Why We Didn't Have More Children

Sometimes you think you are over something and you are not. Really, it is your brain trying to convince your heart that everything is alright. Or it might be the well-meaning loved ones in your life trying to soothe you and help you cope, who convince you it is all okay. It may even be the insensitive or cruel people who somehow believe your pain is unwarranted, who insist you should just get over it. But what if you pretend, you go through the motions, you lie to people and say you are okay and act like you are over it, but you're not? What if on a given day when you haven't given it a recent thought, you turn on the TV, open Facebook, or pull up an email, and Bam! It smacks you right in the face as if to say, "Yeah right. You thought you were over it? Wrong!"

My husband and I have been a couple since we were teenagers. We married after dating for about 7 years. It would surprise few to know we were sexually active before we got married (judge if you must, but really?). I am sure our son can even deduce that. We were generally responsible about our sexual activity; birth control, regular doctor's visits, and monogamy. We always, or at least I always prided myself with our peers, our son, and even the youth I worked with over the years, on the fact that we only got pregnant once, and we planned it. We proved it was possible to be sexually active and responsible.

In November 1997, after almost two years of marriage, my husband and I decided we were ready to try to start a family. I was relieved to be off birth control, and we agreed to just let things happen. No counting days. No ovulation kits. Just good old fashioned marital intimacy whenever the mood hit us. We carried on like we always did, just without contraception. As women usually do, I knew my cycle, and though I wasn't counting days, taking my temperature, or scheduling interludes with my husband, I did anticipate the time of each month when the question would be answered. Are we having a baby? There was little frustration or anxiety, I knew these things took time. I tried to resist the urge to take a pregnancy test, knowing if I waited just a couple of days I would either get my period or not.

For the first few months I did. Then one day in March I just got a feeling. This is going to be it. I just know it. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I thought I could feel myself getting pregnant as some women insist they can. It was just a feeling, probably caused more by hoping than knowing. I picked up a test from Walgreens a few days before I was expecting my period and went out of town for a couple of days on a trip for work. I made a deal with myself that if my cycle didn't start while I was away, I would take the test as soon as I returned.

It didn't. So I did. And I was.

Four months after casually trying to conceive, I was pregnant with our first child. First. I can say first while telling the story in past tense, because that's what Jacob was to us when he was born, our first baby. Pregnancy was amazing. I loved the way I felt. I enjoyed watching my belly swell, and the wonder of a growing life inside me. I experienced a little morning (ok, all day) sickness early on and sciatica towards the end, but I had a healthy pregnancy and I loved being pregnant. On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, 1998, he was born. Our son Jacob came into our lives as perfect as any healthy new born baby can be. When I went to my OB for my six week check up, she swiftly asked, "So, you ready for another one?" It was her way of leading into the discussion of going back on birth control because the months following childbirth are often a woman's most fertile. Ever heard of Irish twins?

After getting over the fact that I was physically unable to nurse, I loved being a mom. I felt comfortable in my role, and I had a great deal of support. My own mother told me I was much calmer and more confident than she ever remembered being, and my friends seemed to think I was relaxed and down to earth in my parenting. I matured as a woman and developed a sense of self-assuredness. I knew I was a good mom. So it was only natural that within about 3 years I was ready to grow our family. My husband and I decided to try and get pregnant again. Though we hadn't set concrete plans, we were pretty sure two children for a family of four was what we wanted. I had already stopped taking birth control and now we would like the first time with Jacob, let nature take its course. We continued to nurture a healthy, intimate relationship and expected within a few months, another baby would be on the way. 

Not this time.

By the end of the year, I was starting to feel frustrated. Plenty of sex. No baby. My annual exam was normal and I talked to my doctor who encouraged me to use an ovulation calendar to track my cycle. I was in good physical health and i wasn't quite thirty. There was no reason to believe there was any problem. "You're just not hitting it," she would say referring to my ovulation window. Meanwhile, well-meaning people in our lives were starting to drop hints- some subtle, some not so much. They would say playfully,

When are you guys going to have another baby? 

Jacob wants a brother or sister to play with.

How about a little girl?

We could only respond with a half-hearted chuckle and shrugged shoulders. After while it took everything in me not to cry on the spot. Smiling and saying, "We're trying," made me feel violated and inadequate. It was difficult enough to deal with our inability to conceive, but comments from other people just made matters worse. For months we continued the same routine. I would start numbering the calendar the day I got my period. I questioned whether to begin at the sign of early spotting or when true flow began. I thought maybe I was counting wrong and that's why we weren't conceiving. We tried every recommended pattern of sexual activity to increase the probability of conception, and still nothing. Every 28 days I would get a lump in my throat when I had signs of PMS, and by day 30 I was crying with the start of my period. Alone in my bathroom trying to hide my sadness from my husband, and everyone else. I just couldn't understand why nothing was happening.

