decaf, please

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES...

2011-12-24T13:51:00.001-05:00

Overheard from my daughter over the course of the past 24 hours....

* * * * * *

Amanda: "Mom....I REALLY disagree with that sign over there!" (Points to a sign in Kohl's LAST NIGHT that reads 'It's the Best Time to Be Shopping!')

* * * * * *

(Driving around Dedham last night, looking at all of the Christmas light displays...)

me: "Amanda - everyone did SUCH a nice job decorating this year, huh?"

Amanda: "Yes! Everyone but us!"

* * * * * *

Amanda: "'Feliz Navidad' is my favorite Christmas Carol, because it is Mexican."

* * * * * *

(Trying to explain heritage and traditions...)

me: "Amanda, you are Italian. Italians celebrate Christmas."

Amanda: "And my friend Theo is British - that's why he celebrates Hanukkah!"

* * * * * *

(Observing a man dressed as Santa walking down Washington Street this morning...)

Amanda: "Um.....he needs to turn around, the North Pole is THAT way."

* * * * * *

(While watching the movie 'Elf' this morning...)

Amanda: "I love this movie. It is a great non-fiction story."

* * * * * *

Last but not least - my favorite

(While finishing shopping last night...)

Amanda: "Wow Mom, you smell REALLY good!"

me: "Really? What do I smell like?"

Amanda, thinking about it: ".....you smell like a MOM."

* * * * * *

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to All!!!!

SHOULD NOT HAVE RUN FOR CHOCOLATE

2011-12-04T22:04:00.000-05:00

What has gone on this past weekend for twenty-two thousand of us runner-types can only be described as the "epic failure of epic fails." Starting with an unclear registration process many many months ago and ending with a weak 'apology statement' that all but says "it wasn't our fault," I have to say the following:

If I wasn't there to experience this race first-hand, I would never believe that all of this actually happened. Truly.

I'm no newbie to the road race world. I've lost count of how many 5K's I have under my belt, but a conservative estimate would have me running five to ten 5K's each year. I've also run several 10K's, four half-marathons, and one full marathon. This past summer I ran the Warrior Dash in a torrential downpour through muddy woods and as a result suffered an extreme rash of poison ivy all over my legs that lasted for a solid month. That race was fun, but because of the medical issues that resulted I thought that was probably my worst race experience ever.

I had no idea how wrong I was.

Let me be clear that as I list the things that "went wrong," I do not blame the race organizers for ALL of them. Most? Yes. But not ALL.

When my girlfriends and I signed up online for this race over the summer, we each commented to one another that the registration process was confusing, arduous, vague, and far more complicated than any other race we had ever signed up for.

This past week, I kept getting emails from the race coordinators informing me that I hadn't yet selected my mode of transportation to the starting line. I navigated the road race website over and over again, trying to figure out what mode of transportation I would require. After all, I was staying at one of the hotels that the race recommended and even set up discounted blocks of rooms for runners. I emailed my friend who was doing the race with me and asked if she was able to figure out what sort of transportation we would need. The website was confusing to her, too.

Finally I emailed the race director and said "I am staying at the (yada yada) hotel and don't know which mode of transportation I need to select?" They responded to me by telling me that the starting line was a three minute walk from my hotel room, so I would not need transportation. I thanked them and selected "no transportation required" on the site.

When we arrived and went to the runner expo to pick up our bibs and jackets, we were horrified to discover that the jackets were too small and didn't fit us in the sizes that we registered for. It was not a problem, however, as there was a jacket size exchange table around the corner. Off we went, and we traded in our jackets for a better (er, bigger) size. When we got back to our hotel, we checked the race's facebook page and lots of people were complaining that the jackets were much too small (which made us feel better, since I was taking it personal and feeling like a fat-ass). The thing is, we were at the runner expo pretty early, around 1:00PM. By 4:00PM that afternoon (the expo was open until 9:00PM) they were out of some jacket sizes. People were PISSED because they were arriving to pick up their jackets and were being told that the sizes they registered for were gone. To which they responded (and I agreed even though I had benefited from this faux-pas) "how can you allow people to EXCHANGE their jacket sizes before they've been handed out to EVERYONE?" I remember saying to my friend that the race organizers were going to catch a lot of heat over that.

Ha ha ha. I laugh now just thinking that THIS is what I thought would be the biggest issue.

Ok: fast forward to race morning. We leave our hotel shortly after 7:15AM. We know it is 30 degrees out and absolutely frigid, and we are dressed in running clothes. We have on layers, yes, but we are NOT warm. We are dressed to run. Counting on our three minute walk to the starting line, we are trying to give ourselves more than enough time to be at the staging area as required for 7:45AM, knowing our race starts at 8:00AM sharp. We figure we can probably stand to be outside for forty-five minutes in the cold before we begin running and warm up.

The starting line, as it turned out, was a mile and a half away from our hotel. On a GOOD day, I can run a nine-minute mile. Meaning that if I was running at a good clip, it would take me thirteen and a half minutes to RUN to the starting line. Not three minutes. Oh, and this mile and a half walk to the starting line was uphill. So, that was fun...in the freezing cold.

We get to what is marked as the "finish" line, and find ourselves lost in a sea of people. There is a 5K race that is supposed to start at 7:30AM. On the same course as our 15K. Half an hour between start times seemed odd, but okay. The race organizers must know what they are doing.

7:45AM rolls around and we try to find the corral where we should be lining up. We can't find it. There is signage, but it makes little sense. We want to make sure that we are lined up in the right place and finally realize that we must be "good enough," as everyone around us looks as confused as we are. Then, we start realizing that some of the people standing with us have on 5K bibs.

"Shouldn't they have already been running for fifteen minutes by now?" we asked ourselves. I have never - NEVER - been a part of a race that didn't start on time. Well, okay, once I ran in a 5K that started five minutes late, and the race organizers were SUPER apologetic about it. We runners have certain rituals that we go through - we eat certain foods at certain times, based on when we will be running and when we will be finishing, etc. We also warm up and stretch out, etc, based on estimated start and end times. There are dozens of other reasons that races always start on time: the city or town has only granted allowances for road closures for a certain number of hours; people that are visiting from out of town have check-out times in their hotels that they need to adhere to; flights home that they need to be on time for, etc etc etc. Bottom line: road races start on time. Period. The end.

By 8:00AM, we were growing concerned that we were still seeing people in 5K bibs standing around. We were also growing concerned that our toes were frozen and it didn't appear that WE would be starting anytime soon, either. Everyone was standing around looking at one another. No one knew what was going on. There were volunteers all around us, but none of them had any idea what was going on, either. Furthermore, none of them had any radios or walkie-talkies or whatnot. There was no way for these volunteers to be informed of what was going on.

No one was making any overhead anouncements - none that we could hear, anyways. It was unclear which direction our start line was in. It was DAMN cold. And by 8:50AM, we were getting pissed. There were rumors that the 5K race had started, but we couldn't be certain of that.

.....I just realized that if I continue to go on and on at this pace, I'll be typing until morning. And no one will read this whole post. So, let's touch on some of the highlights, shall we?

* Our 15K race started WAY late. When I crossed the START line, my iPod read "9:24AM." For an 8:00AM race. No bueno.

* The first six miles of our 15K race was on a highway. A highway that WAS NOT CLOSED TO TRAFFIC. Yes, that is correct - the roads were not closed. We were running alongside cars and trucks on a freeway.

* We crossed the 5K mat a little over a mile into the race. For those of you keeping track, 5K is 3.1 miles. In other words, the mat was in the wrong location.

* We arrived at the first water station and there wasn't enough water. Really. We had to stand and wait while they poured cups of water for us (much much love to the volunteers at the water stations - this was NOT their fault).

* During the first six miles there were a grand total of five port-o-johns that I saw. Five. For TWENTY TWO THOUSAND RUNNERS.

* This course, on its best day, would have been hard pressed to fit four thousand runners. There were more than five times that number on race day. Overcrowded doesn't begin to explain it.

* Did I mention that this race was advertised as the "Sweetest Race in Washington DC?" and we were ACTUALLY running in Oxon Hill, Maryland? You couldn't see DC if you squinted.

* Around the six mile mark, this VERY hilly (not advertised as such) course looked like it was going to overlap itself. We later learned that this last 5K portion of our race was THE 5K course. With one giant difference - the runners for the 5K race were sent the wrong way at the first turn and wound up running the entire course backwards. Yes, really. BACKWARDS. Meaning there were no mile markers for the runner (because, of course, they were reversed now), and which also meant that the narrow SIDEWALK and TUNNEL in the last mile and a half of our course took place in the BEGINNING of their race. I can't even imagine the bottleneck. We heard that "runners" in the 5K were brought not merely to a walk but to a dead halt due to the crowding. The lead runner - the 5K winner - stopped running and asked which direction he was supposed to go (because it wasn't marked) and the police pointed him in the wrong direction. How does that HAPPEN?

* Mile seven lead us onto gravel, dirt, and - honest to God - seashells. Seashells. Have you ever tried to run on the beach, in the sand? Running in dirt mixed with gravel and seashells is very similar. Oh, and very tricky. This was never disclosed to us that we would be running on anything other than asphalt.

* The last half mile was a sharp uphill. This was not in any way against any rules, but I only point it out because it just added insult to injury by then.

* The "tons" of chocolate we were promised at the finish line was one small helping (one small scoop) of fondue. And though it was delicious, in hindsight it was a poor dietary choice after running 9.3 miles. A lot of us spent the rest of the day in bed, in the fetal position with stomach aches.

* The line for the shuttles to take people back to their cars were insane; we heard that people were in line for an hour and a half. Sweaty, wet, cold, irritated, angry, and sore - waiting to get a shuttle back to their car so that they could go sit in traffic to get to wherever they were supposed to be hours ago.

* The website for the race AND the facebook page for the event were getting all sorts of complaints and feedback from runners - people, like us, who experienced the day, and runners who never even made it to a delayed start due to the fact that they overbooked a race and didn't have a location that could handle that amount of traffic and parking. Local folks left their homes at 4:30AM, and missed the start of the race - which was supposed to start at 8 and didn't start until 9:15ish - because they were sitting in gridlock - caused by the race.

* Furthermore, both the facebook page AND the website began censoring and deleting any and all negative feedback posted online. Then, they shut access off all together. No one was able to comment, complain, inquire, or anything. The sites just went SILENT.

* Today, we received an "apology" email from the race director. In this email, they blamed two traffic accidents for the delayed race starts. Almost every account I have read online from people who drove in on the ONE access road to the race said they never saw anything that indicated there had even been one accident, let alone two.

* The apology email further went on to exclaim the race directors disgust and horror at the city for not hiring a proper car parking company; for falsely stating that they could accommodate a runner pool of over twenty-thousand runners; for not knowing the race course and sending one race in the wrong direction. I'm sorry, but don't all of these responsibilities lie with the race organizer? The people who charged us $65.00 per person to take part in this magnificent event? RAM Racing collected one million, four-hundred and thirty thousand dollars for this epic failure, and then when it comes time to issue their mea-culpa they can't even take any responsibility for ANY of it?

Phooey.

I had a lovely weekend with my girlfriends. I had a difficult nine mile run, difficult mostly because I didn't train properly - no one's fault but my own. I had a wonderful stay in my hotel and made some great memories this weekend. But I will never - NEVER - participate in another event held by RAM racing unless they can come up with something a bit more real and sincere than their lame ass "apology." It is shocking, that on the heels of their failure, they could fail even greater in their attempt to save face.

As someone so eloquently posted on one of the race sites (before it was deleted), "RAM racing can ram it up their......"

2,922

2011-11-29T22:45:00.004-05:00

Two thousand nine hundred and twenty two.

That is the number of days that I have been a member of the 'blogosphere.' Hard to fathom, truth be told. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, I've recounted the past eight years of my life on this little personal space of mine on the web.

The day I started blogging, I was living in Dedham. Today, I am living in Dedham. So, THAT is the same.

Pretty much everything else is different.

I was in a three bedroom house in Dedham when I started this blog. Today, I am in a two bedroom apartment.

Back then I was happy to be a wife. Today, I am happy to no longer be THAT wife.

Back then, I would have given ANYTHING to be a mother. Today, I am mother to the greatest six year old kid in the world. I'm not just saying that because I am her mom. I've done research, and it is a fact: she is the greatest kid in the world. Ask anyone.

From the time I started my blog up until now, the following has happened:

I have had approximately eight to ten surgical procedures all in one way or another relating to my ability to reproduce.

I built my dream house, customizing every single detail to my heart's content; I then painfully sold that dream house for a fraction of what we paid for it and threw more than half of the memories from that home out on the curb with the trash.

I had one chemical pregnancy and two painful miscarriages (both of which were resolved with a D&C).

I had a miracle baby. I've exhausted this story, truly, but if you've never heard it I am happy to share it with you here. In nine days that baby girl will be turning six years old and getting her ears pierced with "Hello Kitty" earrings. Wow.

In those past 2,922 days I not only became a mom, but I also became an aunt three times over to the two cutest little girls and the most adorable little boy in the world.

In those past 2,922 days I started running again - a goal of mine when I started the blog. In that time I slowly started doing 5K's again, then 10K's, eventually leading up to four half marathons and one full marathon. Full marathon number two, Boston, is on the horizon, if I can get my lazy ass back in gear!

I've watched both of my younger sisters grow and develop into inspirational women. They are both so different from each other in so many ways; they are both so different from me in even more ways. Even though I am the oldest, I am constantly learning valuable lessons from them. I see the world in unique perspectives through their eyes and their experiences. The three of us are so different from one another, and yet I feel closer to the two of them now than I have ever felt my entire life.

In these past eight years I returned to a job that I had regretted quitting. I held on for dear life to a marriage that I convinced myself was worth saving.

I lied to myself often. I was honest with myself often. I struggled always.

In these past 2,922 I saw the New England Patriots win the Superbowl twice. I saw the Boston Celtics win the Championship and the Boston Bruins win the Stanley Cup. I even saw the Boston Red Sox win the World Series TWICE. The series win in 2004 was one of only two times in my life that I ever saw my husband cry.

I saw my dad have a heart attack and survive. I saw Anthony's dad have a heart attack and survive. I saw my baby sister get married to one of the nicest people I know.

I changed a million diapers, having never changed one until one month before my daughter was born (when my sister forced me to practice on my godchild).

I've done a bunch of things that I won't speak about that I regret and I wish I could take back.

I've done a bunch of things that I won't speak about that have made me truly and completely know what happiness is.

I've laughed harder than ever before. I've cried more than I ever thought was possible. I've had moments where I have never felt so proud of myself. I've had moments of shame that have made me want to curl up and die. I've had moments where I have felt invincible. I've even had a nervous breakdown.

But I'm still here. For better or for worse, I am still here. For the longest time, I've felt like this life I started to carve out for myself was purely a life of survival. Dodging bullets, overcoming obstacles, a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, one-day-at-a-time kind of life. Many days it still feels that way.

Except that something changed in me somewhere in the past few years. At some point, I started to demand better. I don't want to just survive this life.

I want to thrive in it. I don't want this life to just "happen" to me. I want to have some say. I don't just want to experience all that life has to offer: I want my life to be about what I have to offer it.

So, for now, I plan to keep blogging. It is a constant, in my world that is ever changing, it is always there. Before facebook and twitter and all these other wanna-be social networks, there was my blog. It is like my own little table tucked away in a cozy Starbucks; familiar, warm, friendly, inviting, always there, and almost always someplace where you are bound to run into a friendly face with words of encouragement.

For those of you who have been reading for the past eight years, I owe you.

Big time.

THE WORLD ACCORDING TO AMANDA

2011-11-28T20:40:00.000-05:00

Keeping it light tonight...

Couple of recent gems from my almost six-year-old.

* * * * *

me: "Are you bringing your puppy Butterscotch to bed?"

Amanda: "His name isn't Butterscotch, it's Chesapeake."

me: "Your puppy's name is Chesapeake?"

Amanda: "Yes...Chesapeake Bay."

me: "That's not a name, its a place."

Amanda: "No mom, its a RIVER."

...huh?

* * * * *

Amanda is making this deliberately loud blood-curdling screaming noise...and it is endless. Finally, I say "what on earth are you doing?"

"I'm trying to make the sound that Snoopy makes when he cries."

* * * * *

"Mom, could I please get a Starbucks Card for my birthday?"

* * * * *

"Mom, sometimes at school these kids in my class burp really loud, and everyone in the class laughs. Well, everyone with the exception of me."

* * * * *

"Mom, can we go see 'Jesus Christ Superstar' on Christmas? You know, since that's his birthday?"

* * * * *

Amanda points to the 3 shakers at the fixings bar at Starbucks and says "What are those, mommy?"

"Chocolate, Cinnamon, and Vanilla" I respond.

She rolls her eyes at me with complete disgust and says "DUH mom, I CAN READ, you know! I meant what ARE they?"

* * * * *

"Mom, what color is 'mauve?' I know it is an abbreviation for 'mauvelicious.'"

* * * * *

Love this kid. So, so much.

DUDE...

2011-09-22T21:30:00.000-04:00

So, sitting at the bar tonight with a friend of mine and this dude comes in and sits down next to me and has verbal diarreah of the mouth. Finally, when I just can't listen to anymore of his stories I say to him "Dude, what are you, twenty?"

He smiles, raises his hand and says "I love you, you're awesome!" and high-fives me.

At which point I respond, "I wasn't talking about your looks, I was commenting on your behavior."

Oh snap.

THOSE DAYS

2011-09-18T20:13:00.001-04:00

Having a "day." You know the kind of day I am talking about. One of THOSE days.

A day where no matter how bright the sun shines, you just feel overwhelming sadness.

A day where nothing can cheer you up, not even the entire apartment smelling of freshly baked banana bread.

A day where you have a million things on your to do list, and instead you spend most of it in bed, with the covers pulled over your head, crying.

What? You don't have days like that? Okay....

I do. In fact, I was having a lot of days like that a few months back, when I could feel every single aspect of my life spiraling out of control. It was one of the worst feelings ever. It was a dark, sad, lonely place and it took a lot of hard work to pull myself out of that despair and get myself feeling "well" again. Day by day, week by week, the jagged puzzle pieces of my life started fitting back together, albeit in a new way, creating a different picture that I could accept and appreciate, and maybe even embrace.

I was getting better. I was feeling better. I was getting some control back. I was starting to feel like me again. I was almost - almost - feeling "happy," genuinely happy for the first time in years.

Those final few puzzle pieces were put in place a couple of weeks ago. Amanda has moved in with me and now lives here 99% of the time. Work is good. Amanda has started Kindergarten and seems to be enjoying it. Soccer has started, summer has ended, and we are starting to create a new routine. Our new reality.

And then, I have a day like today. And it scares the crap out of me, because it feels all too familiar. Amanda has just gone to bed, and I am staring at her backpack, knowing I need to get all of her stuff ready for school tomorrow. And, honestly, I can't do it. Packing her bag for school might as well be the equivalent of constructing a nuclear weapon. I can't do it. I don't know where to start. It is too overwhelming.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I was starting to gain momentum, I was moving forward, in what felt like the right direction, picking up speed every day. Until I ran straight off of a cliff and am now free falling into a dark pit of sadness. I've been in that pit before, and it is the scariest place on earth. I don't want to go back there, but I am falling and have no safety net to catch me.

Things happen. I make an error or a misstep. Most of the time, I can evaluate the mistake, learn from it, and move on. And then there are other times that I torment myself and wonder how I could be so foolish, how I could make such a radical error in judgement, and if I was wrong about THIS what else am I wrong about? I have a tendency, I've been told, for catastrophic thinking. When I am having a "day," like today, it becomes very easy for me to wallow in sadness and feel that every single decision I have ever made has been the wrong one. I get lost in the mistake and in the sadness, and don't know how to stop falling off of that cliff.

I have been so concerned about my daughter, and about all of the recent changes that SHE has had to go through - dealing with her parents splitting up, moving into a new home, starting a new school with new teachers, new faces, new friends, new routines. I have been concerned that it could all be too much for her and have been watching her extremely closely for any signs of trouble. It only just occurred to me today, as I wept this gorgeous fall day away, that perhaps this is all just a bit too much for ME.

Aside from my job, every single aspect of my life has changed since February. Every single one. I've been trying to roll with it all, I've been trying to be a good mom and a good employee and basically a good human being, but I really am having my doubts.

Some "days," days like this one, it is easy to feel like I am nothing short of a complete and total failure.

Here's to hoping that tomorrow brings new clarity. Because I cannot bear to wind up in that pit of sadness again.

FINE, CHINA!

2011-08-22T19:38:00.000-04:00

A classic example of irony:

I don't cook. At all.

Yet I in my apartment, hand washing twelve place settings of fine china.

Twelve place settings. In my apartment. Where I live alone. And don't entertain.

Because I don't cook.

FREE WHIFFY

2011-08-01T18:58:00.001-04:00

My daughter has turned into a reading machine. It is awesome, considering she hasn't started Kindergarten yet. Everywhere we go, everything we do, she reads, reads and reads. Highway signs. Billboards. Storefront displays. Receipts from restaurants.

She is doing such a great job with it and she impresses me every day. In addition, some of her reading adventures have been quite entertaining, not to mention embarrassing.

We were at Starbucks on Friday morning and she was reading everything in sight.

"Real Food, Simply Delicky-ous" - written on the recyclable napkins.

"White Chocolate Motcha" - written on the drink menu.

"Tall, Grained, Vent-Eye" - reading the various drink sizes of Tall, Grande and Venti.

She's doing a fabulous job; she gets 95% of the words right, AND comprehends what she is reading. But listening to her pronounce words the way they are literally spelled is my favorite.

We detoured to Dunkin Donuts on Sunday to grab a bagel, and they are currently doing an ad campaign to coincide with the "Captain America" movie. There was a life sized ad in the store for a coolata that read "The coolest way to be a hero."

Except when Amanda read it aloud for the entire store to hear, it was "The coolest way to be a whore."

Slightly embarrassing, mostly cute. Wasn't nearly as bad as when we were picking out birthday cards for my sisters. She was selecting cards and reading them aloud (and once again the entire store could hear her) and she mispronounced the word "counts." Yup. I felt a bit like Larry David in the "Beloved Aunt" episode of "Curb."

My favorite, though, was when we were leaving Starbucks on Friday morning.

"Free Whiffy!" she squeals with delight.

Whiffy? Whiffy??? I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she was reading. And then, upon exiting, I saw the sign next to the door.

"Free Wi-Fi."

Free Whiffy.

FITS AND STARTS

2011-07-20T17:16:00.000-04:00

I'm back. I think....

Back in March I declared that I was retiring this blog, that I would be moving on to another private format, blah blah. Since then I have repeatedly tried other platforms and mechanisms to use, and none of them have worked for me. At all. What is that cheesy saying, "home is where the heart is?" Whatever, THIS is my blog, this is where I am most comfortable writing and editing and publishing and commenting and posting and crying and laughing...this is where the story needs to continue.

And continue it will, in the most uncensored manner possible.

More to come...we've got a lot of catching up to do.

OUT WITH THE OLD

2011-03-06T21:27:00.000-05:00

New blog.

New as in not here. New, elsewhere.

I don't know if this space will go away entirely, out of neglect, or if I will write here periodically from time to time. I don't need to decide that today.

The new place is private. As I mentioned in an earlier post, it is a space for me and me alone.

For those of you that might be interested in following along (I can't imagine that my ramblings are THAT compelling, but hey, whatever!), you'll need permission. Just how it has to be, for now anyways. Leave me a comment if there is interest and I'll review.

Bye...for now.

BEWARE THE MONTH OF MARCH

2011-03-02T12:41:00.002-05:00

March 2. Awesome. Only 29 days to go.

This month of March is about to lob three enormous boulders at me.

Needless to say, I am dreading it, and the sooner this month is behind me, the better. Any single obstacle alone would be challenging; three at once is going to feel near impossible and somewhat insurmountable. Honestly, if I find myself on April 1 not committed to a mental hospital, I will consider that "WINNING." (Charlie Sheen reference not accidental; right now I am "winning" in the same delusional way that he is - by failing).

I plan to deal with the next month in the same way I always deal with difficulty - by blogging about it to sort the garbage out that is cluttering up my brain. But, I am growing exhausted at the cryptic nature this blog has taken on over the past few years.

There was a time when I wrote (and published) this blog with reckless abandon. I put it out there - warts and all - because getting the truth out there helped. But once more and more people in my real life started reading my blog, the censorship (which I HATE) began. I couldn't be AS real. I couldn't be AS honest. Sometimes the words and the thoughts need to be out there for some to see, but not necessarily for ALL to see.

When I started this blog, no one in my real world knew about it. I was going through our infertility woes, and the people that read it, in general, were other women (and a few men) dealing with the same issues. It was like our own private therapy group. It was a corner of the internet where we could all get together, whether it was daily or weekly or whenever, and we could share and commiserate and cry and laugh and NOT FEEL ALONE. It was, in fact, pretty awesome. I miss those days.

I miss the raw honesty my blogging once had. And right now, I need to get back there.

Long story short, my writing is going to be taking a sharp turn. I haven't decided if I am going to just start a new, anonymous blog, and keep it essentially a private place that only a handful of people know about. Or, maybe, I will keep this blog and password protect it. Meaning, you only get to continue to reading if I grant you access. I don't know yet. What I do know is that I need to get writing again, warts-and-all, but I know I cannot reveal that side of me to the entire world AT THIS MOMENT. If that makes any sense.

*sigh*

It makes sense to me. And for now, that is all I care about. It's my blog, and I will do as I want to.

MOTHERHOOD, EXPLAINED

2011-02-23T18:11:00.002-05:00

So....this is what it is REALLY like to be "THE MOM." (side note: "THE MOM" is something I frequently refer to as "Bad Cop." As opposed to "Good Cop" Daddy who never says 'No' and never has to discipline, EVER. Once, JUST once, I would love to get to be "THE DAD").

You take your five year old daughter on a fun day trip into Boston - which she loves.

You take her to see "Toy Story 3" on Ice - which she loves.

You let her have whatever she wants for lunch - which she loves.

You buy her souvenirs, even after telling her you are not going to - which she loves.

You take her to visit her daddy at his office - which she loves.

You even take her to McDonald's on the way home - which she loves.

But.

When you tell her to go back and wash her hands a second time, 'AND THIS TIME USE SOAP,' you are "THE MEANEST PERSON EVER!!!!" (Shouted through tears).

Um......what????

Is it possible for a five year old to be PMS-y? Jeez....

GOING, GOING, GONE

2011-01-27T22:31:00.002-05:00

I've used this reference before and I will use it again, even though there are only a small handful of people that will get it.

I had a floor cake moment tonight.

It has been a week to forget. A week to erase, delete, and permanently remove from my memory. Forever.

I'm not coping well. When you are a forty year old woman, and your mom comes over to you to ask you a question and you look at her with tears streaming down your cheeks and tell her "I'm losing my mind, mom," it probably is true. Right?

Then again, if you are aware that you are losing your mind does that automatically mean that you are sane? The ability to see the reality of the situation, does that make you able to handle it? I don't think so.

I finished up a grueling 90 minute workout at the gym and needed electrolytes. I went over to the vending machine to get a G2 and when it fell to the retrieval bin it wedged itself in such a way that I couldn't get it out of the machine. After several attempts to reach in and get it failed, I began shaking the vending machine. And sobbing.

SOBBING. Over a freaking Gatorade.

I composed myself just in time for a gym employee to come over with a key and open the machine for me. I am sure he thinks I am insane, not because he saw me crying but because when he approached me I was hugging the vending machine.

Yup. Floor cake.

I need help.

RESOLVING MY RESOLUTIONS

2011-01-01T14:39:00.006-05:00

Well, it is that time of year again. Time to think back on the year that has just passed: to think about where things went wrong, and where things went right. Traditionally, this reflection helps us to come up with a few "New Year's Resolutions" for the optimistic year ahead.

I had an interesting year. Understatement.

I had a CRAZY year. Crazy busy, and crazy CRAZY.

