Now, Discover Your Strengths

If you must. Guy is reading some books that are giving him great insight into how to work and talk to people without pissing them off. Not that he did before, but still. Self improvement is grand.

He is, according to this book, Individualization, Competition, Strategic, Learner, Analytical. After he took the test and found this out, we then went to the cooresponding pages in the book and read pages of material that described him.

You have to have a code to take the test. We only had the one code. So I don't get to take the test.

That's okay because I'm pretty sure Bitchtastic wasn't on their list. And I am so that.

Before and after

In August, 2001, I wanted to buy a house. The ex was agreeable, but as usual I did the leg work, the mortgage, the looking, the work. If that sounds ugly, I don't mean it to be. That is just how we were. I thought he was too slow and unmotivated, so I just took over. I might have been right, but that doesn't mean I handled it commendably.

Whatever. Not the point.

In August, 2001, I wanted to buy a house. There were two people who didn't tell me I was crazy. The first was my granddaddy. He told me it was the smartest idea I had in a long time. Go for it. The second was my friend (and student) Bach. She recommended a mortgage gal and a real estate agent. The mortgage gal is fantastic and I never met the real estate agent, but I met her partner and love her.

There was a house that I didn't want to see. It was ugly on the outside. The inside looked boring from the pictures. I went anyway. I just so happened to go right after Bach's lesson, so she went with me. I have the world's crappiest memory, but I will never forget walking in the door of that house, with Bach right behind me and turning to her to say that I loved this house.

There were only four rooms and a bathroom. One freakishly large bathroom. One freakishly large bathroom that my former mother-in-law painted purple while I was at work one day. Again, not the point. I love the open floor plan and the huge kitchen. It was 1200 square feet of cozy 1940's bliss. We bought it.

Then, we proceeded to do nothing with it except some random painting of rooms. There were new windows and a new HVAC, all on loans that I'm still paying, but no real improvements beyond that.

Until Guy.

Guy helped me give this little house dignity through tile. My father-in-law helped me give it a new bathroom sink. I bought paint and carpet. We worked in the yard. We updated the kitchen.

We took care of my little house.

Today, Bach and I went, after her lesson, back over to that little house. We walked in the front door, and came full circle. She has been with me through the most significant events in my life now. She has given me advice on everything from house buying to adoption to making the most kickass dressing there is.

Just in case I haven't said thank you enough, or ever, thank you.

The before and after of my little house are so closely linked to the before and after of me. It's friends like Bach, who have been there for the before and the after, and stick around, that leave me speechless.

Speaking in literary terms, speechless. Of course. Since I have now rambled on for paragraphs upon paragraphs. I'm going to stop now.

Playdate

If you don't have a baby, can you still have a playdate? If you have good enough friends with babies, the answer is yes. JD and his momma came over this morning for blueberry scones and coffee. JD skipped the coffee though and just enjoyed the scones. As did Pupstar who already knows that baby with food = food for Pupstar. She also enjoys licking the snot off baby faces, but I won't go there.

I thought that this picture of JD was funny. His parents, or his dad rather, are very high tech. Dad runs a techno blog with reviews, recipes, and other goodies, and big sis already has a pc in her room at age 5. JD with his "future blogger" shirt is appropriate for this family.


However, notice that now, at almost 14 months old, he plays with tupperware. And a spatula. God love him.

Alone and rambling

Guy is gone. Flying to Boston as I type. It is a job interview, so that is good. He will be back tomorrow, but for now, I am alone.

Pupstar has positioned herself at my feet doing her best pillbug imitation. She will follow me around tonight, wondering when things will get back to normal. When Guy will get back home.

I'll warm up some pasta, have a glass of wine, and then most likely try and put things away. There is a never ending collection of crap in this house that has not found its place yet. I should get rid of most of it.

Do we really need 1000 cd's? No. We haven't even gone through them to see what duplicates we have yet. I guarantee we have two of every Crowded House cd, most U2 cd's, all the Police, and a lot of the Beatles.

What he doesn't have is any Nirvana, Pearl Jam, or Juliana Hatfield. What I don't have is any Johnny Smith, Diana Krall, or John Pizzarelli. My music is music to out grow; his is music to grow into.

There is a whole lifetime that we didn't get to live together. He has been on stage so many times playing, and I never got to see it. He never got to see me be angry-rock-chick either, but that's probably a good thing. Sometimes though, I actually get sad that we missed so much of each other's lives.

That is completely retarded and I know it.

