Pinterest, Pin ME!

There are moments in my life when I actually do something really stupid that turns out to be really cool. I figure it stems from that first summer when lack of a job trapped me in the itty-bitty apartment watching HGTV for hours. That was the year I recovered our stool using an old pair of my jeans - not my finest craft project. And over the years I've had numerous failures: the year I tried to attach a random piece of fleece to the bottom of a sweatshirt to make it longer, the one Valentine's when I used a jello mould to bake a heart shaped cake and it over-flowed, or the quilt patches I still haven't put together.

But as that silly movie, Meet the Robinsons teaches all the little childrens, we must always "Move Forward" and that is what I guess I've done through the years. Either that, or I've stayed addicted to making things because it makes me feel satisified when I'm all finished. It's like cleaning a tile bathroom (not a fiberglass one, I'll blog about that later); once it's all done and gleaming beautifully, you get this overwhelming thrill of "Wow, I just did something awesome!" And then the rest of the day doesn't feel like such a waste when I sit and watch Star Wars (who am I kidding, it's probably Dora) for hours on end.

That's what crafting does for me. So I'm sharing a couple of my simple craft ideas that saved me from spending money and time to do something I needed to do.

For example, when I was pregnant, I got a ton of these beautiful plastic links - I love these things and used them a bunch when Jenny was little. But once she grew up and stopped chewing on everything, I didn't really use them much anymore. I didn't want to get rid of them,  because I love these little things, so I decided to put them to good use. I used them as tie back for the curtain in her room. Tah-Duh!



It was cheap because I already had a ton of these rings and it was easy because all I needed to do to attach them to the wall was use one of those little picture hooks that comes in the picture hanging kit I get every so often for Christmas.

By the way, you can NEVER have enough of those little kits. They make for great helpers when you're doing crafts. All those little nails and tacks and the wire for hanging it all together makes for great other projects and . . . I digress.

Now this method of tie-back allows me to do that theatrical style "poofing" of the curtains. It looks awesome in her room.

Having this success, I decided to do something a bit different for another set of Jenny's curtains. I have these letter links. They are perfect for tracing on Jenny's Magna-Doodle and they make great curtain tie backs too.

Now with these, I had to do something a little different. I have this beautiful ribbon that was on one of Jenny's gifts - it's the really cute yellow ribbom with white polka-dots and I never knew what to do with it. I had saved it because it was so cute, but I didn't want to just put it into her baby book and then one day go, "Uh, I just really liked this ribbon; that's why I saved it". For some reason, that would've been silly or something.

First I took the ribbon and made sure to measure it even for both curtains on the window.
Then I picked letters that had 2 flat edges to them. Originally, I wanted to do Jenny's J, but it made for a terrible tie back because I couldn't attach it to the hook well. The H and W worked the best, but I also used an E and an M and they worked too.
Then I looped the ribbon through the flat part of the lettter and stitched it to close the loop.
Lastly I repeated the process with a second letter on the other end of the ribbon. Both letters hang on the hook.

So a little trimming and a couple stitches later and voila! curtain tie backs!

So I'm sharing two of my successes because they make me proud of myself - a great feeling.  And I didn't even have to clean a bathroom to get there!

Pinterest Conquests: Kid Art

So I saw something on Pinterest the other day about taking your child's scribble art and turning it into actual living room art.  Notice how this Pinner cut out similar shapes to make up a flower patter of sorts and then probably Mod-Podged it onto a spraypainted canvas.

Good for this Pinner - I'm just not talented or patient enough to figure out how to do her pattern - the shapes are somewhat repetitive, but then they change size and how the heck did this woman find time to spraypaint a canvas and Mod-Podge all those pieces when she probably has a two year old screaming at her for more Fruit-Snacks.

Okay, maybe that's just me. Anyway I digress . . .



Well, I thought, I can certainly do a better job than that. Jenny has been doing all this Color Wonder painting and it's beautiful in places. I figured I could take Jenny's paintings and turn them into art.

