Seven Years

Boy meets Girl.

(in my defense, this was a very early morning bus ride)

BTW- we were 18... had been dating approximately 1 month.

Yes, this picture was candid, and yes, I do heart the overalls!

Boy marries girl.

                                            

Seven years later...

This post is more than a little late, as I've been busier the last week than I expected. On December 21st, last Monday, Sugarbear and I celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary. We celebrated as we normally do, with a dinner at Johnny Carino's. (The closest of which is an hour away...boo.) Why do we go there you ask? It's not fancy, it's not romantic, it's not even that convenient... but we go there because that is where we had our rehearsal dinner for our wedding, and it has become a tradition for us.

I am so very fortunate to be married to my absolute best friend, and the longer we are married the more I realize how much of  a blessing a happy marriage truly is. It has not always been wonderful, it has not always been roses and kisses and sunshine. We are flawed. We both have to ask for forgiveness from the other on occasion. But, each year gets better and better. Each anniversary brings me a bigger appreciation for all of the things Sugarbear does for me.

Does he shower me with jewelry, roses, and romantic getaways? Not all the time, although I know he would if he could. (Except for the roses... he knows I don't like to get flowers... that I would rather receive a gift that didn't wither and die...) But he does shower me with a selfless attitude, a generous spirit, and a loving heart...not to mention a steady stream of compliments, even when I don't think I deserve them.

He has become a dependable, steady leader... and I have become a person who is willing to accept leadership. He takes care of me emotionally, physically, and spiritually, and I am so thankful that the only relationship that he places above ours is his relationship with the Lord.

From the little things like teaching me how to use the fancy tv remote, to the big things, like managing the finances, Sugarbear makes my life so much easier, so much sweeter than it would be otherwise.

He is the first person I want to spend time with. He makes the most mundane activity an adventure. He makes me laugh every day, which just might be the reason I married him... that and the guitar playing thing.

Happy Anniverary Honey!

The Twelve Days of Christmas?

You know you want to sing along...

The Twelve Days of Christmas Treatment

On the first day of treatment, my RE gave to me...
A progesterone suppository.

On the second day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the third day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the fourth day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the fifth day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the sixth day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
six sticks to pee on,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the seventh day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
seven sperm a'swimming
six sticks to pee on,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the eighth day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
eight vials of blood
seven sperm a'swimming
six sticks to pee on,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the ninth day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
nine nurses calling,
eight vials of blood
seven sperm a'swimming
six sticks to pee on,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the tenth day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
ten tiny catheters,
nine nurses calling,
eight vials of blood
seven sperm a'swimming
six sticks to pee on,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the eleventh day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
eleven hormonal mood swings,
ten tiny catheters,
nine nurses calling,
eight vials of blood
seven sperm a'swimming
six sticks to pee on,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

On the twelfth day of treatment, my RE gave to me,
twelve daily injections,
eleven hormonal mood swings,
ten tiny catheters,
nine nurses calling,
eight vials of blood
seven sperm a'swimming
six sticks to pee on,
Five Sonograms!
four healthy follicles,
three speculums,
two sore boobs,
and a progesterone suppository.

Merry Christmas!

Frankie the Turkey

Here is a little glimpse into the Nichols Family Funtime Thanksgiving...

Sugarbear decided that this was the year when he was going to flex his meat smoking muscles. He has been telling me for six months that he wanted to buy a smoker, and Thanksgiving seemed like the perfect opportunity. So, off he went to Home Depot a few weeks ago and came home with a shiny red smoker. The test run ham turned out perfectly, so he was sure the Thanksgiving day performance would be just as good. Sugabear was in charge of the shopping for the Thanksgiving feast, and he lovingly selected a smallish turkey and a smallish ham. He meticulously researched the best brines, and concocted the most aromatic rubs. He spent Thanksgiving Eve administering the tasty treatments to the bird he had christented Frankie, massaging and rubbing the spices. He had whole conversations that day with Frankie, reassuring him, lovingly instructing him. He got up before dawn to begin the smoking process.  And I must admit... this was the best turkey we've ever made. Thanks to Frankie.... Frankie the Turkey...

A Man and his Bird

Props also to Thomas the Ham... cause what else do you name a Thanksgiving ham?

At Least She's Thrifty...

I've already posted about the weird toy habits of my Dachshund.... her driving need to disembowel any toy she is given, her insane obsession with fetch... just to demonstrate, below is a picture of what she brought me the other day...

It is a fleece toy scrap about 2 inches long...it used to be a plush dog... and as you can see in the background, she fully expects me to throw it for her to fetch... do you have any idea how hard it is to throw a piece of fleece that small any considerable distance? It's not easy, my friends. She eventually tore it into pieces too tiny for her to even carry around... so I finally got to dispose of the poor little thing. She has been known to bring me pieces of fluff from the inside of toys to play fetch... she may need therapeutic intervention.

But on the plus side, we don't have to buy toys very often.

Jam

This is jam. Strawberry Jam. This is strawberry jam that I made with my own two hands in my own kitchen which I then canned... and I only burned myself twice.

I am very proud of myself. And it is delicious.

There is a good chance that everyone will be getting jam for Christmas this year...

But What If I Need Butter?

The past couple of weeks have been a little hard on the emotional side of things... which, if you know me well, is not something I ever readily admit to. I blame it on the upcoming holidays. A lot of people have difficulty this time of year... those who have lost loved ones, those who don't have close loved ones, those who are ill... i could go on and on. Infertility fits squarely in that catgory of people. The holidays are largely centered around children... from the songs on the radio down to the cutesy Rudolph onesie in Target... for instance, on a normal summer day, walking by the 'baby' section of Wal-Mart makes me hold my breath and walk a little faster. During the holidays, I might as well avoid that area of the store all together... which is unfortunate because it is next to the dairy section where they keep wonderful things like butter and milk. Heck, Christmas is a holiday firmly centered around THE baby, for crying out loud... Nativity scenes once made me feel very peaceful and calm... now they just turn me into a blubbering mess.

So, all that to say, I've been a little touchy. Which is directly related to how I ended up crying in the bathroom at a church during a ladies' evening while everyone else enjoyed their cheesecake and coffee and listened intently to a speaker telling us how to "Bring Home the Wonder of Christmas"... the last straw on the proverbial camel's back was this cheesy song about Mary and how she felt about Jesus... so I did what any touchy barren woman would do... I faked a choking cough to explain my watery eyes and high-tailed it to the loo where I could regain my composure in private. I am not ashamed people:-) But, that is not where my emotional mini-breakdown started...

It all started ealier in the evening listening to other women complain about their children... A little disclaimer- I know being a parent is the most difficult job on the planet... I know that sleepless nights make you crazy, and tantruming children make you want to sell them on the black market, and teenagers have their own universe of problems. I know that mothers need to feel comfortable expressing their frustration with mothering sometimes, and that there is a lot of pressure to be supermom... I know.

But, the fact still remains that I would give absolutely anything in the entire world to have the opportunity to complain about having to get up every night for a year to nurse my child.

This song has been in my head a lot lately... most of you have probably seen or heard it. If so, go about your business. If not, I encourage you to listen and watch. Just ignore the theatrical hand motions... they annoy me...

Not 30

I am not thirty. Not yet anyway. My 29th birthday was last week, and Sugarbear went around telling everyone that I was not thirty. Sure, people have teased me, last year in my twenties, etc. It's all in good fun, and getting older never seemed all that worrisome to me. Who knows, maybe one of these days I'll actually start to feel like a grown-up versus some tongue-tied, half-scared kid. So, turning 30 next year doesn't bother me in and of itself. Turning 30 and still being a family of 2 bothers me beyond description. But, that's not my point.

My point is that even though there are things that I hope change before I turn 30, I still love birthdays. Why? Not because of the gifts or the cake, or the happy birthday wishes. My favorite thing about my birthday is a phone call. I have a large immediate family, and we are a fair distance away from each other. So, birthday phone calls are required in my family. Sometimes my twin brother and I race to see who can call each other the earliest. I love all the birthday phone calls, but one in particular is especially meaningful.

For as long as I’ve been old enough and far enough away to get birthday phone calls, my birthday has always started with a short but sweet phone call from my grandmother. Every year on the night before my birthday, I make sure I put my phone by my bed, because I know that before I get out of bed, my grandmother will call. She always calls first. She doesn’t say hello, she doesn’t say good morning. She sings me happy birthday. Bless her heart, singing has never been her thing. (which she readily has admitted to for as long as I remember). But, she sings me happy birthday. And it is the highlight of my day.

The older I get, the more and more that one warbly happy birthday phone call means to me. I cherish it because there will be a birthday, when I’m very old, where I won’t get woken up by that early morning birthday serenade from my grandmother. The sweetest traditions don’t always come in big, grandiose gestures. Sometimes they come in a simple, sweet phone call from a slightly tone deaf little not-too-old lady…

Siblings

I have a big family. I have 2 brothers and 2 sisters. There is me (technically the oldest), my twin brother C, my middle sister B, my little brother W, and my littlest sister M. My siblings are one of the reasons I want a large family. (failing miserably at that at the moment, but that's another post for another time). My siblings are some of my best friends, and being the oldest, I am very much the caretaker... the whole birth-order psychology seems to be exaggerated in my family. I am fiercely protective of them, particularly my two youngest siblings, and do not take kindly to anyone being mean to them, bullying them, or hurting their feelings, no matter how much I might pick on them:-). After some stressful circumstances over the weekend, I got to thinking about how different we all are, particularly the three adults. My two youngest siblings are still in high school, so as much as I think they are the smartest, coolest, funniest, sweetest, most interesting and adorable people ever, I didn't include them in my observations. So, to demonstrate the differences between me and my two adult siblings, here is a list of various situations, and a description of how each of us would respond.

1. You lose your job.

Me- I will proof read your resume, help you scour the want ads, and help you think through possible interview questions.

C- He will commiserate with you on how awful your old boss was, how you didn't make enough money anyway, and how much getting  fired "sucks, man". Then he will let you beat him in Halo just to make you feel better.

B- She will bake you 'Sorry You Got Fired' cupcakes, and then she will give you the name and number of the friend of a friend she met last weekend whose brother's neighbor owns a company that is specifically looking for someone just like you... then she will take you shopping for a new, perfect interview outfit.

2. You get dumped.

Me- I will tell you I'm sorry, then spend the evening making you laugh with sarcastic commentary on the things I didn't like about your ex anyway.

C- He will take you to Hooters, buy you a drink, and introduce you to either his cute, lonely coworker, or the one Hooters girl that doesn't flirt with him... then he'll tell you the horror story of his roommate's awful breakup, including the conspiracy theory on what happened to his roommate's puppy... just to make you
feel better.

B- She will make you break-up cookies, and threaten to have her 'acquaintance' in the bad part of town go key your ex's truck.She will then put together a Friends-worthy relationship-cleansing-ritual evening complete with bonfire of useless cards and gifts, and knowing her, ending with cute fireman after said bonfire gets
out of hand.


3. You are in the hospital.

Me- I will come sit with you... conversation optional. I will go track down your nurse when you need something. I will make inappropriate, but hilarious, jokes about your condition that youcan't help but laugh at. I will rub your feet, but will hate it, because I hate feet...but I'll do it anyway because it needs to be
done.

C- He will come see you, and score extra pudding cups by flirting with your hot nurse. He will bring you his favorite movie to watch, just to make you feel better.

B- She will be your hookup for any contraband that isn't allowed in your room... cigarettes, Red Bull, your dog... it doesn't matter, she will find a way to sneak it in. She will bring you your favorite lunch, and will sneak you soda before surgery. She will score you a better room because she had a history class for half a semester with the girlfriend of the son of some hospital administrator. She will call out anyone that is anything but attentive and sensitive to your needs.


4. Your pet dies.

Me- I will tell you I'm very sorry, because I know that pets are like family. I will give you suggestions on excellent rescue programs should you choose to get another pet. I will offer you theservices of a certain hateful housecat to ease the blow.

C- He will sympathize, tell you about every pet he's ever lost, and encourage you to talk about how good your pet was, just to make you feel better.

B- She will bring you soup, a commemorative plush toy, and will help you write the eulogy. She will offer suggestions on pet crematoria, or buy you a flower to plant over the gravesite if you choose to bury your pet's remains. She will present you with a bronzed collar engraved with your pet's name, and for Christmas
that year, will present you with a certificate for the star that she named in your pet's honor.

My siblings... I love them. And their quirkiness. In a lot of ways, I wish was more like them... they are excellent people, and I'm glad I belong to them:-)

Lazy Cat

I spend a lot of time talking about the puppies. I realized that I have not devoted equal time to the feline. Like I've said before, the kitten was a surprise gift from my husband one day a couple of years ago when I was feeling more than a little sorry for myself, and he felt I needed something to nurture. The problem is, the feline wants nothing to do with me. She hates my guts. She will barely let me near her. However, she loves Sugarbear. She sleeps at his feet, sits in his lap, and tries to groom his head. I reach to pet her, and she runs away, if she doesn't flat out bite me.

That really doesn't have much to do with this post... the point is that she lives a plush life befitting any cat... she gets the best food, lots of attention from Sugarbear, plays when she wants, sleeps when she wants... so I spent a lot of time picking out a toy that she would like, that would endear her to me... and what does she do?

She doesn't even bother to get up to play with it.

This is not a political post...

Disclaimer: I do not mean the following to be any kind of political statement. it is strictly for humorous value. I do not fully agree with either major party, and am pretty moderate in most of my views. I respect the President, as he is the leader of our great country... the Nobel prize committee... not so much...

The following are things that went through my head on learning that President Obama had won this year's Nobel peace prize...as promised to Mama Bonk-Chonk.

- I am sceptical that 3 years of being on the national political scene can qualify someone to be President... but hey, if the Nobel committee thinks that 12 days of being on the international scene can qualify someone for a Nobel peace prize, then apparently I was wrong.

- Last year's winner was honored for work over three decades to resolve international conflicts on several continents... this year's winner was honored for work over 12 days to attend multiple inaugural balls and press conferences... at this rate, I expect a call from the Nobel committee any day now for the 15 minutes I spent yesterday reading about the Afghan war...

-Using the Nobel committee’s selection process, I should get employee of the year for giving my boss a list of the things that I want to accomplish over the next four years… it doesn’t matter if I actually accomplish anything, just that I am able to turn a phrase while making my to-do-list.

