I'm trying to win some jeans here, people

The task was simple, really: post a photo of yourself in, um, "unfortunate" jeans. The number of photos (1) I could put my hands on was drastically smaller than the number of jeans in this category that have been in my possession (too many to count). I mean, let's face it, I went to high school in the 80s. Enough said.

This particular photo is from college, probably 1988, just after a squash tournament (hence, the giant squash ball on the wall and my post-match hair-do). Let's count the sins:

The jeans are Levis, which would be fine, except I went and bleached them to make them extra special. (See that blotchy effect? That's exactly what I was going for. God, I was proud.)

I also pegged them myself. Not with the patented peg and roll technique that Katie Holmes has been trying to reintroduce to the world, because that was SO 1986. No, I turned those suckers inside out and put needle and thread to the inseam. This meant they were skin tight from hip to ankle (the hip-to-knee portion thanks to the freshman 15 that had become old friends by this point).

And let's just all praise some higher being that I didn't then tuck them into my oversized socks (which were squeezed into my undersized loafers). I mean, I tucked in my oversized sweater, so it does leave me wondering why I didn't follow suit down below. Thank heavens for small miracles, I guess.

Added 1/23/09: I WON!!

Unity

Phew!

That was quite a month. I think I mentioned - before the chaos and general insanity began - that I managed to drum up some freelance work. I sent out marketing materials for my book indexing business (one advantage to being a former academic is knowing plenty of people who will write books in the future) and it yielded some editing (and later, indexing) work. For the last six weeks or so I have been helping an old colleague edit a book, the topic of which was so closely connected to my own research that it may as well have been my own. And, to sum it up, it was awesome (and tiring).

At first, it sort of made my head hurt, this whole "thinking" thing. It had been a while. But then I got into a groove and I was just digging it. Sure, I neglected Eli a bit (two days ago, in the heat of the final crunch, he was introduced to the joys of Blockbuster, which I utilized to plant him on the couch for a morning) and he didn't love that every spare second brought me to my computer, but given that I pretty much just covered his preschool tuition for next year, I think he'll forgive me. Which brings me to the other awesome part: this whole working thing? They pay you for it. You work, and then they give you money. It is remarkable how easy it is to forget how good that feels. But now I remember. And I'm hooked.

Money has been so tight for us recently that the money I just earned is pretty much already spoken for (preschool tuition, some car repairs, things like that) but in the midst of it all I did manage a couple of splurges. First, instead of regular coffee, I got lattes - not every time, but often enough. (That had been a place where I cut back. I just love going out and buying a hot cup of coffee but couldn't justify $4.50+ for a drink, so I went to the regular American stuff.) Yum, lattes. And, I also bought myself a pair of expensive jeans. Oh, how I love my jeans.

There's a store in Boston's North End which has a reputation for being able to find the perfect pair of jeans for your body. So, one weekend afternoon when there was a lull in the work, I took off in search of my destiny. Unfortunately, the first pair was a miss. I got them home and just though, "eh." So, I took matters into my own hands and emailed the store owner (hey, if you don't want emails, don't put your address on your store's site!). She was very gracious and told me when she'd be there and said she'd be happy to help. And help she did. I love, love, love my ridiculously overpriced denim.

Somehow, another benefit of all this work was some clarity in thinking about the whole grow-this-family plan. We haven't made a final decision yet, but we're leaning very heavily toward raising Eli as an only. Lately I've been increasingly aware of the sense of relief (combined with a healthy dose of disappointment, but still) that I feel each month when there's no pregnancy. I know I'd still be thrilled if it happened, but there's a part of me - a significant part of me, it seems - that would look forward to a family of three. That, combined with the fact that the largest age difference we would like is four years, and the fact that I will be 41 in four months, has led us to believe that we'll probably try for a few more months and then call it a family.

Oh! And I was talking with the woman for whom I was working all these weeks about raising an only child, because that is what she is currently doing (a 15-year-old daughter) and her solution: get a dog. It might sound ridiculous initially, but think about it: She was saying that her therapist's opinion is that her daughter needed not to be so much the center of things, needed for someone else in the family to also "need." A dog accomplishes that. And for some reason, when she shared this with me, a weight was lifted, as if I suddenly knew how I was going to pull this off.

Anyway, that's where things stand right now. I'm looking forward to getting back to this blog in a meaningful way, and with that in mind, I'm changing formats a little - or at least introducing a new one. It occurred to me that I often put off writing because I feel like I'm writing to "you," (the small group of people who find their way here), and then I suddenly feel pressure, and I just don't write. My primary purpose in writing anything is so that Eli has a record of what his crazy mother was up to way back when. So, from this point on, many of my entries will start with "Dear Eli." I thought about switching blogs, primarily because I had all kinds of fun ideas for titles (like "The Eli Papers") but I'll stick with this. I want the option to have other kinds of posts and he's already going to have weed through about 12 different on-line sources to get the whole story (if he even cares), so it seems the kind thing to do.

So, coming soon: Letters to Eli.

And p.s., no that is not my butt in that photo. Ha! As if.

Serendipity

The last week or so has been one of those good ones that offers unexpected surprises and happy moments. Two examples, only tangentially related:

I know I'm not the only person who finds it difficult to make new friends as an adult. Sure, that was that mini surge right after Eli was born when New Moms Groups yielded a small tribe of fabulous, supportive, wonderful women, but prior to that and following that, there's been a bit of a (not at all surprising) dearth. A couple of months ago I was at the playground with Eli (and, coincidentally, part of that tribe I just mentioned) and a woman with two boys struck up a conversation with me. It was one of those easy conversations, the kind that takes no effort whatsoever, the kind that requires few explanations and certainly no apologies. We've had a weekly playdate ever since. This by itself would be serendipity, since all of Eli's local friends are girls and I had desperately wanted a male playmate for him (for various reasons, including the difference between Eli's and the girls' developmental stages).

One of K's boys just had surgery for a cleft lip and the recovery period required him to wear cuffs around his elbows to keep him from bending his arms, to keep him from putting anything in his little six-month-old mouth. And the cuffs? Made of hard plastic. And the weather? Some of the hottest of the summer. And the sleeping? Not really happening. They borrowed an air conditioner from us, which I assure you caused us absolutely zero inconvenience. They returned it recently with a hearty thank you and I hadn't given it much thought.

Fast forward to last Friday. As we pulled into the driveway we saw two packages sitting there waiting for us. One was a box of Pampers (woo hoo, I guess) but the other was small and brown and as we got closer we could see that it was marked with the name of one of the best chocolate shops in the area. At first we thought it must be some ebay purchase I'd forgotten about that someone had very cruelly shipped in a misleading box, but a quick glance at the return address showed us that, indeed, we had been sent chocolate.

If you had witnessed the giddiness that ensued you surely would have been a little scared. We laughed, we danced, we rejoiced. We opened the card with true wonder - who would have done such a nice thing for us? Turns out, it was our newest friends, who wanted to thank us for the air conditioner, so they sent us this:


That, of course, is not the actual box because before there was any hope of taking a photo of it, it looked like this:


We were so happy with our surprise gift that we spent the whole weekend trying to decide how we could pay it forward. We still haven't figured it out, but someone in our lives has a box of chocolate coming their way sometime soon.

The random happiness continued through the weekend, which was largely uneventful and unplanned (just the way I like it, actually). We didn't have much going on so I signed up for some mystery shopping at a mall we needed to visit anyway. I had to go to a couple of department stores, ask some questions about a large purchase, and then make a purchase for $4.00 or less. After learning more than I ever wanted to know about luggage sets at the first store, I started my search for a small purchase. I can't tell you where I was, but suffice it to say I should NOT have had trouble finding something for $4.00. And yet I did. Everything was "$5.50 or three for $12.00" or "$4.79." Finally, because I wanted to end the misery, I dug through the clearance underwear bin and found one pair I liked for $1.97. Only problem? Size small. Trust me when I tell you that my rear end is not a size small (and if you doubt me, that photo of the ravaged box of chocolates should provide you some evidence). But I needed to be done and I wasn't finding anything I could actually use, so I grabbed them and headed to the register.

I didn't think about them much after that, except when my pint of Ben & Jerry's dribbled on my desk and I needed something to wipe it up. I had the bag sitting next to me because I needed the receipt to file my report and then I did what anyone would do: I wiped up the ice cream with my size small undergarments. I mean, let's face it, I wasn't going to wear the things (and eating a pint of Chubby Hubby at my desk pretty much sealed the deal) so really I had just purchased a two dollar rag. Later that day I threw them in the wash and the next day they made their way to my drawer.

This morning when I was getting dressed I figured, "Hey, what the heck, let's try them." And, friends, they fit! Not only do they fit, but I think they might be the most comfortable pair of underwear I've worn in a long time. And yes, I'm one of those women who prefers to shop at stores where I fit into a smaller size even though I know it's because the store cuts their clothes larger to make women feel good about themselves. So you can be sure that I am thoroughly enjoying the fact that my new favorite blue tie-dyed skivvies are a size small.

Turns out Forrest Gump was right. Life is like a box of chocolates. You never do know what you're going to get but sometimes, if you're very, very lucky, you get new friends, comfy underpants, and some actual chocolate. Not a bad deal. Not a bad deal at all.

When you can't produce a human, produce something else

Okay, okay, that title is a bit melodramatic, but I was looking for a segue from previous posts, which were somewhat depressing and even seem to have caused some worry. (Thanks for checking on me, Arizaphale!) I've just been busy, and it's all my doing, and it's great.

A little backstory: We moved from California on New Year's Day, 2004. David and I both did a thorough job search and his panned out before mine did. Once he had steady income and health insurance, we saw our way clear to becoming a family. Two months later we knew Eli (or his theoretical female counterpart, Sarah) was on his way. I kept up my job search and got an offer about a week after our happy news, but the insulting salary offer made it easy to turn down. I found some college admissions consulting work but two days before I was supposed to meet with my first client I got put on bedrest. Rather than bring in any money, I instead managed to watch every single episode of Dawson's Creek on daytime TV. (It's important to have goals, you see.)

Once Eli arrived there was no question that I'd stay home with him - I've never been conflicted about that - and of course there wasn't time for much else. Just when it seemed like I might have some time to take on a little part time work we decided to move again. And then we needed to settle in. And that brings us to the present. And it's been three and a half years and other than a fabulous, healthy little person running around the house, I don't have much to show for it.

But I think some switch got thrown a month or two ago, and now I'm a machine! And that makes it hard to find time for blogging. In fact, I don't even think I've had the mental space to think of anything interesting to blog about, let alone sit down to write it. So that brings me to this: my what-have-I-been-doing entry.

When I was in graduate school I edited a book and created the index for it. I loved the process of creating that index, I'm sure because it tapped into my love of organizing and highlighters and my training in qualitative research. So, when I saw a course offered last year in book indexing I enrolled pretty quickly, figuring that would be a great way to make a little extra money. As a former university instructor and administrator I have a large enough network of book authors to get me going, and the work flow is easily controlled. I took the course and then promptly did nothing with it. Fast forward about six months and I created some marketing materials and David - bless him - made me a website. And then I promptly did nothing with that. Well, fast forward six more months (to a week ago) and I finally managed to get all of my marketing materials off. Thirty-nine little packets of indexing goodness. Boy did that feel good. So that's Item One.

Item Two is a bit more creative. Eleven years ago when my nephew was born my mom made him a bib. When my sister and brother-in-law requested a few more, she turned the project over to me and a hobby was born. I had so much fun making these things and apparently other people liked them because I often heard "You should sell these." Believe it or not, the primary reason I didn't is that I used a button closure on them and I was worried about the button coming off and a child choking, causing me to be sued and lose all my earthly possessions. (I know. The logic astounds me even now.) Fast forward to about a month ago and something got me going and I decided to sell the bibs. I set up a shop on Etsy that's not live yet, but will be soon. So in preparation for that I've been sewing like a madwoman. I wanted 30 bibs to start with and I now have 32. Fun.

Item Three: Mystery Shopping! Are you familiar with this? It's when you pose as a regular old customer but you're secretly a spy, recording the good, the bad, and the ugly of your shopping experience. A local friend of mine who works in retail needed someone to do this at one of her shops and I volunteered since I had done this many times when I was in graduate school. (Since restaurant mystery shops typically reimburse for food, it was a great way to feed myself.) That got me thinking, "Hey, I could do this for extra money." So, for the last six weeks or so I've been all over town eating and shopping and taking notes and recording times and making $8 here and there. It won't pay the mortgage, but it sure does keep me entertained. I'm keeping my eye on one company that does spas, restaurants and hotels. Their assignments get snatched up fast, but I'm determined to get myself a two-night stay somewhere soon.