I took down an old black, plastic frame that we'd bought to put my brother's poker photo in. (Sorry Aaron, it was a stealing bingo present and it just didn't fit in my bedroom. I still have it for Tim's man cave in the next house. Don't worry.)

Then I took a plain piece of black posterboard - very cheap.

I cut out pieces in a 3X3 square and arranged them on the black posterboard. I used double stick tape (not Mod-Podge) to attach them to the posterboard. I taped everything to the cheap white paper matte that comes with the plastic black frame and voila! art for my bedroom.

Now I'm fairly certain that someone is going to point out that the middle "tile" in the second row is off a bit.

I had a toddler demanding fruit snacks at that moment and didn't pay attention so much to where I was sticking down that particular piece.

Oh well. I still think it's beautiful. And it looks beautiful hanging in my bedroom. And no one knows that it's really just Jenny's ColorWonder paintings cut into pieces.

Love it!

The CUTEST little blind girl

Monday afternoon, Jenny and I ventured off to the eye doctor to pick up her new glasses. In my mind, I saw my little girl so appreciative of her new ability of see that she would gladly and constantly want to wear her new glasses. As nearly all things in my mind, it didn't go that way.

When we left the doctor's building, Jenny hands me the glasses and proceeds to inform me that she doesn't like her glasses; she doesn't want to wear them. I begin the plea-bargain.

1. "Jenny don't you want to be able to see all the neat things this world has to show you?" - Nope.
2. "Jenny, these glasses are very special and made just for you. Don't you want to wear them?" - Nope.
3. "We'll go get McDonald's and then go out to the airport if you wear your new glasses" -  Okay.

While I realize that bribery is not the best thing to teach my child, at this point I'm desperate. The glasses were expensive and I really don't care if she doesn't want to wear them, she's going to wear them!

Once they were on her face, it took her another two hours to get tired of them. I think part of her was overwhelmed by what she could now see. As we were watching the airplanes and the birds and the people at the airport overlook, Jenny was most amazed by the ground. I guess I never realized how little of the ground details she could see.



Jenny's first ride on the train
where she could actually see everything.

Next day, I put on my own glasses and (because the weather was beautiful) we headed to the zoo.

This was the first time Jenny had ever really
seen the polar bear underwater.

An AMAZING experience for a kid who has never really seen an elephant before, or the eagle, or the owl (no wonder she freaked out when the darn thing approached the glass the last time).



Jenny scolded this peacock for walking among the flowers.

Despite the crowd and the day cares and the church Bible camps who also took advantage of the beautiful weather, we had a really great day. My curious little girl had never before asked me so many questions about so many things. "What's that, Mom?" became her all-too-familiar phrase for the day.

It is truly amazing to see things through the eyes of this child. The wonder and the newness were incredibly humbling. Every now and again, I looked over my glasses at the exhibits and the animals and the people we were seeing and wondering how this little girl ever decided to love this place. (My eyesight is only slightly better than Jenny's). Some of the animals - the ones we saw up close, like the Bonobos (monkeys) and the insects - I could see fairly well. But the macaques and the gorillas, the manatees and the seals, the wolves and her beloved eagle . . . Without my glasses, I could barely make out their shapes, let alone the details.

I am both proud and in awe of my daughter's coping skills to this point. How in the world did she not fall down every five seconds? How did she manage to find her way in crowds of people? How could she possibly manage to do something as simple as watch an episode of SuperWhy and not wonder what they were talking about half the time?

Today, Jenny's third day with her glasses, she has accepted that she can see much better with them. There has been very little bribery today to get her to wear them. Soon I'll be able to go back to wearing my contacts again, I hope. I thank all of you who have seen Jenny with her glasses and have told her how beautiful she looks with them on. It's made a world of difference and I can only hope that Jenny will continue to know just how beautiful she is, both inside and out, with or without her glasses.

Old Chapter: The Baby Fairy is Boycotting my Uterus

I feel I must post-scriptus apologize for this particular chapter of the old book. It is a rant though, written after a very difficult school year. It's funny, now that I look back on it - still true, but I find it really funny that I actually wrote it all down like this.

