The Dirty Mistress

My husband has another love.

I'm not sure what to do about it.  It used to be me that turned his head, kept him on the edge of his seat with my witty banter.  I could captivate him for hours.

That's all changed now.

It's partially my fault.  I did give him my permission.

I just didn't know it would be so hard to compete.

Younger, smoother skin, slender.

It just doesn't seem fair.  Where did I go wrong?

Sigh.

Honey, should I get more games?  Is that it?

I can sing in your ear too you know.

I'll even give you the weather report if you want.

Blessed are they that mourn

"Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."

No one likes to see themselves as ugly.  Especially when we are presenting ourselves to the world.  We put on our best face.  We smile.  We tell about the good things.  We look for silver linings and cling to them no matter how fleeting.  But then life catches up.  The silver linings, while still there, are difficult to see for the reality that looms so impossibly large before our eyes, demanding to be dealt with.  Looked at, embraced, picked apart.  Reality demands, and needs, attention.

I'm pretty good at fooling myself.  Preparing for the worst so that when it comes I can take it all in stride.  It never really works though.  Oh it does for awhile, and most importantly it works in public.  When people ask how I'm doing I can readily look them in the eye and say "Just fine, and how are you?"

Now, I want you to know that I am fine.  Really and truly, because mourning and crying and dealing are all things that make sure that I'm fine.

Our last round of IUI did not work.  This was in no way, shape, or form a surprise.  Completely expected.  We found out about two weeks ago and it was taken in stride.  There is a plan in place to continue moving forward and there didn't seem to be reason to mourn an all too familiar loss.  In fact, it almost didn't effect me at all.  I felt like I had grown.  Like I had finally gotten a hold of these emotions of mine and could "soldier on".

Until today that is.  Or really yesterday.

I have so very much enjoyed this week.  Things have been moving along quite nicely at work.  My husband is wonderful and we've been able to support each other in so many different ways this week.  My stress has lessened and life is looking brighter.  I've been feeling really good about everything.

And then someone asked a question.  About children.  About whether or not we've considered going to a doctor since we didn't have kids yet.  I about fell over.  It made me wonder what kind of conclusions had been drawn about me.  It made me want to give a dry sarcastic laugh and set the record straight, end the conversation, and exit as quickly as possible.  Instead I said "yes, many times, many doctors, no explanation just more money, and yes we are approved for adoption as well", the quick in a nut shell explanation.

I was asked again, later in the day if I had children and an even briefer explanation was given.  I felt pretty blue the rest of the day.  Blue enough to settle for left over macaroni and cheese for dinner.

And then there was this morning.  I got up to exercise and get those endorphins going because "endorphins make you happy and happy people just don't kill their husbands." (name that movie) I exercised, I sweat, I worked out my frustrations, and then I sat on the couch and cried.  Cried for the loss that I didn't feel two weeks ago.  Cried at the unexplainedness of it all.  Cried because I feel old and I'm worried that if I ever do get children that I won't know what to do.  That I'll be out of patience, that my mother instincts have been so buried by the last 15 years that they may not surface.  Worried by how dead I feel inside sometimes.

My New Year's Resolution this year is moderation.  Well, you can't have the good without the bad.  Dark times make you appreciate the sunshine even more.  Spring will really come eventually.  Those silver linings really are out there.  But for a few moments, I need to deal with my reality.  Ask the questions, formulate the answers, get a better grip of what I'm dealing with so I can go forward.

I know that mine is not the worst situation.  I know it.  There are so many wonderful people out there that I am connected with that have their own little private "hell" that has inserted itself into their lives.  Things that don't have easy answers and sometimes make for awkward conversation.

Mourning is a necessary part of this life.  We can only receive the needed comfort if we truly allow ourselves to mourn, to feel, to accept.  That is when God can step in and lighten our path. There is hope, there is always hope. Perhaps it will be easier to see tomorrow. But for today I might just wallow in my misery, swim in it till I get all pruny (name that movie!) and then move on tomorrow, better for having done so.

I feel a little like this today. Spiky with a few blossoms. This was taken at the greenhouse shoot.

I Saw a Purple Bug

I saw a purple bug on the way to work this morning.

It reminded me of Chris.

Chris was a boy in my singles ward 8000 years ago.... you know, in the 90's.

He had a purple bug.  It was cool.  It was metallic shiny purple.

I still had trouble getting into the back seat because of my long legs.

And to clarify for you who's minds wander and go to other places rather rapidly when "back seat" is mentioned, I was getting in the back seat for rides to ward functions.  Innocent-like.

We (as in my roommates) all liked Chris.  We would have all said "yes" to Chris if he had asked.

He didn't ask.  Well maybe he did, but not me.  My memory is getting bad.

I'm sure I would have remembered if he had asked me.

He didn't.

But he did give rides in his purple bug.

He also had a special tie tack made for him.

From one of his wisdom teeth.

It had a cavity.

Yep, we all liked Chris.

Tuesday Photo

Tuesday Photo

I thought this was appropriate... you know considering the holiday and all.

Cheers and Jeers: 1st and possibly only edition

JEERS:  To people to who talk on the phone while using the bathroom.

CHEERS: To the person in the next stall flushing the toilet 3 more times than necessary causing awkward pauses and a explanation to the person on the other end of the phone that "yes, they are in the bathroom."

JEERS: To stomach pains night after night after night.