In late December 2009, I turned thirty-nine. At this moment I was suddenly and keenly aware that I would be turning the ripe old age of forty at the end of 2010, and the thought of that caused me to ever-so-slightly lose my mind. At that moment, 2010 became the "Year of The Bucket List" for me. I made it my unwritten goal to try to do one new thing every month, a goal that was accomplished. Looking back, I am not sure that I crossed every SINGLE item on my life long bucket list off, but I did tackle quite a bit of them. Some were bigger items than others, some meant significantly more than others, and some we will not mention here (wink wink). But overall, I did learn a valuable lesson from my insane bucket list year: getting out of my comfort zone can be extremely rewarding and gratifying, if not terrifying. Trying new things - highly recommended.

That being said, I am EXHAUSTED. I seriously haven't stopped in the past year. This year was very similar to one of the very many road races I completed - the starting gun went off last January 1 and I have been running as fast as I can (literally and figuratively) ever since.

2011 is going to be very different. 2011 is going to be the year that I slow down and catch my breath. Don't get me wrong, I still have some crazy stuff planned (i.e. girls weekend in Vegas very very VERY soon) and some challenging stuff planned (already signed up for a few half-marathons). But beyond that, I am really going to make a concerted effort to NOT overschedule myself. I want to actually have "free weekends" be the rule as oppposed to the exception.

The ironic part of all of this is that in my yearning to do significantly less this year, my list of New Year's Resolutions is exceptionally long. I don't know that I will accomplish everything on my list, but sometimes just having guidelines in place is enough to steer oneself in the right direction.

In no particular order of significance or importance, my Resolutions for 2011 are as follows:

Be a nicer person. (Yes, yes, last year I vowed to be a meaner person. It didn't suit me).

Fold laundry immediately after it is done in the dryer. And then put it away.

Complain less. Instead of complaining about things I cannot control (the weather, the traffic), just learn to accept them. And instead of complaining about things that I CAN control (my job, my weight), make an effort to change what specifically is causing me to gripe.

Run a MINIMUM of 20 to 25 miles per week. Because the less miles I run, the more clutter I collect in my brain.

Treat the things in my life that I consider valuable with the attention and care they warrant - keeping in mind that not all of these valuable things are 'things' at all.

Stop spreading myself so thin. Give more of myself to the people in my life that appreciate me, and less of myself to the people that don't.

Floss. DAILY.

More strength training. And while I'm at it, let's give Pilates another shot. Maybe I will discover that I no longer LOATHE it.

Unplug a little. Less facebook. Less email. Less texting. More reading (non e-books).

Plant a garden - so that I can LITERALLY stop to smell the roses every day.

Make an honest effort to smile once a day.

Learn to cook more stuff. And somehow learn to enjoy cooking.

Play more with my daughter. It won't be long before she wont want me to play with her anymore.

Switch back to decaf. Again.

Schedule a couple races this year in cities and states that I have never been to and have always wanted to see.

Stop buying sweaters in the winter and tee shirts in the summer. I think I own 50 million of each.

Appreciate how blessed and how lucky I am. Life is pretty damn great right now.

Schedule that appointment I have been putting off...and putting off...

Reach 300K on Bejeweled Blitz.

Stop complaining about being "40." Because my forties are going to be extraordinary!

HOLIDAY SPIRIT

2010-12-15T18:28:00.002-05:00

My daughter and I got to witness something pretty special today.

This morning before I took her to dancing school, we made our usual pit-stop at Starbucks so that I could get some caffeine in my system. (Yes, I know, one of these days I really need to change the name of this blog, but I digress....) We were the third party in line.

The first people, currently ordering, were a group of about 3 or 4 women, probably a group of girlfriends out for morning coffee or on their way to or from the gym. Next in line, in front of us, was a woman with a little girl approximately Amanda's age, and a gentleman dressed in full army fatigues. Head to toe. As we stood in line behind them, it became evident from their conversation that they had JUST picked him up from whatever tour of duty he had been serving, and that he hadn't even been home yet - stopping for coffee en route. Hard to tell if he was the husband / dad or possibly brother / uncle, but regardless he unavoidably drew attention to himself simply because of how he was dressed.

The ladies at the counter finished placing their order, turned around, and told the woman, child, and soldier to order anything they wanted - on them. For a moment or two there was a bit of "no, you don't have to do that, really, it isn't necessary," but finally they agreed and the gentleman gave the women a heartfelt "Thank you." And to him, they all replied emphatically "NO.....thank YOU. Merry Christmas."

Everyone was left with giant smiles on their faces, and it was a wonderful thing for Amanda to get to see. After I explained to her (as best as I could) what had just happened, I took it as an opportunity to say "THAT is what Christmas is all about, Amanda, doing nice things for people who have done nice things for you."

The best part is, I think she understood.

THE SEVEN YEAR ITCH

2010-11-30T20:49:00.003-05:00

Hard to believe that seven years ago today I started this blog. Well, not THIS blog specifically; this blog is the sequel to my original blog about trying to become a mom.

I started writing two years into our dealings with infertility. Two years after that, our precious Amanda was born. Four long years of trying to get pregnant felt like an eternity. In sharp contrast, my beautiful girl will turn five years old one week from tomorrow - five years that have flown by in the blink of an eye.

Why is it that the pain of infertility makes every day feel like a lifetime, and the joys of being a mom to a little one fly by? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Another of life's ironies, I guess.

So much has happened in these past seven years. I find it interesting that I will be forty in a couple of weeks, and yet I feel so much younger and healthier now than I did when I started blogging at the age of thirty-two. Perhaps there is some validity to "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger," because I feel as strong as ever these days. There were many tough days that I thought infertility would get the best of me; days that I just simply wanted to give up on EVERYTHING. But, I survived, and I had success. What a gift!

While I may not devote the time to my blog that I used to, I still cherish it and I still value it. I am past due on MANY updates (marathon, ultrasounds, etc.), but somehow just knowing that this blog is here is good enough for me. When I am ready to write, I know I can. I can rely on this outlet to be there for me, no matter what. It might sound silly, but it is comforting.

I can't help but think about one of Amanda's favorite movies, "Toy Story 3." When the toys are upset about the thought of being put into storage up in the attic, Woody assures them that they will always be there for Andy, for when he needs them. I know that my blog will be here for me whenever I need it, and I find that pretty reassuring.

RUNNING DOWN A DREAM - PART ONE

2010-11-14T20:38:00.005-05:00

I have so many thoughts about last weekend that I am still processing. So many things happened last week that were so personal and so important to me, and I really want to talk about them. But I don't know where to start. I am so fearful that this post is going to go on for at least five-hundred paragraphs that I am going to break it down into a series of posts. I totally forgive and understand in advance if you want to pass on reading all of this. Really...it is okay, my feelings won't be hurt!

I don't think it has fully hit me yet that I ran a marathon last week. I know that to some people, this isn't a big deal. People run marathons all the time, and the sport is increasing in popularity exponentially. But one of the things that was discussed at our pre-race party last Saturday was the fact that almost every single person that runs a marathon has a story. Most people don't decide "I'm going to run a marathon" in the same casual manner that they would decide "I'm going to order waffles instead of pancakes for breakfast." Deciding to undertake the famed 26.2 mile distance usually is a well-thought out, carefully considered decision that in one way or another has particular significance or meaning to the runner.

For me, running a marathon has been a lifelong dream, one that for most of my life was nothing more than a pipe dream. I have battled severe asthma since I was two years old. When I was diagnosed as a baby, I spent almost as much time in the hospital for that first year than I did out. I still don't know how my mom did it; she was a single mother with a sick baby who was in the emergency room every other week due to something in my world causing my asthma to flare up. One of the (many) times that I was admitted overnight, they sent my mother home only to call her a few short hours later to tell her that things weren't looking good and she had better get back there SOON. I can't even IMAGINE what that must have felt like for her.

NEEDLESS TO SAY, my mom was EXTREMELY overprotective of me when it came to my health. Growing up as a child I found her rules unfair and didn't fully understand them, but now that I am a parent I must say I don't know how she ever had the courage to let me out of the house or out of her sight!!! All I wanted was to be just like the other kids, but because of my asthma I wasn't. When I went to Dexter Elementary school, on days when the weather was below 50 degrees, I wasn't allowed to go outside for recess. I can't explain to you what it felt like to be the ONLY KID not allowed to go outside to play. I would sit in the empty classroom (it was the seventies and I guess I didn't need to be supervised by any adults) and color pictures or practice writing exercises while everyone else went out on the swings or ran around playing games like red rover. Frankly....it SUCKED. It made me feel like an outsider, and the other kids didn't understand. My favorite days were the ones when it rained and EVERYONE had to stay indoors for recess, because it meant I didn't have to be all alone.

As I got to Junior and Senior High School, sports were out of the question. My asthma was somewhat better managed by medicine and an asthma inhaler that went with me everywhere I went, but it still was a burden. I would go over a friend's house and as soon as I realized that they had a dog or a cat, both of which I am highly allergic to, I would be faced with a dilemma; leave immediately, or stay and face the consequences. (An allergic reaction triggers an asthma attack for me, still to this day). Often I made the wrong decision (because I wanted to be with my friends) and by the end of the night I would find myself in the emergency room. Being asthmatic was very tough on my social life.

It was so, so frustrating.

Skip ahead to ten years ago; I decide to start trying to run. Not sure why I thought I would have success, but it became a mind-over-matter kind of thing. I started very slowly running for thirty seconds and then walking for a minute, over and over again. Gradually I would increase my running intervals and shorten my walking intervals. I still remember the first time I ran a mile without stopping; I couldn't believe I had done it. That moment in and of itself felt triumphant.

But the asthma still bothered me. I had to bring my inhaler with me on every run. I did a couple of 5K races, and then I attempted one or two 10K's. One of the first 10K's I ever ran by myself was the Tufts 10K in Boston in 2000. That course was so tough on my asthma I had a tremendously difficult time catching my breath for a good hour after the race was over. Somewhere in the back of my mind, even though I had come so far, I still felt that the asthma was getting the best of me. Even then, it seemed that the dream of running a marathon was slipping further and further away. Shortly after that 10K, I stopped running.

It would be eight years before I would give it another shot. By December of 2007, my weight had ballooned to a point that I was horrendously ashamed of. My daughter was two, and I realized it was time to stop blaming the excess weight on my pregnancy. I put a weight loss action plan in place for the start of the new year, and told myself that by March I would try running again. I wanted to give myself time to ease back into it. I had to start all over again, running a minute and walking a minute, until I could comfortably do a mile. It was tough, but I kept with it and before long I was running 5K's again. I still brought my inhaler with me on every run, but I was running again and THIS time, unlike before, I was enjoying it. I am pretty confident that I have the invention of the ipod to thank for that.

Then something happened...I started tracking my weekly mileage. And I started recording my pace. And I signed up for Nike Plus that August, which would calculate my mileage and pace FOR me. When this happened, I started to set running goals. The first goal was a big hurdle I needed to face head-on: the Tufts 10K. The race all but defeated me eight years earlier, and I had yet to do the 6.2 mile distance since. I signed up and cringed as the date approached. But race day came, I got through the challenging course, and though it was still tough it wasn't the impossible course that I had remembered it to be. This time, I had won.

When I got home from the race that night I was peering through the goody bag they gave us, and there was a postcard inside from Walt Disney World. They were advertising that they had created a brand new half-marathon for women, and that 2009 would be the inaugural running of the "Disney Princess Half-Marathon." I literally laughed out loud that I was considering it, but there I was, pinning the postcard up on the tackboard in the office. It would be there for the next couple of months, reminding me that there were more goals to reach for.

On my thirty-eighth birthday I found myself snowed in all alone at my house (Anthony and Amanda were stuck at his mother's house and couldn't get home through the blizzard). I was feeling lonely and sorry for myself that this was how I was spending my birthday, and I glanced over at the postcard on the wall. Five minutes later I had registered online for my very first half-marathon. Happy Birthday to me.

…and thus began my first step toward acheiving my dream of running a marathon.

(to be continued)

MISCELLANEOUS MOMMY BLOG?

2010-11-02T18:03:00.002-04:00

I was informed today by a friend of mine that she nominated my blog in the 2nd Annual Mommy Blog Awards! She nominated mine for the "Best Miscellaneous Mommy Blog" category on the bump. How sweet is that??? I am not sure how it works, if you just need to get nominated a bunch of times or if you vote or whatnot....so I guess if you want to nominate me, too, we'll see what happens?

As I wipe a tear away from my eye and look squarely into the camera, I state that "it is an honor just to be nominated."

;-)

MARATHON HAIKU

2010-10-27T21:05:00.002-04:00

New York Marathon
You will be here in ten days
Makes me want to puke.

Verrazano Bridge
I'll be on the lower deck
Good, in case it rains!

November Seventh
Any chance that it could snow?
Because that would SUCK

I'm sick of training
I eat, sleep, live for this race
Can't end soon enough

I'm in the Green Wave
Bib will clash with my race shirt
Oh, the humanity!

Braids or ponytails?
It's the details that matter
(think I've lost my mind)

Staten Island, then
Brooklyn and Queens and the Bronx,
and then, Manhattan.

Forty-five thousand
That's quite a lot of runners
...Claustrophobia!

Just hope to finish,
it's all about the medal
(and a cool jacket!)

I am so convinced
That this running kills brain cells.
....what was I saying?

My damn bucket list!
This SEEMED like a good idea
Way back in April...

STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE BEFORE

2010-10-26T18:34:00.003-04:00

I love Halloween. Truly love it. It is the dressing up part that I enjoy oh-so-very much. There is almost nothing I find more fun than putting on a costume and getting to be someone else for one night. But as I get older (and older and older and older) there are less opportunities for me to take part in Halloween costume fun.

So, I am going out on Friday night to see a couple of friends of mine at a bar, and I am thinking about dressing up. I asked them if they thought it was a good idea, and they said "no."

Really? I don't get it. It is Halloween weekend! Hell, I am thinking about wearing a costume to WORK on Friday! But my friends seem to think that no one else is going to be in costume Friday night....bummer.

I've gotten into trouble with this before. When I was in college, I had a part-time job in a large office with a lot of young, recent college grads. The atmosphere in my department was like one never-ending frat party. LOTS of fun. Not sure I slept much back then, if at all.

Anyways...one of my work friends was throwing a party at her apartment on Halloween night - which, this particular year, fell on a Saturday. The day of the party I still had NO IDEA what to dress up as. I went into my parent's garage and came across a giant roll of gold fabric. I was instantly inspired.

I drove over to Paperama in Norwood and found the rest of the materials I needed - Gold Metallic Rope, Black Sharpie Pens, and both Black and Gold make up.

King Tut.* Brilliant.

I painted my ENTIRE FACE gold, and used the black makeup to draw those bold eyes and eyebrows on my face. I draped gold fabric on me from head to toe, and even made a perfect Egyptian headdress. Steve Martin would have been proud. I tied my gold rope around my waist as a belt, and off I went to the party.

.......the Non-Costume Halloween Party. Clearly, no one told me this little tidbit.

I was pissed. I am pretty sure I even yelled at the hostess. "Who the hell has a Halloween Party ON HALLOWEEN with NO COSTUMES?" I kept shouting. I was so embarrassed. I was mostly embarrassed because there was a guy I worked with at the time that I had an ENORMOUS crush on....and OF COURSE he was there. In fact as soon as I walked in he said "Nice costume." UGH!!!!!!!

So....to dress up, or not to dress up? A question for the ages.

What is the worst than can happen?

*I have a picture of me in this ridiculous costume somewhere....if I can find it, I will post it....promise.

TALES FROM THE ROAD

2010-10-24T08:14:00.002-04:00

Usually when I go for a run, I stay in my head and do a lot of thinking. Nothing overly exciting. But once in a while something memorable (good or bad) happens when I am out there pounding the pavement.

Yesterday I went out for a ten miler, and when I was getting back to my neighborhood close to mile nine, a little boy who was outside playing decided he was going to join me. I am guessing that he was about seven or eight years old.

"Where are you going?" he asked me. So I told him I was just out running and pointed out where my course was about to take me. The entire time the boy was running alongside me.

"Are you coming with me?" I asked, amused.

"Yup!" he said.

And we ran together for a good two minutes. He was talking to me a mile a minute at first, and then as if someone flipped the "off" switch, he was silent.

Finally he looks at me, slowing down, and says "You know......I know a shortcut."

Highlight of my run, that cute little boy.

THE REASON WHY

2010-10-01T09:41:00.003-04:00

Wow.

The response I got from my last post has overwhelmed me, in the best possible way.

Over the years, I have been asked how it is that I can write about all this personal stuff so publicly. Why do I put it "all out there?" A question, no doubt, that I have asked myself many times. There have been a few posts that I have typed up and then stared at for a solid ten minutes, not knowing whether to hit the "publish" button or not. Some of my posts I read and re-read multiple times, knowing that the writing is little more than the rantings of a raving lunatic. I have grimaced, closed my eyes, and pressed the "publish post" button. Almost every time, it has been without regret (though there are definitely a handful of posts that are out there that I wish I could take back!!!!) Occasionally, I don't publish. Or I delete. Or I leave the post sitting in draft mode forever - sitting there to remind me what I was feeling at the time, but not out there for the whole entire world to see. Yes, indeed, there are things I don't write about here, believe it or not. I am not ENTIRELY an open book. Mostly, but not entirely.

Anyhow....

This is the reason that I chose to publish my very private diary to the internet: you. It is because of all of you who read this and, more importantly, respond to this.

It is quite a process to put pen to paper (or, in this case, put fingers to keyboard) and pour your heart out in black and white. It IS therapeutic. It is a method of taking a raw emotion, tossing it around, chewing it up and spitting it out and, eventually, making sense of it. Gradually, you are not simply making sense of your emotions, but you are understanding them. When you can begin to understand why you are feeling what you are feeling, you can begin to heal. At least, that is what I think. For that reason, I have always found journalling to be helpful.

But to turn around and publish your journal to the world, you give it a third dimension, because you can now have INSTANT FEEDBACK. I have found feedback to be a really good thing, even when the feedback has been negative. And boy have I had negative feedback! (My favorite, back in the good old days, was the commenter who called me a 'complete' nutjob and prayed for that I would never have a child because I would be a horrible, horrible failure of a mother. This commenter, naturally, posted "anonymously," as most cowards do).

The best part of the feedback is the honesty that I get in return. It can be scary to put yourself out there and allow yourself to be vulnerable. It is far less scary when you get equally honest responses from real people. Whether they are total strangers, family members, or my closest dearest friends, I find that people are willing to open up and share themselves when you open up to them.

This blog has been my therapist. There are times it has been the only thing in the world I could count on. This blog has introduced me to some of the most wonderful people that I have (n)ever met. I have a whole internet family because of this place, a group of women I love and trust and have shared so much with, and yet I have never met them in person. Correction: I have met one of them in person, and she was even lovelier than I could have ever expected.

Now with the evolution of facebook and my difficult but conscious decision to allow my blog to publish over there, it is being read by people who ARE in my real flesh and blood life. Which was VERY scary at first. But again, the feedback I have received has been amazing. On my last post in particular, I received so many comments, private messages, chats, personal emails, text messages, etc., all with kind words to say to me.

The kind words are sweet and I will ALWAYS take them - but that is not the sort of feedback that I am looking for or that I care about. I am not writing so that people can turn around and say "Oh but Dawn, you are great." I already know I'm great (ha ha! KIDDING!).

The feedback I have been receiving that I LOVE and that I NEED and that I THRIVE ON is the feedback where you tell me "I understand." And then you tell me how or why you understand, because you have gone through something similar, or you are about to, or you supported someone who did, or you haven't experienced THIS specific issue yourself but you've had your own obstacles to overcome....etc etc etc. When you reach back to me and share your own stories, your own points of view, your own perspective, it amazes me. This sort of feedback is invaluable. It is the most precious thing in the entire world, because it reminds us of that human connection that we all share. It reminds us that we are not alone; that life can be really, really hard sometimes, but there are indeed other people out there who GET IT. There are other people out there who have been where you are standing right now, and they know what you are going through, and they survived it. And they assure you that you will survive it to.

Seriously, what is greater than that?

Ultimately, I think the only thing we all truly want out of our time on this earth is to be loved and to know that we are not alone. Lonliness might be the most difficult emotion in the world. I was pleasantly reminded, once again, through the awesome feedback I received from so many of you, that I am NOT alone. What a gift.

THAT, my friends, is why I write this blog.

So....thank you.

(I do plan to respond to everyone individually who reached out to me with private messages and emails - please know that responses are coming. As soon as I can!)

TEN ROUNDS

2010-09-29T16:25:00.004-04:00

I hardly know where to begin, so I will just start at the very beginning. Then move on to the middle, and eventually get to "now," which is supposed to be the end but apparently is not.

(Please read at your own risk, especially if you are a male. This won't be "light" reading, I guarantee).

THE BEGINNING:

The whole reason I started this blog seven years ago was to have a place to journal about my struggles with infertility. This blog exists because I was dealing with something painful, personal, and emotional. And it had to do specifically with me dealing with a particular part of my body failing me. Any way you break it down, that is the whole reason this blog exists in the first place. Truth be told, if I didn't have this blog while I was going through infertility treatments, IVF, surgeries, etc., I am honestly not sure I would have survived it - at least, not mentally. This little corner of the internet saved me.

THE MIDDLE:

After four painful years, multiple invasive procedures and a zillion tears, we miraculously found ourselves pregnant with beautiful Amanda. At which point my blog converted, ever so slowly, from an 'infertility' blog to a 'pregnancy' and subsequent 'parenting' blog.

I tried to tread lightly, exhilarated that we had finally reached the goal of having a child, but also keenly aware that most of the people who read my blog at the time were also women struggling with infertility; many of them had not had their own miracles yet. I didn't want to be callous, rubbing my happiness in other people's faces. Infertility is hard; it is painful; it is cruel. For those of us who have gone through it and come out the other side with a baby, we are charged with the delicate task of never forgetting what it was like on that other side. We must always be sensitive to the feelings of our peers. One never knows if the person you are standing in line behind at the checkout counter is going through the same painful journey you yourself have been through. I've learned to never ask a married couple "when" they plan on having kids, because you just don't know if you are rubbing salt in an incredibly raw, deep wound. You really just never know.

The "middle" also was where I was forced to come to terms with the possibility that I had used up all of the miracles I had coming to me. Several subsequent IVF procedures, all with abysmal results, forced us to realize that another child was just not in our future. I had a much more difficult time coping with this reality than my husband did. He was okay with it; I was NOT, but had no choice other than to accept it.

THE END:

......and this is where the problem is for me today. There needs to be an end, and no matter what I do, I cannot seem to get there. And it is slowly killing me and my spirit, little by little, with every passing day. I need this chapter of my life to be OVER and DONE with. I need the drama of my infertility and all the issues associated with it to be firmly and distantly in my past. But, like some sort of cruel joke, infertility seems to be the gift that keeps on giving. Or taking. So instead of this story having and end, it only has a "now."

THE NOW:

Now is where I spend many nights crying myself to sleep. Now is where I get furiously angry and shake my fists at the ceiling, presumably at God. Now is where I find my life so ironic, but I am not laughing at all.

Now is where I finally, after all of these years, have made the painful, difficult decision to do something permanent and radical. The "relationship" I have been referencing for the past few weeks is with my body. Specifically, with my uterus. My body has failed me time and time again, and it has only once done anything "right" by me. It gave me my child, but not without putting up the biggest fight it could. Since then, it has put me through physical hell. The last couple of months in particular have been bad. I have had problem after problem, issue after issue, pain after pain. I finally asked the question, "Why am I keeping this horrible part of my anatomy? Do I even NEED it anymore?"

...and I had no answer.

I made up my mind that I need to get my uterus removed, and started talking to my doctors about my options for getting a hysterectomy.

Goodness, I can't even write this without the tears starting to stream down my face. I cannot express just how angry it makes me that I couldn't get pregnant for YEARS, and now, after all of that, I am faced with having to get my useless uterus removed. It makes no fucking sense to me.

My need to do this is personal, physical, and emotional. My doctors did not tell me that this is a MEDICAL need in my specific case, but I have had several appointments and frank discussions lately with both of my doctors. My OB/GYN told me that if SHE were in my position, she would be considering the exact same course of action, though it is somewhat radical for a woman of my age.

So we ran a bunch of tests on me to "rule out" anything else that may be causing my recent ailments. What my doctor said to me was basically if my tests come back negative and they cannot find some other explanation for my current issues, I would basically have the green light to go ahead and schedule the surgery.

As painful a decision as this has been for me to make, now that I have made it I sort of need to get it done and behind me. All the tests they ran came back negative - which is what we wanted to see. The only thing I needed now was to have an ultrasound also come back negative. The ultrasound was today - the answer I needed to get so that I could schedule the hysterectomy.

But.

As I should have expected, I didn't get the results I was expecting. The results did NOT come back negative and were NOT "all clear."

It turns out I have a 6cm cyst on my right ovary.

The ultrasound tech said "you MUST be experiencing quite a bit of pain." Why yes, in fact, I am in pain ALL THE TIME, I thought. I have been finding myself doubled over in sharp pain constantly for the past couple of months. I foolishly blew it off, and often just assumed it had to do with my running and my marathon training. What I had dismissed as a cramp or a stitch in my abdomen has apparently been this fucking cyst. When I went to urgent care a little over a month ago and was diagnosed with a "probable" stomach ulcer - WRONG! It was the cyst.

Now, please don't get me wrong, this is not the end of the world and I am not freaking out about the cyst per se.

What I am pissed about is that my ordeals with my fertility WILL NOT END! I just need it to be over, and instead I keep facing one thing after another after another. Have I not been through enough? Honestly?

I am at the point that I am SO DONE with all of this that I am willing to go through major surgery to actually REMOVE AN ORGAN FROM MY BODY just to make the physical and emotional pain stop - despite the major risks associated with doing so. And even THIS cannot go smoothly.

Why? I am sorry to complain so much but seriously, WHY? Someone tell me why I can't be done with this? My God, I have paid my dues. In spades. I need the hurt and the pain and the tears that my fucking body have given me to JUST STOP.

That is what is going on with me. I am so sad. I am so angry. I am so tired, and so frustrated.

I don't yet know what the next step is, but I obviously cannot schedule a hysterectomy until we figure out what is up with this cyst, and how to treat it. I will be speaking with the doctor early next week.

Until then, I wait. I seethe. I regroup, try to get my head back squarely on my shoulders, and prepare to go another ten rounds: me versus my womanhood. Someone is going to win this epic battle, I just wish I knew which one of us it will be.

ANSWER WEEK

2010-09-26T19:05:00.002-04:00

I have writer's block.

Well...maybe that isn't completely accurate. It is probably better to say that I have writer's fixation: I have only one topic I am able to write about these days, and yet I still can't say much about it, which is annoying both to me and to the reader.

I have started several posts over the past few weeks, on various topics: the loss of my mentor, thoughts on Katy Perry, how it feels to run 20 miles....and all of these posts are still sitting there in my blogger dashboard, unfinished, in their "not yet published" state. It makes me sad.

There was a time I updated my blog on an almost daily basis. I can point to two main reasons that this has changed - I was going through a deeply painful time, so I had a lot of 'material' to work through on my blog, and at the time there was no such thing as 'facebook.' The main problem with facebook is that even though I can (and do) update there not just daily, but often several times a day, it is mostly with inane nonsense. When I used to frequently update my blog, I did so with thoughtful purpose. (Usually.)

I'm having a hard time updating my blog because I am once again going through something rather difficult, but unlike in the past I am not at liberty to fully discuss it. It is what I most need to write about, what I most need to work through, and yet I am unable to do so.

I am so frustrated about this. On top of being so frustrated with this situation I am dealing with.

I have days that I want to close this blog down, and start a new anonymous one so that I can write freely and not have to worry about who might be reading. But at the same time, that is really not who I am or what I am about. This is me, warts and all, and you don't have to like it and you especially don't need to read about it. That is ultimately how I have always felt about this blog - this 'journal' exists for me and for my benefit, and anyone else that is feeling voyeuristic and wants to come along for the ride, do so at your own risk.