By now Jacob was getting ready to start kindergarten and we experienced some stressful events in our family, followed by some changes in our careers. We stopped worrying so much about it because maybe it wasn't the right time anyway- at least that's what I told myself. Continuing with a healthy marriage and sex life, and a lack of focus on trying to conceive we carried on with our lives. I worried despondently that this was it, there would be no more babies. This is when the guilt started. I worried about Jacob being "an only." My parents wanted more grandchildren. My husband would love to have a Daddy's Little Girl. And what about me? Had I swaddled my last newborn, changed my last diaper, snuggled my last baby? I was starting to mourn the loss of something I never had... a second child.  These feelings would lead to even more guilt. How dare I feel sorry for myself. Some women can't have any children at all. Shame on me. Isn't Jacob enough? Guilt about guilt can be a heavy burden to carry.

A couple more years went by, all the while we kept trying. (I haven't been on birth control since around 2000). More changes brought a move, some financial challenges, and a little boy who wanted a sibling. Every purchase of a car, our home, furniture, was done with the consideration, what if we have another baby? In 2007, I started to realize that Jacob's tenth birthday would be the following year. It was now or never. If I didn't get pregnant by the time he was ten, my husband and I agreed it would be too many years between them and it might be time to give up.

By now I was working at a local elementary school where the big joke was if you don't want a baby, don't drink the water! Baby showers were as common as faculty meetings, and we were always celebrating another teacher's pregnancy. Maybe this will be it, I wished secretly and desperately. We decided to go full force in our effort. That meant check-ups for both of us. Him for healthy sperm count and activity, me for possible Fallopian tube leakage. While I was waiting in the doctor's office to discuss the results, I picked up a magazine from the table in front of me. You know the one with stacks and stacks of scattered magazines. I picked up the parenting magazine with the cutest baby on the cover, and while I was skimming the table of contents I came across an article titled: Why Can't We Have Another Baby? My heart rate increased slightly as I turned the pages one by one, trying to locate the article.I was scared I would find all the answers I was looking for.

Turns out there's something called secondary infertility; a couple's inability to conceive a baby, even though they've had at least one child in the past. According to the article and several others I have read since, secondary infertility (SI) affects anywhere from 1 to over 3 million couples. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or devastated. For many, SI is caused by age or other health factors, but for others it is unexplained. My doctor confirmed mine and my husband's test results as normal, with no indication that conception should be a problem. Essentially, we were experiencing unexplained SI and we could keep trying or start considering interventions. We talked about it quite a bit, my husband and I. Neither of us is a big fan of pharmaceuticals, and we agreed I wouldn't take fertility aiding drugs such as Clomid. This was a personal choice for which I would never criticize someone else, one way or the other. We briefly discussed invitro fertilization and ruled that out too because the financial drain with no guarantees, and the likelihood of multiples beyond what we were prepared for. We came to the decision that risking the financial stability of the family we had was not something we were prepared for, and for us it would have been a financial risk.  So with that, it was over.

As with many couples, it was a more emotional corner to turn for me, than it was for my husband. Though he would have been equally excited for another baby as I would have been, I think he had already begun to let go of the possibility. I said it out loud, and we agreed we were okay. But inside I was heartbroken. Each of my best friends from childhood had now birthed three children. Women all around me- family, coworkers, friends were all having babies. I was dealing with the shame and guilt I had over the jealousy and hurt I felt with each announcement, trying to be happy for them, wanting to cry for me. I started to worry and still do, about my son being alone when my husband and I die. It sounds foolish, I know. I expect he will be married with a loving family of his own by then. But the thought still saddens me. With all the love and support of my husband and my friends, no one besides my sister will feel what I feel on the day I lose one of my parents.

Over time, the sting has somewhat subsided. The ache has dulled. My husband encourages me to anticipate the next stage in our lives when we watch our son become an adult and build a family of his own. A time to enjoy some freedom again. We marvel at our ability if we choose, to re-settle down as seniors wherever Jacob lands because there is no split loyalty to another child. We feel lucky to be able to afford most anything to Jacob, in time and finances, because we only have one child. He is an amazing and loving kid who makes us feel proud and fulfilled as parents.

But every now and then, a pregnant friend, the baby of a colleague, my niece and my nephews, all remind me of my latent desire for another baby. There's a little sadness deep inside me that few understand. And now, my first child 16-years-old next month is clearly my last, and I am making peace with that. As my husband once said to me in so many words, and as I shared with the family, friends, and the congregation at Jacob's Bar-Mitzvah, maybe G-d recognized that we made such a perfect baby the first time that it became clear we couldn't possibly make another one so well. So G-d just stopped here, with Jacob. I like that theory, and I'm sticking with it.