So far tonight, truth be told, I've drunk the glass of wine without eating the pasta. I've not picked anything up. Instead, I've read blogs and been in a funk.

I'm sorry to have to say, there is another member to the growing club. It is not a club that you want anyone to have to join. However, Karaoke Diva had a D&C 4 days ago now and has been writing eloquently about it since. I should pop in and mention to her that having her blog turn into "miscarriage central" isn't a bad thing. Especially for 4 days. I'm going on a month and can't seem to change the channel for very long. She is already back at work. I marvel.

Guy had a great idea. He gets laid off on February 5 (so he hears), and I should ovulate by the end of that week. He suggested we take the first bite of his severance and go away somewhere. Go try to make another baby. It's a great idea. Except for the timing.

I think that's why I'm a little bummed. I want nothing more than to say yes to him, but my kiddos are getting ready to compete. February is the last month before competitions, and I just can't miss their lessons. They have been working for months on these pieces, and I need to give them all the time I can to finish getting them ready. They have worked too hard to not have the best chance possible. The best chance possible includes me being here for them.

Plus, we have symphony tickets. Plus plus, I have a gig that Saturday.

Now I understand why he wanted me to quit my other job.

I would love to go away. I'm going to have to make it special right here though.

Does anyone have any suggestions for a stay at home vacation? Romantic get away where you don't actually leave?

I need some help here, ladies. I'm romance deficient.

Open House

So tired. Tried to make the yard at my house look like I ever cared about it. There is an open house tomorrow. Several bags of mulch and a few dozen pansies later, it still pretty much says, "Dogs owned this yard." And possibly also says, "Watch out for petrified poo."

So tired also because of Scotty. One of my former foster dogs is staying with me again. His mom is out of the country for 2 weeks and she wanted him to not have to stay in the kennel for two weeks. He is a sweetheart and I was happy to get to have him with me again.

That was before he peed in my house 7 times in 32 hours. That is 6 times on the carpet and once in the kitchen. That is once on a chair, once on the couch, and twice on a leg of the dining room table.

Today, he topped it all off by digging his way under the fence and disappearing. Remember now, he is not my dog. His tags do not point him back to me in any way. So I take a break from the yard work, and Guy leaves the plumbing of our bathroom to look for Scotty. For hours.

Finally, tonight, the call comes. I had contacted the rescue group so that if someone called the microchip number, they would know that Scotty was with me and not his mom. Three people had called him in, but he kept escaping.

And when we found him? He came running over and rolled over on his belly. He just wants to be loved. And he just doesn't understand that he needs to stay home to do that.

A good day

It's a good day. Guy and I are sitting on the couch with dueling laptops. I've had my nails done, hands and feet. I have some serious bad cramps (hooray! I work again!). And, I've ventured off of my own blog for the first time.

You can see my review of the boxed Target wines at Props and Pans. Thanks very much to Izzy and Margalit for being so welcoming.

Tonight we are off to the symphony. I bought season tickets, and this is the first of them we are using. That's pretty sad. Such has been the year though.

Tomorrow, there is a run here in town called the Krispy Kreme Challenge. I invited Zoot to come join in, because it is right up her alley. Unfortunately I only invited her yesterday, and we aren't so close. Her wedding cake was made of Krispy Kreme donuts, and she has recently taken up running. You wouldn't think those things belong in the same sentence, but then that means you haven't clicked on this to find out more on the Krispy Kreme Challenge.

Have a great evening with all your fellow Schmoopies.

To therapy or not to therapy

My dog is drinking out of the toilet. After she is done, she will come in here to get in the bed, snuggle up, and possibly lick my face. Yum.

My bro is a therapist. A marriage and family therapist. Tonight I told him that I was thinking about going to therapy. He said that it was good because it could help me deal with a lot of stuff.

At the same time, I was telling him that I didn't want to go because I had a lot of stuff packed neatly away, and I didn't want to deal with it. He had to ask me what I had said because he was talking. I'm not paying him if he sends me a bill.

I wonder if I can order off the therapy menu?

I would like to deal with my miscarriage and the loss of our baby please. No, I do not want a side of daddy issues with that. No, no teacher molestation either. Just the miscarriage please.

All of our issues overlap though. If I go to therapy, won't they just come crashing down until I'm buried in them?

Maybe I should just shop more. You know, retail therapy. I need more throw pillows and men's sweaters. Geez.

On a happy note, Guy is getting his severance on February 5. Answers to that mean that we can open the baby making discussions again. Although House had a good point in the previous comments about how therapy could also help the lonely. Maybe. But then again, maybe baby lonely is different.

Maybe I should just go and find out.

For now though, I'm just going to bed.

Well, shit

There I go dirtying up this beautiful blog template by Zoot. Sorry about that. It's just that I feel up to getting a little funny the past couple of days and then there is today. Today sucks. I would like to have no more todays please.

Guy thinks I need a therapist. There is only one problem with that. I suck at talking. Put me in front of a live person and I will invariably tell them what I think they need to hear in order to think that I am alright. I am strong. I don't need you to listen to me, write on your little notepad, and say "um-hum" a lot. No thanks.

I can handle it.

Right on then. Today, when Guy mentioned that we shouldn't try to get pregnant now because we don't know about health insurance in the job change and his severance insurance only runs through October, I freaking lost it. Freaking. lost. it.

I have been charting temps and even sent in the moola for the v.i.p. membership on Fertility Friend. Who named that site anyway? That is so gay. Anyway, I've got down the days in February that we need to get busy with our bad selves. They are marked and ready. Then, you know what is the coolest? I could pee on a stick on my birthday. My 34th birthday. It was perfect.

One of the first goals Guy told me he had was to get me pregnant before my 34th birthday. At the time, I thought it was an incredibly strange thing to say. I hadn't known the drive of a man to impregnate me before. Then, I thought it was incredibly cool, and I wanted nothing more than for it to happen. Bring it on, sperm shooter (that one is for the Google searcher out there).

Granted, he did it. I was pregnant. But now I'm not. And dammit, I want to be again. I am
so goddamn lonely. I have good friends. I have family. I have students. But I don't have a baby, and I am lonely.

And okay. I'm depressed. I am possibly on a quest to be the most stubborn person alive, so I forge ahead and make sure that I seem okay. Guy has asked me to be okay. The stress level at his job right now is unbelievable. They still haven't handed him a package yet. We want that package. Fifteen years and a whole lot of work - they owe him a package. And if they were humane, they would extend the health insurance for his hopefully pregnant wife. Who was in fact pregnant when they laid him off. Bastards.

I am trying to be okay. For everyone. And because doesn't it feel better to be okay? Can't I just decide to be okay and it happen?

Well, shit.

When Guy told me that we might need to wait to get pregnant again, I felt like I was losing a baby all over again. A baby that didn't even exist yet. He tried to explain to me that getting pregnant wouldn't make me not be sad about Cleatus. I know that.

But won't it help with the lonely? I would like for it to help with that.

First I think I'm going to try yoga. It sounds like a good suggestion, and it doesn't involve talking. I emailed a couple of places tonight to find out about private instruction because most of the classes are offered in packages and have already started. So. don't. want. to. talk.

Guy wants to fix it. He wants to make me not hurt. Take away the pain. I love him for that. But he thinks that if he can't fix it, then I might not love him. I might want to not be with him. We are both insecure. But we are both so in love with each other that we think we ourselves are the lucky one. I am the lucky one, by the way.

He can't fix this. He didn't break it. I have to just hurt, and he has to let it be okay.

God that sucks. If there is a different solution than that, I am so completely open to hearing it.

Think I'm from the South?

All the states I have visited. Fun.



create your own personalized map of the USA


Thanks, Lizzy!

The Dude and his dude

That's the Dude there in the blue shirt. Policeman to the right. Obviously.


Here they are again. In this one, I think that the policeman is suspicious of Pilot, who is taking the photo. Or maybe he was just wondering if there were going to be any of the cookies covered in powdered sugar left when he went off protective duty.


I'm telling you, the people who put on this show in Hamlet had thought of everything. Nice dressing rooms, plenty of food (although I'm the only one who likes to eat before the show), plenty of bottled water, copies of the programs for us, and security. We have arrived.

My phone hearts Boo

Boo is tiny. She does not look like a child, as sometimes people say she does, rather, she is a petite woman. Very petite and very pretty.

Boo runs marathons. She can wear a 0 petite, and gets some awesome clothes on sale. In the pictures from her wedding, I look a little like Hagrid while helping her into her dress. We are a true Mutt & Jeff.

This past October, we were at a gig at Campbell University (Boo plays violin with the Dude). During a break, her phone kept ringing from a private number, but no one was there when she would answer. It happened three times before I realized that the way my phone was wedged into my purse was causing it to call her, speed dial #9, over and over again. It was me calling. It was me making fun of myself for not answering her when she said "hello."

Today, I was returning fan blades to the Home Depot. While I was completing the transaction, I could hear the faintest sound of Boo's voice.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is anyone there?"

Boo was trapped in my purse! She is that small! I had to get her out! Set her free!

Or perhaps it is more truthful that my phone, not being set to keyguard, had simply begun to call her again, and this time even put itself on speaker.

My phone hearts Boo.

Insult to injury

Another bill came today for the baby that isn't coming. It sucks that we will now have to start filing paperwork with the insurance company, find out why they aren't paying, and be generally annoyed by customer service menus numbers 1-9. What further sucks is the one that came today is for the ultrasound where we saw his sweet little heartbeat.

The bill for the anesthesiologist came Saturday. It was $950 and so far none of it is covered which makes me wonder if they consider that unnecessary? Just let her stay awake, it's no big deal. Guy says not to worry that we just file it again. They are just making sure it is really me. If they keep sending me bills like that, they are going to have to pay my bills for the coronary that is going to send me to the hospital each time I open one.

I guess the worst piece of mail so far though is the survey I received from the hospital where the D&C was performed. I know they are just trying to make sure their "customers" are satisfied and all, but you might think they could be a little selective about who they sent the survey to. Maybe a happy lady who had a successful knee replacement? How about the young man who had emergency appendicitis and they saved his life? I'm sure those people would love to fill out a survey. Me, not so much.

1. Was the check-in process efficient and easy?
Why yes. Except for the part where the nice lady felt obligated to share the story of her 3 miscarriages with me. And then she ran out of tissue at her desk. I wasn't quite ready to bond.

2. Were the nurses friendly and helpful?
Of course they were. When the first nurse realized that we had been sitting in a room for over an hour with no contact from staff, she rushed right in to help us fill out pages and pages of forms. Then she forgot what D&C stood for, but it was okay because Guy reminded her. Kim, the night nurse was exceptional, but then again I was drugged.

3. Did your surgery go as expected?
Yes, thank you for asking. I left your hospital without my unborn child, but as far as we know, you didn't poke any holes in my uterus. You sent him to pathology and I never heard from you again. Until this survey. Two thumbs up.

Really, there are no complaints about the hospital. It was dark and old smelling, but then again, I so completely didn't want to be there that it could have been Club Med and I would have said the same thing. I certainly had no complaints about the doctor though. He wasn't even on call that night, but he came to the hospital anyway. He didn't think I needed to meet another new doctor on the worst day of my life. He cut out of whatever family activities he had going on to help me. Can't I fill out a survey about him instead?

Or better yet, can you please just stop sending me mail about my miscarriage?

Maybe I've mentioned this before, but this all sort of reminds me of the time that Guy went to the vet the first time after we had to put Tippy down. He went to buy flea medicine for the two girls. The woman at the desk kept insisting that Tippy was also due for his flea medicine. Guy kept saying that he was quite sure that he wasn't, yet the woman wouldn't stop. Finally, Guy had to raise his voice at her and tell her that indeed, our dead dog, who had been put to sleep in this very vet just a week prior, did not need flea medication. Thank you very much.

It has just occurred to me that I have the opportunity to write my first review for Props and Pans. The West Jefferson County Hospital. I give it 2 thumbs up for all your miscarriage needs. I am just so wrong, aren't I? Check them out though - Props and Pans, not the hospital I hope. I'm totally going to buy some of the suspenders that you hook to your bra. Maybe tomorrow. For my size 16 jeans, not maternity clothes.

No autographs, please

I take a multi-day break from blogging now, and when I finally have a chance to sit down in front of the computer, all the thoughts come pouring out in multiple entries. Oh well.

This afternoon I had a gig with Dude. Being a morning news anchor and a top of the charts new age artist, we get some pretty cushy gigs. And most of our audience is over 60.

Don't knock this though. The over 60 crowd tends to have more money, more time, and more sweet things to say to you when you are done playing. Most of the time they serve cookies and coffee too. While you sign autographs. It's really quite fun.

Today, we traveled to Hamlet, NC. There is a community college there with an amazing auditorium. The sound crew was also amazing, which is such a relief. Our last gig was in a much more posh setting, and the sound crew wouldn't allow me to have the other instrumentalists in my monitor because they were filming for TV and they couldn't figure out how to give me monitor without it interfering with the taping. Let me explain why this is a problem. I'm not playing from written music. I don't know exactly what I'm going to play each time. I'm playing by ear, which means I have to be able to hear. It is of the utmost importance.

Anyway, today was one of those punch and cookie reception gigs. We loaded up and went to the banquet hall to smile and shake hands while Dude snapped pictures and sold CD's. The room was packed, as it was a sold out concert, but I swear to you there was not a soul under the age of 60 in the room. Most looked over 70. And they were so sweet. They talk to you like they are your grandparents being so proud of your performance. They want to hold your hand in theirs while they talk and tell you about how they loved the concert and thank us very much for coming. It is so very different from the late night smoky clubs I used to play. People listen and are so very nice.

So why then, was there a member of the Hamlet police force standing behind Dude the whole time - arms folded - brow furrowed?

Mob control?

CD theft?

Make sure the canes weren't used as weapons?

We just told all the nice older people that he was there to make sure Dude didn't trash another dressing room.

And the Colts are going to the Superbowl. We are happy about this. Because Guy says so.

Home "Improvements"

Guy and I finally got my house on the market. After 6 months of some pretty heavy renovations, we have successfully polished a turd and find ourselves asking a ridiculous amount of money for it. Location, location, location.

It was only fitting that we start on our home right away.

Here's the kitchen. Guy and his Dad ripped out the ceiling on Saturday. Wheeeee.

Guy's dad is a retired plumber. His joys in life are finding a bargain and being a bargain to other people. Whatever the going rate is for a plumbing job - Papa can do it for half the cost. His other joy in life, Lovely. That's another entry though.

The master bathroom is above the kitchen. So was the master closet. However, since it is impossible to stand up off the toliet without banging your elbow into the tissue holder and your head into the door handle, we are changing things a little. The master closet is becoming part of the master bathroom and we stole part of a bedroom for the master closet. The closet is finished excepting flooring, but I'm waiting to include it in the "finished" shots.

To the right is some of the ductwork that had to be removed.

To the left, the beams of the ceiling and a door that we are covering. And my calendar. Regardless of all the technology, I still like a calendar hanging on the wall.

And again to the right, are the light switches for the kitchen. I have been portraying Guy as nothing but perfect, so here is his imperfection. A probably dangerous light box. At the very least, it is ugly. I am so tortured.

Just wait for the finished shots. I'm going to regret that I posted that lightswitch box.

While the boys worked in the kitchen, I tried my hand with wallpaper removal. The half-bath downstairs looked like this:

Mmmmm. Floral.

Then it looked like this:

Mmmmmmm. Seashells.








And then, it looked like this:


This is bad because the darkest spots are the places where the drywall is ripping off with the seashell wallpaper. The wall was not primed prior to wallpapering. I am going to have to mud and sand this wall before I can paint it and hang the really lovely Bob Rankin painting I bought at Artsplosure this year. This is only one of about 38 reasons why wallpaper is evil.

Finished pictures of my house. Outside, note the gravel driveway that I spread myself. Like an idiot. Pay someone to do this from now on. Inside, here is the eat-in kitchen. Meaning, there is no dining room in this tiny house. I so love the paint colors. We tiled the floor and counters, put in new appliances and new hardware. My Sonoma wine festival rootster print does not convey.

Happy Mascara Day

Hooray.

Steps through the melting snow

Snow today. Not a snow day, just snow today. It has been forever since we had a good snow. I'm still waiting. Today was just a tease.

The next chance is on Sunday. That's no fun. Sunday isn't a snow day - only Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday are good snow days. Plus, we have a gig in Hamlet, NC. I have no idea where that is, but it's been over a month since we had a gig, and I love matinees. I'm hoping it doesn't get snowed out.

An old friend emailed me a couple of days ago. He is a good guy. He had heard about my recent marriage and probably said to himself, "Hmm. I went to her wedding 8 years ago. Is that recent?" So he dropped me a line to find out what was going on.

It is interesting which friends you can catch up with and which ones just stall. There was another instance where I ran into a very good friend from high school in October. We exchanged hugs and email addresses and promised to stay in touch. A couple of weeks later, I sent her a heartfelt email with the nuggets of my life now (complete with web links) and told her how glad I was to be "back in touch."

Then, I never heard from her.

(Insert photoshopped picture of me in a dunce hat with the title "Loser" on it, ala OTJ)

What is it about the people you can fall back into step with?

There are friends I have had who I thought were like family and then all of the sudden, that relationship crashes and burns. Those are rare, but the scars never seem to leave.