Enjoy

Chapter Eleven:

The Baby Fairy is Boycotting My Uterus

- a tirade and rant from year six -

            At this moment in my life, everyone who can or who wants to be pregnant is pregnant. I’m not joking. I work with a bunch of teachers and we fall into the following categories:

o       Old enough to have grandchildren

o       Too old to have any more children

o       Have plenty of kids and are done with their family

o       Currently pregnant

o       Married and want no children yet or ever

o       Single and too young to be having children

At the current moment, I do not fall into any of these categories. I’m the only married woman who has been married over a year that wants to have children but can’t. At this point, I’m an outsider. I can’t hang with the single people, because I have a husband. I can’t talk pregnancy, because at this point, I haven’t been pregnant longer than a week. I can’t even talk children, because my brother and his wife haven’t let their girls call me Mom, in a really long while. Okay, they never let the girls call me Mom, but I can hope, right?

 The best part (I’m being facetious) is that the pregnancies are evenly spread around the departments, with no department having more than one pregnant parent, so there is perhaps an understanding as to why I’m not pregnant. It would throw off the whole cosmic balance or something. However, this pregnancy conspiracy goes even further.

            The Baby Fairy has visited nearly every single person I’ve come in contact with. Tim’s cousin, Christa, is pregnant with her third child and due in March. Now, why am I so upset by this you might ask? She’s living in a house that is falling apart around them, rent-free while her husband finishes his doctoral thesis in French poetry. They truly can’t afford a third child. In fact, I’m not sure how they afforded the first two children to begin with. So while this drunken little fairy has managed to bless every possible person I work with, this little creature has made sure to make me incredibly miserable. He has one of my students pregnant (I teach 9^th graders) and my little sister (who had an “oops” one night) expecting a child on Tim’s birthday. I swear the Baby Fairy is boycotting my uterus. If I ever get my hands on that little . . .  frickin’ . . . frackin’ . . . but I digress.

            Normally, I would have no problem with all of this estrogen floating around me. I’d see it as a good sign. Something must be in the water and I would drink enough water to catch whatever it was. However, things are different this time. I’m on hormones and back to having cycles again. Basically, my brain is one neurotic tangle of short circuiting wires. Plus, I can’t simply avoid the situation like I normally do. When pregnant women come toward me, I can’t turn and go the other way. I can’t avoid them in the hallways at school. I can’t even go to the bathroom without finding at least two of them in line in front of me. Even at home (with my little sister living next door) I can’t hide out with a book or bake cookies like crazy. She’s taking classes with my husband, so they talk and see each other constantly. There are just too many of them. This is where the trouble began. Too many hormones + too many pregnant people = Infertile Woman’s Anger Issues.

            There should be a chapter in that book, What to Expect When You’re Expecting, on proper etiquette for breaking the news to and dealing with friends or family who won’t be as thrilled about your pregnancy as you are. Maybe a good title for the chapter would be: How to keep your friends when you’re pregnant. The first part might go over the basic rules for how to deal with people (like me) who have been trying to conceive for nine years. A general idea for some of these words of wisdom might include the common sense stuff that seems to escape nearly all of the pregnant women that surround me. For example:

Ø                  If you know we have been struggling with this for nine years, don’t expect us to be able to hold up the fake excitement for more than three minutes. The best time to tell us is on the phone and quickly. Don’t drag on the conversation because after you tell us, we just want to pummel you into little, tiny pieces, smear ketchup on you and feed you to our dogs. Keep it simple and be quick about it.

Ø                  Don’t EVER use phrases like: “Be happy you’re not pregnant,” “You’ll understand one day,” “It’s a parent (or a pregnant) thing,” because in minds like ours, this gets translated into “Ha, ha, I’m pregnant and you’re not.”

Ø                  Make any supportive comments sincere and non-cliché. Don’t tell us it will happen when we least expect it or when we finally relax and take it easy. Don’t give us your “oh-so-wise” advice like, “do it with your hips elevated and let gravity take its course.” You have zero expertise in this kind of situation, no matter what has happened to your sister’s cousin’s roommate. The only thing you’re allowed to offer in the way of advice is a doctor’s name and maybe not even that.