CHEERS: To finally realizing that the reason I was having them was due to hunger! Half a slice of bread and a glass of water and I was right as rain and back to sleep... blessed, blessed sleep.

CHEERS: To being invited to a Pampered Chef party and not having to make dinner.

JEERS: To sitting in a crowd of people I didn't know that well and trying for awkward conversation.

CHEERS: To finding someone in the crowd who started reading this blog, therefore knows I'm a bit off kilter, and chose to talk to me anyways!

CHEERS:  To the sun shining and warm weather on it's way!

CHEERS: To good friends who make it easy to laugh our way through life.

JEERS: To those friends potentially moving away and leaving gigantic holes in bookclub.

CHEERS: To family and the coolness of them!

CHEERS: To my wonderful husband who loves me despite me... let's be honest though, wouldnt' be nearly as fun if I was't a tad off kilter.

JEERS: To alarm clocks and the suffering they bring each day.

CHEERS: To you all and may you have a wonderful Valentine's Day!

High School P.E. and What it Did For Me

There are a lot of  things that I have blocked from my mind.  A lot of things from High School.  A lot of things from High School P.E. class.  For example, I have no idea what I wore during P.E.  I can't remember changing cloths.  I know I did, but I've blocked it.  I vaguely remember extra doses of deodorant, but that's about it.

Besides Coach Clark that is.

No one can forget him.

Coach Clark was the P.E. teacher, the wrestling coach, and the football coach.  We called him the ape-man or the missing link.  Cruel I know, but if you had seen him you would agree.  He was barrel chested, swarthy in complexion, and as compassionate as an ape.

He put up warm-up exercises for us to do at the beginning of class.  Other, less informed people, who saw the list on the wall thought they were for the wrestling team.  Nope.  They were for a bunch of girls.

It was not uncommon for this list to contain such things as: run 25 laps, 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 25 sets of ladders.  Lest you think that these were spread out, not so.  Usually all four were on the "warm-up" list. 

The worst were the push-ups.  We had to do them right.  Meaning we had to partner up and our partner had to hold their fist on the ground right below our chest.  As the pusher-upper, we had to lower our body (no knee push-ups mind you, full on straight legged) to the persons fist.  Then and only then had we completed a push-up.  Others didn't count.  I hated push-ups.  Only when we had completed all of the warm-ups were we able to continue on with the rest of the class. 

My partner was Sally.  She was great.  We cheated. We never did finish a complete set up push-ups, or at least not accurately.  It was odd how sometimes I would be lifting myself up and her fist would just hit me in the chest without me even moving.  Fastest push-ups I ever did.  We laughed a lot.  Coach Clark didn't like us.  He was pretty much disgusted with our weakness.  Did I mention we were in high school... we were weak by definition.

On the last day of class Sally and I decided that come hell or high water, we would finish our set of push-ups.  Just this one time we would make Coach Clark proud.  You know, to give him a reason to believe he was doing a good job, to pay him back for all the anguish we gave him.  We didn't cheat.  We persevered.  We lowered our chest to the other person's fist.  We collapsed regularly in exhaustion and laughter, mostly laughter.  He was still disgusted with us.  But we kept on going.  After a good half hour into class he finally came over and told us to stop and get going with the rest of the class.  He was still disgusted.

I like to think that he learned from this experience.  I hope he realized that all men/women are not created physically equal.  That sometimes people just aren't interested in doing push-ups until our arms fall off.  That high school girls don't like to sweat during the day because it ruins make-up and hair.  That not everyone is a wrestler.

I know I learned a few things.  I learned that Sally was an incredible partner in crime. I learned how to change in the locker room with speed and accuracy (still can't remember what I wore though, shorts and a t-shirt I'm sure but I have no recollection of what they actually looked like).  I learned to block out a lot of memories about high school P.E.  I learned that I absolutely hated push-ups.

I think it may have scarred me just a little... don't worry, I'm sure I'll get over it some day.

How about your P.E. memories?

For Deb

To her musical education...









You're welcome.

Tuesday Photo

There's nothing like a paper chain for a friendly reminder.

Who are you to be fabulous?

We had book club last night.  It was wonderful.  It wasn't perfect.  We aren't perfect people.  We make mistakes.  We have regrets.  We have trials.  We have issues.   We aren't always appropriate.  We aren't all loud, we aren't all quiet.  But no one can fit us in a box.

At book club we aren't moms, we're not teachers, we're not professionals, we're not wives.  We are women.  We are women.

Women who come together once a month with full acceptance.  Women who have been judged and have learned that no one can be judged.  Women who have stories.  Women who have lived different lives no matter how much "in common" some seem to have.  We are women who are friends, who care about each other dearly no matter how new to the club.  Women who like to laugh and have a good time.  Women who need to laugh and have a good time.  Women who appreciate each other for who we are.

When the evening is over we go back to our homes and we are ready to pick up our mom hats, our work hats, our job hats, our wife hats.  We are better for the experience.  We aren't always appropriate.  We aren't perfect.  We love our families.  And most things about our lives we wouldn't change.  We are women. We are fabulous.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."


-Marianne Williamson

Tuesday Photo

The low today is supposed to be 0 degrees.  I can't handle that.
This picture was taken in Ixtapa Mexico two years ago.  I can't go back, but maybe looking at it will make me feel warmer.  If that doesn't work try this one: