Ch-ch-ch-changes

If you visited my blog in the past four days you may have noticed a theme. Or actually, several different themes. That's right, the changing of the seasons inspired me to do a little blog sprucing up. Since I have no html skills, and no web designer friends, that meant trawling the Interwebs for a blog template. Now, I like to think I have seen a lot of blogs, and that I know what bloggers like in a look. However, I must have been wrong, because blog template designers think they like crap. Really, if I saw one more misty, swirly, kind of disco, but with a Precious Moments touch template I was going to throw my laptop out the window.

I thought about making a bug change and adding a little more color, a little more whimsy, but in the end decided I wanted people to actually recognize the place. If you stumbled onto one of the "whimsical" try outs I am sure it was like walking into a bar, only to be greeted by a florist. I'm sorry. It won't happen again.

So, I hope you like the new look. If you don't, just wait until the spring...

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One Track Meg

You may have noticed I haven't been blogging all that much lately.

It isn't that I haven't had anything to say. It isn't that things haven't been going on in my life that are funny, or interesting, or scream BLOGWORTHY. It's just that all of those things center around one topic, the topic that currently rules my life: Meg.

It's not that I dislike telling stories about Meg. Ask anyone who works with me, or is friends with me, or runs into me in the wine store, and they will tell you that it is impossible to say hello, or excuse me, or will you move your cart it's blocking the chardonnay, without hearing at least three Meg tales. And it's not that I think you don't like hearing about Meg, I know you do. I know that every last one of you waits with eager anticipation for the next story about the most perfect child in the world. RIGHT? Of course right.

I could fill pages right now with stories about my life with Meg. About how I love talking to her, and laughing with her, and singing along to "Bohemian Rhapsody" with her. About how I love butting heads with her over things like whether or not she can wear a necklace to bed, and just how many tic tacs she can have in one sitting. About how I love that when she says she wants "something" I can usually ascertain what it is immediately just by how she says it.

However, in order to do that I would have to admit to the world that my life is now controlled by a two year old.

That just seems so ordinary.

I mean, there are at least 50 blogs I think of right now where you can get that. I'm sure there are millions more too. They are, for the most part, very good blogs. They just aren't ever what I thought this blog would be. What I wanted it to be. What it is now.

I hope to get back to the other parts of myself. The die hard liberal (hi, George!). The diet challenged wanna be foodie who just can't pass up Kraft mac and cheese. The sarcastic cynic who wants to scream when she sees the current state of society (Courtney Stodden, what, not who the fuck is that?).

Until then though, I hope you all stick around. Oh, and that you really like pictures of an overlord disguised as a toddler.

Damn she's cute.

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People Who Need People

So, this is where I normally would tell you where I have been lately besides here. I would pretend I had been in jail, or fighting for the Missoni line at Target and you would all laugh and hopefully click the links.

This week though, there are people who need your love more than I do.

First of all, Heather, previously of HeathertyFeatherty fame, and now, unbelievably, of Talking to Neil. It's a story I can't even begin to tell, and don't feel it is my right to, so hop over there and check it out. Also, Erin of Musings of a Madwoman and Tired and Stuck would probably appreciate some support too. Or maybe some vodka. Take your pick.

If you do want to find me, I am at Tired and Stuck talking about a doctor that blows, and at Sprocket Ink talking about a presidential candidate that does as well. Surprisingly, they are not the same person.

Oh, and as always, get back here tomorrow. I'm making cookies.

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Stuck in the Mud

I am in landscaping hell. No, really, I am. Check it out.

Yeah, so you will forgive me if I don't feel like a full post here today. I am other places though. Over at Sprocket Ink I've written about how I really want Samuel L. Jackson to tell me to "Go the Fuck to Sleep" (no, not like that, sicko). Oh, and at Tired and Stuck I am revealing how trying to make my body do what I want it to sent me to the emergency room.

Be back here tomorrow though. If I haven't been swallowed alive by my lawn I will give everyone mud facials from the copious piles of it in my yard.

Oooh, dirty.

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O! The Pain!