Nothing Like an Old Friend

This piece was started on September 27, 2014 and completed October 25, 2014.

We're on a road trip. A short one; only a couple of hours from the west coast to the east. We're flashing back to a time in our lives when our hair was a lot bigger, and our waistlines a little smaller. A time when we needed the rock and roll that flushed through our veins as much as we needed air to breathe, and the raw passion of teenage love fueled and energized us. It is all about the 80's today. Pop, rock, and other Decade of Excess has-beens trying to hold onto the last bits of fame living in the memories of middle-aged fans, nostalgic for a visit to their own younger days. We're off to the 80's in the Park Festival in Melbourne. But for us, this time, it's not just about the music. The more interesting story lies in the company with which we will be sharing the concert experience. It's a sort of double date, I suppose, which further adds to the sense of nostalgia. Cue the blurry-edged fade and flashback music...

It was the summer of 1989, after my sophomore year of high school. Several of my friends were leaving for camp, savoring the last year or two of childhood afforded young teenagers whose parents had means. My friend Dalia and I both needed summer work. We had earned our drivers licenses that spring, and gas, movie money, and cheerleading expenses wouldn't come easy. There was really no question about how or where to find a job. Unlike today, seasonal jobs for high school kids were in abundance in the 80's, and in sunny Hollywood, Florida there was only one place you could get a job that allowed for as much time to socialize as it did work. The local water park, Six Flags Atlantis, was the hangout for teenagers working and playing through the stifling hot summer months. Free admission with a guest on your days off, peers who ran the rides, and a semi-star-studded summer concert series at night, meant it was the ideal summer gig. We signed up to be lifeguards, the top dog position in the park (as opposed, to food service or customer service). They trained us, gave us suits and lifeguard tank tops, and we were official. I could probably write a short novel about the escapades of the days at Atlantis, but this is not the time, nor my purpose here.

One of several slides I operated as an Atlantis lifeguard.

June and July were filled with teenage fun and drama. We became friends with lots of local kids from neighboring towns and high schools. There was one girl in particular, Michelle, who we started to hang out with regularly. She and one of the guys we worked with, Rob, seemed to be developing a love connection. I found myself doing a lot of go-between. Picture cheesy high school stuff like, "She thinks you're cute," and "Why don't you ask her out?" One thing led to another and they started dating.

Meanwhile, Dalia and I met up with two guys who were visiting from Chicago and staying at their parents' vacation home for a couple of weeks. They had been frequenting the park quite a bit, and we hung out and talked on our breaks. We hung out a couple of nights after work, and then they left town never to be heard from again. I thought I really liked the guy (young and foolish) so I was feeling bummed that my summer crush was gone. Michelle and Rob on the other hand, were in full summer fling mode. It wasn't long before they were trying to find a friend for me. After all, I had been their Chuck Woolery. 

One day in late July, or maybe the first couple of days in August, I traded a shift with someone so Michelle, Rob, and I had the same day off. At their urging, we made plans to go to the park for fun. Remember free admission was one of the perks of working there. Rob would be meeting us there with a friend who they really wanted to introduce me to, and in a weak moment I agreed. I remember it as clear as day...

The two of them, Rob and his friend, were sitting at a table under one of the snack huts, chowing down unapologetically on chili cheese fries, an Atlantis favorite. I was so distracted by how gross I thought it was (still do- don't like chili), I didn't have time to feel self-conscious about the fact I was being introduced to a guy while wearing a bathing suit. To be honest, I wasn't blown away. I don't remember initial thoughts about his looks, again the chili cheese fries were in the way. He was a pretty typical looking kid of the time, sporting a summer tan and an 80's mullet. He was tall and skinny, and nice enough I guess, because I agreed to go with them all to the movies that night. We hung out for awhile, went down some of the slides, and I went home to change. My second thoughts about the double date were swayed away by my mom, who in true mom fashion said, "Go, it's a free movie."

Rob, Michelle, and Paul, picked me up that night and somehow I agreed (or maybe I didn't) to see whichever installment of the Friday the 13th series was out that summer. I remember being on one end and Michelle on the other, with the guys sitting in the middle. I was so annoyed that we couldn't talk to each other and I knew the guys planned it that way. The movie was unmemorable, except for a scene that showed boobs and made me feel extremely uncomfortable next to a guy I barely knew. The details of the rest of the night could go on and on, but this much history is enough to set the stage. In short, at the end of the evening, Paul and I sat in Michelle's driveway talking while Rob and Michelle were making out. We got impatient and had curfew, so I drove Paul home and we sat in his driveway, and talked well into the night. He kissed me. I went home. Paul worked for his dad who owned a sprinkler business, but visited me at Atlantis whenever he could. We started dating, and for the most part never stopped. In 1996, we got married. 