- I’m trying to figure out if it was the “Can We Do It, Yes We Can” or the “Fired Up, Ready To Go” cheer that the Nobel committee identified as having the most impact on world peace.

-Maybe the Nobel committee is on to something... how would it have changed the world if Nelson Mandela was given the Nobel peace prize when he was just PLANNING on being an anti-apartheid activist…

-Mahatma Gandhi never won a Nobel peace prize… freakin’ Gandhi…

-Alfred Nobel’s will stated that the peace prize go to someone who has done “the most or the best work for fraternity among nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies, and for the holding and promotion of peace congresses.” Well, surely the Beer Summit qualifies for two out of the three…

-Bono, with all of his philanthropic work, has done more to deserve a Nobel peace prize than President Obama…recording Sunday Bloody Sunday for instance …

Food Bowl? What Food Bowl?

This is my weinie dog.



This is my Chica dog.




THIS is the post about Ginger disemboweling her toys.

So, what does Chica do, you ask? Chica dog is dilligent about hiding her food bowl so that no pesky feline or Dachshund can steal her food. (Don't get me wrong, the Dachshund is by no means wasting away... she's quite robust.) How does she hide the food?

By covering it of course.

What does she cover it with? Anything she can find on the floor. We will pour food in the bowl, and a few minutes later, will hear Chica rooting around in the bowl, covering it up. We hear this sound in the middle of the night when she gets up to eat too... she can't put her toys away after playing, but she can re-cover her food after eating... go figure. If someone, or some other animal, approaches her food dish after covering, Chica will get up and stand guard until the danger passes. If I uncover the food so the Dachshund can eat, it's only a matter of time before Chica covers it again. Here are some examples of her handy work.

Disemboweled toy scraps.


A pillow case. (I was doing laundry, and had stripped the bed, putting the sheets in a pile to wash.)


A dress I had failed to put in the hamper. (shocking, I know.) And a toy scrap.


Sugarbear's socks. It's funny how she uses both socks.


Socks/toy combo.

She uses anything that is handy... her blankets, towels. Fluff from toys. Scraps of paper. She will spend forever making sure it is covered just right.

I don't have the heart to tell her that we all know where the food bowl is... Dachshund included.

Pianos and Pom-Poms

I remember taking piano lessons when I was a kid. I always had a good ear for music, and generally did well. I did not have very many distinguishing skills as a child, so the predictability of piano was good for me. I practiced, I excelled. My brother played football, my sister was a cheerleader, I did not really have a lot of choice but to join in as another cheerleader. At this, I did not excel.

Most things in life are like piano lesson... the harder you work, the more successful you are. The harder you study, the better your grades. The more you prepare for your presentation at work, the better job you do.... I could go on and on. You have control over your success. I started thinking about things that don't work this way. Cheer leading for me. No matter how many practices I attended, or how much I desired to fit in with the other girls, I never quite cut it. Illness. If you are diagnosed with a disease, no matter how well you follow a treatment plan, your outcome is not guaranteed. The most routine of procedures or treatments can have complications.

Infertility is in this category. My thought process in general has totally changed since we began treatment. Offspring and my lack thereof is never far from my mind... it is constantly in the back of my head, just waiting for a lull in my train of thought, or for a little girl in a monogrammed sundress to walk by. The kicker is, no matter how much I want it, no matter how much or long I try to achieve it, success is not guaranteed. We can practice and work hard... We can do every fertility treatment under the sun, we can pray and meditate on this elusive blessing 24/7... but we may never conceive. I have no control.

So, as much as I want the sure success of the piano keys under my fingers, in reality, I may always be the ungainly, ungraceful, chubby cheerleader in the back row...

This...

RIGHT HERE
is what it feels like when a random stranger in Arkansas gives you the finger...

Leave Me The Stale Crackers and Grape Juice

So tonight at church we had the Lord’s Supper followed by a fellowship to get to know our new members. It was a great success. However, I was thisclose to not being able to participate in the Lord’s Supper, which would have been very conspicuous given that I’m married to the worship pastor.

Why, you ask, did I have such difficulty participating in so important a remembrance as the Lord’s Supper? Was I not in the right spiritual state of mind? Did I have some kind of sin standing in the way of my communion? No… it was the bread.

Bread? Yes, the bread.

I’m not necessarily a traditionalist. I try to respect the traditions of the past while at the same time being open to new things and ways of doing things. I don’t get all bent out of shape with the details of Church as long as the main points stay the same. As long as there is truth in the teaching, I could care less what order the service goes in, if I’m in a chair or a pew, if the Pastor is wearing jeans, or if the Doxology is sung at the end or not… you get the picture. But, don’t mess with the communion wafers. Let me explain…

Our pastor has a thing with the ‘community’ part of communion. He likes to ask someone in the church to make a loaf of unleavened bread, and have everyone take a piece of it. Good concept, and probably more true to the idea. BUT… this means that everyone is passing around the loaf of bread and taking a piece… through the whole congregation… the normal communion wafers are at least individual, and you just take one off the plate and pass it on. I just try not to think about everyone’s hands hovering over the plate as they pass… but for the most part, I get a wafer that no one else has touched.

The loaf method means that dozens of people are touching the bread… which we are then supposed to eat.

I would not classify myself as insane about germs… but I have a healthy awareness of cleanliness… I’ve already confessed my dislike of the whole handshake greeting during church, etc. I’m very diligent about hand washing, I don’t touch public toilets, etc.

So, to my horror, the Pastor pulls out the loaf tonight. I begin praying ‘please hand it to me first….’ He then proceeds to start passing it around on the opposite side of the room from where I’m sitting. This means that every single person in the room will touch the bread tonight before I do… every single one. This is my own personal communion hell… AND I’m sitting next to all of the youth guys… teenage boys who I KNOW for a fact aren’t as diligent about hand washing as I am…

I’m sitting there with what is probably a look of abject horror… and a very nice woman, a new member, catches my eye, and I know she knows my pain… she even came up to me later and patted me on the back in solidarity.

BUT… I accomplished the Lord’s Supper, germy bread and all… I took the smallest piece I could scrape by with and still call it the Body… minuscule. But, it’s the thought that counts, right?

Why I Shouldn't Be Allowed Out In Public...

So yesterday I spent the day in another town at an all-day conference for work. This was a region-wide meeting for everyone in my department, so several hundred people were in a big conference room at a very nice area hotel. During the afternoon break, I was in the second-floor lobby, enjoying my Diet Pepsi. I looked out onto the terrace, which was of course inhabited by smokers. To my great surprise, I saw my sister standing there talking and laughing. (we have the same job, different towns, so it made sense at the time.) I stared for a few seconds, and then burst out onto the terrace to give her a very hard time for not telling me she had come into town. I got about three feet from her when I realized that it was, in fact, not my sister, but a perfect stranger. A perfect stranger who looked so much like my middle sister it was kinda scary… same coloring,same hair fixed the same way, same body type, same mannerisms, same glasses,similar face, she even smoked her cigarette the same as my sister. (which, if she is reading this, I want to remind her, is a very bad habit that decreases her fertility… ) People were staring very cautiously by that point, as I had rushed onto the terrace with such a purposeful look… I stopped mid-burst, and in my rush to look as normal as possible and not crazy for running towards a complete stranger, I suddenly found something very interesting to look at over the balcony for as second, until I could reasonably back towards the door slowly, so as not to scare anyone… and that is why I shouldn’t be allowed out in public…

The most wonderful time of the year... maybe.