Ø                  Don’t complain to us about anything related to your pregnancy. You will get sympathy while we’re talking to you and a voodoo doll made in your likeness later.  No matter what you’re going through, we would go through ten times as much to be able to get pregnant.

Ø                  Remember that you were a person before you got pregnant and that you once talked about things that had nothing to do with mid-wives and breast milk. We get really tired of hearing about it all the time. Find something new, please. Talk about food – it’s a good topic or shopping or the zoo – anything that isn’t connected to your pregnancy.

Ø                  Don’t blame things on being pregnant. If you dump cocktail sauce on your blouse, don’t tell us it’s because the baby is sucking away all your coordination skills. You were sloppy before you got pregnant. Along the same lines, don’t blame the baby for your moments of stupidity, your lack of memory (especially when we told you about our infertility only three months before you got pregnant) or your inability to move quickly. I weigh more than you and am carrying as much weight (if not more) in my stomach area as you are. I don’t blame my belly for my inability to move quickly. I’ve learned to adapt and you will too.

Ø                  Don’t get mad at us when we skip out on your baby shower. We want to be invited, but it is too difficult to even go into the baby section of Sears, let alone sit with other moms while they discuss the values of teaching your toddler sign language or the many uses of a snot sucker.

Ø                  Most of all, be supportive. When you are pregnant, we fight jealousy so powerful it could drive a normal person to violence. On the surface, we are friendly and polite, doing what has always been asked of us. Underneath, we can’t stand you. We are shallow, hateful, selfish people that don’t care how happy you are. You were given something so special and precious, while we sit in a dark corner feeling cheated and ignored. Remember that you were our friend, the one we went to when things went all pear-shaped. Remember that we still want you to understand us and listen to us. Remember that we still need you to help us through this.

With all these pregnant women around, it’s been extremely difficult keeping my mouth shut. I’m just exhausted doing the right thing all the time. I’m tired of acting like it doesn’t bother me. I’m tired of just sitting there pretending that I don’t hate them for what they are putting me through. I am certain that if I were pregnant, I wouldn’t feel so much irritation toward them. But I’m not, so I do.

In the end, I know I should be rejoicing and celebrating this great and wonderful experience. Deep down, there is a person inside of me that is doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Somewhere in the pit of my heart and the dark, silent recesses of my mind, there is someone who is happy for them. However, there is another part of me that is just hoping they get gas from hell, the kind that causes them to fart every time they takes a deep breath in front of anyone important. Knowing them, they’d just blame it on being pregnant and the other people would nod their head in understanding and laugh sympathetically.

Picking on all of the pregnant women, offering advice about everything and wishing hell-fire farts on pregnant people will hopefully anger the Baby Fairy enough to wish all of these things on me. Maybe if I piss him off enough, he’ll end his boycott of my uterus and let me be miserably pregnant for nine months. Ahhh . . . that would be a dream come true.

My Little Blind Girl

They say you should always be careful what you wish for because you might just get it. Well...I sheepishly reflect on the hopes and wishes I'd make for Jenny when I was pregnant with her, now because at least one of these is coming true.

When I was pregnant and knew we were having a girl, Tim and I talked about the type of child we didn't want her to become - one of those beautiful but self-centered little snobs that treated dorks like us with contempt and disdain. In all honestly, we wished for Jenny to be like us - dorks. While she would have to deal with the heartache of bullies and immature people, she would build a strength and a resilience that those "popular" kids just couldn't possibly have. Plus, no one dates dorks and therefore I wouldn't have to worry about teen pregnancy or drinking because she would be a dork. So we decided she would learn to play the tuba (Tim nixed that and said she should learn to play the drums, at least. Tom-boy was better than utter dork-hood), and she would be put into golf lessons, not dance and NEVER set foot outside the house in a cheerleading uniform unless it was Halloween.

In truth, I just didn't think I could handle having a popular child.

Jenny is beautiful and has the most gorgeous blue eyes I've seen in a long while. We're talking "Martina McBride" eyes. She has Tim's long eye lashes and a captivating smile. I knew we were doomed to have a popular child.