I wanted to post something really wonderful today, but I just can't. The looming world without "Oprah" is just too much for me. How will I live my best life now that there is no one who might randomly give me a car while yelling at me?

If you need something to read I have posted over at Tired and Stuck about how I just can't visualize doing visualization. At Sprocket Ink I have written about the strange turn of events that is turning out to be the life of Casey Anthony.

I think I'll be feeling better tomorrow though, so meet back here for some of my favorite things.

Favorite things. Oh, Oprah. Sob.

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Marco?

Yeah, stop waiting for me to say "Polo" because I'm not really here. I am other places though, with lots of interesting things to say!

Over at Tired and Stuck you can read about why I have replaced my morning coffee (okay, Diet Pepsi) with a cup of hot swamp water, and couldn't be happier about it!

Oh, and at Sprocket Ink I have written about why a psychologist trying to prove African American women are not attractive has probably been turned down by a lot of African American women.

Of course, I will be back here tomorrow, zipping up my cardigan sweater and putting on my sneakers for a trip to the land of make believe.

Can you tell I am feeling nostalgic for childhood?

Later, gators.

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Hey you!

Yes, you! Good to see you here. There really isn't that much going on here today though. All the action is on the other sites where you can find my ramblings.

Over on Tired and Stuck you can read how my body is trying to show me who is boss -- no matter how many supplements I take, or how many needles I have stuck into me.

Oh, and at Sprocket Ink I've written about how Osama bin Laden's apparent love of Pepsi makes my head hurt. It's deeper than just that though, so go check it out.

Of course, come back here tomorrow. I might have a puppet show planned...

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Pssst...

Hey you! Yeah, you! Wanna read all about how I am not only having acupuncture, but ELECTRIC acupuncture? Well you can! Just not here. Head over to Tired and Stuck for the lowdown.

Of maybe you want to know what I think of the Osama bin Laden situation? Or rather, what I don't think of it? That's over at Sprocket Ink.

Come back here tomorrow though. I'll be handing out puppies and Pop Tarts bright and early...

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An Adjective, Not a Noun

I was visiting my husband at work the other day, and was talking to two of his colleagues. One of them is about 42 months pregnant, and the other is trying to adopt after having a son around the time Meg was born. I commented on bulging belly of the first, and the second turned to me and said "Yeah, aren't you glad you adopted? You didn't have to deal with any of that."

She didn't mean to ruffle my feathers, but she did. I instantly jumped into the role of infertile woman, insulted that she would think there was any reason I was "lucky." Didn't she have any idea what I had been through to get my child? Didn't she have any idea of the loss I had suffered? That I am still suffering? Didn't she know all the things I had done to my body, and was still doing to my body to achieve what others had gotten so easily? Had she no idea that she offended me?

Then it dawned on me. No, she hadn't. She wasn't viewing me as an infertile woman. She was viewing me as a Mom with a beautiful child who had never had to deal with cankles.

It made me think.

I have been dealing with infertility for almost five years. In that time it has become not just something I deal with, but a main part of my identity, if not my entire identity at times. And now? It's time for that to end. It's time for me to stop feeling bad every time I see a maternity dress, or think "why not me" when I hear a friend is pregnant. Or, if not to stop those feelings, to not let myself wallow in them, and wear them like a corsage. There are so many prettier things I could pin to my dress.

I am not saying that my feelings of frustration, and sadness, and anger, and envy, and hopelessness aren't valid. I am just saying I don't have to, or want to, validate them every day any more. They can be a part of my story without being the center of it. Who knows, maybe the story will be even more fascinating because of it. And maybe I can help others dealing with infertility get past the soul numbing, all consuming yuckiness to expand their own stories too.

After all, I'm lucky. Damn lucky.

In case you didn't know, this is National Infertility Week. For more information, visit Resolve.org.

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Looking For Me?

You guys are thinking I am totally lazy, aren't you? You're thinking that instead of writing anything this week, and participating in the world I am just going to sit around drinking daiquiris and waiting for the royal wedding. Oh, how wrong you are. First of all, do you know how many calories are on one daiquiri? I could have like three bottle of wine for that. Also, I have been writing this week -- just not here.