I love fall. It is hands down, my favorite season. I hate being cold more than Sugarbear hates olives, so fall is the perfect blend of not-too-hot, not-too-cold weather. I love the colors. Eggplant is my color obsession at the moment. I love the smells. I have a cabinet full of pumpkin spice and apple cinnamon candles just waiting. I love the decorations, scarecrows, pumpkins. I love Halloween, little kids dressed as pirates and princesses. I love that my birthday is in the fall. I love several other things especially...



Tights. I love tights. I especially love opaque tights with peep toe shoes. I have the basic black, but my two favorite pair are solid grey, and black/grey argyle. I can't wait to wear them! I love the fall and winter because I can wear tights several times a week. I will avoid panty hose like the plague, but I love tights, go figure.



Boots. My boots make me happy. These aren't exactly like my boots, but they are reasonably close. I like my boots with tights. My boots have sat lonely in my closet, all summer long, beckoning to me. Begging to be worn. (my shoe obsession is double when it comes to my boots... i bought them out of season, 80% off of retail... my shoe obsession is not an expensive one...) I will wear them the second it's cool enough to justify boots... almost time...

And finally,



Candy Corn. I have a weird thing for candy corn. I only ever want it in the fall... although, I prefer the pumpkins to the corn. I always buy a bag, and then only finish a fourth of it before I am done for the year... Sugarbear makes fun of me, but it's a nostalgic thing that I can't forsake... the puppies like candy corn, don't ask me how I know... although, just fyi, candy corn and electric blanket plus linoleum equal orange cement that will ruin your day... trust me.

Yea for fall!

Funny Funny

How am I just now finding this? Funny, Funny.

And this one... even better! (just fyi- one of the animations does contain an expletive, in case salty language greatly offends you... but, i posted it anyway, because honestly, life is real, and i've uttered... or yelled... the occasional one or six on particulary bad days of this journey...shocker, right?:-)




I want to have them over for dinner....

And now, we wait...

I have debated and debated with myself about actually putting this on here, but I figured, what the hey, why not.

Today was our first, hopefully last, IUI. I learned a couple of things.

1. The technical description of the directionality of my uterus. (I can't believe I just typed the words "my uterus" in public... but there you go.)

2. Reinforcement of how good my God is. The worrisome details that had been present in the past were inexplicably absent today... the worrisome details that could have extremely affected the outcome of the IUI... just gone... we had a perfect procedure.

3. My husband is a big goofball, and I don't know what I'd do without him.

Why is my husband a goofball, you ask? Because he has the ability to make my laugh hysterically while in the very compromising position the IUI requires. So, the nurses helping today come in the room, and we are quite familiar already, so we get started right away. The chair is the standard one you ladies all know and love, but it has to be adjusted to the right height. Sugarbear is up by my head, holding my hand like a good husband does. The nurse starts raising and tilting the chair, and things are very much in progress. Sugarbear, in fascination, states loudly that he wants a chair like this in his living room to watch football in. Yup. My husband, ladies and gentlemen...

Then, the procedure is done, and the routine is that you stay put with the chair tilted for a bit. The nurses leave the room, and it is just me and Sugarbear. After the sweet talk, Sugarbear begins talking about how bored he is... and then proceeds to start going through drawers and cabinets, touching everything. It is all I can do in my compromised position to keep him from playing with the controls for the chair... "But I want to play with it!" he says... "What's that?" "Why are there so many speculums?" "What's in that bottle?" 'Syringes!" "I told you they were puppy training pads..." "I want to touch the buttons!" talking about the sonogram machine... I am laughing loudly. I can't imagine what the office staff thought at the crazy couple laughing their heads off in the procedure room... I wonder what they'd think if they saw Sugarbear touching the piece of equipment that had a large tag on it that said "Do Not Touch"...

And now, we wait...

Too Much

I've tried and tried to put together a deep, meaningful post about our current plan and goings-on, as I thought it would help clear my head and keep me focused. But, it's just not coming. There is too much stuff floating around in my head, and everything I write seems silly and annoyingly pious. So, here is a random picture of Chica dog...



"Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." Hebrews 11:1

Confidence and Assurance. Word up, yo.

Irony

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything about baby-making. So, I thought I’d share some thoughts. I won’t go into extreme detail about ‘the plan’ and all the little things that make up the current course of fertility treatment. Sounds weird, but seriously, hashing over details is a burden for me, not a comfort, and I’m sure no one wants the nitty gritty details. Instead, I choose to find humor in the situation as it pertains to the outside world, which has always been a pretty good coping mechanism for me. I’ll keep the scary emotional stuff to myself for now, you’re very welcome.

For instance, I’ve always been a big fan of irony. Irony ranks just below sarcasm for me as far as literary devices go. I’ve always hated going to the doctor… any kind of doctor. I will avoid it like the plague, sometimes to my detriment. In the last 10 months, I’ve had more doctors’ appointments than I’ve had the rest of my life combined, and I’m not even sick. My current schedule is a visit every three-four days.

On that same note, one of the reasons why I hate going to the doctor so much is that I have a much cherished bubble of personal space, and I can be pretty modest. Gym in school was torture for me, as it involved a communal changing room. NOW- Every single one of these doctor’s appointments include the words “waist-down”, “pink drape”, and “this might be cold”. Yes, I do understand that modesty goes out the window when you are pushing a baby out, but in that instance, the baby is kind of a motivator.

Moving on- another reason why I’ve always hated going to the doctor is that I’ve had for most of my life an irrational fear of needles. I don’t know why, although I can point to a couple of traumatic events in my childhood that may have something to do with it. Don’t judge… I make up for it by being extremely rational in other areas. Anyway, this is the most ironic of all, in that my life now consists of a red sharps container on my kitchen counter, a box of alcohol swabs, a pharmacy in my fridge, and so much lab work that I’m worried about being anemic. And on top of that, I am a really hard person to get blood from. Seriously… my last appointment ended with two nurses, two needles, three tubes, my right arm, and the words “can you come milk her”. Not fun. You know it’s bad when the nurse has to pull up a chair… BUT- I am extremely nonchalant about needles now. Fear conquered!

I will post a more serious post soon, as I have thoughts in my head that need to come out … but for now, I’ll laugh at the irony…

Sibling Rivalry

This...



is the dogs' toy box. It sits in front of the fireplace, next to their blankets. It is where the toys are kept, and the dogs know that this is where they go. Now, if I could only teach them to put them back when they are done, but we just aren't there yet!

Anyway, you'll notice that there are no whole toys. There are scraps of toys. There are pieces and parts... a wing here, a body there... a foot there. I recently had to clean out the carnage of all the useless scraps. There are dried out husks of toys that have had their innards torn out by an industrious wienie dog. Seriously. Both dogs prefer plush toys. Ginger can dismantle a stuffed toy in minutes, no matter how well-made. She makes it her mission to disembowel them. She will cover a room in stuffing, and when I think that there is no more stuffing, she will dig her little wienie dog nose down into the carcass, and find more. It has come to the point where as soon as we notice she has made the first incision, we just go ahead and eviscerate the poor thing ourselves. She will then proceed to tear them apart, trying to prove how ferocious of a badger hunter she is.

