in the winter, cold and he didn't get home until about 7:30pm. He was super tired and literally dragging himself home.

"Why yes, Mr. Bean, you can have your way with me."
At the precise moment he came home, I was watching a movie with one of my favorite actors, Sean Bean. Now, I am a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to the delectable Mr. Bean. In fact, I have told Sweetie on many occasions that if given the chance, I would gladly marry said Mr. Bean - despite the fact that he's almost 50, already had three ex-wives and I'm married. Unfortunately, I was beaten to the altar earlier this year by a little hussy who is two years younger than I am. But, a girl can dream.

So, the movie really wasn't that good - but I got it because it was one of the few in which he wasn't cast as the total bad guy and it looked like innocent eye candy. Although, it was made back in the 90's, during what I like to call his Emaciated Period. He has since filled out nicely. Anywho, he was playing a guy who taught photography to adults and (surprise, surprise) got into an adulterous affair with one of his students. He took her on a trip to Paris where they of course did what most people do on adulterous trips to Paris. And, concindentally, what Sweetie and I plan on doing on our non-adulterous trip to Paris.

But wouldn't you know it, Sweetie walked through the door just as the delectable Mr. Bean's very naked behind was on the screen. No, it was not during The Moment - our adulterer was sleeping on his stomach and she (the student) was taking pictures of him as he slept - but it was very obvious that it was a man's behind and soon became clear which man. Without thinking (obviously), I paused the DVD so that I wouldn't lose my place and wouldn't you know, it paused right on the gorgeous behind of Mr. Bean. This is the image that greeted Sweetie as he walked through the door. What a wife I am.

Sweetie thought it was hysterical, no doubt in part because of the look of asbolute horror on my face that the one time I freezed the DVD, it would be on this particular image. He has since told this story to many of our friends, thus not only embarrasing me to high heaven but also revealing my inner most secret desire to see said behind in person.

Luckily this time, there are no Sean Bean movies in the house and he'll get home around 5pm on Thursday when I'll still be pecking away at the old laptop. Why give him any more ammunition to embarrass me in front of our friends?

I should also add that I have no serious intention of marrying Sean Bean. I hear that he's got rather backwards ideas about women (and monogamy) and I love Sweetie much more than the chance of getting it on with a guy who did a relatively mediocre job as the gamekeeper in Lady Chatterly. But, we both get a kick out of discussing my infatuation, and he's always up for watching the next Sean Bean biopic that happens to grace the screen.

Animalia

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday about what not to do while you are at work. I work from home, and yesterday the mail brought not one but two boxes from my mom. They are in the process of selling their house so she's constantly finding things that she hasn't seen for a while and asking me if I want them. That's how I now have two silver candlesticks, some dishes and a New Yorker dated on the day I was born.

I was on the phone with the Boss Man discussing an esoteric topic and opening said boxes at the same time. I'm a multi-tasker, what can I say? What I hadn't anticipated was that she would use the dreaded packing peanuts. Of course, it made sense with the delicate plates. But, I also didn't anticipate that one of the kitties, the Bad One, would find these little peanuts irresistable and would start trying to EAT them. So, now, I'm on the phone with the Boss Man, pulling half-masticated soggy packing peanuts out of the greedy little jaws of the Bad One while desperately trying to repack the rest of them before he could use his little Hungry-Hippo head to snatch some more out of the box. Lesson learned.

In case you try to argue what my father does all the time, "But honey, he's hungry!", here's a picture of his fat little behind:

We have now taken to separating him from his brother at feeding time now because he added to his rear end by eating his brother's food after shoving Fluffy out of the way before Fluffy was finished. Despite this new "diet", I swear he's getting fatter. I think he actually has feline pica given his penchant for packing tape, cardboard boxes and paper. Never fear, we keep it all out of his little jaws and he hasn't had any digestive problems so far.

No, I think he gets his extra nutrition from eating scraps out of the sink. I admit it, that Mr. X and I are pretty sloppy housekeepers, but now that we've caught him head first in the sink, we've started moving dishes straight to the dishwasher.
____________________________________________________________________

On the pooch-hunt front (ooh! I rhymed!), I've come to realize that in the process of finding The One, I'm going to need some help. What this means is I'm going to have to go with an adoption agency that takes those extra steps to helping match the right person with the right dog. At your average shelter, you kind of go window shopping, for the lack of a better term, and you try the animal on for size (and vice versa) and then, assuming you pass whatever check they have, you are officially a pet owner!

When we adopted Fluffy and the Bad One as kittens, they let us out of there with two adorable kittens (who were little balls of 8-week old fluff, they were so freakin' adorable) after no more than paying some money and signing a contract. Now that I look back, I realize how trusting they were - that they trusted that we would take good care of these little guys. Which, I am very proud to say, we have. But still.