That being said, I am hoping that this week is going to bring me some much needed answers. I have subtly (or NOT so subtly) referred to the situation I am dealing with as an impending break up, and in a way that is EXACTLY what it is. I am trying to end a difficult relationship for once and for all, and the steps to do so are not easy. It is a very big deal - a VERY big deal, to me. I did get a few answers at the beginning of last week which are narrowing down my options, helping me determine the path I need to take. I expect to get one final, BIG answer, this Wednesday. Once I do and once I know how I am resolving things, I will be able to talk. It will feel good to be able to write again, about the serious and the mundane and about everything in between. I look forward to it.

I look forward to finally getting some answers this week. It will be nice to stop having to be so cryptic.

SEVERING IS HARD TO DO

2010-09-10T22:52:00.002-04:00

An update (of sorts)...

Last week, I declared "war" on a long-term relationship of mine, and (as I put it) I fired the first shot. I want this relationship to end.

As is always the case with break-ups, it isn't going to be as neat and pretty and easy as I had hoped. I am praying that this isn't long and drawn out and ugly, but it is starting to seem that it is more likely to go that way. And, really, I shouldn't be surprised. It is par for the course when it comes to this particular relationship.

I had an opportunity on Wednesday to see where that 'bullet' that I fired landed, to see if it hit anything. I can be an impatient person; I am an instant-gratification type, and when I make my mind up about something I want it done and taken care of and resolved. By Wednesday afternoon, I realized that permanently ending this relationship is going to take a series of mini-battles. It is not going to be taken care of in one fell swoop as I had been hoping.

Again, this relationship is not with a person. People have asked me if it is my job (no), my Starbucks addiction (ha ha - no), amongst other things. While I still am not ready to get into specifics*, please know that I am confident that I am doing the right thing. I am taking the first steps in the break-up process, and will have more answers in a few weeks. Actually, I should have some clear-cut action steps in a few weeks. It pains me to have to be so patient, but I am moving in the right direction to achieve some peace, and that in and of itself is reason to feel optimistic.

*apologies for the vagueness. I am walking that strange line where the purpose of my blog is at odds with the nature of it. I have used blogging for so many years now as a journal; when something is on my mind - good bad or otherwise - having the blog available to me to sort out my innermost feelings has been therapeutic. But because it is a blog and not a private journal with a lock and a key that I can hide in the nightstand drawer, I cannot always be as open as I would like. I absolutely hate having to censor myself.

I used to not; anyone who read my old blog (from 2003 to 2006) knows that I put it ALL out there with no filter whatsoever. The problem with that, though, is you just don't always know who is reading, and when it is online it could be ANYONE.

Long story short, I need this blog, still. I need an outlet, somewhere to spew my angst. But there are times I am going to have to be more vague than I would like, and for that I am sorry. I am not trying to tease, I am just trying to be cautious while selfishly clearing my head. I promise when I have concrete answers I will tell all.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

2010-09-06T19:51:00.002-04:00

Today, Amanda was studying my face and suddenly looked concerned.

"Mommy! There's something wrong with your earrings!"

Ugh, I start worrying that they are broken. "Really? What is wrong with them?"

Serious as can be, she says "They're not beautiful enough."

Love her!

SEVERING

2010-09-02T22:04:00.002-04:00

I really need to talk for a moment about a bad relationship.

Hypothetically...

What if you have a relationship in your life that has been nothing but detrimental and negative? You would end the relationship, yes?

What if this relationship has existed for a long, long time? Does that have any bearing on whether you sever all ties?

What if this relationship has brought you nothing but pain, aggravation, grief and sadness?

What if this relationship is affecting you, in a very negative way, both physically and mentally?

What if the means to ending this relationship would be quite involved, very difficult, and potentially have a bad outcome?

And...what if this relationship has done nothing but fail you, over and over and over again, except for the one time that you really and truly needed them to come through for you? Would you feel eternally indebted and grateful, too much so to remove them from your life?

I've been in a very bad relationship for a very long time, and it is finally time for me to do something about it.

Today, I declared war, and I fired the first shot.

Stay tuned.

Oh....by the way....this "relationship" I speak of is not with a person.

TO MARRY A GIRL

2010-08-19T21:58:00.004-04:00

Interesting conversation in the car yesterday with my 4 1/2 year old.

Out of nowhere (which, incidentally, is where all of these surprising subjects come from), Amanda asks me "Mommy....do girls ONLY marry boys? Or can they marry a girl? Or can a boy marry a boy?"

This one just LOVES keeping me on my toes. I am starting to think that it is no accident that she asks me these questions when it is just the two of us and I am driving us somewhere - she's got me captured, with no way to avoid the question.

So, I did the thing I thought was right...I answered her completely honestly.

"Well..." (choosing my words carefully)

"Usually, a girl marries a boy. BUT, yes, if a girl wants to marry a girl, she can. And if a boy wants to marry a boy, he can."

"REALLY?" she exclaimed. Apparently she loved my answer.

"Mommy, you know what? I think I am going to marry a GIRL!"

Oh boy. (or girl...)

"Well..." (still choosing my words carefully)

"It is up to you, really, BUT, this is not a decision you will be ready to make until you are a grownup. Once you are all grown up, THEN you can decide if you want to marry a boy OR a girl. OR...guess what? You don't even have to get married if you don't want to."

Now she looked bewildered. "I don't?"

"Nope. Not everybody gets married. And not every married couple has kids. Every family is different. You will figure out what family is the best one for you when you are all grown up."

She was quiet for a minute, and then as I looked in the rear-view mirror I saw her smile. Then, the subject quickly changed to Dora and Boots.

I'm hoping I handled her question correctly. I hope that I continue to handle her challenging questions correctly. I am sort of hoping that the default solution will always be to go with the honest answer.

More importantly, I was smiling to myself, pretty pleased that I live in a time (and not to mention in a state!) where my answer CAN be that simple: yes, my dear, you have choices, and you can choose whatever is right for you, whatever is going to make you happy.

Pretty cool, I have to say.

MOMENTS

2010-06-20T21:44:00.002-04:00

I had a GOOD weekend. Actually, no - an AWESOME weekend. It was a weekend full of several little moments that, in the end, resulted in two enthusiastic thumbs up.

****

Good: taking our daughter to see 'Toy Story 3' yesterday, a movie she's been dying to see for a solid eight months.

Awesome: having the movie far far FAR supersede all possible expectations. Laughing harder than I have laughed in years. Feeling a lump in my throat and then going with it, letting the tears flow during those final scenes - scenes that were perfectly orchestrated to tug - no, yank - at our heartstrings. Knowing that I have just seen a nearly "perfect" film.

****

Good: going with Anthony and Amanda to a cookout yesterday afternoon with a group of new friends.

Awesome: going with Anthony and Amanda to a cookout yesterday afternoon with a group of new friends with a POOL!!!!!!! (ha ha)

****

Good: dinner at the Yard House.

Awesome: dinner at the Yard House with Anthony and a diverse bunch of people, all gathered to say goodbye to a dear friend who is moving two time zones away. It was a great group of old friends who are now new friends...again. If that makes sense.

****

Good: catching up with one of my favorite favorite people EVER at dinner.

Awesome: this person forcing me to spend a good half hour explaining to him WHY he is one of my favorite people on the planet. I felt like I needed graphs and pie charts...(which is one of the things that makes him one of my favorites!)

****

Good: moving on to a hometown bar to meet up with even more old new friends.

Awesome: the bar's musical entertainment for the night: two accoustic guitar players, one of whom was another old friend. He is an incredible guitar player...and he's not bad to look at, either!

****

Good: Guitar players announcing that they were dedicating their next song to our friend who is moving to Kansas.

Awesome: Them breaking into 'Dueling Banjos' from "Deliverance"

****

Good: Having a great night out

Awesome: Having a tremendously successful send-off for our friend.

****

Good: Two beautiful, hot sunny days this weekend

Awesome: No humidity, and it STILL isn't officially summer!

****

Good: Out to breakfast with Anthony and Amanda for Father's Day

Awesome: surprised that our BREAKFASTS (french toast, pancakes) came with scoops of ICE CREAM on it!!!! AWE-SOME!!!!

****

Good: heading to New Hampshire to see my Dad. (Anthony and Amanda went to see his Dad).

Awesome: spending the two hour drive playing all my favorite songs at Volume 11 and singing along until I lost my voice completely.

****

Good: Taking a "different" route to the lake house I have been driving to for over twenty-five years.

Awesome: Having my GPS almost die when I had no idea where I was, and not caring at all because I was feeling adventuresome.

****

Good: Spending the day with my parents, and my sister and her husband.

Awesome: Spending most of that day swimming in the lake and lying out in the gorgeous sun, knowing that it was raining and storming at home.

****

Good: Hitting no traffic on the two hour drive home from NH.

Awesome: Arriving home just as the storms here were over.

****

Good: Finding out that one of my best friends is in labor with her first born child (a little boy) today.

Awesome: Today is father's day - how psyched is her husband right now??!!?? (*note: at the time of this post he is not born yet, but it should be very soon!!!)

Even More Awesome: hearing news about a wonderful couple with regards to becoming parents - a story I am not at liberty to share right now - but suffice it to say a couple that has wanted to be parents for a long time has finally achieved their goal, and I couldn't possibly be happier for them, or for the child they have adopted. Talk about a Happy Father's Day!

****

Good: getting home and chatting online with the sister I didn't get to see this weekend.

Awesome: chatting for a good ten minutes about 'Toy Story 3' and getting all choked up thinking about the movie again.

****

Most of my days, weeks, months, and then years have a tendency to start to blend into one another. I keep finding myself saying "I can't believe it is already (insert month here)." Weekends like this one remind me that every year, month, week, and day is filled with special moments. These moments can be enormously significant, or remarkably stupid. But it is important to try to recognize them, for each moment is a memory being created. Each moment provides an opportunity to remember, or to forget.

Nothing particularly monumental happened this weekend. But because the little moments that DID happen were acknowledged and savored, this weekend will be one I will remember for a long, long time.

SPELLING NEEDS IMPROVEMENT

2010-06-10T20:27:00.002-04:00

Amanda says to me, "Mommy, I am going to hum a song and you need to guess what it is."

"Okay, go ahead."

She hums something melodic, but not recognizable to me.

I think it over for a minute and say "I'm not sure, can you give me a hint?"

"Ok," she says, "It STARTS with an 'H' and ends with an 'N.'"

I ponder this for a moment. Finally, I say, "I have no idea, tell me what song it is."

She exclaims "Party In The U.S.A.!"

um...

SUPREME BEING?

2010-05-16T20:41:00.002-04:00

Evidence that my daughter has not been to church very often:

Today we were at my nephew's baptism. Amanda was admiring the stained glass windows, and was curious about why I was reciting the prayers aloud after telling her sternly that there is "no talking allowed in church." The entire ceremony was different and confusing to her, for sure.

At one point, I saw her fixating on a painting just outside the altar. It was a depiction of the Holy Trinity, showing the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. She was studying this picture intently and then began to point at it, very excitedly.

"Look Mommy!" she said in a very loud whisper.

"What?"

"Look at that!"

"What is it, Amanda?" I asked.

Pointing at the Holy Spirit draped in his red robes, she exlaimed "It's Superman!"

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

2010-05-09T07:47:00.002-04:00

Amanda got this precious look on her face, that look that shows that she has just had a four-year-old's revelation.

"Mommy, Mother's Day is YOUR holiday, right?"

"Yes Amanda, it is."

She considered this for a minute. "Well then, me and my Daddy should take you out to lunch, ANYWHERE you want to go. It is YOUR holiday, so YOU pick!"

I smiled and said to her, "That is so nice!"

"So Mommy where do you want to go?"

"Chili's."

She said, "How about Friendly's?"

I laughed and said "I thought it was MY pick? I want to go to Chili's."

Amanda frowned at me and very sternly replied "We're going to FRIENDLY'S!"

Happy Mother's Day!

THE LET DOWN

2010-05-04T18:17:00.008-04:00

First, I must apologize for the old-school blog title. I have been feeling for a while now that my blog is desperately in need of a makeover but I haven't really had sufficient time to address it properly. Then, the other day, my laptop started making some ungodly noises. It was just sitting there, on its little IKEA laptop-table, and started making this horrific grinding noise out of nowhere. Or maybe it was a churning noise? Regardless, it was making sounds that resembled a washing machine, which probably is not a good thing. Time to start cleaning up the hard drive since I have about a million and nine photos and videos saved on it, mostly of my daughter.

That is when I came upon this picture, which I used three years ago as my blog design. So, yeah, I am recycling. For now. Until I have some free time on my hands to give it a true revamp, which will not be anytime in the near future. Free time continues to elude me.

...Which brings me to the point of this post. (God, I love when things can be tied together in a nice, neat little segue, don't you?...)

I need more time to get the things done in my life that I NEED to get done. I need more time to get things done in my life that I WANT to get done. I need more time to do absolutely NOTHING, if I so choose. But time is something I don't have nearly enough of. Better yet, I have time, but it is spoken for. ALWAYS, it seems.

I feel like I am constantly running around, doing this and doing that and never catching my breath, always longing for that very rare "day off" with nothing scheduled. And those days are fewer and farther between with each passing year. It is only May 4th, and Amanda has already been invited to four birthday parties this month. FOUR! And our May was already overscheduled. AND, she is only four years old! I can't even begin to imagine what things are going to be like when I am carting her off to her various sports and extra-curricular activities once she hits elementary school. Ack! All I have to do is glance sideways at the "May" calendar hanging in the kitchen and I get agida. Weekends - all full. Weeknights? MOSTLY full!

I'm so damn tired. All the freakin' time. And there is no end in sight. Ever ever.

Don't get me wrong - many of those plans are not simply obligations, but occasions or events that I am really looking forward to.

But I just have a hard time imagining waking up in the morning and thinking to myself "Hmm....what am I going to do today? What do I want to do today? Maybe I will do NOTHING today!" I crave that. I would kill for that.

And I am working towards that, wholeheartedly. Because recently I have started to introduce a new word into my vocabulary.

"No."

Tiny word that packs quite a punch.

A word I have a very difficult time saying.

I am a "pleaser;" I want to do my best to accomodate everyone. I want to be dependable. I want people to be able to rely on me. So I don't say "no" very often.

Never saying no works to my detriment...and, as I am learning, to the detriment of the very people I am trying to please. It has taken me a hell of a long time to learn this, but by saying yes to everything I wind up spreading myself far too thin. Duh.

I think for me it is a sense of pride; I have a hard time admitting that I can't do "it all." But - I can't. Or, to some extent, perhaps I can do it all, but at what cost? I'm exhausted. I'm resentful. I'm doing a lot, but not really doing any ONE thing well. And truly, where is there any pride in that?

I am so afraid of letting people down. SO afraid. So I say yes, even when I know what is being asked of me is next to impossible. As an unavoidable result, I am stressed out all the time. Which is ultimately only letting MYSELF down. For which I beat myself up, get depressed, feel guilty, and then vow to do better. And, by "do better," I misinterpret this as "do more." And the cycle continues.

Until now. I've already started saying "no" in situations that I never, ever used to. And it is GOOD. It is very, very good.

Here's the hard part though: acknowledging that I WILL in fact be letting some people down, and being okay with that. I have had people who are very important to me actually sit me down and tell me that they can SEE that I need to do less, that I need to cut back in certain areas in my life. Interestingly, though, when I attempt to "cut back" on anything that specifically involves THEM, I am pressured NOT to. I should cut back, but not where THEY are concerned!

Interesting, huh?

I have to take care of me, and my needs. Instead of trying to please everyone else, it is okay to admit "defeat" once in a while. It is okay for me to say "I can't do it ALL." It is even okay to periodically piss people off by telling them "You know what? I really just CAN'T."

This doesn't make me a failure. It just means I am not superwoman. And really, I am okay with that.

I'm too short to pull off that whole cape look, anyways.

WRITER'S VOMIT

2010-04-20T20:46:00.002-04:00

I've been avoiding my blog. Like the plague.

Told myself I have writer's block. That I haven't been able to come here because I don't know what to say; I don't know what to write.

But, that is far from true. I have so much going on in my head that needs sorting out - SO MUCH. Coming here and putting my thoughts down in black and white has always been therapeutic. It is cathartic. And I need that right now, very much.

The main issue is that I don't know where to start. I can pretty much point to any aspect of my life right now and realize that I have a lot of work to do and a lot to fix. You name it, I am coming up short every which way I turn. And because I am feeling like I am, on some level, "failing" at everything, I don't know which THING to start with. Furthermore, I don't know what "thing" to start writing about.

As it is, I have been staring at the blank screen for over an hour now, and this is all I've got. I need to start writing again, but on some level I think I am afraid to. I know that once I open the floodgates, it is going to get a little crazy over here. What I have been pretending is writer's block is quickly going to become the opposite, and I going to be spewing words and posts on my tiny placeholder on the internet like a madwoman.

I need to stop avoiding this place, because this blog has always been good TO me and good FOR me. For six and a half years, my blog has been vital. To ignore it and avoid it now, when I am feeling so vulnerable and fragile, would be an enormous mistake.

I'll just need to go through my mental rolodex and start with one topic at a time, and maybe I'll get some of this clutter out of my brain. And that can only help.

At the very least, it will be a very good start.

ONE QUESTION

2010-03-27T18:34:00.001-04:00

......answer me this: who brings Doritos to spinning class? Seriously???

KNOWLEDGE IS POWER

2010-03-23T22:51:00.002-04:00

I just wrote a lengthy blog post, re-read it, and deleted it in its entirety. Because I can't seem to organize my thoughts in a logical way tonight, even though I have quite a lot to say.

So I am going to summarize, and hope to elaborate more when the brain is functioning better.

I have been having some problems, for quite some time, and have not been sure why. It only recently occurred to me what the root cause of my issue could be, and tonight I decided to go online and do some research.

And I am shocked at what I found.

Now, I realize that just because something is published on the internet that doesn't make it true. But, I also have a hard time arguing with the fact that when I googled, bing'd and yahoo'd my "issue," I found hundreds and hundreds of people out there in the same exact circumstances as myself.

I know I am being vague, but I need to be for the moment. But long story short, I was starting to wonder if "X" was causing "Y," and lo and behold have found example after example after example where this has been true for other people. Hundreds of examples after only a few hours of research.

I think I am on to something. Knowing the battle ahead is indeed half the battle.

Will be calling my doctor in the morning, armed with information. I am already feeling a bit of relief, knowing that I am closer to fixing what ails me.

EMOTIONAL SPECTRUM

2010-03-07T19:22:00.002-05:00

Happiness is being outside and finally feeling a WARM sun on your face.

Pride is planning to go for a five mile run, and then running ten.

Fear is suddenly knowing, and not just suspecting, that you are being followed, and that there is not a damn thing you can do about it.

Relief is making it home, locking the front door behind you, and crying real tears - the sort of tears that flow when you realize you are safe and sound.

Anger is realizing that because there are major creeps out there in the world, something I love doing (running) is now tainted and dangerous.

Recovery is channeling that scared, negative energy into something creative and artistic, something that brings the smile back.

IRONY

2010-02-27T19:43:00.003-05:00

Here is my personal definition of irony:

Today, I did a stair climb in Providence, Rhode Island. The purpose was to raise money for the American Lung Association and lung disease research, including asthma.

A couple of hours after I completed the climb, I suffered my first asthma attack in over a year.

My attack was not brought on by the exercise or the physical exertion of doing the climb (which was in fact QUITE challenging). Rather, it was brought on by the conditions of the stairwell I raced in. A narrow, dark, dirty and dusty stairwell in an office building is probably not the ideal location for a workout. They warned us about this prior to starting, that we might notice our throats feeling very dry and scratchy and sore due to the "conditions."

Boy, they were NOT kidding!

The drive home was challenging, as I felt like I was coughing up a lung (or at least a cloud of dust). Two hours later, I felt that familiar tightening in my chest, and my asthma was inevitably flaring up. I have more or less spent the rest of the day laying low, recovering, breathing.

That being said, I had a great time this morning. I don't regret it for a second. I had major, major butterflies in my stomach for a full five minutes before I began. Mostly, due to "fear of the unknown." By now, I've done my share of road races: many, many 5K's, several 10K's, and now two Half-Marathons. But this was my first stair climb. I had NO IDEA what to expect. People who sponsored me asked me how long it would take me to climb the 58 flights, and I had no response. I was mentally prepared for an hour, roughly the time it takes me to complete a 10K. I started asking some of the other people there, people that had done the climb last year, and they said it took them around ten minutes.

Ten minutes!!!!!

That set my mind at ease - a bit. I knew that no matter how difficult it would be, it would at least (hopefully) be over quickly. I am still waiting for the results on my official time, but it was under the ten minute mark I am pretty sure.

Bottom line, asthma flare up aside, it was great. The butterflies were gone by the time I hit the halfway mark. I was in pain but also knew I was going to have no problem finishing, and that made me feel very reassured.

I've said it before and I will say it again - always try new things. It is really pretty cool to get out of your comfort zone, and have a new experience. You might even surprise yourself when you realize just how much you are actually capable of.

THE END OF THE INNOCENCE

2010-02-19T21:03:00.002-05:00

The older my daughter gets, the more I understand some of the things my own mother used to say to me.

Things like "it doesn't matter how old you are, you'll always be my CHILD. You'll always be my BABY." Usually, she would say something like this and I would roll my eyes at her, or dismiss it with a "yeah, I know."

But I didn't know. I didn't REALLY know. Only now am I starting to get it.

Amanda is my baby. She will always be my baby.

The problem with this is that she isn't a baby anymore. She is a little girl. A smart little girl, who understands more than I am willing to give her credit for. She is ready for me to teach her some things that, frankly, I am not ready to teach her.

Yesterday, while Amanda was at school, I was working from home, sitting in the office with the tv on in the background, playing re-runs of "Cold Case." Abruptly, at around 3:30 in the afternoon, the show was interrupted with one of those "Emergency Broadcast System" alerts. This time, unlike most other times, it was not "only a test." It was an amber alert for a one year old baby girl who had been abducted from her mother in a nearby town. For the remainder of the afternoon, the alert would come on every half-hour or so, and every time it aired I grew sadder and sadder.

I picked Amanda up at school, and on the way home I turned on the radio just in time to hear that the police had found the baby in Connecticut, left abandoned in a parking lot, but otherwise safe and sound. Without thinking, I said aloud "Oh thank GOD!"

And then Amanda wanted to know what I was saying that for.

It is funny how sometimes a moment presents itself, and you know that the way you handle it can have significant consequences. Up to this point, I have dealt with Amanda as a "baby," and tried to keep her sheltered from "grown-up" things. And my first instinct was to just blow off her question, to dismiss it with an "oh, it's nothing."

But this time, I didn't. I am suddenly, almost jarringly, aware that I am dealing with a young person who needs me to educate her - even when that education may cause her to lose a bit of her innocence. As a parent, it is not my job to ONLY teach her to read and to write and to sing and to dance and to be polite, etc etc...I am learning that I need to teach her about the unpleasantness in life too.

Which, frankly, SUCKS.

Nothing worse, I am finding, than to look at your innocent, angelic child, and tell her in no uncertain terms about the evil that lurks around every corner. But it is necessary. I would be doing her a greater disservice to try to keep her sheltered. Right?

So, yesterday I saw Amanda's question as an opportunity to teach her. And while I might have robbed her of a bit of her innocence in doing so, I really think it was a conversation that needed to happen.

I explained that someone kidnapped a baby. I then realized that I needed to explain what "kidnapped" meant. So I told her that a baby was stolen from its mommy and daddy. I hated seeing the expression on her face, but I went on to explain that there are some people out there who are not very nice people, and you can't tell by looking at them if they are nice or not. I further explained that this is why it is important that she doesn't run away from me if we are in a store, or that she holds my hand when we are walking in a big crowd of people. I told her that I didn't ever want someone to try to kidnap her away from me.

Then, before I completely scared the crap out of her, I explained that I was happy when I turned on the radio because the news said that the police found the baby, and that she was okay, and that the police were bringing the baby home to her mommy and daddy.

I could tell that Amanda was listening to me very intently, and she asked me a few follow up questions. And, just as quickly as the conversation had begun, it was over. Dwelling on it, spending a lot of time on it, was very unneccesary at her age. She is FOUR.

BUT...the difference is, she is FOUR. She is old enough now that I can discuss more serious, more "grown up" concepts with her, at a basic level. She doesn't need me to spend a ton of time on it, or go into all sorts of detail. But - and this is the hardest part of all for me to realize - she can handle it. She can. She is ready to learn that life is not always going to be perfect.

I'm not sure that I am ready, but the truth of it all is that I don't think I will EVER be ready. While life can be great, it can also really suck sometimes, too. I hate that I have to be the one to slowly open my daughter's eyes to this sad fact.

If I could, I would shelter her from every horrible thing life will hand her. Today, it is a scraped knee. Tomorrow, it will be a broken heart. I will want to always take away any and all of her pain, if I can. Because no matter how old she is, Amanda is my child. She is my baby, and she will ALWAYS be my baby, whether she is four, or fourteen, or twenty-four.

BRILLIANCE

2010-02-09T20:40:00.003-05:00

Can I please just vent for a second?

I wish that for just one day I could be put in charge of the world. Or even just my little corner of the world. Not that I am smart or anything - I don't claim that at all. But I am just not totally STUPID either. And, for the most part, I learn from past mistakes.

So, here in New England, in the winter months, we sometimes get snow. Shocking, I know, but it has been known to happen when the temperature dips below 32 degrees.

We are expecting snow tomorrow. Not a TON, if you want to compare it to the snow that fell in Washington DC or Jersey this past weekend, but nevertheless, we're getting some decent snowfall. And - here is the important piece of information - it is going to fall quickly. As in 1 to 2 inches an hour. Squall-like.

Okay, great. No problem. We live in New England. We're used to the changing seasons. We can deal with this, right?

WRONG.

Apparently, the people "in charge" have memory loss.

Two Decembers ago, there was a similar snowfall that hit our area around noon on a weekday, with accumulations reaching about 1 to 2 inches an hour. I was one of the lucky ones, because it was not a work day for me. I made the ill-timed decision to go to the grocery store 2 miles from my house at 11:00AM. When we left the store at noon and the big fat flakes started to fall, the entire world screeched to a halt. My two mile drive home took me an hour and a half. And I was one of the lucky ones.

It took my husband 4 and a half hours to get home from work that day - and most of his commute (distance-wise) took place on an on-time train. It was the drive from the train station to our house that killed things. Cars quite literally couldn't get anywhere. The snow fell so fast and so hard that driving was instantly treacherous, there were white-out conditions, and - THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART - everyone "released" everyone at the exact same time.

As soon as the snow hit at noontime, schools closed and said "come get your kids!" Employers dismissed their workers so that they could get a "jump" on traffic. What resulted were some of the worst traffic nightmares this area has seen in a very long time. One of my friends from the office, who lives not too far from me, spent six and a half hours trying to drive home. Another friend of mine had a ten mile commute home and it took him seven and a half hours. These are not exaggerated times - because every single person you spoke to had a similar story. They'd say "it took me five hours to get home!" expecting sympathy, until they quickly realized that their commute had been one of the "better" ones that day!

I am bringing this up for one reason and one reason only. I am watching my Tuesday night television shows, and scrolling across the bottom of the screen are all of these school closings scheduled for tomorrow. And the common denominator in ALL of them? "Closing at 11:40AM." Each and every single one.

We don't learn from past mistakes here in Massachusetts. Nope. When the snow squalls hit tomorrow, we'll make sure that we have as many cars on the road as we possibly can, because heck, we're due for another traffic nightmare.

I am one of the lucky ones, once again. Tomorrow is my day off. Amanda is finished with her morning activities by 10:15, at which point I will go get my coffee at Starbucks and then GET OFF THE ROADS. But, I will be honest here, if she had school tomorrow, I would be keeping her home. There is no doubt about it whatsoever.

To those of you that need to go pick up your children from school tomorrow at 11:40, good luck. Hope you aren't stuck in your car for 8 hours. Make sure you've got a full tank of gas. And some bottled water. And some snacks. And a DVD for the kids to watch.