Chica, on the other hand, is more docile. She likes to suck on plush toys like a baby sucks on a pacifier. She will hold it between her paws and suck for hours. She is scared of any toy that makes noise, and refuses to have anything to do with plastic toys. She loves anything made of fleece. She will almost take off a hand if you try to part her from a basted bone though... go figure.

The dogs fight over toys like siblings. Ginger will want to bury a toy in the blanket that Chica wants to suck on, and they only want what the other one has.

So, Chica gets back at Ginger by putting the toy parts to other use...

More to come.

The Pets...

I thought it was time to introduce everyone to the pets... they are a lively bunch.


This is Chica. She was Sugarbear's Christmas present our first year dating, 1999. She was a pound puppy. Chica is Sugarbear's dog, but she adores her mommy. She seriously lives and breathes for me... she follows me around the house, always wants to sit in my lap, and sleeps at my feet. Sugarbear is quite jealous that she greets me at the door when I come home. He doesn't get that honor.


And this is Ginger. She is my dog. We got her in early 2003, about 6 months after we got married. She loves anyone who will play fetch. She loves to hide her toys under things, like blankets, and them dig them out. She is emotionally needy. Tennis balls are her addiction. She can sniff them out anywhere. She is delicate. If no one is watching, she will sleep under the covers with her head on my pillow.


This is Sergeant Death. Sugarbear bought her for me two years ago to make me smile one day when I didn't feel like smiling. And then he named her Sergeant Death. She loves her daddy. She sits on the top of his recliner, and tries to groom his head. She lays in his lap. She lets him pet her tummy. She almost won't let me near her. She hates my guts.


The End.

Regarding Side Effects...

I have been mentally preparing myself for

THESE

So why, in the name of all that is good on this planet, is MY BELLYBUTTON burning?!? That is not listed on any of the pamphlets...

Hey, don't judge. If Mama Bonk can write about burning bobos, then I can write about burning bellybuttons! :-)

Not Me Monday!

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

The other night when I was woken up by a pee-pee dancing dachshund at 3 am, I did not put both dogs outside, and then promptly go back to bed and fall asleep instead of just waiting the few minutes for them to go potty and let them back in. When they started barking a short time later, I did not pretend to remain asleep so my hubby would wake up and let them in...which he, of course, did. That would be mean.

I most certainly did not park in the "expectant moms only" parking spot at the pharmacy today, just for the thrill of it.

Of course I didn't start laughing during worship yesterday because i could not shake an egg shaker in rhythm to save my life during one song...

I, of course, didn't sample Sugarbear's orange slush on the way home from Sonic just to find out if my hate for fake orange flavoring still exists... I had my own cranberry lime slush, and i was trying to be sweet and bring him a treat... and for the record, i hate fake orange flavoring...

Have an excellent week everyone!

Side Effects...

-abdominal or pelvic pain, tenderness, pressure, or swelling
-nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, or flatulence (gas);
-fever or chills;
-headache;
-dizziness;
-rapid pulse or heart rate;
-muscle or joint weakness or aching;
-breast tenderness;
-pain, swelling, or irritation at the injection site
-dry skin, a rash, or hair loss.
-allergic reaction
-blood clots
-confusion, severe dizziness, severe headache; or
-difficulty breathing.

Sign me up.

Not Me Monday...

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

I did not bust my hiney in the middle of the very slick and shiny polished hallway in my office building today... I definitely didn't slip not once, but twice, trying to get up... I most certainly did not do all of this in front of a complete stranger from upstairs... Not me.

I, of course, did not burst into tears yesterday when my best friend told me how much she and her husband have been praying for me and Sugarbear... that would be an emotional reaction, and I don't have those...not me.

I did not contemplate, at least for a second, deboning a duck yesterday, just for fun, after seeing Julie and Julia... I don't like duck after all, and that would just be a waste... (btw... excellent movie... you'll enjoy it... I promise...) Not me!

For breakfast yesterday, I most certainly did not take a handful of vanilla wafers and proceed to dip them into the jar of nutella... that's not breakfast, after all, and it is definitely not sanitary to dip the cookies directly into the jar of chocolaty-nutty goodness... that would be gross... most certainly not me!

Part III

Part III

Okay, I figured it’s about time I posted part III of the Sugarbear and Jenny story… So, I left off where Sugarbear had bought a new electric guitar and named it after another girl, as I had stood him up. The next couple of weeks had passed, with Sugarbear still making up excuses to steal my watch, and sit next to me in church. I was playing oblivious to his very obvious crush on me, because, of course I wasn’t interested, as I was going away to college. Our time together always included his best friend, and the pair are seriously two of the funniest people I’ve ever met. It was a barrel of monkeys every time we were together. One day, after something at the church of course, the three of us were walking to our cars. Sugarbear, after saying something very witty, I’m sure, got in his car and left. His best friend and I stood next to my car, shooting the breeze. His best friend got right to the point… “He really likes you, you know…” Me- “umm, uh, ummm, huh…”… “He’s a really good guy.” Me- “umm….yeah”. End of conversation. Short conversation leads to contemplating by me… maybe I should ask the chubby computer nerd out on a date… couldn’t hurt, right? It might actually be fun, and, if nothing else, I will have a hilarious time, as he was the funniest person I’ve ever met. Not to mention… he played the guitar. I like musicians. I like guitarists… just not the girly, sensitive, DMB’s Satellite playing ones… and Sugarbear was definitely not one of those. This might be fun. So, up comes our “senior banquet” at church… and the theme was the Oscars… so, I donned my favorite, at the time, black dress. Sugarbear, true to form, chose a bow tie, sweater vest, and newsboy cap… and as always with him, his guitar. The banquet was in our fellowship hall, (where are wedding reception ended up being… go figure). So, we do the whole “yea, we’re graduating” thing, and as the evening was ending, I decided to be bold, and ask Sugarbear to get a cup of coffee with me. (My favorite then and now… extra hot chai a little on the dry side). He quickly introduces me to his parents, and off we went. Coincidentally, I don’t remember meeting them, and didn’t truly meet them until after we were engaged. At this point in time, it is about 10pm, and we go off searching for an open coffee shop, me in my heels and he in his newsboy cap and bow tie. Well, A-town is not your most happening of places at times, and we cannot find a coffee shop still open on our side of town. So, we are driving, talking, laughing, and we end of in my neighborhood. At the elementary school. At the playground. On the swing set. In our dress clothes. Barefoot. I don’t even remember what we talked about. Probably something about physics, or Einstein, or arguing about music… whatever it was , from the point on, I definitely saw the chubby computer nerd guitarist in a new light... he was funny. He was witty. He was smart. He was musical. He was not afraid to be absolutely totally himself all the time. He was probably a stronger Christian then than I am now, no joke. He was a good guy… very unlike the total jerk I had been kinda seeing from work… he treated me nicely, respectfully… he treated me like the only girl on earth… still does… and the rest is history. Now, if you ask Sugarbear, he would say that our first date came much later, that we had no romantic intentions that night. I think it’s just an excuse so he won’t have to admit that I asked him out first.

"I Don't..."