I also want to be able to be a little more picky about the temperment of the pooch - I don't particularly care about the breed, something medium sized and good natured. But, we really don't want a barker. Working from home means I'm on the phone a lot and I can't have a dog barking in the background. Nyerhe!

Recently, I've been looking at a local Golden Retriever rescue group who pretty much do everything except finger print you. I'm leaning toward this organization because they make the effort to match the dog to the person and vice versa. And, Goldens are such wonderful pooches. We wouldn't want one on the big side - I think about 50lbs is our limit, but we have a beautiful backyard that is already fenced for their frolicking pleasure and the city just opened a new dog park near us (yay!).

We have decided to put off the serious looking until after Paris. It wouldn't be fair to the pooch to get him/her and then leave for 10 days.

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

I like to think of myself as a pretty passionate recycler. I'm seriously considering starting a compost pile. I re-use envelopes from junk mail for note paper and use junk mail for paper in my printer (I honestly can't remember the last time I bought paper). I take my old magazines to the library and put them in the free magazine pile so someone else can enjoy them. I even mine the trash when I'm taking it out for items that Sweetie may have thrown in there that are in fact recyclable (his biggest no-no: yogurt containers and cat food cans). We even took all of the crap that the oak trees are currently barfing up on our driveway and used it as mulch for the flower beds (this may turn out to be a bad idea, but I figure it keeps the moisture in the soil, so it can't be that bad, right?) I just hate the idea of adding to a landfill anymore than I have to.

And, I do recycling in other ways too. I buy most of my clothes now from a consignment store here in town. As befitting a woman of my station (and snobbery), it is a rather upscale consignment store - they carry St. John, which I personally wouldn't be caught dead in, but I know the value - with Jimmy Choos, Manolo Blahnik and Seven Jeans (but never in my big-ass size). Yesterday's haul was two pairs of pants (one in melon, God help me), one necklace at $10 and one pair of fabulous shoes for $16:


I think these will be my saucy shoes that I will wear whenever I'm feeling muy caliente. Wine Boy likes them already.

But the recycling didn't stop there yesterday! Oh no. Not even close. The local PTA of our extremely large and populous school district held their annual book sale this weekend. 60,000 books were laid out in the giant athletic center gym and you could rub elbows with all sorts of humanity while thumbing through what seemed like thousands of John Grisham novels. Despite the heavy emphasis on the mainstream fiction (I counted at least three copies of The Da Vinci Code and the sale had been open for about two hours already), I was able to find some delectable titles:

I was particularly excited to get The Autobiography of Malcolm X, The Sound and the Fury, and Spy Catcher which is a biography of one of the premier CIA spycatchers during the Cold War. I also found a vintage book from 1946 that is in excellent condition called The Last Hurrah which I had never heard of, but it looked interesting. In the end, I got 11 books (including one for Sweetie) for $7.

Ironically, it was at the same book sale two years earlier that I spotted a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting and I picked it up for a 50 cent investment. At the time, I had yet to find out that I was dealing with infertility and figured it was only a matter of time before the book would come in handy.

Some time today, it will find its way into the recycle bin as part of the circle of life and a key example of my passion for recycling - because frankly, I don't want a reminder of what I've lost twice now in the house any longer.

Eight Years Ago Today...

April 2, 2000, eight years ago (or 2,922 days - including two leap years - for those who are counting), was a beautiful Sunday. That morning, I got up and out of bed in my one-bedroom apartment. I put on my khaki pants and a light blue shirt. Rather than wear my contacts, I had on my tortoise-shell glasses.

I had some work to do at school - I was in my first year of grad school - and afterwards, I headed in my car downtown to meet a boy. I only knew this boy through the internet - we met two weeks earlier on Match.com. This was before it was de rigeur to post a picture, before you could "wink" at someone and before Dr. Phil invaded with his, bald pate, glaring white teeth and obviously fake tan. It was pretty darn simple back then. You sign up, answer some questions and then it starts spitting out the different members in your general area who remotely match your answers.

This boy was a 94% match to me, but his little narrative on his profile immediately struck me; I had to meet him. I emailed him that first time while I was procrastinating on a school assignment, and later learned that he almost didn't write back. Apparently, he had three bad dates in a row on Match.com and had pretty much given it up. But, the Internet Fairy must have been looking out for us because the email still was delivered. Of course, I knew nothing of this at the time. All I knew was that I was interested and I had stuck my toe in the water.

He did email me back and we embarked on an old-fashioned daily electronic letter-writing courtship. It was he who suggested meeting. Of course, I had been agonizing over whether to bring this up, but luckily, he saved me from having to make a decision. A date was set, physical descriptions were exchanged and promises to wear certain clothing were made.