Why the trip down memory lane?

Soon after that summer ended, so did Michelle and Rob's fling. Paul and Rob, friends since they were kids, started going separate ways. Rob was a year ahead in school, so he was off to college in Melbourne. There were visits during breaks, and Rob accompanied one of my friends without a boyfriend to homecoming. But within about a year, Paul went off to school in North Carolina, Rob started dating a girl from his old high school, and the friendship started to fade. There was no blowout, no fight, just an organic fork in the road to which they each went in different directions.

Rob married Paula, his high school friend turned girlfriend in 1994 or 1995. We didn't attend; don't recall receiving an invitation. But we knew they were somewhere in Melbourne. So in 1995, when we got engaged, we tried to track them down and invite them to our wedding. No one really remembers, but I think I recall finding an address we were unsure of and sending an invitation. We got married in 1996, and they did not attend our wedding either. So with no particularly hard feelings, like many childhood relationships, this one faded into the memory book.

In August of this year, Paul saw on Facebook that a good friend from high school was killed in a motorcycle accident. Paul was really struck by the news of his friend Auburn's death. They hadn't seen each other in quite some time, but they shared a bachelor pad in the mid 90's, and he and Paul connected on Facebook a couple of years ago and maintained casual contact, as many do on FB. He always remembered Auburn a caring and kind-hearted person, and news of his death was heartbreaking, sort of surreal. Rob had introduced Paul to Auburn back in high school, and Paul knew that Auburn and Rob had been close buddies, best men in each other's weddings. He got to wondering if Rob knew about the accident, but wasn't sure how to contact him. After several attempts over the years to find him on Facebook, he had been unsuccessful. But Rob's sister had connected with Paul on FB awhile back, and he sent her a message. She confirmed they knew about Auburn, and sent Paul Rob's number, urging him to call.

Paul reached out to Rob, and the two talked for awhile, some quick catch up, and even quicker plans. Within a couple of hours, after not having seen each other for over 20 years, they decided to road trip up to Pennsylvania, where Auburn and his wife had been living, so they could attend the funeral together. Two long-lost friends, one van, and 24 hours each way to catch up on 20+ years. The guys picked up right where they left off at 18-years-old. Oh to be a fly on the wall in that van...

They shared grief over the loss of their friend, and their remorse over the loss of contact with one another. They shared the memories of an entire childhood. Both still married to their high school girlfriends, both loving husbands and devoted fathers, they discovered that while so much had changed, so much had not. Rob was a soccer player, and now his kids play soccer and he coaches. Paul was a swimmer, and now his son was a swimmer. They were both Boy Scouts, and now leaders in their sons' troops. They stilled enjoyed talking about a shared love of music and their high school shenanigans. They discovered they still had as much in common as they always did, maybe even more now. It was as if the friendship picked up right where it left off, but with more maturity and appreciation for it. Both men really enjoyed the road trip, felt good about being there together, to remember and to celebrate the life of their friend. It's as though the rekindling of their friendship was honoring the memory and the spirit of the friend they had just lost.

Paul and Rob agreed to keep in touch, and now, a month later, the two will unite their families and introduce their kids, who are near the ages they were when they shared a childhood friendship. Life has a strange way of bringing people together. Now Auburn's legacy of kindness and friendship lives on in the two friends who were brought together to remember him.

The boy in the black shirt and a mustache, right in the middle is Auburn,
the one to the left with the hat is Paul, and the one leaning in over to the left of Paul is Rob.

A more recent photo of Auburn and his wife Janet in Pennsylvania.

I Write

I want to write today.

I want to write today, but I don't know what to write.

I want to add another episode to my short story that seems to be gaining some momentum. But I can't seem to get into my characters' heads today. I can't decide how the main character should spill some important news to her best friend. I can't decide how she should tell her or how her friend should react, or what either of them will do or say.

I want to write a piece about my son's wonderful experiences through scouting, but with my disappointment about their policy in regards to gay leaders. I want to put aside the stance on that issue and focus on writing about the beautiful photos I took out at the camp last weekend, and how the scout and scout leaders' experiences there over the years makes it as peaceful and at-home as their own backyards. But I don't know how to separate one from the other, and reconcile the duality one feels when they believe so much in an overall organization but question their stance on a specific issue.

I want to write an article for a professional publication, and start building my academic writing resume so I can pursue the next phase of my career in higher education. But I can't decide what the subject of that article should be.

I want to write about my husband on a journey this weekend- twenty plus hour road trip with a friend he hasn't seen in over twenty years. They drove from Florida to Pennsylvania to attend a funeral and memorial for one of their high school buddies who was killed in a motor cycle accident last week. It's a fascinating situation to me- tragic circumstance leads to reconnecting old friends. But I'm still waiting for details beyond the roadside phone calls during the trip.