Then again...it is New England. Watch us get no snow at all - now that they've closed all the schools early tomorrow.

*sigh*

Is it June yet?

LET ME COUNT THE WAYS

2010-01-25T18:56:00.004-05:00

I hate my cell phone. HATE. LOATHE. DESPISE. Can't wait to torch it, or throw it off the roof of a skyscraper, or crush it with my car.

Here are just a few of the many, many reasons that my phone sucks:

- it constantly ass-dials people. and coat-pocket-dials people. and purse-dials people. Even when the keys are locked.

- the key lock feature doesn't work well (see above), unless I need to answer an urgent phone call, and then it is a mad race against time trying to unlock the code and answer before the second full version of the ringtone ends. Usually I am too late and miss the call.

- it can get only one website well. One. So much for web browsing. (Lucky for me, that website is facebook!)

- when I try to call people, it starts a new text message. When I try to text people, it calls them.

- it takes shitty pictures. Actually, that is not true, it generally takes pretty good pictures but you need to have a master's degree in digital electronics to figure out how to use the camera functions. And it always wants to put a dumb-ass cartoon elephant frame around every picture I take. WTF?

- The touch screen feature is WAY too sensitive. When I go to my contacts and click on "A," and I then try to scroll to "B," it screams all the way down to "Z" and wants to keep going and going on infinitely. Dumbass.

- The touch screen feature is WAY too sensitive. Apparently my chin is fat or something, because it always hangs up on my phone calls when it comes within a millimeter of the "end call" button.

- The touch screen feature is WAY too sensitive. Apparently my cheek is also fat or something. I will be talking and suddenly the voice on the other end starts saying "Hello? Hello???? Hellooooo?" and I will realize that my cheek hit the mute button.

- I once set the alarm clock feature on the phone. When the alarm sounded, I couldn't turn it off, even though I kept hitting "dismiss." It would go off, and come back on again two minutes later, louder than before. "Dismiss." Two minutes later, alarm sounds again, this time VERY loud. After twenty minutes of this charade and the volume of the alarm now approaching the sound-barrier, I took the battery out of the back of the phone and didn't replace it for a twenty-four hour period.

- I charge my phone constantly. I plug it in to the charger when I get home. I leave it plugged in until it is fully charged, at 100%. Once unplugged, the battery life is, at most, one hour. Which is extremely convenient for a mobile phone. It needs to always be plugged in in my car. I need to leave it plugged in and charging all day at the office. God forbid I need to actually GO somewhere, I am reachable for about an hour and after that I have to cross my fingers and pray that no one needs to reach me, or that I don't have an emergency myself.

- I dropped my phone twice. The first time I dropped it, the face cracked. Which is problematic when the face is the touch-screen. The second time I dropped it, the faceplate for the few actual buttons on the phone popped halfway out, and ever since it is slightly akimbo. Or askew. Whatever it is, it's fucked up. It is hit or miss as to whether I actually disconnect a phone call when I press "end call." I have learned to be amazingly careful not to bad-mouth anyone as soon as I hang up from them, because you just never know with my phone if they are still listening to me...not that I would ever bad-mouth anyone.

- The volume button has two settings: much too quiet to hear, and deafeningly loud. There are a million settings in between, but trying to set it somewhere in the middle requires the delicate hands of a surgeon. I don't have the sensitivity to set it at a moderate volume I guess.

- Here is the ultimate kicker: I got this phone a year ago, for a "discounted" price due to our every 2-year contract renewal. The "discounted" price was almost $500.00! I would love to know what the regular price is.

I hate my phone. I cannnot possibly live with it for another year. I am replacing it as soon as humanly possible.

Would love some suggestions on what type of phone to get (would LOVE an iphone but I am not on AT&T).

Would also love some creative suggestions on how to "kill" my current phone when it is finally replaced. I might even video its demise for all to see. It would be the most valuable thing I get from this phone, I think.

ARE YOU THERE MID-LIFE CRISIS? IT'S ME, DAWN.

2010-01-15T22:02:00.002-05:00

I've got the "ick." And I've got it bad.

I have had the ick before, in small doses. The ick comes and goes, and usually it is short and sweet in duration.

But this time the ick has settled over me like a dense fog that just won't lift. I've been blaming the post-holiday hangover. I've been blaming the new year. I've been blaming my job, my foot, my schedule. None of which are truly the source of the ick.

It occurred to me today what this ick is, that which has grabbed hold of me and won't let go. The ick is "thirty-nine".

I dreaded turning thirty-nine ever since the day I turned thirty. This is because I had SUCH a difficult time dealing with twenty-nine. Turning twenty-nine was about a billion times harder for me than turning thirty was. I don't know exactly why, it isn't really something I can put my finger on. Maybe it was the realization that I was never going to be "in my twenties" again. Or maybe it was that turning thirty seemed like such a big dread that twenty-nine was one giant year-long warm up. Whatever the reason, I was near meltdown level for the majority of my twenty-ninth year.

Based on that experience, I knew that thirty-nine, forty-nine, fifty-nine, etc. were all going to feel particularly harsh. And it suddenly dawned on me today that this is exactly what has been going on with me. I turned thirty-nine last month and have been staring the ick right in the face ever since. I am confronted by my very own mid-life crisis, and it is kind of bizarre.

I've considered doing some pretty weird shit lately. Stuff I would never consider doing, NEVER EVER before. Suddenly, these wild and wacky ideas sound appealing. It is almost as if turning 40 this year is upon me like a death sentence, and I have suddenly got this bucket list of items I need to complete in the next twelve months. It is insane, really, because I am overall a healthy person with (likely) a long life ahead of me. But I've come face to face with my own mortality or whatever, and suddenly I am pondering the ridiculous.

So...I was wondering if anyone wanted to share their own experiences in this area? You can simply leave a comment by completing the following sentence:

"You know you are having a midlife crisis when..."

I'm just curious to see if I am the only one feeling a little crazy right now.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

2010-01-06T14:36:00.002-05:00

Overheard in the car this morning, on our way to Amanda's dancing school. These are the moments I live for.

Me: "Amanda, I love you more than anything in the world, you know that, right?"

Amanda: "Well, yeah...but not when I'm fresh."

Me: "You're wrong - I love you all the time, even when you're fresh. No matter what, I always love you."

Amanda paused for a second to mull that over.

"Wow, Mommy. Next time I draw a picture of you, I am going to draw a GIANT heart on your belly for all that love!"

Does it get any better than that, I ask?

RESOLUTIONS 2010

2010-01-03T07:34:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about my laundry list of New Year's Resolutions for the past couple of days. I didn't totally start "doing" my list yet; to try to do absolutely everything on day 1 is pretty much setting myself up for total failure. I think it is best to try to ease into these things.

On a serious note, I have some things I truly need to work on this year, and NO I won't be listing those things here. (See? I don't share EVERYTHING here, despite what you think). There are areas of my life that need some attention and this is the year to tend to them. I think.

But I do have a list that I am willing to share, and I am just as serious about these items as well. If you want to share some of your resolutions with me I would love to hear about them.

15. Only one stop at Starbucks per day.

14. Stop trying to wear headbands.

13. Be mean. Nice guys (gals) really DO finish last.

12. Veggies, veggies, veggies.

11. Enough with the 5" heels, stick with 4" or less going forward.

10. Get back to running, pronto. Who cares if I'm injured or if it hurts? I need to run. End of story.

9. Stop drinking red wine before bed - it seems to give me insomnia. (White wine, until further notice, is still okay!)

8. Stop working on my days off.

7. Keep my car clean, inside and out.

6. Break up with Artie Lange - permanently.

5. Buy myself those damn Chanel sunglasses I want so badly!

4. Contact "Bravo" to pitch my idea for the new reality series I want to star in: "Real Housewives of Bristol County."

3. No more Cheez-Its.

2. Three words: Gold Metallic Bikini.

1. Find something (even if it is only one thing) to smile about every day.

WEEK, YEAR, DECADE IN REVIEW

2009-12-31T17:03:00.003-05:00

My week started off icky. I had a wake to go to Monday evening for an old friend of the family - not someone that I personally was particularly close to, but nevertheless someone important to my parents - and while driving to the wake I was feeling nauseous over something that had gone down at work before I left. I have a hard time leaving issues "at the office" - something I definitely need to work on - and I spent the entire night stressed out and agitated. Being at the wake, too, reminded me of how I always seem to be spending the holidays at wakes and funerals. Lost both of my grandparents around the holidays, and Anthony's grandmother as well.

The next day, I learned about two other deaths. One is particularly tragic, as it was completely unexpected and happened to a woman two years older than ME. I still don't have a lot of details but to say it was unnerving is an understatement. I also spent the majority of my morning at work putting out the fire from the day before (and taking a few bullets along the way) rather than doing my year's end stuff. Which led to me going back to the office on Wednesday, my day off, to finish up what needed to be done.

Meantime, I was supposed to be having a New Year's Eve party tonight at our house, which right about now I am relieved that we cancelled due to the amount of snow falling outside. Based on how my week went, I certainly didn't need the added stress of planning a party and cooking and cleaning and all that. But...I had been looking forward to it. If for no other reason, to keep me distracted from today.

12/31/2009. My "due date." Yup.

Earlier this year I found myself once again "accidentally" pregnant. And I remember when the doctor pulled out the stupid cardboard wheel and calculated my due date I chuckled that it was New Year's Eve. Not only that, but baby was due on the New Year's Eve that coincided with the ten-year anniversary of Anthony proposing to me. I thought, at the time, that although a baby had not been in the plans a New Year's Eve baby would be kind of cool. Anyways, we know how things went with THAT, as I am currently chilling a bottle of wine for tonight.

The biggest (and cruelest) practical joke of my life has taken place over the past decade. I have spent more time, in the past ten years, dealing with the issue of pregnancy, with the majority of that time focused on the heartbreak rather than the wonderful.

I got married in 2001, and stupidly assumed that like "everyone else" we were in charge of our destiny when it came to starting and planning our family. I could not have possibly been MORE WRONG about anything in my life. I am not going to rehash the entire journey in detail, but suffice it to say that when we decided we were ready to start a family we opened ourselves up to the next eight years of our marriage being filled with more heartbreak than we could have ever possibly anticipated.

Four years to have baby number one. Baby number one who was NEVER intended to be baby number "only." Multiple surgeries, years of medicines and injections, several procedures including IUI and IVF cycles (I want to say at LEAST eight procedures in total, with one success). And millions and millions of tears.

Amanda was (and still is, in my opinion) a miracle. The doctors at our IVF clinic still to this day tell us that they "don't know how she is here," that the IVF cycle that produced her never should have worked at all. When we returned to the clinic to try to have baby number two, after two additional failed IVF cycles the doctors told us to save ourselves years of further heartbreak and to just STOP - that it wasn't going to happen. And after months and months of more tears, we accepted this - that we had our one miracle baby and that we should count our blessings. (Which we did, and do).

So here is where the practical joke part happens: all of those years and drugs and tears and doctors to try to get me pregnant would lead one to believe that "birth control" should not need to be high on my list of priorities. And yet in 2007 and again this year, I found myself completely inexplicably pregnant - with no medical intervention. I got to ride the emotional roller coaster, twice, of being excited about the possibility of a surprise what-could-be, followed with the heartbreaking let down of having a miscarriage, and having yet another medical procedure to "take care of it."

While the decade past was not all gloom and doom, too much of it was overshadowed with all of THIS. The absolute bright side of all of it is that we have our beautiful amazing daughter. And, honestly, I would go through everything we went through all over again knowing it would bring her to us - that is without question. But the stupid nonsense I have dealt with since - two unexpected pregnancies ending in miscarriage - it feels like a gigantic slap in my face, to be quite honest.

All of this brings me to this year. If I were to draw a graph of this year it would start at around an "eight" and end at around a "three". My year started off pretty strong: January and February had me nursing a strain in my shoulder and seeing a physical therapist, but I did not let it deter me from my training. By the first week of March, I was off to Orlando to participate in my very first ever half-marathon - something I never would have DREAMED I was capable of. I went there by myself, which was okay - this was a personal goal and I was doing it for myself. At approximately mile six, to turn the corner into the Magic Kingdom and find myself running down Main Street in Disney World, to have total strangers cheering for me by name (our names were written on our bibs) might have been one of the most emotional highs of my life. It was incredible, an experience I won't soon forget (and one that I crave to recreate over and over again). Talk about feeling on top of the world! Crossing that finish line in Epcot Center was not only the highlight of my year, but without question one of the top highlights of my life.

A month and a half later I was sitting at home, watching the Boston Marathon, shaking with envy. I felt a surge of jealousy and excitement. I had just successfully completed a half-marathon. I had always dreamed of the possibility of someday running in the Boston Marathon, and I resolved right then and there that this would be the time to do it. If there was ever a time to give it a shot, it was now. I decided then and there, watching the first runners cross the finish line, that I would be running Boston in 2010.

Two days later, I found out that I was pregnant.

I spent the next month and a half slowly gaining weight - weight that I had fought so hard to take off the year before. I was still running, but had drastically reduced my mileage. My brain was readjusting and refocusing on what the upcoming year would bring, with a pregnancy and a baby. Once again, this "subject" was ruling my life and postponing my plans.

When it was over, I was an emotional mess. I never cried, never, over this loss. Not that I wasn't upset, but I was so much more pissed than anything else that it was almost as if that part of me wouldn't allow the tears to flow. I was angry as all hell, and was busy shouting profanities at everything and everyone and throwing around terms like "hysterectomy" as if this was a reasonable option for me.

My life had been going really well, and once again I was sidetracked by my infertility, or in this case my odd lack-thereof. I consulted my OB-GYN and told her that I couldn't possibly do this again. Her opinion was that it was likely that I would continue to have repeated miscarriages unless I did "something" about it. So, irony of ironies, I opted for a method of semi-permanent birth control with the goal of getting my year (my life?) back on the right track.

So far, that hasn't worked out well, at all. The side effects of this birth control are SO awful I cannot even describe it. I need to find another option, but haven't yet because I am just so sick and tired of the poking and prodding and the constant "experimentation" that I seem to put my body through. Seriously, why CAN'T I just have a hysterectomy? I don't need my uterus anymore, ever. (These are the crazy-person thoughts that go through my head, this is the breaking point that this decade has brought me to, where major surgery to remove a major organ seems like a perfectly natural method of birth control).

When does the madness stop? I feel like my year, and my sanity, has slowly been unravelling since the miscarriage. I have made myself busier than ever, probably to avoid "dealing" with the emotional fallout. I haven't managed to successfully lose the extra weight that the pregnancy put on me, which is a REAL bummer. I started trying to regroup and to refocus on the possibility of still running Boston, and I even completed a second half-marathon in October. And then, I got injured, and since then running has been taken away from me too.

What started off as such a promising year, personally, has slowly deteriorated. I haven't run in two months, and running was my main form of solace and therapy. I miss it with every fiber of my being, but until I can get in to see a doctor to have my foot looked at (which has been a chore) I cannot do it. My dreams of running Boston in the coming year are all but over. Someone is going to need to talk me down off a ledge on Marathon Monday, as I am going to be a mess when I am not there and not participating.

This week sucked. The year could have been better. And the decade was certainly a roller-coaster of emotions, many of them negative ones. Yes, I'm having a little pity-party tonight and I can do that - it is my blog and I'll cry if I want to. And cry I will. The tears of the year that I have suppressed are all coming out today, I fear. My husband doesn't understand why I am being such a "bitch" today, but I don't expect him to understand. I don't really expect anyone to understand.

People ask why I keep myself so busy, so constantly over-scheduled. And I think that this is precisely why...when I have nothing to do (which is NEVER), I have time to think and reflect about all of this. Those tears I never shed for my lost pregnancy are falling now. Which actually is appropriate, to cry about the loss on this, the due date. It is cathartic, in fact.

Here's the thing: the timing is good for all of this.

Tonight, I can cry. Tonight, I can feel bad for myself. Tonight, I can be a bitch. Oh yes I can.

Because tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is a new week, a new month, a new year...AND, a new decade.

Clean slate. Tabula rasa. New beginning. Fresh start. (Add your own cliché HERE).

Some people hate the idea of New Year's Resolutions. And while I don't totally agree with them (why wait until New Year's?) it seems that, right now, it is just what Doctor Dawn has prescribed.

So...

Resolution #1: I will no longer allow myself to be defined by my infertility. That chapter of my life is over, done and closed. When the ball drops at midnight, I drop this subject for good, too.

I am ready to move forward and not look back. I am ready to take the blessings of the past year and decade with me into the future. And I am ready to leave the ickiness behind. The 00's (or whatever we are calling this past decade) were defined, for me, by my struggles with infertility. I am determined that the "teens" (or whatever we are calling the next decade) will be defined by something else - something positive, something utterly wonderful. I don't know yet what it will be, but I can't wait to find out.

I think I'm in for a fun ride, and I can't wait to see what comes next.

GETTING MY DUE

2009-12-02T22:14:00.002-05:00

Four years ago today, I was pounding the pavement. I was a woman on a mission. It was Friday, December 2, 2005, and I was shopping on a brisk Boston day on Newbury Street. I was trying to finish up my Christmas shopping and was not going to head home until I was done. Or until something else happened.

I was not trapsing up and down Newbury Street over and over simply for the shopping experience; it was my due date. I was nine months pregnant and ready to be DONE with the entire experience of carrying a child. My thought process was that I would shop 'til I dropped - literally. I was hopeful that somehow I could induce labor by over-exterting myself.

By the time I got home that night, I had sore feet, frozen fingers, and lots of presents bought. It would be another six days before I would finally be induced by my OB/GYN.

Tonight I sat on the sofa with Anthony and Amanda, Christmas tree lit (but still undecorated), fireplace blazing, Rudolph on the TV. Amanda was explaining the entire show to me, narrating it if you will, as though I had never seen it before. It was adorable.

There was a time not all that long ago that I couldn't watch Rudolph. It is my favorite of all the Christmas specials, but at the time when we were struggling to have a baby, it couldn't be done. To sit down and watch Rudolph would do little more than remind me that I wished I had a child of my own to enjoy it with. It is amazing to me, now, that when I look back to those days, EVERYTHING caused pain. Every single experience that I now tend to take for granted is something that invoked tears and sadness five, six, seven years ago. Even the simple act of sitting down tonight to watch the show with her didn't remind me of the pain of years past until she reached over and hugged me. All of a sudden, JUST LIKE THAT, I was reminded about how lucky I am and how far I have come.

Four years ago today, I couldn't wait to meet this little girl. Today, I can't imagine how I ever possibly lived without her.

HEY, THANKS!

2009-11-25T21:17:00.005-05:00

I have been remiss in acknowledging that tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and that it is a day where we should be reflecting on our blessings. Lately I have used this blog to do a lot of moping and complaining. Which, frankly, I am entitled to do - after all, it is MY BLOG!

But...there is no better time than now to give thanks, and so I am going to give it a shot. Please forgive me if I ramble a bit, I've got a bit of wine coarsing through my veins.

I am thankful for my health. Especially now that I am well, after being sick for what felt like the first HALF of November.

I am thankful that I get to spend tomorrow with my family. Thankful, especially, that I have a family to spend the day with, and that they are a family that I care about and enjoy spending time with. I don't get to see my sisters often enough, so I savor the holidays as much as possible.

I am thankful that I won't be hungover tomorrow. I spent far too many Thanksgiving mornings in my twenties nursing a hangover from Turkey-Day Eve nonsense.

I am thankful for the show "The Biggest Loser." Loving the reunion 'where are they now' show that is on right now, and totally psyched that they just showed a clip from the road race I did with Mark and Jay (Season 5) in October!!!!! Woo-Hoo!

I am thankful that I like Turkey. Thanksgiving is kind of all about turkey, and if I didn't enjoy it, I think it would put a big damper on the day.

I am thankful for Riesling. Duh.

I am thankful for celery stalks with cream cheese smeared down the middle.

I am thankful to spend some time tomorrow with my two beautiful nieces and my precious new nephew, who I haven't seen in over five weeks!

I am thankful that I found kick-ass shoes for my twenty-year high school reunion!

I am thankful for not only a roof over my head, but a beautiful one at that. I'd be even more thankful if I had a cleaning lady...

I am thankful to be employed, when so many people are struggling.

I am thankful that I like and enjoy my job...for the most part.

I am thankful for my husband, a really good guy who is a wonderful dad to our daughter. I am thankful that Amanda is fortunate at her age to have such a wonderful relationship with her father, because it is something I never had as a toddler.

I am thankful that my dad came into my life and adopted me as his legal daughter when I was about the age Amanda is now.

I am thankful that my dad survived the heart attack that struck him out of nowhere this past March, and that he seems to be taking pretty good care of himself as a result.

I am thankful that Anthony's dad survived his heart attack and subsequent quadruple bypass, which happened last year on Christmas Eve. He also is taking very good care of himself and seems to be doing very well.

I am thankful for Starbucks. (Though not so thankful that my regular one is not open tomorrow!!!!!)

I am thankful that I have decided to play music again, and thankful that I was able to purchase a saxophone recently. I am even more thankful that, after twenty years, it seems I still sort of know how to play it.

I am thankful that I have finally stopped assuming that there are things out there that I just cannot do. Slowly I am learning that if I want to achieve a goal, with proper preparation and commitment, anything is possible.

I am thankful for facebook, and for the people that it has reconnected me with over the past couple of years.

I am thankful for fall in New England.

I am thankful for some of the amazing concerts I had the opportunity to see this past year.

I am thankful that I have made it nearly thirty-nine years without ever having to prepare Thanksgiving dinner! (Hey - I don't like to cook, what can I say).

I am thankful that the only travelling I need to do tomorrow is to walk five houses down the street to my parents' house.

I am thankful for Black Friday shopping.

I am thankful for Robert Downey Jr., and Michael Bublé. Mostly for Robert Downey Jr.

I am thankful for being in shape, probably the best shape of my life.

I am thankful that I have two medals on my bureau, representing two very first Half-Marathons that I completed this past year.

I am thankful that my hair is finally growing out from last year's too-short haircut.

I am thankful for Sharpies.

I am thankful for my friends. I don't say it nearly enough (or ever), but my friends are so important to me and are so valuable. You each bring something unique and important to my life, and I love you all.

I am thankful for spinning class.

I am thankful for my personal trainer Christine, who I truly love.

I am thankful for Howard Stern and Artie Lange, for entertaining me on my painfully long commutes to the office.

I am thankful for my mother. She is my very best friend, and I would be an incomplete person without her in my life.

I am the most thankful for my beautiful daughter Amanda. I waited four long, difficult years for her. No, actually, I take that back - I waited my entire life for her. But once I had made up my mind to have a baby, it was the longest most difficult road I have ever travelled - much harder than any race I have ever run. The four years of doctors appointments, drugs, ultrasounds, injections, negative pregnancy tests, depression, miscarraiges, chemical pregnancies, failed IUI and IVF procedures, hormonal shifts, all the way to being told by fertility specialists that our chances of having a baby were "highly unlikely" and that it was time to stop putting ourselves through the trauma of IVF...those four years, in hindsight, were the best thing that ever happened to me for the simple reason that they brought me my beautiful daughter, against every odd. Had things gone any other way, I wouldn't have the amazing little girl that I have today, the number one thing that I live for. Knowing now that it was all worthwhile makes the pain suffered during those four years so much more palatable. It is almost impossible to believe that she has now been with us for almost as long as we fought to bring her into our lives. Amanda is the best, most precious gift I have ever received.

Happy Thanksgiving, to everyone. Be sure to count your blessings.

SONGS I KNOW BY HEART

2009-11-22T20:59:00.003-05:00

So, I take spinning classes twice a week, and both classes are taught by my personal trainer, who I love. She is my favorite instructor, and therefore it is my favorite class. I think the thing that I enjoy about her classes, more than anything, is the music she uses. She manages to incorporate songs into our class that it would never occur to ME to use in a workout.

Take, for example, the song we finish almost every spin with. For our final song, she wants us to end with a bang and, as she puts it, "empty the tank." We hear the quick "Rat tat tat" of the drum in the intro, and know we're in for three minutes of hell. FUN hell, but hell. The song is "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" by The Charlie Daniels Band.

Anyways, my point is not to write about spinning class, but about music. As we were speeding along today, it occurred to me that I will never, ever be able to hear this song again without immediately flashing back to that moment, riding my bike in the dark room, sweat pouring down the side of my face, legs feeling like jello. It was a good reminder about the power of music.

Some songs mean nothing to me, at all. I hear them once, or a dozen times, and they mean little more to me than the sound of traffic on the highway. But then there are songs that grab me, for a multitude of reasons. I cannot fully explain it, but some songs are associated with personal memories, and no matter how much time passes all it takes is for me to hear the first few notes of a certain song and I am right back at that moment. It is eerie.

I wanted to share a few of them, and when I am done I would love it if you would share some of your music memories.

For the most part, I am only going to share some stories of positive memories. Sadly, there are some songs out there (absolutely WONDERFUL songs) that I cannot listen to. The associations that I make with those songs are so incredibly sad and painful, it is like reliving the horrible event just to listen. One song in particular, whenever I hear the first few notes on the radio, I immediately have to change the channel or, better yet, turn the radio off. (I know, I'm a mess!)

One of my earliest song-association memories also happens to be a negative one, but not one that makes it impossible for me to hear the song. This goes back to I think 1976, when I was taking swimming lessons at a lake somewhere in the Foxboro / Mansfield area. I nearly drowned that morning - for real. I was pulled from the bottom of the lake, by my mother (why the lifeguards were not paying attention is beyond my understanding, to this day). I was only five years old, but still vividly remember coming to with my mother giving me mouth-to-mouth and half a dozen people standing over me. I remember rolling onto my side and spitting up what felt like a gallon of water. And I can even remember the moments before, when I was completely under the water, and even at that young age being keenly aware that I was going to drown and that I was about to die. What is even stranger is that I can remember the moment that I stopped panicking. I knew there was nothing more that I could do, and made peace with what was happening to me, just as my mother's arms scooped me up out of the water and carried me to the sand.

Anyways, I remember being chilled to the bone and being bundled from head to toe in beach towels. I told my mother that I didn't want to take swim lessons anymore and she told me that was perfectly okay. We got into the car and started to drive to my Nana's house, with my baby sister Eileen strapped into her carseat in the back. (Five years old, and I am sitting in the front seat with my mom, no car seat - gotta love the seventies!) We didn't talk much on the drive to my grandmother's house, but I remember there was a song playing on the radio that my mother was singing to me. It was during that song that I realized that my mother had saved my life that day. It wasn't the first time that my mother would, LITERALLY, save my life, and it certainly wasn't the last. My mom is my hero, but that is a post for another day.

Oh...the song was "Afternoon Delight" by the Starland Vocal Band. Now, I didn't realize until recently what that song was about, which is kind of hilarious; all I know is that every single time I hear that song, it actually makes me smile. I am right back in the front seat of our blue chevy, wrapped in beach towels, contemplating the fact that I almost drowned but, thanks to mom, am instead sitting in the car listening to a cheesy tune.

Not all of my musical associations are quite so heavy. For example, the song "Short Skirt, Long Jacket" by Cake takes me back to my honeymoon, when Anthony and I were cruising down the Ala Moana Boulevard in our pumpkin-colored convertible rental car. I had never heard the song before, but the second it came on the radio I instantly loved it. I even vaguely remember driving "to" the music, carelessly weaving in and out of traffic, passing the strip malls on the right and Waikiki Beach on the left, inhaling the sugary Hawaiian air. The song always makes me smile, a memory as simple and honest as driving with the top down, with the radio cranked. The music, and I am there again, without a care in the world.