And while I lamented it, I learned to get used to it. Therapy and depression meds are expensive these days, so maybe my little girl would turn out like one of those well-balanced kids you hear about or read about. Maybe.

Then we got a comment from Jenny's preschool teacher that she was creepin' on her drawings at school. We started to notice how often we told Jenny to back away from the TV because "you're gonna burn your eyes out." After a short test from her pediatrician, we found out that Jenny was near-sighted. We confirmed it through Children's Hospital (a freak of scheduling made it possible for us to be seen before August) and ordered her glasses just today.

I'm sad because my little girl will be one of "those kids" who's had glasses since they were three. I'm sad because I wanted my little girl to have so few struggles with life that she could be happy. I'm sad because my little girl is now going to be a dork.

But I'm thankful, too. I'm thankful that she didn't inherit ALL of Tim's eye issues. I'm thankful that she will finally be able to see all the beauty of the world (especially the zoo, can't wait for that). And I'm thankful that I have her - dorkiness and all because of all that it took to get her here.

For now, I'm able to look forward to her glasses, which should be in, in about a week because they look totally cute on her. They are pink, a thin pink and they just make her face look so totally cute. She looks more intelligent and more precocious in them and I just love the way my little girl looks in them.

Oh and she's only a little more blind than I am - thank God.

So I suppose we should always be careful when we wish. My favorite musical has something about that and I'll close with a few lines so it'll get stuck in my head for the next few hours.

Careful the wish you make . . . wishes are children. Careful the path they take  . . . wishes comes true, not free . . .

Warning: TMI - Old Chapter: My friend the chilly speculum

During an especially cheeky time of my life, I wrote this chapter, dedicated to my least favorite part of being an infertility patient. I warn you, it's a bit brash and probably a tad bit vulgar in places, but I think it's funny, nonetheless.

My mother would get a kick of this if she read it.

Chapter Eight:

My Friend, the chilly Speculum

            The Speculum is the all-time, number-one, most awkward apparatus that a woman is ever subjected to. If there was ever an award for “Medical Devices the Makes You Grunt” I honestly believe that the Speculum would take first place. (At least, that is until my first rectal exam, I’m sure.) For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, or for those interested, highly involved husbands who have respected their wives’ privacy by not peeking during an exam, I feel it necessary to explain this medical marvel. To begin, a speculum is used to open the vaginal area wider than any woman has ever been opened before. At this point, gentlemen, don’t flatter yourself by thinking that a Speculum isn’t uncomfortable for your wife, simply because they should be used to you by now. I will be honest though, intercourse does help with the stretch issue. However, there is a cleanliness issue with intercourse the night before a visit to the OB/Gyn, but that is a story for another book.

Now we move on the appearance of the Speculum and the beginning of my ranting about this device and its use. Firstly, a Speculum looks like one of those garage sale items no one remembers what to do with. It is shaped (so they lovingly tell me) like a duck’s head, supposedly the most comfortable shape to shove up a woman’s birthing canal. I swear someone screwed up here, because that thing is not, I repeat not, nearly as comfortable as the wide assortment of other items that have been created for that particular opening. I’m not entirely clear who invented this device – as men would’ve known better and cast this device in their own image, while a woman would’ve understood how very tender that area of her body actually is. So for now, we will blame this on the monkeys.

While lying on the examining table, with my feet in stirrups, I feel the OB/Gyn ever so tenderly push this metal duck’s head (or plastic if you’re lucky) into my “area” and proceed to crank it open. His only words of encouragement or consolation, while he’s doing this: “you might feel some slight pressure, so just relax.” Yeah, right! I’m going to relax when you’re sticking a duck’s head up my canal and opening it wide enough to berth a small yacht! I don’t think so. Thus, my only response is a grunt.

            While this particular discomfort sets in, let me expound on my second award for this particular piece of engineering genius. The Speculum is, quite possibly, the coldest medical instrument I have ever felt. I don’t know who decided the material these things would be made of but it conducts cold like lightning down a metal rod. I suppose that the cold is supposed to numb your nether regions so that you don’t feel the “slight pressure” but instead of helping me relax, it just tenses me up more. Suddenly I go from being concerned about this “slight pressure” that’s coming from the duck head to “OH MY GOD, that’s cold!”