I don't like root beer, licorice, mustard, Canadian bacon, or jellybeans... seriously, root beer and licorice make me nauseous... which automatically strikes out fennel and anise too...

I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

I don't wear flats... I love high heels.

I don't ever have to mow the lawn. I wouldn't know how if I ever had to.

I don't make the Dachshund sleep on the floor like I should. She just begs so pitifully.

I don't tune my own guitar... not that I can't, I just have a husband that always does it for me.

I don't understand the whole Miley Cyrus/ Hannah Montana phenomenon... I don't understand a lot of things.

I don't like to make the bed... when I wash the sheets, I bribe my husband to do it... unfortunately, he has caught on to my scheming...

I don't feel very comfortable in new social settings... I get quite self-conscious.

I don't remember the last time I shopped at a mall... whenever it was, it can be measured in years.

I don't know how Sugarbear and I will ever agree on a 'boy's name'. We've had the same girl's name picked out since before we were married... so about 9 years... but we still argue over a boy's name... should make for fun times.


Jenna's Journey

Just do it...

Click Here.

Part II...

Part two…
Well, like I said, I was not aware that a simple conversation would lead to a disastrous first date and a new guitar. So, things go on pretty slow for a few weeks. I am busy planning my future by way of a far off college, getting ready for graduation, etc. True to form, my sister makes fast friends in our youth group, and is instantly in the ‘in’ crowd. Also true to form, I, needless to say, did not. I have never been outgoing…. Will never be outgoing… and have always been pretty much overshadowed by my siblings in the personality department. Not that I mind… that’s just the way we operate. My siblings are the loud, vivacious, energetic ones. If you want to be the center of attention, seek them out a party. If you want to engage in a dry-witted, cerebral, slightly self-deprecating discussion of various issues, then come sit by me. Anyways, the point was that I tend to be on the fringe of the group versus the center. But, the chubby guy with the glasses kept seeking me out... to talk to, to sit with, etc. It became clear to pretty much everyone but me that this nerdy guy had a crush on the new girl… that would be me. Pretty soon, what began as a first conversation about the merits of time travel turned into a friendship. This nerdy guy in glasses always seemed to make me laugh. Life for me was pretty stressful at that time in other areas, and I was in a constant state of rush, checking my watch every two minutes, always having to be somewhere. This drove the nerdy guy nuts… so, he came up with this idea that anytime I was at church, that I was not allowed to have my watch on. So immediately upon my entering the building, he would grab my arm, take off my watch, and put it in his pocket. He swears now that it was for my well-being… I swear now that he just wanted an excuse to touch me. Not to mention, that if I wanted my watch back, I had to always come find him at the end of the service… So, this continues for a few weeks.
Here comes a weekend in May. I am still pretty clueless about the crush Sugarbear is nursing for me, so I was totally caught off guard when he called and asked me to the movies… the nerdy guy asked me to go see Prince of Egypt with him… yes, the Dreamworks animated movie about Moses. I, at first, said yes, being kind of blindsided by the invitation. Sugarbear called the morning of the engagement to see what time I wanted to go… and I did a horrible, no good, very bad thing. Being the snotty girl I was at the time, I made the last minute decision that I didn’t want to go out with the chubby computer nerd… because I didn’t want anyone to think we were dating… so……….. I can’t believe I’m confessing this… I fibbed to get out of the date. I told him some stupid story about having to clean my house… and if you know me well, you know that I am a horrible liar… I can’t tell a story to save my life. So, it was obvious to Sugarbear that I was fibbing… and nothing he could say could make me change my mind… poor Sugarbear. His disappointment was palpable… later I realized the courage it took for someone who was even more on the fringe and introverted than I, to take that step to ask me out… and I felt even more guilty… but that’s ok, I guess, I think I’ve made up for it since! So, anyways, poor Sugarbear. His tone as we hung up the phone was one of poor disappointment… I should have felt horrible! It was much, much later that Sugarbear told me what he ended up doing that day… He was so depressed that I had stood him up, that he took all of the money he had saved, and blew it on a new guitar… that he promptly named after another girl… he still has that guitar… and it is still named after that other girl! And he still tells this story when he gets the opportunity to tell someone about his guitars…

Sugarbear counts this as our first date… I do not… so stay tuned the story of what I consider our first date! Part III!

How It All Started...

Spending the weekend involved in various wedding activities for my sister made me kind of nostalgic… not for weddings, goodness no. Honestly, if I had the choice again, I’d elope… run off somewhere fun and spontaneous. No, I’m nostalgic about 10 years of a relationship, including almost 7 years of marriage. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about Sugarbear. Some of you know him, most of you love him, a few of you are jealous of his mad ice cream making skills… So, I’d thought I’d start at the beginning.

The year was 1999… I was just three months shy of high school graduation. I was not what you’d call social, sticking mainly to a small group of people who prided themselves on being nonconformist. If it was main stream, we were not into it… anyways…. I was also not what you would call popular. Quite the opposite, in fact. The whole high school experience for me was definitely not one to remember. So, here I was, trying desperately to get somewhere new by way of college, plan my way outta Dodge, and by Dodge, I mean Amarillo. Little did I know at the time what else God had in store for me… little did I know how long it would take me to recognize God’s hand in my circumstances… and one Sunday, my family up and decided to attend a new church.

So, here we go… One thing you must know about me is that I am pretty uncomfortable in social situations that include large groups of people that I don’t know… I definitely missed the gene present in my mother and little sister that includes the ability to find friends anywhere and always say the right thing at the right time, and engage in decent social graces in general. So, here I am feeling very uncomfortable in my charcoal grey wool cargo pants and mauve wool v-neck sweater. My little sister, being the social butterfly that she is, recognizes a boy from the high school we attended… he was a perfectly nice boy, but not someone I knew, other than knowing that I had seen him around campus. She instantly makes friends, and drags me along to sit in the ‘youth’ section… so, now I’m feeling conspicuous and uncomfortable, sitting next to a strange boy in a strange church… little did I know that I was being watched.

There is a pretty much ubiquitous greeting time in most Baptist churches, usually after the call to worship. This is a nightmare for me, still is. I don’t like hugging. I don’t like shaking hands… germs! Plus there’s the whole ‘will anyone want to shake my hand’ rejection thing. So, I am trying to avoid touching anyone when an eager looking, nerdy kind of chubby guy in glasses comes up and shakes my hand. I hardly remember him…

**The following is Sugarbear’s relation of our first meeting, almost verbatim**
Sugarbear was sitting in the sound booth, being in charge of the powerpoint that day. He was sitting there, minding his own business, playing with the light switches, when BOOM… He looks down and sees the most beautiful girl he has ever seen in his entire life sitting next to his best friend... he became insanely jealous, and at that moment, he knew that he would rush down during the greeting just to shake her hand.
***********************************************

The next couple of weeks are filled with getting to know the church, beginning to attend the student activities, culminating in moving our membership. Me, being the determined one I am, let everyone know that this was only temporary, as I had my heart set on attending the big, expensive private school that my two best friends would be attending… before I know it, it is Easter, and the youth gather at the home of our youth pastor for a fun-filled evening of watching Deep Impact…(yes, the asteroid movie)…little did I know that what began as a simple conversation about physics would end up in a very reluctant, disastrous first date and a new guitar. More to come in part II...