"Woman In Chains" by Tears for Fears still ties my stomach in knots and brings tears of pride to my eyes. I remember sitting in the arena in Dayton, OH, waiting for the Dedham High Winter Color Guard to perform this song for finals. A lot of my girlfriends were in the show, but the reason I was in Ohio to simply be a spectator was because my sister Eileen was performing, as a freshman, for her very first finals show. And I saw her beforehand, white as a ghost. She was as nervous as I had ever seen her, and I couldn't blame her. The crowd was big, the arena was bigger, and the stakes were high. Before the music began, the girls walked barefoot out onto the white performance floor, and I saw my dear friend Kellie (a senior, and the captain) give my sister an encouraging nod. Kellie was letting Eileen know that everything would be fine, and I instantly knew that she would be fine. The music began, and the performance that we witnessed that day from that group was nothing short of magical. If there is such a thing as perfection, I think I had the privelege of seeing it that day. Tears streamed down my cheeks, tears of pride at watching my sister go from a little girl to a young woman right before my eyes. To this day, whenever this song comes on (usually, via ipod), I get covered with goosebumps over my entire body and can feel the lump in my throat. By the end of the song, I am singing along, loudly, with my eyes closed, remembering what a beautiful visual work of art I witnessed that day.

I could go on and on, and probably will post some other music associations at another time, but I think three are good for now.

What songs do you listen to that immediately take you back to another time and place in your life? Would love to hear other people's stories!

NOTHING TO SEE HERE

2009-11-14T23:00:00.002-05:00

Wow.

Okay, I need to begin by saying that everything is FINE. Really and truly.

On the one hand, I should be flattered. Correction: I AM flattered. I cannot begin to tell you how many emails I have received this past week regarding the last two updates here. People - friends and family alike - wishing me well, and giving me words of encouragement.

But, I have to say, I keep going back and re-reading all the emails you've sent to me and I think I have given you all the wrong impression. By the sounds of it, you all seem to think I am sitting on the floor at the foot of my bed, curled up in the fetal position, sobbing hysterically with a gun positioned on the side of my brain.

I've been a bit down in the dumps lately. Which can happen, especially when I get sick and my life gets thrown off-kilter for a week and a half. And I've been reflective. And nostalgic. And thinking about the good old days. And thinking about more recent days, when there is time that has been wasted. And...it makes me sad.

But I feel like I need to state this for the record: I'm okay! I am not suicidal. Just bummin' out a little. It happens to all of us.

Doesn't it?

The difference is that I am putting it out there, by publishing it here. And publishing my private, innermost thoughts in such a public manner is a choice that I have made. It has come back to bite me in the past and more than likely will do so again in the future for as long as I continue to live publicly, but that is the risk I take. I am a gambler, by nature.

I've been writing on this blog since...wow, since November of 2003. This place is special to me. It is my solace; it is my therapy. It is my own private diary, exept that it is BETTER. Better, and worse. Better, because I can get feedback by journaling in this format. The feedback that I have received because of this blog has been some vital, important therapy. Keeping this blog is probably the only thing that kept me sane when I was dealing with the toughest period of my life. I felt a little less alone in my struggle, and I had found a network of people who "got it" - they completely understood the pain I was dealing with because they were experiencing it, too.

Over the years, I have also received negative feedback. I've been ripped to shreds by people, mostly anonymously, and I have been called nearly every name in the book. I have felt low and then received a comment on my blog that has sent me spiraling into total depression, leaving me in a really BAD place. But, that is the risk I take by being "public." And over the past five to six years of writing, the good has definitely outweighed the bad. Worth keeping the blog alive and well? Hell, yeah.

But after the emails I received this week, I can't help but have a few moments where I start to think that maybe I shouldn't be so open here; maybe I should shut the blog down and keep some of these thoughts in my head, or at the very least in a private written journal kept tucked under the bed.

But for now, that isn't going to work for me. For now, I need this blog again. Albeit for different reasons than when I first started writing so many years ago, but I do need it. And if putting my feelings down, in writing, for all of the internets to see makes me run the risk of coming off a bit "crazy?" So be it.

I'm not crazy. I'm not morbidly depressed. I am just feeling reflective. I see my life veering off-course, just a bit, and I am trying to figure out not only HOW that happened but what I can to do get it back on track. And when all these thoughts start cluttering up my brain, I start typing...hoping to sort them out and maybe get a little clarity.

Maybe doing it this way IS crazy. I don't know? What I do know is that blogging works for me, so for now I am going to keep doing it.

And you know what? Maybe YOU are the crazy one, for continuing to read this.

Think about it.

(just kidding).

BABY STEPS

2009-11-12T17:52:00.002-05:00

So my last post was kind of a downer, but ended on a high note (sort of). The cliffhanger was that something important was going to be happening today, Thursday.

All in all, the whole transaction took about twenty minutes. But I have a feeling that it was time well spent.

Met with an old friend, in an old familiar place. Talked about the good times many years ago, and I was commended on my decision to return to a path that was once such an important part of me and of my life.

I'm ready to try something new. Actually, something old that is feeling new again. New, but familiar.

I hate being so cryptic, but I don't want to divulge too much here for fear of failure. I want to make sure I am committed to this new endeavor, and then I will go into more detail. One day at a time. One step at a time. One small, baby step.

But I am truly feeling excited. Almost giddy.

Oh, yeah - that "thing" I was picking up from this old friend today, the thing that made my heart skip a beat?

Well...she's BEAUTIFUL.

'TIL THURSDAY

2009-11-08T19:29:00.006-05:00

The thing about being sick for eleven days straight is that it forces me to stop trying to move at the speed of light.

And frankly, I don't like having to slow down, because when I slow down, I have time to think.

And when I start to think, I start to get depressed.

Huh. Wow. Those first three sentences may be the most honest thing I have written here in years. Just like that, I think I've had a break through.

It is true, that I don't like to be left alone to my thoughts. Mostly because my thoughts can carry me to some deep, dark, scary places. Places that I wish to God didn't exist in my brain, but there they are, always in the shadows, always waiting for my conscious self to pop in. During the past week and a half, while I have been extremely under-the-weather, I've been popping in on those dark corners of my brain semi-frequently. Down time, for me, unfortunately turns into "down time," or depression.

There are a few things going on that have made me start to reflect on my life. I've got my twenty year high school reunion coming up, which is enough to make anyone stop dead in their tracks and say "Holy shit!"

Also, my husband just turned forty. What this means to me is, I am next. (Leave it to me to make my husband's fortieth birthday all about me). And while this upcoming birthday for me is NOT the big 4-0, I am freaking out nonetheless. Turning twenty-nine hit me a million times harder than turning thirty did, perhaps because it emphasized the finality of my twenties. Turning twenty-nine was HARD. Turning thirty-nine next month will not be pretty, and that is a guarantee. There is absolutely nothing good about thirty-nine, at all. Thirty-nine is the exclamation point, the big "fuck-you" that culminates my thirties, and while I am being brutally honest here, I will admit that my thirties sucked.

My thirties should have been wonderful, based on some key events. I got married three months before I turned thirty one. We built our beautiful home when I was thirty three. And eleven days before I turned thirty five, I became a mom to the most wonderful child ever.

But something else happened to me in my thirties, and it is hard to explain. I can't put my finger on when it happened, or how it happened, but throughout the course of the past ten years I got old.

Old might not even be the right word for it.

I've become....crotchety. Yup. Crotchety it is.

(I am sure that my husband at this point would come up with a different "c" word to describe me, and to be honest I wouldn't even disagree with him).

When you think of the word crotchety it conjures up certain images that probably do not resemble me (i.e. Ebenezer Scrooge), but it really is the term that best applies here. I used to be fun, I used to enjoy a good laugh, a good prank, a good time, etc. But...I don't know...I look back on the past decade and when I see myself, I see a bitter, angry person. I see a person who was once vivacious and full of joy, and that person now seems to have had almost every ounce of life sucked from her.

Remember the movie "The Wizard of Oz," when, after the tornado, the house finally lands in Oz and the front door opens and the world has gone from drab black and white to vivid color? I feel like I have been living the reverse of that; my life was once rich and full and vibrant, and in an instant turned to a dull grayscale. I have had a handful of rich moments in the past ten years, but that is all they have been: fleeting moments, few and far between.

The joie de vivre that used to consume me has been missing for a long, long time. And I would give almost anything to get it back.

I could delve a bit deeper here to search for the root cause of what has been bothering me, but honestly, what would be the point? I could blame all sorts of things for causing my ten-year funk, and there are undoubtedly a number of specific things I could point the finger at, but what would be accomplished?

The bottom line is this: sometimes, you just have to get back to basics.

I am probably not making a lot of sense right now, I am not often very eloquent. But it makes sense to me, getting back to basics. It makes perfect sense. And it only took thirty-eight years and eleven months for me to figure it out.

Here is the truth: we know what makes us happy. We already know it. For most of us, we discovered it long, long ago.

And then we grow up. We forget. We start wanting other things. We think we need these things to make us happy. We think that if we don't have these things, we will not be happy. We listen to the outside world, and believe the things that it tells us will make us happy. And slowly, piece by piece, we change. We alter our true selves. We adapt. We lie.

And we become crotchety.

But that doesn't have to be the end of the story. Hopefully at some point we catch a glimpse, we remember, we realize. We recall what makes us happy. And we know to stop searching for what doesn't.

I guess, in a very long winded way, I am admitting that I am seizing this upcoming year for what it is - an opportunity. An opportunity to end my thirties on a high note. An opportunity to begin the next decade of my life better. An opportunity to be true to myself, and to live my life happier. To live my life doing things that I am well aware make me happy, rather than to be constantly searching for things that I can only speculate will. Better to go with the known quantity, I'm learning. Again, it only took thirty-eight years.

To that end, I have an appointment this coming Thursday. I am meeting with someone who at one time in my life was extremely important to me. And I am picking something up from this person, something that is going to help me tremendously. Something that is making my heart skip a beat, just thinking about it.

Be true to thyself.

It has been a long, long time since I have been. I took a detour a while back. But I am heading the right way again.

I'm headed home. And it is going to be an interesting trip getting there.

'Til Thursday...

EXHAUSED

2009-10-16T20:52:00.004-04:00

I'm so damn tired.

Not really sure why, though?

In the past two months, I have been:

- to Las Vegas, Nantucket and New York City
- in a 5K, a 10K, and a Half-Marathon
- driven home after midnight on a Wednesday by the Attleboro Police
- hit on the leg with a large fish that the Atlantic Ocean hurled at me
- on national television
- humiliated beyond all belief while speaking with Mark from "The Biggest Loser"
- waved to by Tom Cruise
- groped by a Las Vegas stripper
- suckered into spending over $80 on apples
- completing a year-long project at work
- introduced to my brand new (and first!) nephew
- worked out by my personal trainer to the point of puking...twice

Amongst many, many other things.

I guess, maybe, it is understandable that I am a LITTLE exhausted. I am craving peace, quiet, and normalcy...now!

SHE KNOWS HER STUFF

2009-10-14T19:19:00.003-04:00

My daughter absolutely cracks me up, all the time. Three (almost four) is SUCH a great age.

We were in the mall today, in a department store that was proudly displaying Christmas decorations. As we were riding on the DOWN escalator, Amanda loudly shouted "Bye, Christmas decorations!"

The woman on the escalator in front of us turned around to look at the source of the little voice, and exclaimed, "Oh, you are so cute. How old are you?"

"Three and a half, almost four," Amanda said proudly.

"Wow!" said the woman. "Are you getting ready for Christmas?"

Amanda, in a somewhat disgusted voice, said "Um, no, I am getting ready for PUMPKINS, it is almost Halloween."

The woman chuckled. "You are right, it IS almost Halloween."

To which Amanda replied, "Yeah...I know my stuff."

I LOVE KERMIT THE FROG

2009-09-16T18:54:00.003-04:00

Okay, I know everyone has been talking for the past few days about Kanye West's bad behavior at the MTV Video Music Awards this past Sunday night.

I find it interesting that no one is talking about the fact that Lady Gaga arrived at the venue with a unique date - Kermit the Frog.

I am fascinated by this. I love Kermit. Always have.

So, after an insanely crazy day when my brain is pretty much nothing more than mush, I present my Top Five Reasons Why I Would Like To Date Kermit:

5. I've pretty much known him my entire life, so there wouldn't be any weirdness.

4. His last two dates were Miss Piggy and Lady Gaga; I'm thinking that based on his low standards I've got a shot with him.

3. Being a muppet, he is one of those guys that is easily controlled and manipulated.

2. They say 'once you go green'....

1. I'm a horny toad.

Yes, I am aware that I am insane.

REMEMBERING

2009-09-11T21:05:00.003-04:00

It is hard to believe that this is the sixth year in a row that I am writing about 9/11 on my blog.

In fact I just went through the archives of my original blog (the blog I updated religiously before I was a mommy) to look at the posts written on 9/11/2004, 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008.

And honestly, I don't really feel like rehashing anything I have already said time and time again.

And I don't want to get soap-boxy or preachy.

And I don't want to make this all about me, because even though this is MY blog, and even though 9/11 touched each and every one of us in our own unique way, 9/11 didn't destroy my immediate existence quite in the same way that it tore too many other families to shreds.

I've told MY story a thousand times, about being on day two of my honeymoon and not knowing that anything had happened until a full six hours after everything was over and done with. By the time I first heard the news, it was already history. I am not going to retell what I experienced that day. Instead, I can recount something that happened a few days later.

The image that has been coming back to me today, over and over, is that of the Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor. When we booked our honeymoon trip to Hawaii, there was no doubt that we wanted to spend the first five days doing as little as possible. I wanted to (needed to) come down from the 21-plus-months of wedding planning and thought that Kauai would be the perfect setting for that.

We couldn't decide which island we wanted to visit next, and though we had been told that Oahu really shouldn't have been our selection, I kept going back to it, saying that it was important to me to visit Pearl Harbor. For some reason that I couldn't really explain at the time, I felt that I just HAD to see it. And though the travel agent tried to convince us that five days in Honolulu was much more than we needed (she was right!) we selected Oahu so that I could go to visit the Arizona.

Our second full day in Kauai was 9/11/01. We were scheduled to fly to Oahu on Friday 9/14, but we had no idea if the airports would reopen by then. We didn't know if we would be "stuck" in Kauai indefinitely. We were informed early on Friday morning that air travel across the United States would resume that day, and that we should get to the airport four hours before our flight. We did, and it took the full four hours for us to get through security to take our twenty minute flight to Oahu.

Saturday, 9/15: We drove to Pearl Harbor, and learned not surprisingly that the memorial was closed due to the attacks earlier in the week. We returned Sunday, 9/16: closed. Monday, 9/17: still closed. Any idea if or when it would reopen? Unfortunately, no.

I was disappointed. Basically the only reason we came to this island was because I had insisted on seeing this, and chances were pretty good that we would not get that opportunity. Tuesday would be our last chance.

Tuesday, 9/18, exactly one week after the largest terrorist attack had occurred on our nations' soil, we arrived at the guard shack of the Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor to find that they were reopening that morning for tourists.

What I remember from that morning was the near silence on the boat across the water to the sunken wreckage. We were just two other tourists among many others from the mainland, from Japan, from almost anywhere. But, unlike any other typical group of tourists, we were silent. There was little conversation. There were few smiles, and no laughter whatsoever. There were somber faces. There were tears. There were blank faces and sad gazes skyward. There was a heaviness that blanketed the vessel, and followed us onto the viewing platform above the sunken ship.

I remember my eyes welling up with tears as I saw the oil bubbling to the surface of the water, oil that has been surfacing from the damaged ship every few minutes for over sixty years. I remember the strangeness of being on the site of what had been, only seven days earlier, the exact location of the biggest terrorist attack our country had ever encountered. Not anymore, I remember thinking. I was at a historical place, but knew in my heart that I would need to visit the new memorial much closer to home and pay my respects there, soon. (I visited Ground Zero in New York City only five months later, amidst an astonishing amount of debris, destruction and ash that I could hardly believe was still there).

The image that my brain kept replaying for me today was that of the employee at the Arizona whose job it was to raise the American Flag over the monument. There is a flagpole at the memorial, and back on the island they have a gift store that sells American Flags that have been raised over the Arizona. This employee had a stack of American Flags, and one at a time he would affix a flag to the post, raise it, let it wave for a moment or two, and then lower and remove. On the one hand, I could hardly believe that this was an actual JOB that someone did; on the other hand, I thought it was kind of cool, almost reverent in a proud-to-be-an-American kind of way. I stood for a few moments watching him raise flag after flag, until it hit me that what he was doing on THIS day was different than usual.

Each flag was being raised, but only to half-staff.

I immediately went from being impressed to the point of amused, to deeply DEEPLY saddened. I cried, once again being painfully reminded of the thousands who lost their lives on September 11th. Reminded at the same time of the thousands who lost their lives on December 7th, the thousands who were entombed only a few feet below the structure on which I had been standing. The juxtaposition of both past and present terrorist attacks was a bit overwhelming, and to this day I have a hard time thinking about 9/11 without being taken back immediately to Pearl Harbor, without seeing our nation's flag waving proudly, but briefly, at half staff.

I guess that is appropriate, right? In a way, it is how I have learned to never forget. Never forget the victims of eight years ago; never forget the victims of sixty-eight years ago; never forget the horrible events in our history that have shown both the very worst and the very best of humankind.

Never, ever forget our flag, and what it stands for. Never forget the freedom that our flag promises to all of us, and the value of that freedom. Thousands before us have died to preserve that freedom, and thousands more continue today to give their lives to that end.

Today, this is what I remember. I promise to always remember. I promise to never, ever forget.

HAPPY, HAPPY HEART...HEAVY, HEAVY HEART

2009-09-03T17:37:00.006-04:00

"Hi, I'm Stacey. I just moved here too. Let's be friends!"

I had just moved to the town of Dedham, MA immediately following the Blizzard of '78. My paternal grandmother had passed away quietly in her sleep in the middle of the storm, and upon her passing she left her house to my father. We moved out of our small apartment in Mansfield and into the house I would call home for the next quarter century. It was the middle of March, an awkward point in the school year to be just entering a first grade classroom full of kids who already knew each other well.

On my first day, I was paraded to the front of the classroom and introduced to everyone as "the new girl" by Mrs. Kennedy. I was mortified, the first of many embarrassing moments I would experience in the Dedham Public School System. Not one of the kids waved, smiled, or even said hello. They all just stared blankly at me - or at least, that is how it felt.

Stacey was told to pass papers out to everyone in the class. Our desks were set up in a giant U-shape with everyone facing into the middle of the room. Stacey went from desk to desk with perfect precision, handing each student their paper. But when she got to me, she boldly extended her hand to me for a handshake and introduced herself.

She had me at "Let's be friends." She was my very first friend in Dedham. She knew exactly how I was feeling on that uncomfortable morning, as she had just experienced the very same thing only a couple of months prior. We were the very best of friends for a long, long time. And she is still one of my dearest friends today - almost thirty two (gulp) years later.

I couldn't possibly be happier to have learned today that my dear friend Stacey has given birth to her first child. Her son arrived a full four weeks earlier than expected, and though he is small (5 pounds 6 ounces) he is apparently strong and healthy and doing just great. His dad anounced to us, via email, that apparently little Sawyer (LOVE THE NAME!) didn't want to miss the first three weeks of the NFL season. How cute is that? My heart is overflowing with happiness for them. I cannot wait to meet the little guy. To think that Stacey was in my life when my sister Cheryl was born, and now she and I both have children of our own - it is truly amazing.

I was so happy to hear this news today, as it was in such sharp contrast to some news I had heard only a few hours earlier.

As we dropped Amanda off at Pre-K this morning, her teacher told us in a hushed voice that the child of the director of the school had passed away the night before. It was all I could do to not start bawling in front of the young kids in the classroom.

This child had been sick for his entire short life - I thought he was only four months old but it turns out he was just shy of 11 months. Wow, it feels as though she just took her maternity leave not that long ago. Still, he was a baby with some serious medical issues, and after his recent fourth surgery his tiny body began to shut down and he lost his battle.

I cannot even begin to put into words what I am feeling about this today. I am too well aware of the grief that comes with infertility and with pregnancy loss, having dealt with both issues head-on. My sister also lost a pregnancy that was halfway through - twenty weeks - a tragedy for certain, and one of the most painful experiences we've gone through as a family.

But how does one prepare for, let alone deal with, the death of their child - a child who still had so many firsts ahead of him - first steps, first words, first kisses? I don't think I would have the courage to ever get out of bed again if it were my child. Loss of a pregnancy, or even of a potential pregnancy (i.e. failed IVF cycle) is devastating enough; but the loss of a child you have held and loved and nurtured has to be worse than unbearable. No matter if the parents tried to prepare themselves for this possible outcome, this is tragic in the truest sense of the word.

There is a fund raiser being held at Amanda's school next week in his name. Originally, it was going to be held to raise money to assist with the hospital bills; it will still be held, but now it will be done in his memory.

I am going to see if I can find out any information about where donations can be made to the family. I am also considering trying to do some fundraising on my own; for example, I am running a half-marathon next month and might try to run it in his name and have people donate or sponsor my run. I need to do a bit of research to see exactly how I am to go about setting this up. Once I do, you can be certain that I will post the link here.

It has been an emotional day indeed, full of both the very happiest and the very saddest of news. It is a day that led me to, upon picking my daughter up from school, hug her as tightly as I could for as long as she would possibly allow me to (which, surprisingly, was longer than I expected it to be). I told her at least seventeen times how much I loved her, and she kept saying "I know that Mommy." I hope she always, always knows it and remembers it. It is a day like this that makes me step back, take stock, and realize how blessed I am. There are things almost every single day that get on my nerves, that upset or frustrate me, and I tend to never think twice about openly complaining about these very unimportant things.

Today, right now, I am the luckiest person in the entire world. I am going to try very hard to remember the ups and the downs of today. I want to be sure that I always remember that every day spent with my daughter is a miraculous gift.

Because the truth is, I have everything I will ever need in the entire world sitting next to me right now watching Sesame Street and munching on CheezIts.

FRIDAY RANDOMNESS

2009-08-21T18:34:00.002-04:00

I started a post the other day, and never finished it. In fact, I never got too too far into it before I saved it as a draft and closed up the blog for the day. I was being a major cranky-pants and I am still not sure exactly why. I was grasping at various reasons why I was so grouchy, and even as the words appeared on the screen in front of me I knew it was just silly. There doesn't ALWAYS have to be a reason for everything - does there? Perhaps - and I know this is crazy talk - perhaps I was just in a BAD MOOD.

So I am at it again, updating tonight for no real reason other than total boredom. I am sitting at a window seat in Starbucks in Boston, the one on State Street just outside of Faneuil Hall, watching the people walk by. Great, GREAT spot for people watching. I am literally just killing time, waiting for my friend Rob to meet me here so that we can go have a few beers in one of the many watering holes in the area and watch the Red Sox / Yankees game. What began as an oppressively muggy Friday in the city has turned into an ominous, dark, foreboding evening. Hurricane Bill, or whatever remains there are of it, are headed this way. I think?

Perhaps this is not the best night to be going out for drinks?

They have already declared a tornado watch for the area just slightly north of where I live. Or maybe it is North and West. Not exactly sure, as I was working all day in the office and didn't really catch any news or weather reports.

I should be home, in bed. That is where I should be. I was extremely tired by the end of the day yesterday, and decided to cap off my evening with a glass of riesling, my current wine of choice. The idea was that the wine would only enhance my sleepy state, and would help lull me into a deep sleep. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn't have had a second glass of wine. Maybe I shouldn't have had three coffees yesterday. But, for one reason or another, I tossed and turned ALL NIGHT LONG and managed to stay wide awake until 3:00AM. Which is not good when my alarm clock goes off at 4:45AM on Fridays.

In Boston by 7:00AM this morning. Over at the Starbucks in Southie on D Street, working, because I was the first one to the office and my key doesn't currently work in the lock. Full, long, reasonably busy work day, with a couple of odd twists and turns to keep me on my toes in my sleep deprived state. My parents, who were watching Amanda today, dropped her off at my building a little after 4:30PM on their way to their lake house for the weekend. Amanda came in for a little bit and entertained the few folks who were still there. She and I then drove over to South Station, where Anthony was waiting to take her home with him on the train. I just got an email from him as a matter of fact that they are out to dinner right now. That would be the third time this week that she has had dinner in a restaurant.

I left them, drove back to the office, forgetting that my key doesn't work. The cleaning guy was there, and was kind enough to let me in so that I could grab the rest of my belongings. Drove downtown, parked, and here I am.

Still waiting for Rob.

And I am TIRED as hell.

At this point, I think I need to congratulate myself on writing what might possibly be the world's most boring blog post EVER. Seriously, if you are still reading this I can only imagine that you are on the verge of hanging yourself just to make it stop.

Okay. I am calling Rob. This is getting silly.

***

Voicemail.

Hmmm....

***

I do have a story to tell, involving the ridiculous smoke detectors in my house (I know, I know, I have you on the EDGE OF YOUR SEAT now), but I think I am going to save it for another time.

Bottom line is, I should savor moments like this. I don't often just get handed a chunk of time to sit, think, blog, and have nothing to worry about. And I would savor it too, if I wasn't so damn tired.

Wow. This post really sucks. Probably time to quit before I make it any worse (not possible, I know).

Somewhat low key weekend ahead, which is nice. And, I am happy to report, the chances of my getting smacked with another fish this weekend are almost zero.

So, there's THAT at least.

FILED UNDER: ONLY ME

2009-08-16T20:57:00.002-04:00

Ask anyone, ANYONE, who knows me well. Ask my sisters, who have known me longer than anyone. Ask my friends from high school. Ask my college friends. (Jill, feel free to chime in). The weirdest, craziest shit happens to me. It really does.

Today was no exception. I had a bizarre day. I will spare you the gory details.

I won't go on and on about how I sat in my car on a two mile stretch of road today for almost two and a half hours.

I won't get into how I was nearly arrested by a state trooper (I think he was a state trooper?) for trying to ask a question.

I won't even try to explain how I then got my car stuck on a bunch of rocks and couldn't move it forward or backward for a minute.

I won't tell you why I ended up illegally peeing in a campground ladies' room mere seconds before it closed for the afternoon.

...unless of course, you really want to hear about all of that stuff.

What I WILL tell you about is what happened to me AFTER I finally got to the beach. Because, as I think I have mentioned before, this shit only happens to ME.

I've enjoyed most of my beach days this summer in the water. Swimming, riding the waves, playing with Amanda...I've logged many many ocean hours this summer. I was planning on some more water time today, since it was in the 90's and also since it took me almost three and a half hours to actually GET to this beach today. I needed to cool off...badly.

I finally made it down to the water's edge, and the waves were HUGE. They were crashing to the shore pretty powerfully, and with some nice speed. The rest of the troops were already in waist-deep, but I was taking my time gingerly tip-toeing in. I got into the water up to just above my knees, and saw a big wave coming towards me. I was going to jump head first into it so that I could get wet and cool off, but the wave came too quickly and crashed into me. It was at this point that I yelled out in pain.

When the wave crashed in, it carried something with it that smacked into my shin - HARD. It felt like my shin was smashed with a rock. As I called out in pain I looked down, just in time to see a foot-long fish ricochet off of my leg and swim frantically back towards the ocean, against the tide.

At which point I FREAKED the fuck out.

I ran out of the water like a maniac. I just kept saying over and over, very loudly, "I am DONE...I am SO DONE!" I must have looked like a giant asshole.

I mean - SERIOUSLY! Who the fuck goes to the beach, goes into the water up to their knees and gets hit with a FUCKING FISH?

I will tell you who does. I do!

Because these things only happen to me.

Oh, and by the way - my shin STILL hurts, and I think I have a bruise. A FISH BRUISE!

Just another day in the life of Dawn.

MAKE THAT CHANGE

2009-07-31T21:22:00.002-04:00

My gym is offering some new classes, in order to try to "shake up" people's routines. Change, especially in an exercise regimen, is a good thing - the body responds better when it isn't doing the exact same thing over and over.

As a part of these new classes, the gym is promoting this concept with posters all over the place that say "CHANGE." And when I took kickboxing last week, the instructor told us that we should all be filling out a "change" card which is to be posted on the door of the group exercise room, for all to see.

The change card is a commitment - a commitment to ones' self, in writing, to make at least one positive change in your life and see it through. The part that I found intriguing is that the instructor suggested that our change card have some goal OTHER than exercise or fitness.

I haven't filled my card out yet, because I have been mulling it over. What is it that I need to change in my life more than anything else? What is it that I am willing to commit to, to better myself?