If you want to read about my recent foray into acupuncture (and really, who doesn't) head on over to Tired and Stuck.

If you want to know why I just can't mock William and Kate as they prepare for their wedding? Well, you need to go to Sprocket Ink.

Of course, after going to these sites, please return back here tomorrow for a new post, and maybe some light calisthenics.

Ahoy!

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I Lied

I said I would be back here today. I'm not. I mean, I am, but just to make sure hooligans haven't broken in and messed the place up.

I did write something today, though. Something wonderful! Something that includes Charles Manson AND Michele Bachman. And all you have to do to read it is click on this little link. That will take you to Sprocket Ink. That rhymed! We're having fun already!

I promise, I will be back tomorrow...

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Taking My Crazy Elsewhere...

I have done a lot of crazy, over the top, not quite sane things in my quest to get pregnant. However, this time I went too far. Read all about it at Tired and Stuck today. I will be back here tomorrow.

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Not Here Today

But, you can find me elsewhere on the interwebs. I am over at Tired and Stuck! So, what are you waiting for? Go! Just go! Nothing more to see here!

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Branching Out

I am thinking about jumping back into the baby making business. Or at least the attempting to make a baby business. Meg is growing up so quickly, and I think it would be a really wonderful thing for her to have a co-pilot through life. I may not always like my sisters, but I know we have shared history. They have my back. I want Meg to have that.*

However, while I am thinking about trying for another baby, I am not thinking about going back to fertility treatments. This time, I am going to try something I never thought I could do, and still am not sure if I can -- get out of the way and let my body do it's thing. To that end I going to try and do this all through lifestyle changes, and maybe a little acupuncture. It's a plan laid out in the book "Making Babies: A Proven Three Month Program For Maximum Fertility."

This is not going to be easy. Actually trying to make changes instead of just hoping western medicine has the magic bullet never is. I am going need people keeping me honest in order to stay on track. To that end, I have entered into a joint blog venture with Erin and Christina. They are using the program too, and together we will hash it out, overcome the difficulties, and hopefully all end up pregnant.

If not, at least it will be entertaining reading. I hope you will join us at TiredandStuck.blogspot.com.

*I know many of you are thinking "why not adopt again." I wish I could, but that is not financially possible at this time. Not ruling it out in the future though.

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Fear of Silence

I talk, a lot. Now, I know you're thinking "oh, everyone thinks they talk a lot," but let me tell you now, they are wrong. The story in my family goes that I didn't start talking until I was almost three, and I haven't stopped since. I can't help myself. I really love to talk. When I am not talking to someone, or something, I am talking to myself. When I am not talking to myself I am talking to imaginary people, having conversations I think we would have, if we ever met. I talk in the shower. I talk back to the TV and the radio and the computer. I talk in my sleep. I talk, a lot.

I am not just telling you I talk a lot to have something to talk about. I mean, that sounds like something I would do (and in another time and place I probably will), but today I actually have a point. You see, one of my Internet friends, Jennifer, is suffering my greatest nightmare: she is being forced to be silent. She has been doing this for 15 days, and is supposed to be doing this for 15 more. I can only imagine the horror.

Seriously, since I started following her odyssey into silence I think about it constantly. My recurring nightmares of not being able to talk (see, I wasn't just being hyperbolic) have been happening more frequently. I monitor how long it has been since I have said a word, and wonder if I could double, or triple that time. The obvious answer is, no, I can not; and each time I start talking again I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Thank goodness Jennifer has an awesome blog where she can vent. I just hope that, unlike me, she doesn't have to read her posts aloud and discuss them with the air as she writes. Or, if she does, that the air reads lips.

God speed, Jennifer. I would love to promise you I will keep silent out of solidarity, but I think we all know that would just be talk...

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The Greatest Blog Post in the History of Blogging

I had the best idea for a blog post last night! I remember it coming to me just as I went to sleep and thinking "that will be awesome." It was funny, and poignant, and topical. It was a blog topic that would bring out the respect and awe of all of humanity, even those who hate blogs. And those who didn't feel awe? They would feel envy. THAT is how good this post was going to be.

