Last week, I got a call from my doctor telling me that the results of my blood test weren't as great as the nurse would have had me believe. According to my progesterone levels, I hadn't ovulated. Since my period came less than a week after the test, this news was not terribly welcome. Some at home testing this week is proving to be just as upsetting. Can't make an omelet without any eggs.

What is strange is how hard this development has hit me. I knew we would have to overcome the vasectomy and I know I'm not exactly in the prime of my fertility, but I figured I had a few old eggs still rattling around inside me. My periods never stopped (Which I find to be the height of rudeness. I'm talking to you, body. If you're not gonna release the eggs, why ya gotta make me cramp and bleed?)

The doctor seems in a rush. Maybe because she's my age and has kids already. Maybe because I cry in her office too often. Of course, there's hope. It may be as simple as taking a medication to force those damned eggs out of hiding or as complicated as IVF. The rushing doctor is hopeful. As is the husband. But I can't help but wish for the stupid ovulation test strip to show two lines and have everything happen naturally. That hope will stay alive until the next period starts. Then some new doctors will get to hear my cry!

And just like that I'm angry again. Wednesday nights are no longer my favorites, thanks to basketball practice which takes 1 away from family dinners. Boo. In order to make this day work, I need to make dinner early, feed 1, take both to drop 1 off at school (in the rain today, an added unpleasantry), get back and heat up the dinner so that when husband gets home, the three of us can eat. Then he needs to leave to pick 1 back up again. Back home, it's a rushrushrush of showers and teeth brushing and reading and bed. All of this means that in this 7 day period, we will have had one meal together and one chance for a family card game or 'Amazing Race' viewing. And that just isn't enough.

The two day stretches that happen every other week with the kids are too short. Wednesday is always an adjustment and now! with scheduling complications! Then Thursday happens and then they're gone. This is, I suppose, a good metaphor of childhood/parenting in general; it all happens and ends way too quickly. This being the case, I would like to find a way to be less cranky about the little things that make me cranky. And to be less selfish. The kids, after all, are going off to be with their mother.

I should go think of some things to be thankful for and stop the self-pity. Quickly.

p.s.

Even with some skipped days, my monthly average is WAY up!

sixsixsix!

Bad blogger checking in here. Does it help, by way of explanation (read: excuse) that I spent yesterday cleaning the house from top to bottom? I'm talking mattress-vacuuming, duvet washing and floor mopping. I was sore at the end of it all. And Sunday was filled with many hours of cooking, baking with stepkid 2, cranberry-bog-walking, painting and card games with both kids. Thankfully, I avoided the raking. I'll take cooking over raking any day; I'm old fashioned like that.

Today is my 6 monthiversary. I know it's ridiculous. My husband has always laughed at my emphasis on each monthly milestone, probably because he's had a few long relationships. Before him, I'd never made it to 6 months. And now I've been MARRIED that long! (Thursday with mark the 19 monthiversary of our first meeting, if you're counting.) Yes, it really doesn't feel like that long; the time has flown. And yes, 6 months probably doesn't seem like a big deal to most people. But to me, it is occasion enough to throw a tablecloth on the kitchen table and light some candles. As a gift, I'm letting him watch the shows he likes tonight. (Hence my presence here.) He came home early to chop up old doors and other things I want out of the basement but are too big for the garbage truck and too icky to freecycle. Trust me when I say these are REALLY good gifts, respectively.

So there it is. I'm a married lady, feeling more and more married everyday. And so far, that's a really good thing. Happy monthiversary, baby.

I was going to start this post by saying the last time I had a 9+ hour visit with a friend was so long ago I can't remember, but when I DID think about it, I could remember. That time was last month during a visit to my old stomping grounds. C met us in Central Park and spent the day helping me introduce the city to the kids. I miss him daily and although he pointed out there was no need to "catch up," no amount of texting can replace real time with a loved one.

And so it was with B, as well. (Who will read this, but that's not why I'm writing it!) Having known each other for over 26 years, we've experienced myriad levels of closeness, both geographically and emotionally. After all these years, miraculously, we've found each other living in the same state, fairly close even, and with children, step or otherwise, who, while not close in age, are all incredibly fond of each other.

Yesterday, we got together in the morning, just the kids and us (no husbands, though they're swell, too.) and managed to talk and laugh and gripe and reminisce late into the evening. And boy, did I need that. The company, for sure, but also her specific company. To remind me of another time when I was new around these parts and knew no one. B was one of the very first people I met and the very first true best friend I made. And I've been able to hang on to her for a 1/4 of a century, I just may be able to repeat history and find my place here as well.

Having not left the house for nearly 3 days (That 'Housewives of Atlanta' marathon wasn't going to watch itself!), I'd nearly forgotten it was still Autumn. After a way-too-early snow and three days in an unheated house, I kinda figured Winter had come to stay. But I did leave today and was reminded what a gorgeous neighborhood/state/region it is in which I live.

Maybe someday I'll completely stop complaining about being in the suburbs (Don't hold your breath.). Today gets a break because all of these old trees are displaying and/or shedding their most colorful leaves and seeing those bright yellows (Oak? I don't know from plants.) or one of those flaming reds, makes me all squishy inside. Although it was a crappy, rainy day, I started to think of kicking through the crunchy leaves and breathing in that crisp Fall air and I was happy to be home.

Family Dinners

It's Wednesday and the kids are back and it's making me think about what I wrote a few days ago. It used to be that every other week, when they'd been gone for the 5 day stretch, Wednesday afternoon was ROUGH. It's just the three of us and, to me, they bickered too much (I grew up with three sisters; I'm fairly knowledgeable about proper bickering amounts.) and were poorly behaved, in general. Whether it is was because of the transition or us getting used to each other or the ungodly amount of television viewing they were able to cram into 120 hours (Slightly more than what I was able to manage. But I'm a grown up. And don't do it in front of children. Or watch TV in front of them either. Hilarity.), it didn't matter. What matters is that it was ROUGH. For all involved.

Husband would come home to a cranky, possibly pissed-off me and while I suppose being angry at each other can be bonding, it wasn't the kid of bonding I enjoy. Over the course of dinner, blood sugars would normalize, the mood would lighten and by dessert, everything was cool again. Better than cool. Wednesday afternoons are no longer as difficult as they used to be, but I still count on Wednesday night dinners to bring us back together.

I love a family dinner and think most people just pay lip service to it. In my parents' home, we weren't allowed to answer the phone during dinner. No TV. No complaining about what was being served. Upon divorcing, husband made sitting down at the table for meals a priority because it was one of the things he couldn't manage to make happen during his marriage and something that bothered him. Of course, with the addition of evil stepmom came many more rules. I was appalled that the kids didn't cut their own meat. That they didn't ask for things to be passed and didn't bother saying please and thank you when someone did these things for them. And good lord!, the open-mouth chewing!

I'm happy to report that all that (for the most part) has changed. Each night we're together, we sit at a table set by one of the kids, with cloth napkins (They were made by a friend and used at our wedding. I like that they remind us of that day.) and have an entirely pleasant meal. Everyone samples each dish, even the weird-looking ones. We engage in conversation and share our day. We all work to clean up and put away the leftovers. Sometimes because we're in a hurry to watch TV.

I don't need it to be perfect, I swear. And thank goodness, because it isn't. Sometimes there's talking with a mouthful. And sometimes it's not even me.