The shock of my first encounter with my friend, the chilly Speculum, left me with a feeling of pain and guilt. First, I felt pain that I hadn’t taken any Advil or Prozac or Morphine before meeting this invasive friend. The guilt I felt because I know that the Speculum, despite its status as the most unwanted instrument I’ve met so far, is only doing its job. Therefore, I grit my teeth and grunt through the pain each time the doctors whip that sucker out, while I try to understand that though I despise this “friend” of mine, he is indeed only trying to help the nice doctors figure out what is wrong with me.

Still, I have learned many a lesson from my friend, the chilly Speculum. I have learned to take Advil before every doctor’s appointment, no matter who I’m seeing. You never know when they might pull out my dear, chilly friend just so they can take a look under the hood. I have learned to ask the doctor to warm the Speculum up and though this helps with the initial shock of the cold, it still does not help me to relax. Most of all, however, I take with me a lesson learned and applicable to everyone everywhere. I have learned to double check any recommendations I may make about things that will affect the female gender, as a whole. Though it is too late to correct the mistake that led to the Speculum being shaped as a duck, I will never forget the importance of checking my work before turning it in; that and never letting anyone monkey around with my nether regions.

Ladies, may you always find your Speculums as comfortably seated in your nether regions as a duck’s head possibly can be. May there always be a doctor willing to warm your Speculum before shoving it into your birthing canal. Lastly, may you never have reason to be checked more than once a year.

Hormones, Hormones, Hormones

I'm going to cry in the next several minutes, just wait for it; it's going to happen.

There are many wonderful people in my life right now who have been so very supportive and so very wonderful to me over the many years it took for us to get Jenny and now again as I face the mood swings, weight gain, and overall irritation that come with the many, many, many hormones that flow through my body right now. (Wow - speaking of mood swings, did you see that one? Whoa!)

I want to first and foremost thank my wonderful husband. He puts up with me.
God bless him for simply shaking his head when I say something absolutely off the wall, like "Oh my God, what if I'm not a good mother to this one? What if I love Jenny more?" or "Are you going to still love me when I'm fat?" He smiles and shakes his head, knowing the answer to every one of my questions: Hormones.

I want to thank my mother and my mother-in-law who happily enjoy the time they get to spend with Jenny. This morning, my mother-in-law breezed into Jenny's room after the mini-meltdown we'd had over getting dressed and lifted Jenny's bad mood. It was one of those dazzling miracles that leave you feeling strangely better and somewhat lighter than you felt before.

And then there's my own mother. On the days I'm not apologizing to her for being such an ornery kid, I try to find some way to thank her for the things she's done for me. Somehow, she managed NOT to kill me as a child or send me to the orphanage. She managed my dramatic and often stubborn outbursts, coped with every injury and every tear. She didn't disown me when I decorated her living room carpet with mustard. And tomorrow . . . well, let's just say that I'm just amazed by her generosity.

See, I'm crying now.

I'm thankful for a husband who will run to Hyde Park to ease my mind over a medication that we somehow didn't get. And a doctor who will call back to check up on me. And a daughter who went to bed early tonight and without much fuss. And that husband of mine who is staying up until 11:30 tonight with me to watch me do another shot.

It is in the spirit of this gratitude that I'm going to stop blogging about this experience for little while. Maybe it's the hormones and maybe it's just me. Everything is too near right now to make heads or tails out of it. Soon, though I promise. Soon.

If all goes well, I'll have some really awesome stories to tell. And if it doesn't, then please pardon my words or lack thereof as I grieve, yet again.

In the meantime, I'll send out a few chapters from my old blog on infertility. Back then it was called a journal. I hope they'll be entertaining, informative and well, a decent distraction to fill the time before we can hopefully announce something good.

Twelve weeks is a very long time. Nine months, even longer.

Pray for us, please. Even with IVF, having a child is still a miracle.

God bless us all.