Then there are the old and dear friends. The ones who don't mind if you haven't spoken in 3 months. Sometimes 3 years. You just know each other. And you fall right back into step.

With the incredibly supportive comments lately, I find myself contemplating these online friends. I have found myself wondering if bloggers make friends more easily and connect with other bloggers more quickly because we aren't hiding behind the rules of social graces.

Here, we write. We bear our souls, most of us. There is a safety of a screen between us and other people, but honestly, anyone reading this knows me better than most anyone not reading now.

I wonder if we aren't making friends here that are so comfortable. Comfortable like the old friends.

All this to say, thanks again for helping get through the absolute worst weeks of my life. I count you all as friends now. A new type of friend, but friends nonetheless. I honestly (not melodramatically) do not know if I would have made it so soon or so unscathed without you. You, yes you there - reading this now, rock.

If I missed anyone, please forgive me and let me know. You know how I am about editing.

Also, if you have a moment, drop by and share some of those healing thoughts and comments for the Momma of Five Little Monkeys. She has a beautiful tribute to her sister, who she lost on January 14. Your words mean more than you know.

Dreamland

Today was supposed to be day 3 of no tears. Mascara could return into my life. Maybe even eyeliner if I'm feeling up for it. But no.

Target was full of the cutest babies. Then there was the baby section. The tiny baby things. The cashier who is my next door neighbor who hadn't heard the news. It was my first time flying solo on giving it. From my mouth that is. I've gotten pretty good at typing about it.

Anyway, she came up to me with all of her Ukrainian enthusiasm for pregnancy (which pails only to that of my Turkish friend) and wanted to know how me and the baby were. I told her. Then, I cried. Not sobbed. Not fell apart. Just cried.

Guy said he was proud of me and that I was doing just fine. I did have some Kleenex packed and ready in my purse so my tears were as graceful as possible. Whatever.

Just now while fixing dinner, my sniffling in the kitchen brings a call in from the other room.

"You okay, Schmoop?"

It's not what he thinks. I'm sneaking a piece of white bread and dipping it in Dreamland BBQ sauce. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. Heaven. Spicy as hell, but oh so heavenly.

Puppies therapy and I'm still crazy

There are a lot of women in the circle of friends I have that are pregnant. They are more friends of friends really, so I don't have to see them unless I choose to see them. Let's be honest, I don't have that many friends. This one friend I do have, has a lot of friends and a lot of them are pregnant. That is much more accurate.

I spent some time with this friend on Friday. She has new puppies. What can cheer you up if it is not puppies and a good friend? They are so incredibly cute (the puppies and the friend). This picture is of the 5 minutes that they were actually still:
The other 50 I took are not so good. Well, except this one:


If that doesn't make you smile, you might be dead.

Anyway, our conversations had been centered around pregnancy. There was a friend in each month from March to July, and two in a couple of months, who were pregnant. She would tell me how each one was doing and then get my update as well.

Thank God for puppies. I can't explain it with any sort of logic, but I was dreading hearing about those women. Lucky for me, my friend didn't bring them up. I should have known she would know better. I just can't bear to hear about them and their happy appointments and cute maternity clothes right now. Maybe soon, but not yet.

The pregnant women I want to keep up with are here. Online. I feel safe reading about their pregnancies here in my little shell and am still genuinely happy for them.

I hope she doesn't mind, but I'm singling one out tonight. There is a website that most of you probably know about already called Babycenter. On Babycenter, there are bulletin boards where you can post with other women that are due in your same month. I shouldn't say this, but am going to anyway. There are a lot of young, not so smart people posting there. I know that isn't the nicest thing to say, but it's true. There was one woman though who kept appearing in the same threads I would explore. She would comment with intelligence, patience (if someone was being a moron), humor, and had great signatures. Surely she is a graphic artist. Or a photographer. Key word here though: artist. When I saw a link to her blog, I had to go. It got bookmarked and that was that.

We would have been due the same month next year. For the first few days after I lost the baby, I avoided that bookmark like the plague. Then one day I decided to check in. See how she was doing. She had posted about how annoying it was to have people bitching about the gender of their unborn child. You all know me. I left a snarky comment about how they should be so lucky (sorry about that, by the way) and somewhere in my head, I decided to keep reading.

So at the risk of being some sort of crazy ass stalker, I have decided to sort of adopt her blog. Follow her pregnancy. Take joy in each week that passes. Get excited about the good updates from the doctor. Wait for the belly shots. Wait for the July baby. Celebrate the July baby.