I really wish I could remember what it was.

I am pretty sure it had something to do with Meg. Or maybe I was thinking it was awesome because it didn't have to do with Meg, so it would be totally out of the ordinary. I KNOW it had something to do with food, since that's pretty much all I think about this time of year. But, was it food I love or food I hate? Maybe it was food I used to love, but now I hate. Maybe it was about food I wish I hated but really love. Maybe it was about the memory boosting foods I obviously should be eating.

Dammit.

I actually started writing down my blog ideas in my phone earlier this year just for occasions like this. On that list right now? "Ahh bra," and "Dyson guy." Yeah, I don't know what either of those mean either. Neither one sounds like a post I would want to read though.

I really should have written this idea down. I thought about it. Then I thought, "nah, this is too great of an idea to go away." I shouldn't listen to myself.

Could it have been something about the Dyson guy wearing an ahh bra? Or an ahh bra with tornado suction? I'm guessing not.

Maybe you should just move along now. This is embarrassing for both of us.

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The Blog Menace

I have horrible news.

No, really, I mean it. It's awful.

It might just ruin my life.

Tara is thinking of starting a blog.

Now, I am trying to be supportive, but really, I don't know how much longer I can keep up this charade. It's like trying to pretend everything is okay -- when the giant spaceships from "Independence Day" are hovering overhead. Oh, and unlike the losers in that movie, I know they do not come in peace.

First of all, there is the fact that Tara knows about me. A LOT about me. A lot about me I haven't put on this blog. Yes, I know that's shocking considering I have written posts like this one, but it's true. She could totally ruin my rep; and she would have good reason to -- considering I have posted pictures of her like the one below.

I know, I'm an awful friend. I deserve whatever Internet vengeance she has to dish out. I just don't really want to face it. Is that so wrong?

Also, there is the fact Tara has a baby almost as cute as Meg. I mean, fractions of a millimeter away cute. Plus, she's only four months, so who knows how her cute will grow in the future? I don't know if I can risk that. I mean, not for me, but for Meg. Really, won't someone think of the children?

Lastly, and I know this is ridiculous, but there is the slightest, most miniscule possibility Tara may be funnier than I am. I know, I know, that's like saying spiders are cuter than kittens, and pickle juice tastes more delicious than wine, but it is a real concern. I mean, in social settings she has been compared to a young Gallagher. I can only hope the watermelon thing won't transfer online very well.

I just hope that, of she does decide to blog, you will join me in shunning her, and let your friends know to shun her too. After all, there is only room for one sarcastic 30-something blonde with a baby, a dog, and a bad attitude on the Interwebs, right?

Right?

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You Should Be Reading These

I am not a fan of the blog badge thing. I think I have made that clear. I mean, it's a nice idea and all, but it just makes me uncomfortable. You know, like hugging in public places. No one needs to see that shit. If you want to do more than a handshake, or a high five, go somewhere private. And yes, I am including "elaborate" type handshakes that include fist taps, hip bumps, or any kind of finger wiggling on the list of things better done away from the public eye.

Still, while I am not a big proponent of public displays of affection, there are a couple blogs I have been wanting to recommend for a while now. I have pimped a couple of them on my Twitter feed, but I think it's time for me to give them full frontal exposure on the blog. I mean, how ever much exposure one can give on a blog this size. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the "I like you enough to say it publicly" badge:

It's not too flashy, is it? I don't want to go overboard here. I was a little worried about the typeface, but I figured the lower case i balanced it out.

I would like to offer this badge to seven blogs that I read and love on as regular a basis as I can manage with a toddler. They can do whatever they want with the badge: ignore it, pass it on to blogs they think more people need to know about, or get it tattooed on their butts...

Monkey Soup A teenage daughter, a toddler, and grandchildren at the age of 36. Kelly should be doing nothing but bitching, but she loves her life, and makes me love it too. Also, her Mea is Meg quality cute.

View From the Crooked Letter I love this blog because Jen is taking chances most of us only talk about taking. She is back in school, and working on writing. Oh, and she's a mom and working. Since I got tired just writing those sentences I think you can see why I like her.