As of two days ago, I cannot find my camera. My camera that I LOVE; my camera that I bought last December to replace my OTHER camera that I misplaced. There are two possible places that the camera can be - I had it with me at the office on Monday (and I know this because I took some pictures there that day) - or it is somewhere in my house. If I left it at the office on Monday, it is gone forever; I cleaned my desk pretty thoroughly on Thursday and I would have come across it if it were there. If I left it at work, someone (the cleaning crew?) is now the proud owner of a halfway decent camera with a memory card full of photos of my daughter.

More likely, the camera is somewhere in my house, and I just cannot find it. And the reason that I cannot find it is that this house is absolutely, horrifically, undeniably messy. And I am sick and tired of it.

I plan to fill out a change card tomorrow at the gym, with the declaration that I am going to get my house into some sort of "order." I need to get organized; I tend to be pretty organized in many other areas of my life, but for some reason the house has gone by the wayside. I find it extremely difficult to maintain a clean house with a three year old daughter, but at the same time it is very easy to use her as an excuse. When I clean up a room and then she follows me into that same room and messes it up, I throw my hands up and say "why do I bother?" Before long, I DON'T bother, and as a result, my house looks awful right now.

My brain is feeling a little overwhelmed and chaotic these days, and I am convinced that part of it is the chaos I am dealing with at home. And at the crux of it ALL - we have TOO MUCH DAMN STUFF. I am going to need to go through each and every room and just purge. Especially Amanda's toys. I am going to need to do this when she is not watching me, but the truth is the kid has more toys than ten children her age could ever possibly play with. Enough is enough.

I am the same way. I have too much "stuff," stuff that I never use but hold onto "just in case." As I read not too long ago in a magazine, if you hold onto something "just in case" you might need it again, you will never, ever get rid of anything. That is where I am at.

So, the overhaul of my life continues. I have worked hard in the past year in changing the physical me, and I have had good results. I am almost at my goal weight, I am in pretty good shape, I am training for another half marathon, and I feel healthier than ever before. I am trying to work on the mental-me, but that is pretty complicated and will require another post, another time. But if I can make a little bit more order out of the chaos around me, I think it is only going to help.

And, hopefully, I will find my camera in the process!

EVERYTHING YOU NEVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT STEELY DAN

2009-07-27T17:23:00.002-04:00

I also could have titled this post "A History of Steely Dan According to Dawn." I want to declare from the get-go that I don't claim that any of this information is accurate or true. My only claim is that these are rumors I know about my favorite band, interjected with my opinion on various SD topics.

Therefore, if you hate Steely Dan, or if you hate me, or BOTH, stop reading now...

***

For the one person still reading, I will begin!

Steely Dan is my all-time favorite band. People who learn this about me are very surprised, and I am not sure why?

The first time I ever heard a Steely Dan song was the summer of 1980, and I was only nine years old. The song was "Hey Nineteen," and I instantly loved it. I remember sitting in my bedroom on that warm Saturday morning, listening (as I did every weekend) to Casey Kasem's "American Top 40 Countdown." When the song came on I quickly grabbed my portable tape-recorder and held the handheld tiny microphone up to the radio to record the song. Needless to say, I missed the first verse. But I played it over and over again, loving every bit of the song that I had captured. My favorite part was when they said "Boston," and also when Donald Fagen said "Skate a little lower now..." I had no idea, at nine years old, what the song was about. It is probably a good thing, too!

I remember waiting for Casey to tell me the name of the band, and when he said "That was 'Steely Dan' with 'Hey Nineteen,'" I remember thinking that it was a pretty stupid sounding name for a band.

Some things I would come to learn in my later years:

The name "Steely Dan" is actually named after a Dildo. Yup. Apparently in the book "The Naked Lunch" by William S. Burroughs, there is a dildo named "the steely dan." No, I have never read this book, although I plan to someday (if I can ever get through the rest of the fucking "Twilight" series!).

At the time I had no idea that the song "Hey Nineteen" was about a cradle-robber, either. Over the past twenty years or so that I have been into Steely Dan, I have come to realize with more and more clarity that Fagen and Becker are a couple of creepy, dirty old men. But that is okay. They write great tunes. AND they pretty much admit that they are creepy, dirty old men in numerous songs, which I find kind of cool.

It took me until my early college years to realize that when they sang the chorus "The Cuervo Gold," they were singing about tequila. It took me even longer to realize that the other half of that chorus was about pot. I could be a little naïve like that.

Truth be told, I didn't really get "into" Steely Dan until college. Other than "Hey Nineteen," I wasn't familiar with any of their songs, or so I thought at the time.

One summer night I was hanging out with my good friends Paul and Arron, and they announced that we were going to some guys' parents' house to watch his band practice.

(As a quick side-note, I cannot tell you how much time I spent in my teens and twenties "watching" bands practice. This was pretty much WHAT I DID. I always, always, always wanted to be in a band, but all I ever did was watch others rehearse and, as I got older, go see them play in the clubs and the bars. *Sigh,* always a bridesmaid, never a bride.)

I had met two of the members of this band before (but had never seen them play). There were three other guys at his house, and being the only girl in a group of boys, no one thought to introduce me to the people I didn't know. I was almost always the one girl hanging out with all the boys. Not sure why; my best friends were always male for some reason. I was always more comfortable being with all guys rather than all girls.

Anyways, the band was playing "December 1963 (Oh What A Night)" by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons when we arrived, and I was instantly enamored. Finally, finally, I was watching a guitarist playing something other than Aerosmith or Led Zeppelin. Not that there is anything wrong with either of those bands; I love them very much! The point is, these boys were playing a set list that consisted of songs I had never, ever heard another high-school / college garage band play. And this made me LOVE them.

The next song they played was "Saturday In The Park" by Chicago, and when Tony started playing the trumpet at the begining of the tune I thought I was going to melt.

But the best was yet to come; the third song they played was "Peg." Peg, a song that just might now be my very favorite song of all time. It was a song I knew well, but that I knew nothing about.

It was the song that began my love affair with Steely Dan.

As they were playing the song, I was freaking out. I kept grabbing Paul and asking him "Who sings this song? I LOVE this song! I always have loved this song! What is the NAME of this song??" I was completely freaking out. And apparently I was being a bit of a distraction during the band's rehearsal.

When they finished the song, I shouted to Brett (the guitar player) my multitude of questions I had just badgered Paul with. Before Brett could answer, the bass player Dan (one of the band members I had yet to be introduced to) interjected with his calm, quiet voice and said to me, "Can I just ask, who the FUCK are you? And why are you here?" Dan and I later went on to be great friends.

Anyways, when rehearsal ended, the band was more than happy to give me a quick education on Steely Dan, and when I said things like "I only know one song of theirs, 'Hey Nineteen,'" they would pull out yet another album play me songs I didn't know I already knew.

"Dirty Work"
"Do It Again"
"Rikki Don't Lose That Number"

It wasn't long before I owned a few of their CD's myself, and I quickly learned how interesting their lesser-known songs were.

I mean, let's face it: these guys wrote some bizarre songs. On odd subject matter.

They have a song about a guy who goes a bit mental, climbs to the top of a clock-tower and starts blowing away strangers with a shotgun, hoping to commit suicide-by-cop. Not really your average love-song.

They have another song about the neighborhood pedophile who invites little kids into his home to watch pornos with him. Yup.

And of course, the lovely ballad about a caucasian housewife who takes a solo vacation to Haiti, has a one-night-stand with a local, and nine months later shocks her husband when her mulatto child is born.

I'm telling you - this is good stuff!

Here is another "fact" about Steely Dan (and by "fact" I really mean a rumor I have heard about them): Steely Dan never toured when they were popular. The story is that they were studio perfectionists, and they were not convinced that their studio sound would translate well to the stage, so they just didn't perform live. Like, ever.

I believe the boys in the band gave me this little tidbit of information. This is also why, a few years later, when we hard that Steely Dan was going to tour, we went ballistic and raced out to stand in line all night for tickets behind the Dedham Plaza. Little did we realize, at the time, that Steely Dan was into the idea of touring (now that they were able to make tons and tons and tons of cash by doing so) and that they would subsequently tour every couple of years from then on. We went to this first tour knowing that we were seeing history, but not knowing we could see history pretty much any damn following summer that we pleased.

I have probably seen them about eight or nine times live, and I have never been disappointed. My favorite show of theirs, up until last Wednesday night's show, was two summers ago when I saw them WITH Michael MacDonald. Hearing "Peg" with the appropriate background vocals, as well as hearing Steely Dan play various Doobie Brothers songs, was quite a treat.

Oh - and a funny story from that night. I was telling my husband the story I am writing now - about HOW I got to know and love Steely Dan - and just as I was telling him about that first night watching the band rehearse, we took our seats. And as I sat down I looked to my right and said "Oh, Hi Dan!" Sitting right next to me in this completely sold-out venue was the Dan of the "who the FUCK are you?" comment. I finished the story by saying to my husband "this guy is one of the reasons I got into this band in the first place!"

Hmm...some other things I have heard about Steely Dan, which may or may not be true:

The first band that Walter Becker and Donald Fagen were in together also had a band member by the name of Chevy Chase. Yes, THAT Chevy Chase.

The Eagles song "Hotel California" pays homage to them in the lyrics "they stab it with their steely knives but they just can't kill the beast." To return the favor, in Steely Dan's song "Everything You Did," they sing "turn up the Eagles, the neighbors are listening."

Becker and Fagen were kicked out of school for partying too hard.

There was a lawsuit between Steely Dan and the writers of "You, Me and Dupree," because Fagen insisted the movie was a direct rip-off of their song "Cousin Dupree."

And a personal fact: I onced used a Steely Dan concert as an excuse take out a guy I was WAY into. Because, really, nothing says romance like a Steely Dan concert. (For the record, it worked!)

***

Bottom line is, they rock. They are interesting. They make incredible music. They make me think. They make me laugh. They make me smile.

And they are creepy, dirty old men. But that is okay. I still love them.

DESERVING

2009-07-25T21:30:00.002-04:00

I have been trying to flat-out ignore the fact that BlogHer is going on right now, and I am not there. The fact that it keeps the attendance numbers limited, coupled with the fact that a month ago I was moved from the wait-list to "invited" status isn't making it very easy for me to ignore. I wish I was in Chicago right now, networking, meeting fabulous women I have been reading for the better of five years. What a great opportunity, missed.

But the truth is, I don't deserve to be there.

In fact, I am kind of surprised that BlogHer hasn't kicked me out yet. (If I am not mistaken you are supposed to update at minimum once a week and you are supposed to keep on subject 90% of the time. Lately I have done neither of these things!)

I have been SO BAD about keeping this blog current. I used to only go one or two days at the most in between posts, but now it is so incredibly easy for an entire month to go by before I even REALIZE that I haven't been writing. Shame on me.

I blame Facebook, at least partially. In a way, Facebook has taken over my online time. I used to spend my "down time" on the PC or laptop updating my blog and reading everyone else's. Now, I can't tell you the last time I read anyone's blog. A lot of the women I used to read are now my facebook friends, and so I "kind of" feel like I know what is going on with them because they update their fb status almost as frequently as I do (if not more - yes, it is true, there are some people out there that update their status more than I do!)

With the blog, sometimes when I didn't have a long, thoughtful post in me, I would do a quick, one-sentence drive-by post. Which is sort of the entire premise of the facebook status or the twitter "what are you doing right now?" update. Short, to the point, in-and-out. And, when life is busy, it is SO much easier to do a hit and run status update than a well versed post. Thus, guess what has been winning?

I also blame my current lifestyle. I am not going to lie and say that I am too busy to update my blog, because that is just not true. What is more accurate is that when I find myself with down time, I am choosing other activities to do besides blogging. I've been spending lots of time at the gym. This is a GOOD thing. I have also been trying to read books, something I don't do nearly enough but wish I did.

I guess in a way I am coming to terms with the fact that I don't need this blog as much as I used to. In the difficult years, this blog and those of you who read it were my therapy. And what amazing therapy it was - I truly believe I got more help and clarity keeping a free online blog than I ever would have received if I had hired the most reputable psychologist money could buy.

But things aren't as tough for me anymore. And I have other forms of therapy when I need to deal with "stuff" - most notably, running. When I am stressed out or need some time to really mull something over, a nice long run or an intense spinning class is exactly what helps. I guess I am just in a far different place than I was five years ago. (And, really, thank GOD for that).

I will, as always, try not to be so neglectful here. And, I hope to get back into the regular routine of reading the "old" blogs I used to read, as I miss many of you. Hopefully I will be reading and writing more regularly because it is something I want to do, as opposed to something I need to do.

And who knows, next year when BlogHer is in the Big Apple, perhaps I will be given an opportunity to attend again...and this time, I WILL be there.

THE KING

2009-06-25T20:23:00.002-04:00

I cannot possibly NOT write about this tonight. The King of Pop has died.

Let's try, hard as it may be, to forget about the Michael of the past twenty years. The allegations (which, I admit I believe are very true) of child molestation; the multiple plastic surgeries; the baby-dangling incident; Lisa Marie?; I could go on and on, but I won't.

I want to remember the Michael of my childhood. The Michael Jackson that I had posters of, covering every inch of my 6th grade bedroom wall. The Michael Jackson that wrote and sang some unforgettable music. The Michael Jackson that danced better than anyone I had ever seen. The Michael Jackson who gave us, who gave me, "Thriller," one of the most important albums I have ever owned. Michael was the very first musical performer I can remember getting into.

I learned every dance move from his his music videos, by literally freeze-framing them on my VCR frame by frame until I wore the tapes out.

I had a white glove that I hand sewed hundreds of silver sequins on, so that too could have a sparkling glove.

I wanted to get the red "Beat It" jacket, but my parents wouldn't let me. (Oh, and THANK YOU Mom and Dad, that was a good call!!)

I learned how to Moonwalk.

Because of Thriller, I came to learn all about the younger Michael. I bought "Off The Wall," which to this day still has some of the best dance songs of all time.

I accumulated tons of Jackson 5 Albums, and was absolutely stricken by the incredible talent that he had when he was still a young boy, fronting his brother's band.

I am so sad today about the death of the Icon that was Michael Jackson. I am sad for his family; for his kids; for those who are too young to know just how talented the entertainer was.

In my humble opinion, Michael is the perfect example of the dangers of childhood stars. What an incredible talent he was, but what a tragic life he ended up having. He had such underlying sadness about him, and it seemed that he never, ever, had an opportunity to have an "normal" life, let alone a childhood. Every person deserves to enjoy their childhood, and he is a sad example of what happens when that is taken away. Nevermind the riches and the fame and the talent; I can't help but think that Michael was a deprived person, and that this is what ultimately led to all of his adult troubles.

While I would never, ever excuse or forgive any of his transgressions, most especially the child molestation allegations, I do have a degree of sympathy for the man. When you are raised to be a superstar, when the people in your life that are acting as surrogate parents are Diana Ross and Quincy Jones, people who clearly are more concerned about his success than they are about his emotional well-being, it is a recipe for disaster. Expecting him to turn out "normal" after all we have heard about his childhood? Well, THAT would have been the miracle.

I will always appreciate the artist that he was. And I will always be a little bit sad at the many strange and troublesome turns that his life took. He will be missed, but will live on in his music, which I will always love.

MUCH BETTER, THANKS

2009-06-07T20:15:00.002-04:00

They say time heals all wounds. I am not sure if that is true or not, but I am pleased to report that I am doing 100% better than I was at this time last week.

It could be that enough time has passed that I am able to put the events of the past few weeks behind me.

It could be that I am off medication, off "recovery time," and starting to get my old life back. Things are starting to get back to normal, though I am sort of forcing them to be. I need normalcy SO BADLY that I crammed about a week's worth of "normal" activity into this past weekend.

Whether it is the distraction tactic (definitely working) or the time factor, I think I am okay.

I never did have that big cry, and while it still could sneak up on me and hit me out of nowhere, I really don't think it is going to. I am surprised to admit that I may not NEED to have that big cry. I have cried so many tears in the past seven years during this odyssey, this crusade. I think when it comes to the topics of "pregnancy", "infertility", "miscarriage", "ivf", etc...well, I think I am all cried out.

If anything positive has come from my latest miscarriage, it is this: I officially have closure. I know that the seven year tour of hell I have travelled is finally over. I will not ever have my heart broken again by a failed IVF cycle, or by a painfully sad ultrasound. I am officially done.

It seems SO ridiculously ironic that, given my history and my medical status, I will be seeking some form of permanent birth control in the very near future. But, as I told my ob/gyn the evening before my D&C, "we all need to recognize our limits. I firmly believe that I reached my limit the last time I miscarried. This is now overkill. I know in my heart that I can't EVER go through this again. And, more importantly, I am okay with it."

And...I really am. I am okay.

In fact, I am more than okay. I feel as though I am reborn; I feel like this enormous cloud has been lifted. I feel like I have been living in a depressing fog for the past seven years, my thoughts and my emotions muted and grey. Infertility: the gift that keeps on giving. But I am finally going to take control; I am no longer at the mercy of this "condition" I have been suffering. I am done, and it feels fantastic. This chapter of my life is finally finished, and I am closing the book on it for good.

Knowing that makes every day feel better and better. Today, in fact, was one of those days where simply feeling the warm sun on my shoulders, simply breathing in the fresh spring air, simply "existing" felt exhilirating. Today was a wonderful day, because today I didn't have to think about anything other than how good it felt to just be.

Here's to a lifetime of more days like today. And here's to putting the past firmly behind me.

Here's to finally feeling okay.

MY ANGEL

2009-06-01T18:26:00.002-04:00

Honestly, I have the greatest child in the world. She is pure magic.

No one else has managed to erase the pain of the past few days in the way that she has.

After an exhausting day at work, followed up with yet another visit from our cable company, I went into the mudroom to start a load of laundry.

When I came back into the kitchen, there was Amanda, sweeping the floor with her toy broom.

"What are you doing, honey?" I asked her.

"I'm cleaning up the room for you and Daddy."

This made me smile. While, at only three years old, she has no idea what is going on with me, she is no dummy. She knows that mommy hasn't been feeling well. She knows that mommy had to go to the hospital last week. And, more importantly, she knows that mommy is sad, as it has been almost impossible for me to hide my fragile emotional state from her.

"That is really nice that you want to clean up for us."

"Well," she continued, "I want you to be happy all the time, and I know that if I clean up that will make you happy."

Okay. Now this almost sent me into tears. Poor kid. It is absolutely amazing that, no matter how young they are, a child instinctively thinks it is their duty to make their parents happy; or to put it another way, if they see that a parent is NOT happy, the automatically assume it is their fault or something that they need to fix. This makes me feel amazingly guilty, that I have been ignoring my daughter's feelings the past few days to deal with my own needs.

"Come here," I say to her, and she puts down her broom and runs over to me. I give her a huge bear hug and I say "you make me happy all the time Amanda, you really do. And I want YOU to be happy all the time, too."

"Well, I already AM happy all the time Mommy!"

Of course, I can't resist this, and push my luck by asking more questions.

"Why are you happy all the time?" I ask.

"Because you let me watch my shows," she says (whoops! - I love that this is FIRST, by the way!). "And, because you and Daddy take SUCH good care of me." She actually puts emphasis on the word SUCH.

And before I can say anything else, she adds, "And I love you SO MUCH, Mommy."

Seriously...how can I possibly feel sorry for myself after this wonderful conversation?

I am so blessed. And sometimes, I forget just how much.

Thanks, Amanda, for reminding me.

STAGE THREE: ANGER

2009-05-31T19:34:00.003-04:00

They say there are seven stages of grief. And, let us be perfectly clear right here: I am absolutely grieving. Just because I miscarried what was only a nine week old fetus, it doesn't mean there isn't a deep sense of mourning and loss within me.

The pain and hurt and heartache is about the loss of what could have been; what might have been. And though I promised myself that I would not get excited about this pregnancy until I hit the second trimester, I have also become wise enough to know that excitement is unavoidable. Especially when you are feeling the exhaustion, the growing pains, the nausea, the growing belly. It is impossible to not get excited about the "potential" future. Which, conversely, means it is impossible not to be devastated by the sudden end of it all.

I have spent the majority of this weekend in stage one: shock and denial. I have tried to smile and pretend that all is well. That I am already over it. That I can just pick up my life where I left it off back in April and, without hardly skipping a beat, everything can go right back to normal. I have tried REALLY hard to make this work, but ultimately, it cannot. Things cannot go back to normal, no matter how much I want them too.

But I tried. As soon as I could drive again, I ran a zillion errands and, in one of them, purchased the Wii gaming system I have been promising myself for months. I spent the afternoon playing Wii with my family, laughing and joking and having a great time. Because everything is fine, everything is normal. Nothing has happened. Has it?

This morning, I was hit with a bad case of the "dizzies." So bad, in fact, that I was reaching for Amanda this morning in the kitchen and completely fell to the floor. Major dizzy spell. This is most likely my body's way of telling me to slow down, to take it easy...to recognize that, hey, it has been through a LOT in the past week.

So Denial and Shock begins to give way to stage two: Pain and Guilt. And, just as quickly as I enter this stage, I push it away again immediately, because I am not able to feel this pain yet. I cannot do it. I won't do it.

Which brings me to stage three: Anger and Bargaining.

In an attempt to forget about the fact that I have to resume my "normal" life tomorrow, I decided to give my bedroom a full, thorough cleaning.

Big mistake.

I found some junk mail in a pile of magazines that I have not had a chance to flip through yet. One of the pieces of mail appeared to be from my health insurance provider. I opened it and, upon reading the first sentence of the form letter, felt my face get red hot. "Congratulations on your new miracle, pregnancy is a magical time for a woman" etc etc etc. How is it that the MINUTE you become pregnant, before you have even had opportunity to tell friends and family, the baby / pregnancy junk mail starts to fill the mailbox? Because the very last thing I need to be looking at right now are form letters congratulating me on my pregnancy, catalogs of baby furniture, coupons for Babies R Us. It is at this moment that I tear the letter to shreds and vow to ignore my mailbox for (at least) the next week.

Then, I am cleaning up a pile of books next to my bed and two things catch my eye: a book I had been reading last Monday night, and the bookmark holding my page. And I feel my face get hot again, this time with the tears filling my eyes.

I pick up "What To Expect When You Are Expecting" and fling it across the room, smashing it against the wall as hard as I possibly can. The bookmark, my ultrasound photos from May 19th, float slowly back and forth to the ground. I grab the first one and try to tear it up, but that darn photo paper won't budge. So I gather both of the photos together and crumple them up into a wad and throw them into the trash bag I brought upstairs. I chuck the book in there, too. I know, with absolute certainty, that I will NEVER need that book again.

I still haven't had that one big cry. It is easier to be mad right now than it is to be sad. I am afraid that if I let the tears loose, I will spend the next month curled up in a ball on my bed, sobbing. And honestly, is that going to help anything? Change ANYTHING?

So for now I will remain pissed off. I am still not sure how I am going to get up tomorrow and resume my life. Amanda is going to school; I need to go to work. I am not quite prepared to answer anyone's well meaning questions of "hey...how are you?" But I will plaster on a pretend smile and get through the day. And I will continue that fake smile in the evening when cable comes (yet again) to replace our cable box for the third time in as many months.

I am quite aware that at some point, I am going to need to address Stage Two. And I feel that I am knocking on the door of Stage Four: Depression, Reflection, and Lonliness. Hell, I think I may already be there. No one said you experience these stages one step at a time, or in the correct order.

What I do know, the only thing I absolutely know for a fact right now, is that the entire world goes on, and I am expected to hop right back into that world and pick up where I left off, and IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN A WEEK. I learned of the miscarriage on Tuesday afternoon. Two days later, the D&C was completed. I am told to give my physical body about a week to recover.

Could someone please tell me what the timeframe is for my emotional recovery? Because tomorrow is Monday, and it is coming whether I want it to or not. And I am most definitely not prepared for it.

THE NEXT SEVEN

2009-05-28T20:49:00.006-04:00

I promise my pity-party is almost over. I am actually getting a little tired of my own whining. Things suck for everyone sometimes, and I totally get that. I am not the only one having a bad day. Or week. Or month. Or, seven months, if we're being totally honest.

***

Things started early in December, when my husband was in a horrible car accident. He called me at 5:30AM on a Friday to tell me not to worry, that he was in a "small" accident but that he was okay. Twenty minutes later, when he called me again to tell me this news for what he thought was the first time, I grew concerned. When he called back the third time and I informed him that we had already spoken twice earlier (and he had absolutely no recollection of this), THEN I started to worry.

I raced to the hospital, and seeing him strapped down to the gurney might have been one of the most jarring moments of my life. In the long run, he was fine, both physically and mentally. A few weeks of recovery time and he was good as new.

He did total my truck though. Oh, how I miss that truck, it was my favorite car ever.

***

A few weeks later, on Christmas Eve, my father-in-law was brought to the hospital and wound up having emergency quadruple bypass surgery. I don't think I have ever seen Anthony so scared in my life. Rather than the annual Christmas Eve party at our house, he spent the night in the hospital and Amanda and I went to church. After carrying Amanda over my right shoulder during the hour (plus) long Mass (standing room only), I was experiencing some pain, but definitely ignored it due to the circumstances going on. My father-in-law came through surgery just fine, and is very thankfully doing great.

***

Most likely as a combination of the above mentioned December stresses and the typical holiday stresses, carrying Amanda during Christmas Eve Mass did something to my upper back, and I found myself with an excruciating tendinitis in my right shoulder blade; I needed physical therapy for the next two months, and had an excessive amount of pain while trying to properly train for a half-marathon. Fortunately, pain subsided about a week before race time.

***

The first week in February, my husband called me from Boston to inform me that he had just been laid off. As I freaked out on the inside, I made a joke on the phone with him that the "hits just keep on coming." Fortunately, he found another job rather quickly, which is amazing in this economy. But I would be lying if I said we weren't still recovering from this hiccup.

***

A week and a half before I left for my race, Amanda started throwing up one day and couldn't stop. She had been throwing up for weeks, off and on, at a moment's notice, for no apparent reason. She would be fine, then she would throw up the entire contents of her stomach, and after about an hour she would be fine again. When we would call the pediatrician, they didn't seem to think there was too much to worry about, "probably a stomach bug." "Every week?" I questioned. Something seemed not quite right.

On this particular day, the vomiting just would not stop, to the point that she was growing listless and completely devoid of all of her energy. The pediatrician's office told me to get her to the emergency room right away. After administering a painful IV to her, they ran several tests and came up with no explanation as to why she was having this recurring problem. She would probably need to see a gastric specialist, we were informed, if this happened again. Oh, goody.

***

About two weeks after I returned from my race in Florida, I received a phone call on a Sunday afternoon from my mother, informing me that my father had just had a heart attack and was en route to the hospital by ambulance. I met her and drove the two of us to the emergency room, where we waited on pins and needles while he underwent surgery. Fortunately, everything went well, and today he is doing extremely well.

***

Then came Easter Sunday. About five minutes before we were ready to head to visit Anthony's family for dinner, Amanda turned green and threw up everything she had eaten for breakfast. I sent Anthony on his way, brought Amanda into the guest bedroom and spent the afternoon crying with her by her side. I was worried about her having to see a gastric specialist, as I had been warned it could be invasive and uncomfortable for her. After she dozed off and I calmed myself down, a light bulb went off in my head. Call it maternal instinct; call it a gut feeling (no pun intended), but I suddenly knew what was wrong with my little girl.

A few days later, after Amanda had her blood drawn, my instincts were confirmed: Amanda's one time egg allergy, which "went away" last summer, had come back with a vengeance. She is HIGHLY allergic to eggs, and looking back we could associate each and every vomiting incident with consuming some food containing eggs. Happy to know what was going on, I couldn't help but wonder if last summer's test had been botched, and could we have spared this poor little girl months of pain? We'll never know.

***

On April 20th, I watched the Boston Marathon on television, and was taken by surprise when I started crying. I've made it a goal of mine to attempt to do this race next year, but at the same time, sitting at home crying real tears because I was only WATCHING the race was not really what one would consider a "normal" reaction. Two days later I would understand my out-of-place tears.