I want to write today. A poem, a story, an article, an excerpt.

But today, I settle for a blog post.

I wrote today.

Tomorrow

You may want to read my post Tonight, from last March before reading this post. It's sort of a continuation.

You want love? We'll make it/ Swim in a deep sea of blankets...
She awoke with a pleasing smile to the sound of John Mayer on the alarm clock. Her eyes opened to the reality of a night she couldn't forget. She looked around the room seeking affirmation that it was all a dream. The wine, the jazz, the vodka. The guy. She surveyed the room for evidence. It was all there; her black silk dress dripping over the chair in the corner, and her sling backs on the floor by the closet door. And of course the mirror. Another fight, another cracked mirror. Though she wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, she knew it wasn't a dream. Really, there was never any doubt. What now?, she said aloud with her forehead in her hand. 

She could see that Mark had slept home but she didn't remember him coming in, which could only mean she made it home and passed out before he even arrived. He probably didn't even notice the dress and the shoes. Probably wouldn't have given it any thought if he had. Pompous bastard would think she was dressed for him. She could hear the shower and smell his body wash. Saturday. That meant golf. A half hour of small talk and a cup of coffee is all she had to withstand. Then he'd be gone for the day and she could try to remember how her night ended, and how she got home. She was so preoccupied she didn't even care to discuss what time Mark got home or how his "case" was going.

In the shower, Mark was preparing his opening argument for this morning's charges. As cheaters do, he was going over his story, practicing what he'd say and predicting what she'd say in response. When he was satisfied that he had his facts straight, he rinsed the last of the lather, turned off the water, and dried off. Carefully wrapping himself in the plush towel, he made sure to tuck it in just low enough that his hips barely held it on. Exposure of his washboard abs and a hint of his tan line would at least suggest he was interested in make-up sex. It was a game they played. He knew she'd shut him out and he was grateful because the only thing on his mind this morning was getting out of the house and over to the the golf course with his buddies.

A bit glazed over and lost in her thoughts, she put on her robe and tied her hair up in a knot. "I'll go put on some coffee," she said and quickly walked downstairs, after checking on the kids who were still sleeping. Surprised he got off that easy, but unwilling to find out why, he let her go, telling her he'd be down in a minute.

Downstairs they barely said a word to one another, just took their vitamins and drank their coffee. "There's fresh granola from the bakery if you're hungry," she offered knowing he would decline.

"You okay?" he asked her reluctantly with fear he might actually have to hear why she wasn't.

"Fine," she answered genuinely as she recalled a moment from the jazz club when the bartender called her a knock out. She was thinking about the man she met last night.

"Good. See you tonight." He kissed her on her cheek, grabbed a bottle of water, and he was gone. At just about the same moment she was giving thought to it herself, he came back in and asked why she left her car in the driveway. "You know how it pisses me off when I have to move your car to get mine out of the garage!"

"Um," she was searching for the honest answer. All she could retort was, "I went out for a drink with the girls and I didn't want the garage door to wake the kids when I got home." She suddenly recalled that the bartender drove her home. He was the one who left her car in the driveway. It really didn't matter though because Mark would interpret it as a deliberate move to get back at him for not coming home for their date night last night. She didn't care what he thought, and besides, she did go out for a drink. So what if her friends weren't with her. He slammed the door behind him and she declared in a loud whisper, "Asshole."

She was happy to have some time to herself to review the events of her evening out. She was grateful not to be hungover, and decided to take her coffee upstairs and run a hot shower. Maybe the steam would help her defog. She walked by the broken mirror and made a mental note to call the company who replaced the last one she broke. Then she smiled as she picked up her silk and put it in the dry cleaning basket. It was all starting to come back to her. She left her mug on the counter and stepped into the shower. She sighed in relief as she assured herself the bartender drove her home, let her in the house and called for a cab. Nothing happened. Well actually, that depends on how you define nothing. She hadn't been unfaithful. She didn't sleep with him or even kiss him. But, she wanted to. She felt an intimacy with him that had long been absent from her marriage to Mark. The way he looked at her. The way he listened. The way he looked at her. She allowed herself a few more minutes to relax and daydream. Then it was on with her day. It was a nice night, but today was all about her kids. They had plans for lunch and the pool with Rachel and her kids.

***

She and Rachel had been friends for years, longer back than their memories. Their kids loved each other like cousins and were excited about their play date. "Mommy," a voice called from the back seat. "Is Aunt Rachel making a watermelon boat?" Her kids loved fresh fruit and Rachel was a regular Martha Stewart.

"I'm sure she is. She knows it's your favorite."