Good old Item Four involves even more of my past life, this time in the form of a resurrected journal article from 2000 that never got published. A woman I worked with in California - who was then a student and is now an assistant professor - is the guest editor of a special issue of a journal that it's perfectly suited for and she got in touch to see if I wanted to submit it, so the thing has taken on a new life. I've had to dust off all the intellectual parts of my old brain and see what it's still capable of. It's slow going, let me tell you, but it feels good to be connected to my old work. It was work that had meaning, so I'm proud of it. (I have a Ph.D. in education and did work related to getting more underrepresented students interested in and going to college.)

And finally, Item Five. This one I'm especially passionate about. I joined the Recreation Commission in our town when we moved last year and I'm sort of the resident playground advocate. The other members of the Commission have more of an interest in other forms of recreation (like playing fields) so I'm always the one to say "What about the playgrounds?" We're in the early stages of planning for a new playground and I'm bound and determined to not only make it fully handicapped accessible but also relevant and interesting to children with all kinds of disabilities and challenges, from autism to Down Syndrome. It's been a great excuse to research something new and explore potential funding sources (this equipment is likely to cost about three times as much as "regular" equipment). These are very familiar processes, since it's what I did in my academic life. I'm knee deep in it.

Last weekend we visited my parents and they happen to have a playground like what I'm describing in their town. We took Eli for a visit and I took some photos.





Looks like your run-of-the-mill playground, doesn't it? Really, in essence, it is. It's more spread out because the various components are connected by ramps; there seem to be more grab handles scattered about to help kids (and, let's face it, parents) pull up to higher levels; there are "bump outs" so kids in wheelchairs can wheel right up to the various places of interest. But at first glance you'd never see a difference, and that's what's great about it. As we drove home from the playground, I told David that I'd be so proud if I could make this happen for our town. But as I've thought about it more, it's not pride - it's just excitement, pure and simple. I mean, how great would that be for a child who hadn't been able to visit the playground before to be able to enjoy it just like her friends. So yeah, I've been devoting some time to this.

So with all of that, and some other things like a weekend away, some ebay selling, some hand-me-down clothing organizing, some administrative stuff I took on related to one of Eli's activities, and some general end-of-summer slacking, I've been busy! It's funny how in cyberspace that makes me appear quiet while here, in my world, I'm a noisy, bustling ball of industry. I don't know what caused this new surge of motivation - maybe there is some connection to feeling less-than-productive in other areas of my life - but it does feel good.

The Key to Life

I'm feeling very literal today. It's Theme Thursday, and the theme is Key. So I present you with... my keys! Seems kind of obvious, I know, but as I was taking the picture I realized how much this group of metal and plastic is a literal key to my life. For example, ignoring the ridiculous number of plastic membership cards, this is the emptiest my key chain has been since high school. I'm used to having keys to an office building, keys to an office in that building, keys to friends' houses (that I would actually use to go over and hang out - imagine the luxury of that), all in addition to the standards: car and home. Right now I have my car key, my house key, and - just for good measure - a key to my sister's house. It took me a while to get used to an emptier key chain, as if a larger number of keys somehow indicates a more useful life. I prefer to think of these as simpler times.

Two things I love about my keys: First, that the big clunky one says VW. I drive a station wagon that we bought before there was Eli, before we even left California to head east and start this family. I love my wagon. But I especially love that it's a VW because in my single California days I drove old bugs. I had a white '66 - nicknamed Pearl - for a few months that was stolen off the streets of San Francisco. (Boo.) I replaced it with a '65 in seafoam green that needed a ton of work, most of which I did myself, again on the streets of San Francisco. There I was, weekend after weekend, at the intersection of Polk and Filbert, re-upholstering the seats or sanding out the rust or replacing the bumpers. One of my favorite memories of that time is when a woman walked past, said hello, and then came back about 20 minutes later with a 12 year old girl trailing right behind. She said to me, "I brought my niece back because I wanted her to see all the things that women can do." I felt pretty good about that.