***

On April 22nd, I was feeling incredibly nauseous, and "for the hell of it" I took a pregnancy test. When the second line appeared, I nearly fainted. Not happy with what the stick was telling me, I immediately took a second test. Result was the same. "Pregnant." I ran to my bedroom, curled up into a ball on my bed, and cried for an hour. Not exactly the reaction one would expect from a woman with my history of infertility. These were NOT tears of joy.

We were certainly not trying to get pregnant, not at all. This was another wonderful "surprise" that our doctors had told us would most likely never happen. This was the second time we were blessed with such a surprise. I wasn't prepared to be pregnant, that was for certain. But more than that, I think the tears were flowing so strongly because I just knew that there would not be an actual "baby" at the end of this story. And I just KNEW I was not prepared to go through another miscarraige. Not again. Not ever, EVER again. (Plus, my hormones were clearly all over the map - thus the Marathon Monday tears).

So I did everything I was supposed to do - all the meds and the vitamins, no more evening glasses of wine, no more caffeine, lots of rest, etc. I took exceptionally good care of myself to at least give the embryo a fighting chance. Reluctant as I was to go through this, I was still going to do it "right."

***

A couple of weeks later, my uncle died. His wake might have been the saddest wake I have EVER attended. And the funeral was rough, too. The long commute to-and-from both days wasn't working well with my nausea, either.

***

Last Tuesday, I had my first ultrasound. And, like a cruel joke, I saw a strong flickering heartbeat and for the first time felt a bit of joy over my "circumstance". No matter what the situation, there is something about seeing your baby's heartbeat for the first time on the monitor. As a mother, carrying a child, there is no feeling that can compare to the overwhelming joy of seeing that tiny strobe light. My eyes welled up with tears, but for the first time in THIS pregnancy, they were tears of joy.

A joy that lasted for, maybe, three minutes.

Because I was then informed that the baby was measuring a bit smaller than it should have been. Right then and there, I think I knew. When I miscarried two years ago, it was almost the same situation; there was a heartbeat, but the baby was much smaller than it should have been. And although this time around the baby was ONLY measuring one week too small, I just knew it couldn't possibly be good news.

Tuesday of this week was the repeat ultrasound. The instant the image was on the screen, I could see it. Or should I say, it was what I didn't see. "No heartbeat, right?" I asked the tech. She inhaled slowly, and then said softly "I'm so sorry."

I got dressed, and while I waited for the doctor I picked up Amanda and held her tightly to me, allowing tears to silently stream down my cheek. I didn't want her to know just how much pain I was in.

***

Lest you think my stories are done, I was informed by my mother last night that our next door neighbor up at the lake house has just been diagnosed with malignant stomach cancer.

***

So yes, I am going to end my pity-party REALLY soon. This is not the pain olympics, and I don't dare to suggest that I have had it WORSE than anyone else. Things suck right now, for a lot of people.

But I guess what I AM saying is that I hope and pray that the last six months can just be behind us. I mean, I am only speculating, but I would say we've been through enough. Right?

Here's to the next seven months being BETTER. I am not asking for perfect, not by any means. I am just asking for better. Because if you had to ask me right now, 2009 belongs right in the toilet.

But...we're only five months into this year.

And I plan to do whatever I need to do to improve things. Starting with my attitude, which I hope to adjust very soon. Resuming with taking good care of my physical health, as I now HAVE TO TAKE SOME EXTRA WEIGHT OFF AGAIN, DAMMIT!!!! (I can't wait to go for a super-long run, because I think it is just what my brain needs right now!) And lastly, I am going to try to remember all that I have to be thankful for, because there is a lot. My family, my beautiful child, my health, and the fact that between my husband, my father-in-law and my dad, everyone came through their incidents just fine.

Things suck. But things could be worse, I suppose.

They just NEED to get better...

..And I mean that, 2009!

UNCOMFORTABLY NUMB

2009-05-27T12:58:00.003-04:00

As of tomorrow, I would have been nine weeks pregnant.

Just to even type that sentence is painful. I wrote it, and then had to take a moment and compose myself, choking back tears that I still have not allowed to flow.

Instead of being nine weeks pregnant tomorrow, I will be having the second D & C of my life. That would be two more D & C's than I ever imagined I would have. Especially since all of the so-called "experts" told me time and time again that I could never possibly get pregnant on my own. But that is a post for another day, when I can collect my thoughts better.

At 6:45AM, my cell phone rang. It was the hospital. First, I needed to give an in-depth interview to registration, so that they could gather all of my health insurance informational bullshit in preparation for tomorrow. Then, when I got through that literal wake-up call, the phone rang a second time. This time, it was a nurse, prepared to ask me a million questions about my medical history. What medications are you currently taking? Do you feel safe in your home at this time? Any history of heart disease? Etc. Etc. Etc. This line of questionning took nearly forty-five minutes, and all I could think about was what I was going to eat for breakfast once I hung up the phone.

The nurse went on with a description of what to expect in advance of tomorrow's procedure. No solid food after midnight tonight. Which is cruel and unusual, I think, given that the D & C is scheduled for 4:00PM Thursday.

She explained that they would give me something to numb my arm, in order to administer the IV. Then, shortly afterwards, I will be given anesthesia and be put "under." At some point during this part of the phone conversation I drifted far away, deep into my head.

You see, I am already numb. I know what to expect tomorrow; I've unfortunately done this before. In fact, I've done far too much of this before.

18 months of trying to conceive on our own.
3 full cycles on clomid.
2 IUI cycles.
2 hysteroscopies.
2 hysterosalpingographies.
1 exploratory laparoscopy.
5 failed IVF cycles.
1 chemical pregnancy.
1 successful IVF cycle that came THIS CLOSE to being cancelled. If it had been, I would not have my beautiful daughter today.
2 "surprise" pregnancies both resulting in a miscarriage at 9 weeks
1 D&C

I think I know what to expect for tomorrow's second D&C. What's more, I am completely numb to it all. I feel like I could do this in my sleep.

What worries me is what comes next. When the anesthesia wears off tomorrow, I will most certainly experience physical pain.

But what happens when this veil of numbness that I am feeling right now begins to lift? What sort of hellish emotional pain awaits me? More importantly, am I going to be able to deal with it?

Because, though I am trying with every fiber of my being right now to supress it, I am so full of hurt and sadness and overwhelming anger right now that I am scared. I am scared to let myself actually feel any of it, because once I let go I am not sure how I will be able to stop it.

I am mad as hell. I am as sad as I have ever been. Combined with about fifteen thousand other emotions.

So for now, I will continue to take care of my beautiful little girl and go about my day. I am going to hold onto this numb feeling for as long as I possibly can. Because not feeling anything sounds like a much better option right now than the alternative.

WHAT ARE WORDS FOR?

2009-05-26T16:14:00.002-04:00

So once again I have been absent. Absent from here, I mean: conspicuously absent from my blog.

With good reason. I have been going through some stuff that I wasn't quite ready to write about. And I also have been contemplating exactly HOW to properly, accurately, truthfully express myself without being offensive. And based on what I am dealing with, I am not sure I can have it both ways. I can be honest, and absolutely offend some of you, or I can tone it down and not be very true to myself.

Long story short, the words are coming, my friends. The words are coming fast and furious and SOON. Things have come to a head, and I am boiling over. In fact, you may not be able to shut me up, because I have a hell of a lot to say, and not much (if any) of it is going to be very pleasant. Good for the reader? Probably not. Good for the blogger? Man, I hope so.

So there. You've been warned. More posts coming entirely too soon, with entirely too much emotion entangled within.

SO EMOTIONAL, BABY

2009-05-16T19:57:00.002-04:00

What is with me? Lack of sleep, perhaps? Ear infection? Just plain 'ole hormones?

Today, we went to a 4 year old birthday party with Amanda, where upon exiting she was given a helium balloon to take home. We were extremely careful to not lose grip on the balloon string as we walked in a stiff wind to the car. We got Amanda into her car seat and then handed her balloon to her, very carefully.

We needed to stop at my gym so I could save myself a spinning bike for tomorrow morning (Sunday morning's class is so popular that if I don't save myself a bike a day in advance then I need not bother showing up for class, as it will absolutely be full). I pulled into a parking space and was going to run in for a second, leaving Anthony and Amanda in the car to wait for me.

I opened the back door of the car to grab a towel and a bottled water to leave on my spinning bike. Completely oblivious to everything and anything going on around me, I gathered up what I needed.

Then I heard the little voice.

"Mommy..?"

I looked up to see tears slowly starting to stream down Amanda's face. It was all she could do to not start bawling her eyes out.

"What Amanda? What happened? What's wrong?"

"Mommy, why did you let my balloon fly away?"

Horrified and in utter disbelief and panic, I looked skyward...and sure enough, far far away (much too far away to reach) was her blue balloon, disappearing into the atmosphere.

I looked back at her in shock. I was speechless. She started to REALLY cry.

And so did I.

I ran over to her side of the car and flung the door open. I grabbed her face and started to kiss her. "I'm so, so sorry honey. It was an accident. I didn't mean it!" We had matching tears. "Let's go get you a new balloon right now, okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled.

I looked at Anthony. "Did you see it brush past me?"

"I didn't see a thing," he said. And he was shaking his head.

"What?" I asked him.

"She's FINE," he chuckled.

Okay...so clearly, I overreacted. Her reaction was completely appropriate; there are two things that are hands-down beyond traumatic to a child. Dropping an ice cream cone on the ground is one of them; the other, is accidentally having a balloon fly away from them. She had every right to be sobbing.

Me on the other hand? It took me a full HOUR to compose myself. The guilt I felt just consumed me.

I'm going to assume it is just that I am over tired. And under the weather.

And, for the record, extremely thankful to Shaw's Grocery Store across the street from my gym for carrying very cool balloons.

LOSS FOR WORDS

2009-05-13T17:35:00.002-04:00

As my child gets older, I find more and more circumstances where I have absolutely no response to some of the things that come out of her mouth. I can't tell sometimes if she is brilliant, or if I need to sit down and have a talk with her. This parenting gig just gets trickier and trickier as time goes on.

This gem is from last night:

Amanda: "Mom, I know something that's a color!"

Me: "Really, Amanda, what's that?"

Amanda: "An ORANGE!"

Me: "Wow, you're right. Very good, Amanda."

***five second pause***

Amanda: "Mommy, I know something ELSE that's a color!"

Me: "What?"

Amanda: "James Brown."

WHO AM I?

2009-05-07T22:08:00.003-04:00

I am having a bit of an identity crisis these days.

I resumed blogging not long ago because I truly missed the opportunities it gave me to express myself and, more often than not, blow off a little steam. Sometimes, quite a bit of steam.

But just as suddenly as I resumed blogging, I seem to have stopped again. And it isn't because I am too busy, as has been my excuse in the past. I have stopped blogging because I am not sure how to do it anymore.

There was a time that that this blog was my therapy. My online diary, which I shared with the internet community but also didn't care what it was I put out there. I didn't hold back, or censor, or worry what people might think; I didn't care who in my real life might read it and get to know a bit more about me then they really ever needed to.

I'm not using my blog in that way anymore. And, I kind of need to be. And I am not sure when or why things changed, but they have. I miss the outlet that this blog used to be for me, but I have to make a conscious effort to use it that way again. And to do so will require a bit of courage on my part. Because it is going to mean putting myself out there again, and not everything I have to say right now is rosy or positive. And not everything I am feeling these days is going to be very popular with the audience (however small) I've got. And once I put it out there, it is out there. The good, the bad, and the ugly - once it is published, it is there for all to see. And worse, if people don't like what I have to say, they have every opportunity to let me know about it.

So...I need to decide who I am. Am I still a blogger, or have I moved on. If I am a blogger, then it is time for me to get writing again. If I am not, then it is time to buy a paper journal or something private. Either way, I really need to start writing again. Soon.

TOP TEN THINGS THAT PISS ME OFF ABOUT RUNNING OUTSIDE

2009-04-18T20:14:00.003-04:00

It still surprises me, but I love running. I really do. If I didn't, I don't think I would have stuck with it this long. But there are definitely a few things about running on a public road that annoy the crap out of me, so I thought I would do a little top ten about them.

10. Potholes that you don't see until it is too late.

9. Earthworms and / or snakes on the side of the road.

8. Strong headwinds.

7. Cars that - no lie - actually move to the side of the road, CLOSER to where I am running, then speed up and nearly clip me. Almost had my foot run over today. Do these people have runner-rage?

6. Cars that - quite the opposite - move all the way to the other side of the road so that they are not in danger of clipping me. While I appreciate the gesture, I don't think that my girth is quite so large that it takes up an entire half of the road, intended for entire vehicles to fit on. I try to stay on the sidewalks or in the bike path. You don't need to drive into oncoming traffic on the wrong side of the road in order to avoid me. Really, you don't, and it is insulting.

5. Fresh Road Kill.

4. Road Kill that is definitely NOT fresh and has most likely been there for a few weeks.

3. Cars that beep loudly at me when they drive by. Jesus, sometimes they scare the CRAP out of me.

2. Cars (mostly trucks) driven by men who whistle and / or cat-call at me while I am running. Eww. (Question for these men: Has this approach - whistling and cat-calling at complete strangers - EVER worked for you? EVER???)

1. Trying out a brand new route and suddenly feeling very overwhelmingly ALONE...and vulnerable.

KILL 'EM WITH KINDNESS

2009-04-13T08:29:00.002-04:00

I have decided on a new approach. For everyone in my life that is royally pissing me off, rather than get upset with them, I am going to act super sweet to them.

*****

In a related story, my husband is wondering why I am in such a good mood today.

REALITY CHECK

2009-04-10T10:22:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I feel as though I can just do no RIGHT.

Not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES this week I was informed by different members of my family (with genuine concern) that I am getting "too skinny."

My response to all three people was first to laugh, and then to smile big and say "Thank you VERY MUCH!" Which wasn't exactly the response they were hoping for.

But please, come on!

First of all, it isn't true. I could point out at least seventeen different websites right this minute that would calculate my age and height and come up with the ideal "weight range" for me. And guess what? I am absolutely not underweight. In fact, I am closer to the HIGH end of the acceptable range than I am to the low end. So, too skinny? Um, no. Thus my laughter, and my readiness to take these remarks as a compliment.

Second of all, what the hell? Can't I feel good about myself for maybe, oh, I don't know, a minute? With the epidemic of obesity in this country, I thought it was an ideal goal to get my weight under control and be as healthy a person as I can be. For years, for whatever the reasons or excuses, I was somewhat overweight and not very focused on taking the best care of myself. Now, I watch what I eat, I try to focus on making the correct choices in my food, and I try to exercise on a regular basis. I don't think I undereat (believe me, I eat PLENTY!), and I don't think I over-exercise (hitting the gym or going running four times a week is not excessive). So honestly, why the criticism? Being that it is family members, I can only assume that it is said out of concern and for no other reason than that. But it is SO, SO frustrating. For the first time in YEARS, I feel really good about myself. I look in the mirror and instead of cringing I am happy with what I see. I still see flaws and see areas that need some work (and I don't think that will EVER change), but overall I finally feel happy about where I am at, physically and mentally. I feel good, and I think I look good. But now that I do, I feel like I am getting criticized for it. I mean, my goodness, I just can't win!

Oh, and third of all, lest you think I am getting full of myself or anything, I've always got my husband to take me down a peg or two. I told him about the comments made to me this week and said to him "Do YOU think I am too skinny?" A big mistake of a question to ask him, and an even more dangerous question for him to attmept to answer. His failure of an answer, by the way, was "oh GOD no!"

(For the record, he did immediately try to save face by saying "I mean, um, you look good, I don't mean that you look bad or anything" but by then I wasn't really listening anymore!!!)

So much for feeling good about myself!

Actually, the truth is, I DO.

If I have learned anything over the past year, it is this: take care of yourself for YOURSELF. Take care of yourself so that you can feel good and lead a healthier, happier, longer life. Don't do it for any reason other than that. Don't lose weight because you think someone else wants you to; don't eat healthier because you think that is what other people expect of you; don't work out to try to keep up with other people. Do it for yourself and do it for that reason ONLY.

Because the honest truth is, people judge and people criticize. It isn't even meant in a vindictive way, but it just seems to be in people's nature to do this. Be good enough for yourself and don't worry about trying to be "good enough" for others.

I feel good. No, I feel GREAT. And as long as I know that I am taking proper care of myself and I have proof that I am making wise choices and staying within medically recommended guidelines when it comes to my weight, I will try not to care about what other people think or say.

What I care about is how I feel. Period. That is all that should matter. And these days I feel pretty good, thank you very much!

SIZE MATTERS

2009-04-04T21:39:00.004-04:00

I'm referring to dress-size.

Sad to say, but I have been obsessed with my dress-size ever since I became an adult. I think back now to my high school days and can't believe that I didn't obsess about my weight or my dress size then. I'm sort of jealous of my old self, that I didn't need to think about such things. (And who am I kidding? I probably DID need to think about them, but I did not, because I was obliviously busy with other aspects of my life, most likely much more important aspects of teenage living).

I honestly couldn't tell you what my average weight or clothing size was when I was a teenager, probably for two reasons: I was pretty average-sized (I think?), and I didn't really care about it. I cared VERY MUCH about clothing - don't get me wrong there - but I couldn't tell you what SIZE my acid-washed jeans were! And actually, I am lying, there was probably a third and much more realistic reason that I didn't obsess about my clothing size back then: I didn't know anything about what sizes meant. I was pretty clueless. I mean, it took me YEARS to learn the difference between "misses" and "womens" sizes in department stores. Only recently have I figured out that junior's clothing is sized in odd numbers, while misses are sized in evens.

And why do they skip a number? Why isn't there a misses size 9? Not everyone is an 8, so why should that automatically make you a 10? And don't kid yourself thinking that a JUNIOR'S size 9 is the size in between a misses size 8 and 10, because it just is NOT. Junior's clothing is smaller, probably because it is intended for smaller (read: younger) women. Which also means that I most likely have no business being caught dead shopping in the Junior's department, as I push 40. (Okay, I have a year and a half to go, but let's face it, I am much closer to 40 than I am to 30). I can't help myself sometimes though - if I know I am going out, in public, to a bar-type place (bachelorette party, for example), I am GOING to look in the Junior's department, as they have a much bigger selection of going-out-to-bar styled clothing. Again, I am sure this has something to do with the age gap thingy, but let's not beat a dead horse...

So, I am obsessing about my size still, but in a good way. In the past year, what with dedicating myself to losing weight, eating better, and getting in shape, I have watched my clothing size dwindle. I recently donated a TON of clothing to charity. This was not because I was feeling overly generous; rather, most of my clothes no longer fit me and I was afraid that if I hung on to them it would almost give me an excuse to some day fit in them again. Or, conversely, if I know I don't have any clothing in a bigger size hanging in the closet, maybe I will keep myself at a smaller size? Whatever form of reverse psychology I am using, I just hope it sticks. At the moment, I have literally NO CLOTHES for the summer, because nothing from last year (or the previous several summers) remotely fits. The thought of having to go out and purchase an entirely new summer wardrobe in a smaller size is enthralling; but the thought of perhaps having to go out this fall and purchase an entire new wardrobe in my former larger size is sickening enough to, hopefully, keep me honest.

That being said, when a woman says "I lost a dress size!" what exactly do they mean? Because I don't know about you, but I count in whole numbers, not in two's. If someone was a size 12 and claims they lost a dress size, shouldn't that mean they are now a size 11? But I am pretty sure that it means that they are a size 10, since size 11 doesn't technically exist...So, if we go by the 'correct' math, I have lost a total of 5 dress sizes in one year. (Or 10 dress sizes, if you want to go by MY math!) Either way, it is crazy to me. I was stuck - STEADFAST - at the same dress size for almost ten years, and in the course of 12 months I have left that size in the dust. I have mixed feelings about it, though - there are days that I am so proud of my new size, and there are other days that I am embarrassed and disgusted with myself for being at my former size, and for being there for such a long time.

I have a new goal - coupled with my goal of maintaining my new size and fitness level and health, etc. My new goal is to hopefully get to a point that I can be oblivious about my dress size, as I was when I was in high school. I want to go back to the days of buying something to wear because I like it, and not beating myself up about what size the item of clothing was purchased in. I want to not care. I want to - imagine this - not KNOW what size I wear. Think about that for second...imagine having to think long and hard about your dress size...because you really just don't know, because it really is a topic that just isn't that important to you...

...that, to me, would be heaven.

I am so worried about the world my daughter is growing up in. She just turned three years old and - YES - she already knows who Hannah Montana is. UGH! Body image is something that has already been introduced into her life, between Barbie and Disney Princesses and even the freaken over-the-top too sexy Ariel from "The Little Mermaid."

Case in point: I bought Amanda an Ariel Barbie doll last year, because she had informed me that Ariel was her 'favorite' Disney Princess. This is when she was still two years old. We were playing with her new doll, and I said "Amanda, look at Ariel's beautiful long red hair." To which Amanda replied "Yes mommy, and look at her BEAUTIFUL sparkly bra."

Yup.

My mom was worried about me emulating Madonna's sense of style when I was merely in the seventh grade. (A black bra - Oh, the HORROR!) I am worried that Amanda is going to have thong underwear popping out the back of her low-riding jeans on her way to kindergarten. Or better yet, that she'll be commando and flashing all the boys as she steps off the school bus. Because, after all, that is what the young celebrity girls do these days, am I right?

To be honest for a second, I do worry about the pressures my little girl will face. She is going to be obsessed with her weight and her dress size, like I am, like my mother was (and still is) before me. She's got my genes, and those genes love ice cream a bit too much. But unlike me, who didn't know enough to give a shit about my weight in high school, Amanda is more than likely going to be obsessing about her weight and her size and her eating habits, etc, probably before she is even out of elementary school. Because it just seems like it is so much more of an issue for younger and younger girls these days. I hope I am wrong, but I don't think I am.

All I can do is try to do a better job of leading by example. I am hoping that by my being more focused on staying healthy, Amanda will learn by merely watching the life I lead. She already talks about when she is going to be "big and run races with my mommy." I long for that. When I was in Disney World, there was a mother-daughter team running the half marathon together, and they said they do all of their races together. I was moved to tears, as I thought of Amanda and I maybe someday running in a half-marathon together. (I was also pretty inspired, as it took me some time to figure out which one was the mom and which one was the daughter - go, mom!)

Maybe that is what this past year has been all about; a journey to get myself to a better place so that I pass along the right messages to my kid as she is bombarded my media images of what a woman should be and should look like. My mom has taken really good care of herself, and she looks amazing. And, she is still the skinnier than me and my two sisters! (Talk about annoying and inspiring at the same time!) I often tell people that I hope I look as good as my mom looks when I get to be her age. Maybe I can pass that same sentiment on to Amanda...rather than spending the next fifteen years with her listening to me complain about my weight and watch me going on one crazy diet after another, maybe I will do the right things, and maybe she will learn THOSE things from me. Maybe.

Then again, maybe not. After all, she is MY kid, and I do tend to obsess.

But I promise to try my best to teach her that, while dress size MIGHT matter a little but, feeling good about yourself is the most important gift you'll ever receive - and that gift only REALLY matters when you've given it to yourself.

THE END OF AN ER

2009-04-02T08:15:00.006-04:00

(warning: I've had way too much coffee today so this post is a bit all-over-the-place...read at your own risk!)

When I was only 23 years old, with hardly a care in the world, things were pretty good. I was living in a fun apartment in Waltham, MA with two of my girlfriends. We had tons of parties. Our laundromat was across the street from Bambino's Sports Bar (which often led to us forgetting that we had clothes in the dryer for hours at a time because we were too busy boozing it up at the bar. Might have been the only time in my life that I looked forward to "laundry day!"). All in all, life was pretty fun.

I remember at the time thinking that it was strange that there were two hospital dramas premiering at the same time on TV, both set in Chicago. For no real reason other than the fact that I watched NBC pretty diligently on Thursday nights already (watching Seinfeld and an interesting new show called "Friends"), I decided that I would give "er" a shot over "Chicago Hope." I remember at the time that I also found it strange that NBC was putting a show on the air called "er," because hadn't there already been a TV show called "er" some years before? (I later would learn that I was correct, the difference being that the original "er" was a half-hour sitcom, with the ironic twist that one of the sitcom's stars was George Clooney!)

Anyways, I fell in love with er almost instantly. After all, it starred Goose! (side note: we went to college with an Anthony Edwards look alike; but no one really knew the actor by his real name at that time, and our friend wound up with the nickname "Goose" permanently...come to think of it I don't even remember his real first name...Brian, maybe?)

Needless to say, ER was pretty popular that first season (at least with the women I knew), due to some familiar faces (Dr. Benton a.k.a. the Soul Glo guy from "Coming To America"), and due to some new, fresh (a.k.a. hot!!) faces...Noah Wyle and George Clooney are coming to mind here...I mean, let's be real here, what woman didn't fall in love with Doug Ross, and didn't absolutely want to cuddle up with that young, adorable John Carter?

(sorry...I got a bit carried away for a moment, I think I am regressing back to what it felt like to be 23!)

By the following year, almost every girl I knew (including myself) was getting "The Rachel" haircut, and many many guys I knew were adopting the Clooney "Caesar" hair. (not that ANYONE could pull it off as well as George....*sigh*....sorry, getting carried away again!)

But it wasn't just the beautiful people on "er" that made me tune in week after week, year after year. It was the stories they told, the realism of the show with all the medical jargon and fast-paced action.

(Another side note: one of my very best friends is a surgeon, and has done rotations in the emergency room. At a wedding recently, we were discussing the various "Medical" shows on TV, such as er, Grey's Anatomy, etc. We asked him which tv medical show was the most accurate portrayal of what it is truly like to be a doctor working in a hospital, and without skipping a beat his response was "Scrubs." Classic!)

And I absolutely loved the drama in this show. Thinking back, "er" has had some of the most heart stopping scenes I have ever witnessed on screen. One of my favorite episodes of all time (déjà vu, I think I've blogged about this before?) was when Lucy and Doctor Carter were both stabbed in the er by the crazy patient. Carter falls to the floor, and it is only then that he sees Lucy, also on the floor, dying before his eyes while he is helpless to assist her. All the while, the rest of the staff is having a freakin' Halloween Party and has no idea what is going on!!! BRILLIANT TELEVISION!

Or what about the episode when Josh Lyman brings his pregnant wife in to the hospital, and she winds up prematurely giving birth and dying...I cried so hard during that episode, and still have a hard time watching it when I catch it on reruns...

And hey, when Mark Greene was divorced and started dating, does anyone remember when he was dating that slightly crazy lady named Cynthia Hooper? Did you know that was Mariska Hargitay, long before "Law & Order SVU"?

Who can forget when Romano lost his arm to the helicopter blade? (Did you know that he was in the original movie "Fame")? I have to admit though, it was pretty silly when he wound up being killed by yet another helicopter accident.

There have been rumors circulating that the way they are going to bring the entire cast back for the finale is with John Carter dying and everyone attending his funeral. I certainly hope that is not the case, because I barely got through Mark's death in Hawaii.

What a ridiculous post this has been! I am overtired, and it is going to be interesting to see if I can even stay awake for tonight's series finale. And with my Tivo not working properly, I kind of don't have a choice.

I have hung in there for all fifteen years of this show, and it has never let me down. I can hardly believe it is all over and I am sooo not ready for Thursday nights at 10:00PM to be taken over by...Jay Leno? Ewww....

If you have a favorite "er" episode or memory, let me know.

Oh, and by the way, did I mention that Clooney is going to be on the finale tonight? ;-)

EVER HEARD OF MILE MARKERS?

2009-03-28T14:33:00.002-04:00

So I haven't been very diligent lately with my running. Understandable, of course. I needed to take a little break after the 1/2 marathon, and there has also been a lot of drama going on at home / with my family, etc.

It was a tough week and I went out last night for a few drinks with some friends and had a fantastic time. As I was headed home I remembered that there was a 5K in the morning in Foxboro that earlier in the week I had considered signing up for. I laughed to myself that I was even thinking about getting up and doing a race the morning after a night out.