"What about lemonade? Is she making her own lemonade?"

"Let's see when we get there, okay? Did you remember to put an extra t-shirt in the bag?" Two gleeful voices responded in unison.

"Yes!"

Spending the day at Rachel's was great for all of them. Watching their kids grow up together always prompted warm memories and colorful childhood stories. It was a great way to keep her mind off last night. No matter how hard she tried so far it wasn't working. She wondered if she could get through the afternoon without telling her best friend, and by the time they arrived she had decided she shouldn't have to. If she couldn't tell Rachel, she couldn't tell anyone, and if she couldn't tell anyone, she thought she'd explode. "Alright, everyone out. Make sure you grab your towels and I'll get the bag. Remember, no running through the house in your wet bathing suits. When you get out of the pool, dry off!"

Rachel opened the door before they made it up the path. The kids went running and screaming and there were hugs and kisses all around. As the kids went out back, the moms sat on the patio sipping lemonade and cautiously admiring their beautiful children. "So how was the theater last night?"

"Terrific, Rachel explained. The lead was phenomenal. What a voice! How about you? Why were you so anxious to go out last night? What happened to Mark?" She asked knowing the answer. Rachel knew her like no one else did, and that included the state of her marriage. "He didn't come home? Not even for date night?" She tried to appear angry  in response to Rachel's questions, but her friend wasn't buying her act. "Weren't you pissed?"

"I was."

"But you're not now? What was his excuse?"

"Come on Rachel, does it matter what his excuse was? We both know what he was doing."

"Bastard. How long are you going to put up with his crap? I know you're worried about the kids. But I'm worried about you." She had been there through it all. Rachel was there when she and Mark met, and she was the maid of honor at her wedding. She knew her friend wasn't happy.

"I know Rachel. But..." She was trying to find the words to tell her friend about her night on the town. Just when she thought she was ready, they were distracted.

"Mooooom!" It was a call of many voices meant for both of them. Their children were lined up along the wall at the deep side of the pool. They both looked over and heard, "3-2-1- Can-non-ball!" All five children thrust themselves into the air and hit the water for a giant collective splash. The moms laughed as the water sprayed over them. They remembered doing the same thing as kids.

"Now, what were you going to say?" Rachel tried to coax her friend into sharing what was on her mind.

"I was so mad. As much as an ass as he's been, he never misses Friday date night. I shattered another mirror."

"Eeek."

"Yeah, but then I put on the dress."

Rachel gasped, "The dress?"

"Yup, and then I went to Blue Velvet." It had been years, but the two of them frequented Blue Velvet quite a bit in their single days. Before all of the ladies got married, they'd meet there for drinks several times a week. "The music was fantastic. I forgot how much we loved that place."

"Why do I get the feeling from your face that there's more to tell?" She smiled at Rachel. Nobody knows you like a friend you grew up with. It was time to spill the beans.

A Purge and a Promise

It's been a long time since I've blogged, longer than I thought. It's been almost two months. I've been caught up in the chaos of my life, feeling uninspired, unmotivated, and worse yet, guilty for feeling paralyzed by the not so catastrophic crises if my life. At a recent gathering of my writing circle, my friend Natalie reminded me of the absurdity of comparing our personal muck to one another's. To minimize or invalidate our own feelings of unhappiness by comparing them to the "worse" or seemingly more extreme circumstances of our friends and acquaintances, is to deny ourselves the right to feel what we are feeling. It denies us the right to the human experience.

Lately, I have been living my life, just going through the motions as they say, rather than living in the moments. I have not been finding, or honestly even been looking for things to celebrate, to inspire me, or to write about. It's a rather sad existence, one I am determined to make temporary as I grab ahold of myself and shake it out of me. I never wanted my blog to be a place to whine or complain. The reality is however, that I'm feeling relatively uninspired and rather than resolve not to write for another two, three, however many months, I've decided to plow through by writing what's on my mind. Quite frankly, when my friend Helen and I set out on a journey last year, to make writing a daily part of our lives by starting a writing circle and getting our blogs going, never did we say all kicks and giggles. We just said, let's write.

So first a purge, then a promise:

Purge:

I've been working too much and too hard. I took a new job that is quite challenging. I'm not sure it's exactly what I want. In some ways it's what I didn't want, the things that kept me from joining the admin pool in public school. It has it's rewards too though, and the people I work with are terrific. But when I interviewed I thought it was a new job for the new school year. I didn't realize I was going to have to leave my job of 7 years (and all the colleagues-turned-friends and smiling faces that became so routine it was like being home away from home) six weeks before school got out. I didn't realize even though I had already accepted 12 weeks of adjunct work for the late spring and summer, I was going to have a full time job on top of that. I didn't realize how much I have come to depend on downtime during the summer to treat my sleep deprivation, my vitamin D deficiency, and my writing spirit. I sure do realize now. Though I have the pleasure of double income over the summer, and an increase from my last job, money does not buy you time or relaxation when you work full time. 