And, for a parting shot, who is this Sugarbear of which I speak? Here he is… don't ask me what was up with the beard in this pic... I just don't know...



More to come!

Not Me Monday!

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

A little background... my middle younger sister got married this weekend. She was married outside, and the Justice of the Peace who performed the ceremony asked me to hold his Bible during the ceremony so he could hold the notebook with his script in it... I happily obliged...

While the JP recited 1 Corinthians 13 during the ceremony, I did not cry like a baby, causing my nose to run. I of course did not forget to bring a tissue, and definitely did not attempt in vain to delicately wipe the various liquids off of my face with my fingers... I most certainly did not then pray fervently that I could finish the ceremony without smearing said fluids on the Bible I was supposed to be holding for the very nice JP... who I'm sure would not appreciate a snotty tear-stained Bible...

Happy Monday everyone!

This...

is what I did in my Wilton class this week... on to the second course!

Look What I Did!

This is what I did in my Wilton class this week... very fun, and quite tasty too. You might notice my attempts at roses below the cake... I still have to work on those!

Tomorrow Is...

Starting off with- Dr.'s appointment in the morning... bleh. Same bad time, same bad channel. Same invasion of my personal space bubble. I like my bubble. I wish people in scrubs and latex gloves would stay out of it. Don't get me started on all the stuff that they bring... I have a million jokes that could go here, but for some reason, they all seem a little too inappropriate... I don't like shaking hands with people too often, or hugging people for the most part... you can imagine what this whole journey is like for me!

But, it all gets better tomorrow night because I have...



Cake Decorating Class!!! I am super stoked... It's like elementary art class... with frosting. How fun is that?

My New Favorite Blog...

In case you don't know... if I could do absolutely anything I wanted to do with unlimited means, I'd open a bakery... I love to bake... which is why this is my new favorite blog... I suggest you check it out, if you haven't come across it already...

Cake Wrecks

Not Me Monday!

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

I did not secretly feed both dogs cocoa-peanut butter rice krispie treats because I am a sucker for those pitiful puppy dog eyes... everyone knows dogs can't have chocolate, anyways!

I was not secretly stoked to go see Star Trek on date night... not me. Our going to see that movie was totally for Sugarbear's benefit, as he is the Star Trek fan... (it was awesome, btw... two thumbs up...I have a fictional character crush on Spock now...)Definitely not me.

I, of course, did not use my MP3 player as an avoidance device today at work so I would not have to talk to anyone... not me...

I most certainly would never go to Wal-Mart with the sole purpose of buying a new shower liner for the master bath and leave with a new straight iron... that would be silly... not me!

Mother's Day

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that a day like Mother’s Day is particularly difficult for me. I am very conscious of not becoming one of those bitter-at-the-world childless women. I mean those women that take personal offense at other women’s pregnancies, adoptions, etc. I have not come to the point where I think that other people are trying to personally hurt me by creating their own families, and I hope I am never at that point. This is particularly important for me, since I have a particularly fertile set of friends… it seems like every month there is someone birthing a baby, adopting a baby, or announcing that they will be doing one of those things. God calls us to love each other, to support each other, and that means sharing in each other’s joy, even if we are hurting. Am I angry sometimes? Yes. Am I bitter sometimes? Definitely. But my anger shouldn’t spill over to the point I can’t be happy for my friends who are mothers. I love on them and their children just the same.

Everything about this day is hard… this day invented, so it seems, to sell greeting cards and flowers. The displays at the store, the church service dedicated to mothers, being asked to be in the nursery so the mothers can enjoy the service, etc… (Hint-do not ask the infertile woman to be in the nursery WITH THE BABIES on MOTHERS DAY… innocuous sounding, yes, but not a good emotional dynamic…) Do not even get me started on the commercials.

BUT- the promises from God do not change from one day to the next. And that alone gives me joy.

So, love on your friends today that are struggling with infertility… acknowledge that it is a difficult time, and let them know you are thinking of them, and are praying for them.

And- don’t forget to call your mom:-)

Simple Things

It's the simple things in life that make me happy... like the above hot sauce. I have scheduled shopping trips around going to a store that sells this brand... the best Christmas gift I've ever received from my father-in-law consisted of several jars of this hot sauce... I spent two years in Southern Florida, and seriously, ready access to this salsa was a prime motivator for moving back to Texas... (well, maybe not, but it could have been!)

Sugarbear bought me a large jar of Tascosa Hot Sauce today, just for me, just because he knows it's my favorite, and we were having fajitas for dinner... and seriously, it made me fall a little bit more in love with him...

That can't be normal...

Not Me Monday!

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

I am not writing this post partly because my wonderful grandmother has mentioned several times that I haven't posted in a while, and I feel guilty because she is one of the only people who actually read my blog...not me.

I did not allow the dachshund to sleep in the bed the whole weekend because Sugarbear was gone on a men's fishing retreat... nope, never.

I did not purposefully leave my phone on "Do Not Disturb" mode all day so I could get a little paperwork done... not me. (yes, I did frequently check my messages, and would have responded to any emergencies, had there been any...)Not me!

I did not sneak a piece of homemade toffee before dinner tonight... certainly not me!

Random Reason Why Sugarbear and I Were Made for Each Other...

...because we both still giggle like middle schoolers when someone uses the word 'duty' in a sentence... and then we look at one another to see if the other one is laughing too...

"Wait"

Wait
by Russell Kelfer


Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried;
Quietly, patiently, lovingly, God replied.
I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate . . .
And the Master so gently said, "Wait."


"Wait? you say wait?" my indignant reply.
"Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!
Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard?
By faith I have asked, and I'm claiming your Word.


"My future and all to which I relate
Hangs in the balance, and you tell me to wait?
I'm needing a 'yes', a go-ahead sign,
Or even a 'no' to which I can resign.


"You promised, dear Lord, that if we believe,
We need but to ask, and we shall receive.
And Lord I've been asking, and this is my cry:
I'm weary of asking! I need a reply."


Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate,
As my Master replied again, "Wait."
So I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut,
And grumbled to God, "So, I'm waiting for what?"


He seemed then to kneel, and His eyes met with mine . . .
and He tenderly said, "I could give you a sign.
I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.
I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.


"I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.
You'd have what you want, but you wouldn't know Me.
You'd not know the depth of my love for each saint.
You'd not know the power that I give to the faint.


"You'd not learn to see through clouds of despair;
You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there.
You'd not know the joy of resting in Me
When darkness and silence are all you can see.


"You'd never experience the fullness of love
When the peace of My spirit descends like a dove.
You would know that I give, and I save, for a start,
But you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.


"The glow of my comfort late into the night,
The faith that I give when you walk without sight.
The depth that's beyond getting just what you ask
From an infinite God who makes what you have last.


"You'd never know, should your pain quickly flee,
What it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.
Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,
But, oh, the loss, if you missed what I'm doing in you.


"So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see
That the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.
And though oft My answers seem terribly late,
My most precious answer of all is still . . . Wait."

Tomorrow...