I Am Writing You Today This is a new blog I just found and love. Daniel takes the concept of "Letters From A Nut" and makes it not psycho. I also love seeing the responses he gets. Plus, Mormons love him too!

Hippo Brigade Beckey's picture is of her stuffing a cupcake in her mouth. Enough said. Want more? Read her stuff.

One Smary Mama I don't know why you all don't know C.Lo yet. She is grace under pressure defined. Oh, and she's a theater geek, which makes it even better.

Little Dragon Fruit Another drama geek, and this one is brave enough to still be auditioning. Oh, and when Sam isn't entertaining me with tales from the stage her daughter Jarrah always has a great adventure on hand.

Pining for Nordstrom Ton of kids. Stuck in the middle of nowhere. Great sense of fashion. Jill can even make a household disaster riveting.

So, those are your reading assignments. After all, you have to have something to do when I'm funky, or grumpy, or trying to keep Meg off the roof. You know, most of the time...

And I promise not to be so mushy in the future.

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I'm Not Lame, I'm Hurt

Tonight was going to be awesome! Ryan is out late, so I have the house to myself. Meg was tired early, which meant she would asleep by 8:30 at the latest. There was nothing on TV I wanted to watch. I was going to sit down, have a glass of wine, catch up on blogs, and maybe even send my own missive out into cyberspace. You know, something funny about how Christine O'Donnell is taking the fun out of this for me by making the jokes too easy.

That's what I was going to do.

Meg fell asleep at 8:15. Score. I stood up and started to move her from the living room to her bedroom. Her pacifier fell out. She startled. I quickly put it back in her mouth, knowing I could remedy the situation with just a few minutes in the rocking chair. I moved in

to her dark room, and turned around to sit down in the rocker. And I totally missed.

Out rocking chair is not padded. It is not soft. It is a wooden rocking chair, with wooden slats for the seat. Every one of those slats was now pressed into my back, and trying it's best to strip the skin away. I bit my lip and held on tight to Meg, not wanting to drop her, or disturb her. That really wasn't going to happen though, and I let out an enormous yalp of pain as I crumpled to the ground around her.

So, there we were on the floor. The room was still dark. I was crying. Meg was crying. Our dog Sally was just trying to figure out what the fuck happened. Eventually we all calmed down, I turned on the light, assessed the damage done to my back (just a scrape, a REALLY BIG scrape, but a scrape nonetheless), and we went out to the living room to start the process over again.

Meg just fell back to sleep. My back is killing me. Sorry I didn't read any of your blogs tonight, and that this is all you are getting from me.

Wait, I'll make it better -- here's a funny picture of a carrot from my friend Andrew's garden.

See, it looks like it has a penis! HA!

Yeah, I'm done. Good night.

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A Blog I Left Behind

I read Dooce for the first time today in months. And now I can't stop thinking about it.

I used to read her stuff all the time. I used to enjoy reading it. It was funny. It was interesting. It was real. I felt I could relate to her, and really found myself cheering for her when she did well, and sympathizing when she didn't. I discovered other blogs I liked by reading through the comments on her posts. Now though, on the off chance I look at her site I just feel a painful burning in my chest, and the word "why" reverberating in my head.

Some of it is jealousy. I would love to blog, and be a cottage industry, and move into big beautiful house after big beautiful house. I would love to have book deals, and be flown to New York. I would love the whole package. I have a wonderful life, with a beautiful family, and everything I need, but still, that grass looks mighty green from this side.

However, while jealousy is a part, what really keeps me from reading is the fact I don't think the same person is writing it any more. She's not funny. She's not self deprecating. She seem to alternate between bragging, and being defensive. Her pictures are still gorgeous, but the stories that went with them are gone. It makes me sad, because it's like I lost a really good friend who I liked to visit every day, and now I just see in the grocery store and turn down another aisle so I don't have to deal with her.

I don't know, I guess everyone has blogs they outgrow, or that they stop liking. I know I have lost and gained followers depending how whiny or funny I am. Luckily, there are still other blog friends out there who I still think are pretty cool. They just don't have huge mansions... Yet.

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