Maybe it sounds completely and utterly insane, but it makes me happy. Lately, that is rare, so I'm running with it. Here's to a happy healthy baby in July with a mommy who is kind enough to share it all with crazy internet land. Thanks for that.

Fertile Mertile

100 things

So I had been totally planning to do the whole 100 things about me post at post number 100. Because I heard that is what you do. When I go to look at how close I am to 100 today, it says I'm at 105. Story of my life. Now I sit here quite sure that I can't think of 100 things to write about boring me. That could be number one I guess. Then if you don't want to read the other 99, you won't think you missed anything

1. In reality, I'm actually rather boring.
2. I am a musician.
3. My degree is in music composition, but I teach piano.
4. I play and sing with a new age artist who is also a morning news anchor.
5. Old people love us.
6. I have twice played with the symphony and arranged Dude's music for them.
7. That gig and my old job have required that I be on TV a lot.
8. I freaking hate being on TV.
9. I used to be a rock star wannabe and played clubs, signed an indie deal and made a superbly terrible album.
10. I no longer want to be a rock star because they stay up too late and smoke too much.
11. I am married to Guy, the most perfect man in the world for me.
12. We have been married since July, 2006.
13. It wasn't a shotgun wedding, but we figured that we had wasted enough time in our lives. We knew what we wanted, and getting married was the first step in starting, so we did it.
14. My unworn wedding dress is still hanging in the spare bedroom.
15. The same preacher has now married me twice, and thinks this one is a much better plan.
16. I married a Yankee and now know how to make pirogi.
17. I'm better at making biscuits.
18. I am a complete freak for baking.
19. The only food I really know how to cook though is cajun and deep south goodness.
20. Crockpots frighten and confuse me.
21. I have a stepdaughter, Lovely, who is 10.
22. I have several students who started taking from me when they were 8 and are now about to graduate from high school.
23. I feel old.
24. I also feel good about that.
25. I like for my students to compete and do well. That way they have a goal, and something to be proud about at the end of the day.
26. I don't fit in at the monthly piano teachers' meetings. At all. Boy howdy.
27. I told my mother about 80 million times that I would never teach piano.
28. I took the LSAT 2 weeks after graduating from college and was planning to go to UNC Chapel Hill for law school.
29. That plan was derailed when I taught for a year while gaining my residency and figured out how much I liked it. Plus we were already paying for my ex's unused graduate degree.
30. I worked for 6 years as the Executive Director of a non-profit. That seemed to satisfy my administrative, career oriented, writing, and public speaking needs. Now I don't do that anymore.
31. There are people that don't like me. I try not to care.
32. There are people that don't like me because I am so focused on getting things done
that sometimes I disregard how others fit into the mix.
33. There are people that like me because I get things done.
34. I used to foster English Setters. They are awesome dogs.
35. I am down to 2 dogs and now like it that way.
36. Cats freak me out in general, although I do have a few kitty friends.
37. Fish seem pointless to me.
38. We have a guinea pig who I tried hard not to like, but he is actually quite adorable.
39. Reptiles and amphibians are also not on my pet list.
40. I am very close to my family.
41. Sometimes that means we hurt each other.
42. My father is a retired lawyer and my mother is a retired Presbyterian minister.
43. My bro is 4 years older than me and also works in the Presbyterian church.
44. I will never ever in my life work for a church again. I think they are selfish and generally take advantage of their employees.
45. That doesn't mean I hate God.
46. I think though, that he might hate me, so I always warn people of that before I agree to keep them in my prayers. And I ask them to let me know if bad stuff starts happening so that I can quit praying for them just in case it's my fault.
47. I used to be a youth director. My youth group drank the clear liquor in my apartment and replaced it with water. I didn't know this until 10 years later when one of them told me.
48. I can be a complete tool.
49. Now I don't go to church. I don't really miss it either.
50. I just looked over my shoulder as I typed that.
51. In college I developed an eating disorder. Until recently I still looked at pictures from that time and wished I was that skinny again. Ick.
52. My body image sucked until I was pregnant.
53. I am 5'8" and maybe a half, but maybe not, but I'm usually wearing 3-4 inch heel boots in the fall and winter. Sometimes in the summer too.
54. I have a boot problem. Unless you love boots too, in which case, I have a fabulous boot collection.
55. I hate floral prints.
56. There are no tatoos on my body. I had one picked out and never could see my way to spend the money.
57. I am now glad that I was broke.
58. There is a small part of me that wishes I knew how to dance.
59. I am completely and totally clumsy.
60. The only charity I send money to without batting an eye is Mustard Seed, a group home and day center for mentally challenged adults. They make awesome ceramics.
61. I don't like much TV. Grey's Anatomy. Boston Legal. Homicide. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Yes, I'm award that at least 2 of those shows are off the air.
62. Local artists are always my favorites. No matter where I live.
63. Movies bore me. I did like Little Miss Sunshine though.
64. My brother thinks I have ADD.
65. I've closed this post and opened it at least 7 times now. Because I'm bored.
66. I hate that these tabs don't line up correctly.
67. After I married Guy, I found his voter registration card. He is a Republican. I fainted. Never assume people. Never assume.
68. I love him anyway.
69. My taste in music is in direct conflict with my education. I tend to like simple songs with good lyrics. Liz Phair. Sarah MacLachlan. Tori Amos (okay, not so simple). Wilco. Damien Rice. And a host of others.
70. I used to have a lot more cd's until I let my ex divide them up while I wasn't home.
71. I still have entirely too many.
72. I have owned 2 Stratocasters. Played neither. Only wished I had in some odd corner of my head.
73. My boobs are ginormous.
74. I was a National Merit Finalist.
75. I haven't been very smart since there has not been an opportunity for standardized testing in my adult life.
76. I make all my own stock. Chicken stock is on the stove as I type.
77. My granddaddy was one of my best friends.
78. I love houses. I secretly wish I could be a realtor. Then I remember all the smiling and looking cute that is required.
79. I have never ridden a yellow school bus.
80. Chopin is my favorite composer to play. Followed by Haydn.
81. I hate listening to recordings of classical music, but I like going to the symphony.
82. I love to read.
83. My first and second live concerts were both Amy Grant.
84. Since then I have seen Sting, Steely Dan, Rolling Stones, Mark Eitzel, Sarah MacLachlan, Tori Amos, Cocteau Twins, Patti Griffin, Cheap Trick, Peter Frampton, Sixpence None the Richer, Bela Fleck, Emmylou Harris, Marcia Ball, Pearl Jam, U2, Cyprus Hill, Smashing Pumpkins, Tres Chickas, Lyle Lovett, Nancy Griffith, James Taylor, Bryan Adams, Counting Crows, Victoria Williams, Buddy and Julie Miller, Juliana Hatfield, Tesla, Wilco, and a bunch more.
85. I started blogging to talk about my parents and their health.
86. The blogosphere was a total unknown to me.
87. I had a miscarriage in December. It was my first child.
88. Blogging probably saved me.
89. So did the other bloggers. Guy thanks you.