But, when morning rolled around and I realized that I didn't feel TOO out of sorts, I figured what the hell? I just did 13.1 miles three weeks ago, surely I could handle a mere 3.1 miles with practically zero preparation!

I went to the race, signed up literally 2 minutes before it started, and when the horn sounded I was on my merry way. Ok, on my not-so-merry way.

I was REALLY struggling. Perhaps I WAS a bit hungover. Or simply dehydrated. Oh yes, and also I haven't been running on a regular basis these last couple of weeks. But still, though I always find mile one to be my toughest mile, I was really, really struggling. That is when I decided I needed to focus on something other than how I was feeling. So I started to look for the mile markers.

Basically, what I try to do in a road race (or even on a training run) is to see where I am at come mile 1 and then make my necessary adjustments. I have never, ever been a fast runner, and so I sort of use 10 minute miles as my benchmark. If I hit mile one and the time elapsed is 10 minutes, then I don't make any adjustments. But if it is over ten minutes, I will try to speed up; under ten minutes, I slow down because I need to leave something in the tank for the end of the race.

Well, I kept running and running and running, waiting for mile one to come. We passed a water station, which perhaps could have been the first mile, but there was no sort of mile marker to indicate anything. And there was no one anouncing split times, so I assumed it was just a water station, maybe half a mile into the race or something. So I kept running.

By this point I am starting to get really discouraged, because I can't believe how tired I feel. My God, I have REALLY fallen apart since the big race, I thought to myself. That's the last time I go out drinking the night before a race, I scolded myself. I felt miserable and just wanted to finish one damn mile so that I could see where I was at....but that mile marker never came.

Finally, finally, around the next bend there was a gentleman announcing split times. As I ran past him he called out the time on his stop watch. "Sixteen Minutes."

I groaned out loud, and a few people actually turned to look at me. It was my assumption that, since this was the first announcement of time, that we must be at the halfway mark. If I was running a nice, even, steady pace, I should be at Fifteen minutes at the halfway mark, but I was behind by a minute. I couldn't believe it, I was absolutely WIPED OUT and was running too slow? How could that be?

I spent the rest of the course beating myself up. I can be so hard on myself sometimes, it is pretty bad. My brain was yelling at my legs, saying "You idiot, you ran 13 miles three weeks ago, and now you can't even run 3....that's what you get for slacking off, you SLACKER!" etc etc etc. (Side bar: I need to practice being kinder to myself).

Finally I gave in to my exhaustion. I was running slowly - much slower than I wanted to be running for the second half of a race - but I was just physically spent. Up ahead I could see the right turn leading back into the parking lot of the Middle School where the finish line was. At least I would be done soon.

When I turned the corner and saw the timer above the finish line, I had to do a double take. It looked like it said 25:something. It was hard to make it out because it was still pretty far away, but yes, that definitely said 25:something as I watched it click over to 26:00. At which point I started laughing - out loud - and people turned to look at me AGAIN. (People thinking "What the hell is wrong with this woman?)

I was laughing because it was at this point that I realized that the guy announcing the split time of "Sixteen Minutes" was at the TWO MILE POINT, not the halfway point. I had not been running too slow; in fact I had done the first two miles both in 8-minute miles. No WONDER I was exhausted!!!!! That first water station must have been mile number one. If someone at that point had announced the time and if I had realized I was only eight minutes in, I would have adjusted and slowed down. Instead, I killed myself for the first two miles and struggled during mile three.

I crossed the finish line at 26:55 - my best 5K time ever.

From now on, I am going out drinking before EVERY road race!!!

(just kidding....maybe!)

SERIOUSLY, NO MORE!

2009-03-24T21:51:00.002-04:00

Enough is enough. Seriously.

Starting with December 5th, I have been in the hospital four times for four different people.

My husband had a pretty serious car accident in December, in which my truck was totalled and he suffered a bit of mild head trauma...in that, he blacked out upon impact and has no memory of the accident whatsoever. Also, he called me three times to tell me that he had been in an accident and every time we spoke he thought he was calling me for the first time. Yup, scary stuff.

A couple of weeks later, his dad wound up having emergency quadruple bypass surgery - on Christmas Eve. Talk about stress at the holidays! He came through surgery with flying colors but obviously it was a scary time for him and for everyone.

About a month ago, Amanda started vomiting non-stop, to the point that she got so dehydrated that even water was coming back up. When I talked to the pediatrician's office, they informed me to get her to the ER immediately. Once there, they had to hook her up to an IV to get fluids back in her system. She is only three years old and this is the second time we've had to have her hooked up to an IV. It is awful; awful for her, awful for the parents. Just awful.

And then there is this past Sunday, when my father, out of nowhere, suffered a heart attack. With no history of heart trouble, with him being a relatively healthy and fit (if not underweight?) adult, this has come as such a shock to all of us. He had to have a stent placed to clear a blockage which caused the attack, and had a secondary procedure today to look for any additional blockages. He is doing much better and should be coming home tomorrow. But again, scary stuff.

So...I am just announcing here and now that I am done. I am done with my hospital quota, hopefully for the year. Hell, I'll take six months, I just think we all need a bit of a break from scary hospital stuff...don't you agree?

NEVER HEARD IT CALLED THAT BEFORE

2009-03-21T17:18:00.002-04:00

My four year old goddaughter slept over our house last night. It was the first time that Amanda had someone sleep over, and everyone was excited.

We went out to Friendly's for dinner - for those of you who do not live in the area, Friendly's is a fast-food type family restaurant which has a big ice cream menu. It was appropriate to go here, because after all what is a sleepover party without ice cream sundaes?

Anyways, while we were waiting for them to bring our food, my niece told me she had to "go potty." I took her by the hand and brought her over to the restrooms. This particular Friendly's did not have a men's room and a ladies' room; rather, it had two unisex bathrooms. So I chose one and we enterred.

As I was putting her on the toilet I could see her staring at the urinal. Great, I am thinking, I don't really want to explain what it is and why it is there, why we weren't using it, etc. Just as I am mentally preparing for her to ask me "Auntie Dawn what is THAT," she instead turns to me and says, very confidently,

"Auntie Dawn, THAT'S for boys."

Wow. Cool, I thought.

"You are right, Kayleigh, that IS for boys. Very good."

She then said "Yeah, because boys have PONYTAILS."

IF YOU CAN'T WORK OUT, JOIN 'EM

2009-03-17T18:35:00.002-04:00

It is Tuesday night, which means my very favorite spinning class of the week is tonight. I was, frankly, looking forward to spinning class all day today. I really needed it. I slept like crap last night; I am achy, tired, stressed, had a long day at work, and really could have used a good workout.

But when I picked my three year old up from school and she repeated to me twenty times in a row "mommy I don't want to go to the gym mommy mommy mommy I don't WANT to go to the gym" I wound up not having a choice. Sure, I could have gone to class anyways, and forced her to go into the playcare room. But after a full day of school, and with how adamant she was being, I felt like it was asking for trouble. I assumed that if I forced the issue, that ten minutes into class the gym would be asking me to collect her from daycare for one reason or another.

And so, I went home and started pouting for a bit.

But then I remembered that it is St. Patty's Day. So I decided to make the best of it.

Having run out of wine a few nights ago (whoops) I opted for a beer, which I poured into an emerald green wine glass, just to be festive.

And now I am no longer pouting! After all, there is always tomorrow to burn calories.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

WHAT COMES NATURALLY...HUMILIATION

2009-03-16T14:32:00.004-04:00

First of all, I CAN'T BELIEVE I AM GOING TO WRITE ABOUT THIS!

Then again, it is much more in character for me to tell you about something embarrassing that has happened to me, as opposed to what I have been doing lately (bragging and boasting and the like).

I believe in my last post I mentioned that you should always try new things - and with an asterisk, reminded you that in doing so you should at least be smart about it. For example, I tried a new thing by running a half-marathon this year. BUT - I was smart about it, and used a 12-week training program that I followed TO THE LETTER. NOT being smart about it would have been waking up one random day with no preparation whatsoever and saying "What the hell, I think I am going to try to run 13 miles today." Note the difference, it is important to the story that follows.

During my twelve weeks of training, I received lots and lots of advice, much of it unsolicited. But what the hell, it was my first half-marathon, and so I listened to most of what people told me because I didn't know what I was in for yet. One common theme that seemed to come up over and over and over again was "have you tried the goo?"

Goo.

What the fuck is Goo?

And why is everyone asking me about it?

Finally, about a week before race day someone brought it up to me again. "In your long training runs, do you use the goo?" This was someone with a couple of Boston Marathons under his belt.

"Explain to me about this goo, please." And he went on to tell me that it is like an energy food. You squeeze some into your mouth and eat it, and it gives you strength and energy to keep on going. "It really works well," is something I heard over and over. And I was advised that most likely, this is something that would be available along the course, much like water and sports drink stops.

Okay...with me so far?

Fast-forward to about 8:00AM on race morning. I was about halfway through the course, and feeling great. I had just exited the Magic Kingdom and stopped between mile 6 and 7 to get my picture taken with Goofy:

Just beyond the Goofy photo-op was a water station, sport drink station, and a table where volunteers were squirting this goo-like product onto popsicle sticks and handing them out to runners. Cool, I thought to myself. What a good point to try this goo out, at the halfway mark.

I finished my water, and my sports drink, and jogged off to the side of the road to the goo table. The volunteer handed me a popsicle stick covered with this gelatinous substance and with the friendliest of smiles said "here you go, dear!"

"Thanks!" I said with an equally friendly smile, and I put the entire wad of stuff in my mouth.

...at which point the entire table of volunteers began to scream. "no no NO! You don't EAT THAT!!!!" Because in fact what I had just put in my mouth was something called "Biofreeze."

******

BIOFREEZE® products with ILEX
CRYOTHERAPY PAIN RELIEF

BIOFREEZE products are a unique, effective pain reliever formulated to provide a variety of benefits for therapy, pain relief, exercise/training and overall comfort.

BIOFREEZE products contain ILEX, an herbal extract from a South American holly shrub. ILEX is used around the world in various health & wellness formulations. BIOFREEZE topical analgesic does not use waxes, oils, aloe or petroleum. The result is a fast-acting, penetrating, long lasting pain reliever.

BIOFREEZE products can effectively help relieve pain from:
• Sore Muscles & Muscle Sprains
• Back, Shoulder, Neck Pain
• Arthritis
• Painful Ankle, Knee, Hip & Elbow Joints
• Muscular Strains

Use BIOFREEZE products to relieve pain prior to:
• Ultrasound Treatments
• Massage Therapy
• Soft Tissue Trigger Point Therapy
• Rehabilitation Exercises
• Pre and Post Workout Stretch

******

Yeah, so I spent from approximately mile 6.5 to mile 8 spitting...and spitting and spitting and spitting. From the second that I had put the gel in my mouth, it went completely numb. My breath was icy cold; my teeth felt frozen, like I had just eaten an entire brick of ice. And oh, was my mouth dry. I could do nothing but spit over and over, trying to get the taste and the numbness away, but my mouth was so completely dry at this point that I was spitting out nothing but air. If you could have only seen me, I was spitting and then absolutely laughing at the absurdity of the situation. I would have paid someone $500.00 at that point for a cup of water. In fact, I am pretty sure I clocked my fastest pace during that stretch because I was JUST TRYING TO GET TO THE NEXT WATER STATION!

At mile 8, the water was my salvation, and I quickly gargled and spit the first cup before actually drinking the second cup. And as I slowly began to regain feeling in my mouth, not unlike novacaine wearing off after a dental visit, I just shook my head at my utter stupidity.

******

Clearly, no harm done. I was fine and I finished the race and in fact, felt terrific at the end of the course. And by that point I was so caught up in the emotion of the event that the incident was (sort of) forgotten.

But please, just let my story be a warning that while trying new things is a great idea, KNOW what you are doing beforehand. Look before you leap. Be prepared.

Otherwise you'll end up being like me - a total ASSHOLE!

ALWAYS TRY NEW THINGS*

2009-03-14T12:47:00.007-04:00

You like that? That's me in the pink shirt in last Sunday's Disney Princess 1/2 Marathon. I know it is WICKED cheesy, but I absolutely had to do the Rocky-Style arms up in the air cross of the finish line. I mean, how could I NOT? Having cried twice during the half marathon (once, when running up Main Street USA in the Magic Kingdom toward the castle, and the other time running past Spaceship Earth in Epcot just before the end of the race), I was so overwhelmed with emotion that there was no chance I would cross the finish line without celebrating a bit.

The race was amazing, in so many ways. More ways than I can possibly express in a concise little post. The most amazing thing about it, to me, was that I did it. If you had told me one year ago (when I was carrying an extra 40 pounds on my 5 foot tall frame and barely able to huff and puff my way through a half mile SLOW jog) that in one year's time I would be running my very first 1/2 Marathon in Disney World, I would have laughed in your face. Running was something I always wanted to do, but never thought I COULD do. And I certainly never thought I would ever be able to run distances greater than 3 miles. Even more amazing to me is that when I hit the 12.5 mile mark, with only .6 miles remaining, I actually felt like I could go another 5 plus miles EASILY.

So here is what I have learned, and here is what I most want to share: if you want to do something, do it. It really is THAT simple. This was something that seemed an unattainable goal, and yet I now have my first 1/2 under my belt and know that I have more in my future. And suddenly, the idea of running a full marathon some day (soon) doesn't seem like such an impossibility. Once I decided I was going to do the race, and paid my NON-REFUNDABLE race fee (on my birthday, no less - my own personal birthday present to myself), there was no way I wasn't going to see it through.

And I am quite possibly more proud of this than almost anything else I have accomplished in my short life. Almost. Crossing that finish line felt incredible. There have only been a handful of moments in my life that I have felt that wonderful. My only regret was that I didn't have anyone there to share the moment with me, but in hindsight that was actually okay because this race and this goal was all about ME, and no one else really needed to be there to cheer me on. I was cheering myself on, and the crowd was cheering me and calling me by name, and I proved to myself that if you set a goal and properly prepare for that goal, absolutely anything is possible.

My advice (not that anyone asked) to anyone out there that might be reading this post: take the year 2009 and try ONE NEW THING. Get out of your comfort zone and just TRY. I promise you whole-heartedly that even if you try something new and fail at it, you won't have any regrets. Because you challenged yourself. And when you truly challenge yourself, you'll be absolutely amazed at what you can do.

*There is an asterisk on the title of this post for a reason, which I will explain in my next post. The asterisk is there to remind you to always try new things, but to be smart about it. I am starting to make MYSELF a bit ill with all of this self-praise - I am generally not big on bragging - and so in my next post I will return to what comes more naturally to me: I will tell you something pretty embarrassing that I did DURING the race that is a reminder that you should absolutely NOT try something new if you don't know what you are doing. I will leave it at that, for now. I promise that I am done talking myself up, and through the remainder of this blog I will return, quite easily, to my old self-depricating ways.

A LONG JOURNEY

2009-03-05T22:54:00.002-05:00

So here it is...as promised...the post where I boast.

If you are one of my facebook friends, you might want to stop reading right now, as I have updated about this subject ad nauseum.

But if not, here is a quickie post about something major I am attempting this weekend.

My bags are packed; all I need to do now is go to sleep, head to work for a few hours in the morning, and then I am off to Disney World. By myself.

On Sunday morning, I will be running in my very first half-marathon, right through the Magic Kingdom. You know, even as I type that, I still can hardly believe it.

A bit of history: I am a lifelong asthmatic. As in, MAJOR asthmatic. As my mother explains it, I spent more time the year I was two years old IN the hospital than I spent at home. And on at least one occasion, my mother was informed that it was unlikely I would make it through the night. Yup, I had pretty bad asthma.

As a result of such a difficult year as a two year old, I was pretty much handled with kid gloves for most of my youth. For example, when I was in elementary school, I had a standing note from the pediatrician's office excusing me from both GYM as well as outdoor recess during the winter months. (Cold air can trigger an asthma attack). I spent an awful lot of time by myself as a child - at recess time I would sit alone in the classroom while all the kids went outside, and I would draw or write or read books. I grew up, unavoidably, as a terribly unathletic kid. I don't blame my parents for their extreme overprotectiveness; I don't blame the doctors for not pushing me to try to overcome the shortness of breath through regular exercise. Not that they didn't encourage me to do physical activity, but I always stopped at the very first sign of ANY fatigue whatsoever - which, again, made me very non-athletic.

Point is, I was always attracted to the idea of running, probably because in the back of my mind I knew that it was one "sport" that didn't require any special talent or skill. I didn't need to have good hand-eye coordination; I didn't need to have good aim or excessive speed. All I needed to do was to build up endurance. All that stood in my way was my asthma. If I could somehow control THAT, I could possibly run.

I always held Boston Marathoners in the very highest regard. The fact that anyone could run that distance, that they could run for HOURS and just keep going always fascinated me. Truth be told, a big part of me always felt that these people were crazy (who willingly wants to RUN for 5 straight hours?), but I was amazed by them just the same.

I tried running a few times in college, and pretty quickly gave up. Again, at the first sign of a little tickle or wheeze I would just concede that I was unable to do it, and that was the end of it.

When I first met my husband, who himself was a runner, I was inspired to give it another try. This time I had some moderate success. I ran a couple of road races with him, and loved that rush of adrenaline I experienced when I crossed the finish line - no matter how long it took me, I had started, executed, and completed a goal. I loved the challenge; I loved the journey; and most of all, I loved the sense of accomplishment. At the time though, I didn't push myself much beyond an easy comfort level; I struggled through a couple of 10K's, but I knew I wasn't adequately prepared for them which is why they were so difficult for me. It left me discouraged. Shortly thereafter, I got married, and we started our never-ending baby quest which sent me into a deep descent into depression, weight-gain, lack of exercise, etc. etc. etc. Any and all progress I had made in my attempt at a running career was immediately erased.

Last March, when I was absolutely BEYOND fed up with the weight gain I experienced during my infertile years / pregnancy / post-pregnancy phase, I decided to give running another shot. I had given myself a goal of competing in the Tufts 10K for Women, which is held on Columbus Day (October). When I began running again after taking several years off, I literally could run one block and then would have to stop and walk for a few minutes. It was horrible. I couldn't believe how out of shape I was, and how I felt so controlled by my asthma. For whatever reason, and I honestly don't know what it was, I just decided that for once and for all I was going to get control over my life, and somehow I knew that if I just kept at it and pushed myself, eventually I would be able to overcome the asthma attacks.

It didn't take very long for my running to improve quite dramatically. Not only did I start running consistently, but I got to a point that I actually looked forward to my runs. They were no longer something I needed to endure, but rather they were something I enjoyed. And before long, I started losing the weight I hadn't been able to lose for years.

In summary:
I ran the Tufts 10K last year, and to my amazement I finished in under one hour - faster than I ever could have anticipated.
I enterred a contest at my gym in October that was styled after "The Biggest Loser." Out of 97 contestants, I came in 4th place overall out of the women, and I came in first place on my team.
I lost FORTY POUNDS last year. FORTY.
I'm at my goal weight for the first time in YEARS and I am not having any trouble maintaining it.
I have become a lifetime member of Weight Watchers, something I often came "this close" to achieving, but never quite finished.

And, on Sunday morning, I will be running in my very first 1/2 marathon in the Happiest Place On Earth. And though it is my first, it will certainly not be my last. Because I am hooked on the feeling the running gives me. I am hooked on the feeling I get from setting a goal, seeing it through to the end, and completing it.

So for now, I am done tooting my own horn. I promise to post any pictures that I may get once I get home. And then I can look ahead to future goals: like maybe, just maybe, a full marathon next year.

Yup - I've become one of those crazy people that runs for hours at a time - and I am loving every minute of it.

Wish me luck!

OH...YEAH...NOW I REMEMBER!

2009-03-02T19:50:00.002-05:00

It is all slowly coming back to me, little by little. The OTHER reasons I stopped blogging last August. Other than the time factor, I was having trouble coming up with content.

And I am finding myself there again. And, it is NOT because I have nothing to write about, because I absolutely do. I've got volumes, in fact.

The problem is that need to self-censor. I kind of sort of hate that I have to think long and hard before I put my words 'out there'. But I do.

I'm not being very clear. Let me start again, from the beginning.

There was a time that I didn't care what I wrote on my blog, mainly because I was using this blog as a form of therapy to get through an extremely difficult time in my life. If I couldn't be 100% open and honest about what I was feeling and experiencing at the time, then why write?

And...let's be honest here...no one was really reading my blog anyways! So did it MATTER how little (or how much) I put out there in cyber-space? Not really. Or so I felt at that time.

But of course, the truth is that it DID matter. It does matter. People do read, whether they stumble upon my blog on purpose or by accident. And while I might not mind being open and honest about my life, there are other people in my life who do mind.

Like my husband.

He and I in many ways are polar opposites. He is a very, very private person, and I am not. I will give a complete stranger every gory detail of my life, if they ask me about it. And when I happen to have a story that involves my husband, I rarely hold back the details that include him. And he has gotten upset with me about that, which is completely valid and fair. We just differ in this way, and many times in the past on this and my original blog, I didn't really take that into consideration at all.

So...it means less writing about my husband. Which actually limits my content tremendously. For example (without specific examples), my husband has gone through some very challenging things lately, and I would really like to write about them. They say bad things come in "three's" and if that is true than he should be in the clear from here on out. But starting in December up until as recently as early February, it has been one thing after another for him. Tough, tough stuff. The former blogging version of me would be telling you all about it, and how it has not only affected him but me as well. But the new blogger I am trying to be will respect his privacy and his boundaries, and leave it at that. Except to ask you to please wish better things for Anthony in the upcoming months, because he has really had more than his fair share of crap lately.

So we've established that I am not going to write about my husband, though he informed me that he STILL would like to do a guest-post at some point. I'm a little scared, I admit, to see what he will write!

I am not going to write about work, because that is never a good idea. Suffice it to say that work is good, I like my job, and I cross my fingers every single day that I will still have my job tomorrow.

That essentially leaves two things I can write about - the two things that I guess make the most sense since I have evolved from "infertile blogger" to "mommy blogger" - myself, and my daughter.

Going forward I am going to try to focus on sticking to those two subjects, but I will admit it is going to be tough for me. On the Amanda front, I have to say that she is a dream child, and I am not sure that a lot of moms out there really want to hear that? Sure, she is three years old, and sure, she can be a handful at times. But if I tell you that 95 percent of the time she is really well behaved, and that she still naps every day, and that she is still a fabulous sleeper at night time, and that she is just an all around easy-going child, will you all hate me? So I don't know how much I can delve into on the subject of Amanda without sounding like I am bragging.

So then that leaves the subject of "me"...

Believe it or not, I don't really like to brag. I'm much more comfortable putting myself down. I've always been big on self-deprication. Telling funny stories about how I have somehow managed to humiliate myself - this is where I excel when it comes to talking about myself. I have learned to be the butt of many a joke.

But these days things are going pretty well for me, and I've got a lot of positive things I can update you on. But how to do that without feeling like I am tooting my own horn? I'm not so sure. And I've got a big week coming up, which I will be sure to be writing about in the next couple of days (because I am equally excited and scared to death about the upcoming weekend).

So...you've been warned. Continue following my blog at your own risk.

I won't be writing about my job.
I won't be writing (much) about my husband (unless he really, REALLY pisses me off).
I will be writing about Amanda, and you might be envious of how good I have it when it comes to being her mom.
And I will be writing about myself, and I am afraid at times I might even sound about boastful. I apologize wholeheartedly in advance about this, but maybe (just maybe) this is what it is like to finally be truly content and happy with my life and with myself?

And if that is the case, I just need a little time to adjust, that's all.

24-HOUR NON-DROWSY FORMULA?

2009-02-23T00:06:00.002-05:00

Okay...so I took a Claritin-D 12 Hour pill at 8:30AM. And it is after midnight now and I am still WIDE AWAKE. Not remotely tired.

Which begs the question: who on earth would buy the Claritin-D 24 Hour pills? In fact, they sell these in 30-packs. "Um, yes, Mister Pharmacist, I intentionally plan on not sleeping for an entire month."

I don't get it.

MY DOODLES?

2009-02-19T14:51:00.004-05:00

You know you live with a 3-year-old when you are desperately trying to find your "My Documents" Folder on your PC and suddenly, you realize that it has been renamed your "nh ;Jkb Kkj.j....k.k.lo 'o." folder.

Life is never dull.

BEGINNING AGAIN

2009-02-16T12:19:00.004-05:00

Hi!

So, yeah...it's been a while. Too long.

Last August, I decided I needed to take a break from blogging on a regular basis, because frankly I was running out of things to talk about. (Things that really mattered, I mean). I meant to take a short break, but as always seems to be the case, life got in the way and the next thing I know it has been nearly six months since I have posted. Six Months! I used to update this blog every couple of days, and now six months have gone by...how is that possible?

Well, for starters, when I started blogging back in 2003 (yes, that long ago), there was a real point to it. I began blogging, at a dear friend's suggestion, as a way to try to cope with something painful I was going through at that time. My husband and I were struggling with infertility, and feeling all alone in what seemed like a world full of happy pregnant couples. Blogging became an outlet for me. I soon discovered many, many other bloggers out there (women AND men) that had devoted their own blogs to tell their stories of infertility and the quest to have a baby. I felt like I had found my own little place in the world...a place to be justified in my anger and sadness, and a place to share my own story and my every up-and-down during our quest. Again, there was a point to blogging back then.

Early in 2005, we found ourselves miraculously pregnant from an improbable final attempt at IVF, and much to our surprise as well as our clinic's, the pregnancy "took." My blog took on a new life, as I was able to share my journey of being pregnant finally after over three painful years of failure. I followed the stories of the internet blogging friends I had made, and we all compared notes as some, like me, had successful IVF cycles, and some acheived parenthood through other avenues, such as adoption. Their stories helped me, and I hope my own story was encouraging to others out there still struggling.

We had our beautiful baby girl, and my blog was reincarnated once again into what can only really be called a "Mommy-Blog." I don't think I had planned on being a mommy-blogger, but inevitably that was what happened. My "struggle" was over; the very reason I began blogging in the first place, so now there was little left to write about except the daily challenges of being a new mom.

So I continued along, through 2006, 2007, and the first half of 2008. But then, one day, I just stopped posting. I am still not sure exactly why I stopped, except that I think a big part of me felt that I had said all there was to say. My story had been told, and fortunately for me it had the happy ending I longed for. My very first post ever, from November 30, 2003, went something like this:

"Welcome to my blog, my name is Dawn. My husband Anthony and I have been trying to conceive our first child for 18 (or is it 19) months....since June of 2002. A friend of mine suggested that I create a blog to help me to sort through some of the emotions and difficulties and challenges I have experienced, and so I am giving it a shot."

That, in a nutshell, was my mission statement. A little over five years later, I can look back and emphatically say "mission accomplished" as I can hear my three year old snoring in her bed during afternoon naptime. A big part of me, I guess, felt as though there was little else to say, and therefore why keep posting?

But the truth is, strange as this may sound, I miss it. I miss posting. I miss my blog. Regardless of what my "story" may be these days, or whether I even have anything interesting to write about anymore, I still miss it. I stopped writing for fear that I might be boring my audience. But the truth is, writing this blog was never, EVER about entertaining anyone out there. It was never about an audience at all. Writing this blog was for me, and for me only. It was a way for me to cope, to vent, and to HEAL. If, along the way, people found my story interesting and kept up with my blog, well then that was great, but that was never WHY I did it.

I've been thinking about that a lot lately, which is why I have decided it is time to write again. No offense, but I am not concerned with whether or not I have an audience, or whether or not said audience finds my blog boring or uninteresting. Blogging for me was always very personal and extremely therapeutic, and for that reason and that reason alone, I would really like to get back to it.

So...I'm starting again. I have no idea if this blog is going to be interesting, or if it is going to suck. I have no idea if I will have all my old readers back, or if I will be writing to an audience of one (myself). Regardless, I'm getting back into it, because no matter what, blogging was an incredibly helpful tool in my life over the past five years, and honestly I can use all the help I can get these days!

Thanks for letting me get all that off my chest. I look forward to posting more, and soon!