Working all summer was going to suck, but it would all be ok because I expected to be in a brand new home. That's the next best thing to vacation, right? Moving into a brand new home. Our house was up on the market and within a couple of weeks of starting above mentioned job, we got a buyer! Negotiations started, a contract was drawn up, and a closing date was scheduled. We packed boxes, sold furniture, had a garage sale and donated unneeded items. We found a house in a neighborhood we loved and could afford, with the down payment made up largely from the proceeds of the sale of the home we were selling. Two days before the scheduled closing, we packed up a U-Haul, moved out, cleaned up, and went to stay with my gracious sister-in-law and brother-in-law. All was good. We were slightly inconvenienced, but it would all be worth it in a few days when we unlocked the door to our new home. So we waited patiently.

And we waited. And waited some more. The closing date was pushed a few more days and a few more days. Don't worry their realtor told us via our realtor, they're cleared to close. Just details he insisted. So our realtor helped stave off the company selling us our new home. People behind the scenes worked hard to try to keep all the pieces together for us, as the closing kept getting pushed. We had now been living with my sister-in-law for 2 weeks. My husband was a train wreck. We couldn't stand to come home at night. NOT because of his wonderful sister and her husband, but because once the day's business was over, it was another day gone by with no closing. 

We had just about thrown in the towel, given up on everything. Then over breakfast at Perkins, we decided to become a team again.  Arguing and crying all week really did a number on us and we weren't feeling like ourselves. We talked, hugged, held hands, and decided everything would be ok. It'll happen. We just had to be patient. We rented a storage unit to unload the U-Haul that we had now had for 10 days, racking up fees to the sum of near $800. Before you call us crazy, remember we were originally thinking two days at my sister-in-law's with a U-Haul was better than unloading into storage and moving again. Our closing dates were originally scheduled for two consecutive days. But now, there was no telling what would happen. So after that breakfast at Perkins, we moved into the storage and returned the U-Haul. The guy actually felt bad for us and knocked two days off the bill. Drop in the bucket, but kind of him nonetheless. The weekend wasn't so bad.

I don't remember if it was Monday or Tuesday, but it doesn't matter. My realtor, also a dear friend, called me at work and I could hear it in her voice. What happened? The buyers lost their financing and it was all over. Both deals dead. Just like that. Buyers without financing equals no sale. No sale equals no down payment money. We spent the next two days moving back into the same house, and we've been here ever since. Minimal furniture, ten percent of my kitchen, no personal photos or decor, and our house back on the market. There seems to be more to the story about the buyers, but honestly I don't give a crap anymore. Knowing what happened won't change the series of events. Most of our things are still stored in the hopes the house will sell again soon. There's no way we're unpacking to pack again.

Finally, I've developed some weird anxiety in the past month. I'm not prepared to go into detail here, because it's a very specific and irrational anxiety I seem to have developed in response to certain images to which I was exposed. I know that sounds cryptic, but the best way I can explain it is to tell you to think of a time you saw or heard something traumatic or disturbing, and you just couldn't get it out of your head. Now imagine it stuck in your head, and causing nausea, sweating, or just nerves. That's what has happened to me. I've never had any kind of clinical anxiety issues in the past, never suffered from clinical OCD or phobias. But this anxiety is a mild case of that kind of thing and it's really upsetting to me. I'm finding coping mechanisms and the longer time goes since I saw the images, the more the anxiety seems to dissipate. I'm not sure if it's the issue itself, or the fact that I'm having the issue that's bothering me more. Those who know I me, know I'm a bit of a control freak. I was talking to my husband about it, and I can't seem to separate the two. Either way, it's very real and very unsettling.

So the summer of transition, or what I hoped to be the gateway to the next exciting phase in my life- new home, new job- has become a disappointment. I try not to minimize my feelings by saying it's not a big deal, my family is healthy, my marriage is strong, blah blah. Because while all of that is true, Natalie reminded me that I'm allowed to be disappointed, saddened, deflated about my current circumstances. Yes, there are people in the world who are experiencing far more catastrophic things, but my shitty circumstances are shitty for me. And I am allowed to feel shitty about it!

And with that, I am purged of the crappiness of this summer and ready to make a promise.

Promise:

I've got to find some inspiration again. In two weeks, both of my summer obligations will be over and I'll be back to just work. I say just work, because one of the nice things about my new job is that because I am no longer a classroom teacher, I usually leave work empty handed. I think about work, and stress about things that need to be done, the way others do. But I don't have papers to grade or lesson plans. I work balls to the wall all day, and then I leave and come home. I don't have to do anything until I get back the next day. 