Tomorrow is an important day for us. I adore my OB/GYN.... I adore him and his nurse...I am comfortable with them, I trust them. But,tomorrow we have our first consultation with a fertility specialist. We have reached the end of the treatment that my regular OB can provide (as good as it was), and are entering the scary world of "ARTS". I have lots of thoughts in my head at the moment, mainly centered around my absolute anxiety about going to the doctor in general. I am a college-educated, rational adult...but I hate going to the doctor, as in, avoid it like the plague. (why else do you think it took me three years to pursue this?) Yet, I've been to the doctor more in the last few months than I think I've been the rest of my life. God invented irony, you know. I am anxious to have to explain myself to another person, and anxious about being judged, and anxious about being rejected, and anxious about being a punchline, and anxious that the nurses will make fun of my shoes... I have never claimed to be normal, btw. It symbolizes a whole new set of people that are going to know more about my reproductive organs than I do... and that bothers me. It's also another rung up the infertility ladder... and I haven't yet decided how high I actually want to climb. And so on, and so forth... so, I'm praying for a good experience, a compassionate doctor, and as few more tests as possible... basically, I know what I want to happen procedure-wise, and I want my new doctor to agree...and just do it. Not to much to ask, right?:-)

If anyone has any wisdom to share... feel free!

Late for work, But this needed posting...

So, I've mentioned before that the Dachshund is officially not allowed on the bed. (mainly because we have a very high bed, and a Dachshund is prone to slipped disks and other back injuries, and we don't like her to jump down... especially since her jumps off the bed resemble flying Underdog-type leaps, cause apparently she thinks she's a superhero...) Anyways.

We've already established that I'm a sucker when it comes to the Dachshund, carrying her for walks, letting her in the bed when she begs, etc. Last night was no exception. She comes whining to my side of the bed, and jumping up and down (never to Sugarbear's side... I wonder why...). I, of course, let her up. She goes to the foot of the bed as normal, and snuggles down for the rest of the night.

So, this morning, I get up, get ready for work. As usual, the Chica dog gets up with me and follows me around, while the Ginger Dachshund stays in bed with Sugarbear. I am going to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and I come upon this scene in the bed...

Ginger has now climbed up to 'my spot', is laying on her back,feet in the air, under the covers, blissfully snoring WITH HER HEAD ON MY PILLOW, snuggled up beside Sugarbear....

I have lost control of my Dachshund, people.

You Know You're A Social Worker When...

You know you're a social worker when, as you are driving 70 down the highway you see a pick-up truck next to you with a bassinet in the bed, and you strain your neck looking to make sure there isn't a baby in it...

Ya think I'm jaded by my job the slightest bit?

Confessions...

Ok, so last night I was feeling kinda blue, and Sugarbear, being the wonderful, thoughtful husband he is, convinced me to go for a walk to raise my spirits. He was right, the walk did just that, but that is not my confession...

My confession has to do with a certain Ginger-named Dachshund... see, when Mommy says "Wanna go", it is the cue for the dogs to jump up and down, whine, and run for the 'leash storage spot'. Well, the girls got to accompany us on our moonlit jaunt around the neighborhood... well, Chica, being the hardy terrier she is, loved the walk. She was running around, doing what good dogs do- sniffing, marking, trying to chase the rabbits, etc. Ginger, however, is a little more delicate. She has very short legs, and is quite effective over a sprint, but is not made for distance. Well, she also has asthma.... which means that when she overexerts herself, she starts wheezing... loudly...

So we make it about a block when Ginger starts her wheezing routine. Well, we stop for a minute, we move on. So, we keep this up for another two blocks. By this time, she is looking up at me with those big, hound dog eyes and I'm worried that the neighbors are going to call the Humane Society. So, what's a dog mommy to do? I pick up my Dachshund, and proceed to carry her, leash and all, for our walk. She instantly becomes the happiest puppy, tongue hanging out, ears blowing in the breeze, smile on her little doggy face... cause she knows that Mommy is a sucker.

Good Posts...

Ok, so most of you who would ever read my blog I know also read MckMama and Bring the Rain, so this post doesn't apply to you. But, I know there are at least a couple of you out there who don't know who I'm talking about. They wrote a couple of excellent posts today, and I wanted to share the links. I, at least, was inspired and convicted at the same time. So, instead of expounding on what these two excellent women have said, I'm going to let their posts do the talking and add just a big 'ol hearty concurrence. That said, there are so many people in need of prayer at the moment, don't forget Baby Stellan...



http://www.mycharmingkids.net/2009/03/to-him-be-glory

http://audreycaroline.blogspot.com/2009/03/miracle

I can't get the links to work for some reason, so just copy and paste!

Not Me Monday! (Almost)

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.


I am not posting this early, not me.

I did not, yet again, leave a pile of 'hang up' clothes in the closet just because, in case you haven't heard already, I simply despise anything to do with laundry folding and putting away...not me.

I did not buy a complete new dress this weekend just to have something to match perfectly with the $6 pair of shoes I found at the thrift store...not me, again.

I did not have to fight the urge to throw my knitting needles at the youth tonight who thought the middle of a lesson on the Holy Spirit was a perfect time to play with fire... like actual fire, from a candle... because I love them dearly, and would therefore never lose my temper like that...definitely not me.

I am not contemplating the ramifications of faking a serious illness just to get a little time off of work... nope, not me.

I did not leave the cheesy crockpot soaking in the sink when I could have easily finished washing it, just because I wanted to sit and enjoy my silent house...

Happy (almost) Monday Everyone!

Yep, That's Right...

I actually took off early...Shocker, I know. The time and space continuum is still in tact, I hear. Now I am trying to convince Sugarbear to go outside and play... the baby ducks at the park are beckoning!

American Idol Time!

It’s American Idol Time!
Now for the running commentary… as always, I don’t delude myself into thinking anyone particularly cares about my opinion, SO… I’m going to give it anyway:-)

1. Yea for country and western night!
2. Michael- Not sure that’s a great song choice… the harmonica is annoying me… I am not liking this… I bet Simon won’t either…
3. Allison- She’s cute… It’s ok…. You can tell this isn’t really her style… and Paula makes no sense...
4. Kris- Another Garth Brooks (or Bob Dylan...) song… the Adele version is very good, if you haven’t heard it yet… He is a cutie pie… and I’ve always loved this song! Pretty Pretty. I didn’t hear the pitch problems Paula is talking about…
5. Lil- She keeps going in and out of key…she can rock it, but I do not think it was her best… but Simon is being disrespectful with the "Little" thing...
6. I still think "The Osbourne's Reloaded" is a sign of the Apocolypse...
7. Adam- Haha. Randy Travis was funny. Again, one side of my brain hates this version, the other side is fascinated... and I think Johnny Cash would hate it... and HE covered Nine Inch Nails...
8. Scott- Interesting choice... feels kind of disjointed... very adult contemporary... Paula and Simon are about to throw down... I still like Scott...
9. Alexis- I like her hair... I like her dress... is her monitor working? She seems behind... kinda weird... but I like her anyways...
10. Danny- I really liked that... Paula is verging on incoherent.. Yea for Danny:-)
11. Anoop- He's got to get rid of the hoodies... I'm bored now...
12. Paula is getting on my nerves...
13. Megan- Awww... such a pretty girl... what is up with her diction? Yikes... I can't pick on the poor girl who was in the hospital...
14. Matt- the arrangement was a little weird... he's got talent... I just can't get the image of Justin Timberlake's goofy second cousin out of my head... good job, though.

Until next week...