When I got to the appointed place at the appointed time, I saw him before he saw me. Sure enough, he was wearing the Hawaiian shirt with steamships as he had promised. He was pacing and looking rather grumpy. I walked up to him and introduced myself and there was the smile. I won't say that it was love at first sight, but that smile was wonderful. We started walking to our brunch destination and didn't stop talking. We ended up having an all-day date and the rest, as they say, is history.

That boy is now my husband. My Sweetie. He is my lovely day, my sunshine and my rock. And I look forward to thousands more days together, come rain or shine, hell or high water (we've been through both), or whatever else life throws at us.

Eight years ago today I met the man who I would end up marrying and today, eight years later, I have my graduate degree, we have owned two houses together, we completely renovated one house, we moved to a new city where we knew all of 2 people, we adopted two kittens (who are now 5 year old whiny beasts), we've each had a surgery, and we've endured three years of infertility with two miscarriages, among other highlights.

We have also laughed more than is probably legal, fought very rarely (and fairly), and just been the best spouse to the other. And it all started eight years ago when I ventured into the unknown. I love you, Sweetie.

No Fools Here

I can appreciate an elaborate April Fools prank as much as the next gal, but I'll leave it up to the experts this year. Enjoy this list of the Top 100 April Fools Pranks of All Time.

Le Temps Est Un Cadeau

image: brungrrl
I have to admit that, these past few days, I have been having a hard time appreciating the gift that I have been given. What is the gift? Time. Time to heal, time to reflect, time to be. I have been having the urge to jump back into the fray as soon as possible. But why? Why do I want to get back on the rollercoaster so quickly when I know how hard it is?

Maybe so that I don't feel as much of a failure. Maybe so I can feel as if I have a chance again. Maybe so I can "skip" the grieving process which is not particularly fun. Maybe so I can feel as if every month is not another month nine months forward that I won't have a live baby in my arms. Because my desire is simple: a baby. From me and from him. One sweet, soft baby. And every month we are waiting for my HCG to go down, every month we can't get pregnant on our own, is another month away from that sweet little gift.

I know that I need this time to heal and to regroup. But, I also know that I want time to stand still so that when we do start again, we haven't lost any time.

The List *Updated*

Believe it or not, I can remember a time when I wasn't trying to get pregnant, getting treatment for infertility, being worried while pregnant, or dealing with a miscarriage. I hardly noticed pregnant women and if I did, frankly, I was immensely relieved that it was not me.

Sweetie and I just lived. We renovated our house, raised our kitties and enjoyed the first few years of being married. I look back on that time now and wonder, can I do it again? I don't know the answer to that question. I certainly don't think that I can live in the same blissful ignorance that I did back then - we had no idea we were going to have problems. In fact, I was incredibly paranoid about not getting pregnant. It turns out that this paranoia was totally misplaced as I was almost 100% infertile due to completely blocked fallopian tubes.

But, I think the first step to taking a break and regaining my non-infertility life, is to go back to that time and remember what made me happy. It was pretty simple: Sweetie, my kitties, interior decorating, planning our renovation (we renovated a 75 year old house and it turned out fabulously), doing the renovation, my job, learning, and enjoying time with our friends, all of whom were just married or engaged.

We now live in a different city and do not have a 75 year-old house, but rather an 18-year old house that used to have carpeting in the bathrooms (I shit you not) and most of those friends who we used to hang out with live in our old town and have kids. But, there are still things here that bring me joy - planning on how I am going to renovate the kitchen, gardening, sewing, cross-stitch, and of course, the furry beasties (including Sweetie). It occurred to me, though, that if I am going to take a true sabbatical from infertility, which is what I had planned, I should fulfill the purpose of a sabbatical: to learn a new skill or fulfill a goal.

As a multitasker and chronic overachiever, I actually have multiple goals. Here are the main ones:

* Learn how to be happy with what I have, not what I want. I have no problem with this with respect to material things like cars, houses, etc. I don't covet my neighbor's Yukon (particularly not with these gas prices) and I don't want the giant house down the street (its disproportionate). But, when it comes to pregnancy and babies, I can't seem to get past the envy and WANT.

* Learn some new distracting skills. I think I want to learn jewelry making and how to play bridge. Luckily, our local school district offers classes in both.

* Read, read, read. I'm seriously behind in my magazine reading (I subscribe to the Atlantic which I love, but I'm still on October 2007's edition - and it's a monthly!) and I'm still on a quest to enhance my literature repertoire. For example, Great Expectations has been sitting in my nightstand drawer for years and I still haven't read it.

* Reconnect with Sweetie in areas other than infertility. Without a doubt, infertility has strengthened our marriage, but so many of our conversations these past few years have been about the trials and tribulations. We are starting to talk more about non-infertility plans and futures. I want to continue with that.