And because of #64, I'm going to let Guy give you the last 10 things about me. The only rule is that he can't talk about my boobs (see #73).

90. She should have been named Grace due to her klutsy mannerisms.
91. She loves baseball, hotdogs, and PBR in the summer.
92. She trained me on wine and production and consumption. She loves great wine.
93. She can't play guitar well. She tries and is really cute trying.
94. She is a great singer.
95. She is a great cook and makes really great meals every night.
96. She is really great in front of a video camera. She is on TV all the time and somehow she can ignore that the camera is right in her face.
97. She hates mimes and loves midgets.
98. All my friends think she is the greatest girl ever.
99. My father thinks that she is the perfect woman.
100. I think that she is absolutely perfect.

Many congrats and mini congrats

Many congratulations to Whymommy and Whydaddy on their newest addition of Whybaby who was born today. I might supposed to be letting her announce this herself, but I cannot help myself. I am beyond wildly happy for them. The little guy will be growing up in one pretty amazing family.

Mini congratulations to me. Today I did not cry. Not once. Guy and I even talked about Cleatus and how much I missed him. Plus, I had a very surreal moment when I thought to myself, "Damn. I forgot to bring home some of Sil's maternity clothes to borrow." That was right before I thought, "Damn. That's stupid. There is a reason I didn't do that." Then instead of crying, I told Guy and we had a good chuckle over it. No tears. That has to be a good sign. If I go 2 more days, then I'm going to think about wearing eye makeup again.

There are waves. Walking into Target, I had a wave of wishing I was still pregnant. It happens. I guess it probably happens to a lot of women who have been pregnant, and not just those who miscarry. I don't know though.

The waves don't knock me down anymore though. Stagger, yes. But I'm still standing.