I promise myself, with you as my witnesses, that I will find inspiration again.

The NWP Summer Institute starts tomorrow. My friend and colleague, Stacey and I, are facilitating together. We have planned all sessions for the next two weeks, and I'm involved once again in my passion, writing. I look forward to participating with the other teachers and drawing on them for inspiration. I will be writing.

I promise myself, with you as my witnesses, that I will find inspiration again.

I have started several pieces and I have a journal page filled with ideas for new writing. I'm going to write more. I may work on a book, start a new study, or just continue with daily blogging, but I'm going to write. It feeds me, and starving myself of it does not help solve my problems or make them go away. Even if my writing is filled with sadness, I will write. I'm not going to worry about my mood or what others want to hear. When we do this, our writing can become disingenuous. Pat Schneider says all writing starts as nonfiction. If we write our stories and our feelings, and things the way we remember them, we can always alter details for the sake of story later. 

I promise myself, with you as my witnesses, that I will find inspiration again.

I look forward to the next meeting of my writing circle. These women give me the courage to write and to feel. They listen without judgment, they support without obligation, they write and they share and they write some more. I can't wait until our next meeting.

I'm going to chase my dreams and put plans in place to help make them come true. Starting now. 

Gone

Miles won't come between us

you're gone 

but not forgotten.

Forgotten are the days giggling, 

playing, 

telling secrets.

Can I tell you one now?

I was forgotten a few times,

quickly not gradually,

out of sight out of mind.

Like a passing car on the highway 

or a bird in flight overhead.

When will you be back?

Call when you're coming.

We'd love to see you.

But no one journeys here.

No one really wants to know.

It hurts to leave,

to say goodbye...

at fourteen

at twenty-two

at forty-one.

The sun still rises and

sets.

Days come and 

go.

Months and years pass by

and life goes on,

with or without 

you.

Change

Change is inevitable. At least, that's what they say. We all know (or are) people who do not deal well with change. Why do some people fear change so much? I suppose it is fear of the unknown. The devil you know is better than the devil you don't I guess. Me, I like change. A new house, a new job, a new friend, a new book, new restaurant- they all open up endless possibilities.

My husband says when it comes to my career I have a seven year itch. To look at my work history you would likely agree. I guess eventually you get to a time in your job, or even a home or a relationship, when you feel like you cannot grow anymore. Sometimes it is because you feel trapped or suffocated, maybe it is just because the job or place or relationship has run its course. Some people do not want to grow, or they are afraid of growth. Perhaps they are afraid to outgrow a person or place of comfort, some place they love or feel comfortable. They plant their roots, grow deep and solid, and they stay where they are forever. Some cultures value, even revere it… the old the man who lives in the house in which his father was raised, the business that has been in a family for generations, it is all quite commendable. But there is something to be said for changing too- growing up, moving on, shaking things up a bit. Sometimes we need to cut the cord, spread our wings, take a giant leap!

Great pep talk, huh? This week I made a change. Actually, I have made several changes. My life is in the midst of half a dozen changes. I left my job of seven years (yup, the itch), my house is about to get sold, I started a new job, and I am awaiting approval on a mortgage for a new house. I have a teenager learning to drive, a brand new schedule, and an aging body of 40+1 that among other things has brought gray hair and acne. But some changes we have little control over.

I have to admit, I have never felt so ambivalent about a job change before. I never felt nervous, or worried. I did not leave my first day feeling excited or invigorated about the endless ideas and projects I could be working on in the future, though these possibilities do exist. However, I did not feel regret about the decision, or negative vibes about my new co-workers. Many of them have told me repeatedly how happy they are that I am there. Maybe it is everything I have going in my life right now. Maybe it is the ease in approach with which I have been handled. I am a jump right in person. I am a you hired me because I can do this person. I do not want to be tethered or handled, I want to get going. I do not want to be gradually released, I want to be cut loose. I do not want hours of orientation, I want on the job training.

I wonder if this is the right place for me, the right job. I do not feel unhappy. I do not feel nervous or scared. I just feel meh. That is an unusual feeling for me. I am high energy- active mind, collaborative nature. For me, meh just does not cut it. So now what? Only time will tell. We acclimate to some changes more quickly than others. Some change just takes time. Patience has never been one of my best qualities (thanks, Dad). Waiting to feel good about work, wanting to finalize the sale of our house, waiting to move to our new house, waiting on some important professional news, it is a lot of waiting.

There is one thing in my life that will never change- the one constant thing in my life- my family, all of them. I am married to my best friend, my partner in life. Like everything else we have experienced together, we will make it through these changes. Side by side, hand in hand, holding each other up, this too shall pass.