* Get a pooch. We have two of the most adorable kitties on the planet (seriously, mine are way cuter than yours. Really.), but I've always wanted a dog. We have gone to the shelter twice now in search of The One and so far, no luck. But we are in no hurry and we know that we'll find The One eventually.

* Be more comfortable with pregnant women. I know this sounds strange and strangely infertility-related, but I have to do this. It's the only way that I will be able to make it through however much longer we have before we get the two-legged non-furry child that we want. I can't keep avoiding them and getting depressed.

New Additions

* Limber up. My friend reminded me that I wanted to also start doing yoga again. I had given it up because of concerns about twisting my drug-swollen ovaries (Dr. Uterus did have a patient who did her favorite pose - a head stand - in the middle of an IVF cycle and ended up with ovarian torsion). Once they have settled down, I will check out the new studio that is near my house. Sweetie and I have also started a daily exercise regimen. We walk every evening after work in our neighborhood and are slowly working up the number of miles. We also did some hiking. I was extremely fortunate that I didn't gain weight on stims (in fact, I got thinner), but I lost a lot of muscle mass which I want to get back.

I'm sure I'll think of some more, but as you can see, I have a pretty full and challenging agenda. All of it, though, is designed to reach that true nirvana - peace, no matter what we end up getting in this crap shoot called life.

The Audacity of Hope

When I started this blog, we were fully looking forward to fulfilling the experiment, that is taking a year off from everything having to do wtih getting and staying pregnant. Then, things took an interesting detour. The detour is now over, but it didn't end before we started to have a glimmer of hope that this break wouldn't be needed after all. We even talked about postponing our trip to Paris if things continued to progress. We decided to put off getting a pooch. I don't think we can blame ourselves for having these thoughts - for two full weeks we had hope. The temptation to chastise oneself for such indulgences, however, is great.

But, now, we have to get used to the idea of taking a break all over again. I am so very tired of this undulating curve of shifting expectations and part of me is relieved that I get to get off the train. I had just gotten comfortable in my seat, though.

At the very least, I am pretty much guaranteed a train-ride free next several months. Of course, that's what I thought last time. So, Paris is on, we will begin to look for a pooch and the year will start all over again. And we will try to remember that there is life outside this nasty thing called infertility and loss.

Meh.

Sweetie and I splurge each month for a subscription to HBO and it has brought us untold riches - Rome, Big Love, and a host of other fabulous programming (but not, Tell Me You Love Me, which to me seemed like Thirtysomething with uninteresting sex). So, we were pretty interested in the latest offering of John Adams, based upon the tome by David McCullough. We were immediately intrigued with the casting of Laura Linney and Paul Giammati.

(In the interest of total impartiality, I should dicslose that I bought the book and read about 1/3 before I got hopelessly bored. Let's face it - Ben Franklin was much more interesting. Sweetie did read the whole thing, in fits and starts.)

It got off to a pretty slow start and my interest waned pretty quickly. It took a real nose dive once I realized that without his wig thing-y, he bears an unbelievable resemblance to Uncle Fester from the Addams Family:



I shared my observation with Sweetie, who immediately agreed and we spent the rest of the two episodes imaging light bulbs coming out of John Adams/Paul Giamatti's mouth whenever he was wigless. It was distracting, to say the least.

All in all, I thought the first two episodes were meh. I am also slightly concerned that my reaction is due to some issue with ADD where my attention can only be captured by programming that is lurid and involves lots of gratuitous sex, neither of which feature in this miniseries.

Or maybe, it really was just meh and TV Guide, the New Yorker, Newsweek and The Washington Post were all smoking crack.

The First Step

Despite the recent drama (apparently, I am - for now - still pregnant), I am well-versed in the fleeting nature of good news. We are still moving forward as if this pregnancy will also end and we will take a much-needed break from all things involving baby-making (except for that sex thing. That's fun). Paris is still most-definitely on.

Part of my Official Break Plan was to aggressively look for and adopt a poochie. I've been angling for a dog for months now and I have finally broken down Sweetie's resistance to adding more fur to the house. We went to a local no-kill shelter yesterday as the first step in this process. We saw lots of fur, and heard lots and lots of barking, but there was no poochie that really gave us the "we-were-meant-for-each-other" vibe. Of course, I should admit that I didn't have that vibe with Sweetie when I first met him either. To be frank, I thought he looked a little dorky - until he smiled that is. Oh, that smile.

Anywho, I digest. I've heard from several people who have adopted dogs that you really need to have that "spark". Our friends who adopted their dog from the same shelter that we went to yesterday knew immediately that she was for them (and vice versa). We never had that moment yesterday. But, that doesn't mean we won't.

We'll keep looking, although, we may not really get earnest about adopting until after we come back from Paris.
image: Sherly's Boys