And then I drove that freshly painted car - christened Opal - down to LA to start graduate school and wouldn't you know it, three days later someone stole that one. (Sigh.) I replaced it with a UPS brown '67 (obviously not the original color, which was beige). That poor car never got new bumpers, never got a new paint job, never got a name. It just got replaced with something else when I could afford it. I think it was a combination of the thefts breaking my spirit and the LA freeways making me wish for a steadier car. But I will forever hold a special place in my heart for VWs, and my station wagon and its key hints at that a little.

So there you have it. A key to my keys.

Hey, Universe, it's Enough Already!

The year: 1993.
The place: Union Street, San Francisco

I had just seen Sleepless in Seattle with one of my closest friends. As we strolled down the street we had a deep conversation - as deep at 26 year olds can get - about signs. Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks had respected the signs that the universe threw at them, and look what it got them. True Love. Happiness. Surely we just needed to open our eyes a little wider and all things wonderful would be ours in no time.

I don't think that conversation put us directly on a path to utopia, but I do subscribe to the philosophy that nothing is a coincidence and that there are times when the universe is trying to tell me something.

This might be one of those times.

We are coming dangerously close to the one year anniversary of this family's quest for another member. Basically, we finish out this cycle and we're there. Along the way, the obstacles have been so plentiful they've been downright comical. We got off to a great start (for a month), followed by a rude halt caused by a gazillion little house guests. How do you fit a gazillion guests in your house? It's easy when they're PINWORMS! Blech. Not my happiest memory. Since the drug doesn't mesh with pregnancy, we waited a cycle. Then we continued on our merry way with other less disgusting obstacles like a very poorly timed business trip for David and a less-than-ideally-timed glassblowing weekend away for me. (With some fancy footwork we managed that one.)

A few more months of fruitless trying and then a letter from my OB saying she'd be leaving her practice permanently to improve maternal health services in Zambia. I can think of no one better suited to the work - and that fact is also why I adored her as my OB - but it does make it difficult for her to see me through another pregnancy, doesn't it? Oh well, no matter, I've been through worse (ahempinorms) and carried on. I could always find another OB.

After the basic fertility tests, we made a decision that the very slightly increased chances we would have if we pursued IUI and IVF were not worth the financial or emotional costs. The only intervention for this family would be acupuncture. I found the guy - you know, the one they write newspaper articles about because of his success rates; the one everyone knows someone who went to him - and started treatment. Month one: No change. Month two: Craziest temps ever. Month three: Acupuncturist gets a detached retina and is out of commission for two months.

Huh?

HUH?!

Universe, I could deal with the worms. I could deal with the poor travel timing. I could even survive without the woman who brought my perfect son into the world. But, this. Are you kidding me?

(And to top it all off, one of the things I keep thinking about when we consider raising Eli as an only is that he's perfect. No developmental troubles, save for a few sensory things we can handle; no medical issues; he's - dare I say it -easy. Of course Autism is one of the potential problems I mull over and worry about. And so as I settled in with my lunch and my Tivo remote to see what wise words Oprah had to offer me today, should I have been surprised that the episode she chose to re-run was the episode on severe Autism? Probably not.)

I find myself in a strange position now. I have always prided myself on listening to my inner voice, respecting the signs that have been put in front of me. If I'm being honest here, the signs are telling me one thing: Stop. Just stop. It's enough. Quit while you're ahead. Bloom where you're planted. Love the one you're with, and all that.

And yet somehow I can't. Not quite yet.

First thought: Now THIS is something I could get behind

I saw a little blurb on Parent Dish about a fascinating trend (though "trend" may be too strong of a word - let's use "thing" instead) that is being called Trash the Dress.

Fascinating. (In a I'd-like-to-have-an-excuse-to-put-my-pretty-white-dress-back-on kind of way.)

Women everywhere (or at least in several large cities across the U.S.) are putting their wedding dresses on, getting dirty, and having it all captured on film. Fun for the bride; fun for the photographer. I didn't love all the photos (misogynistic much?), but some really drew me in. The underwater shots, for example. I could get into looking all pretty and flowy and ethereal. And something seems so freeing about donning this pristine (pristine because I paid what amounted to a full month's rent on my first apartment to have the thing cleaned) object while paying no attention to what comes in contact with it.

But what if you do this and don't get any gorgeous shots? Then at the end of the day you're left with a dirty, stinky dress and some ugly photos. Or what if you sign up and your big day comes and then you can't even zip your dress up? *Ahem*, not that that would happen to me, I'm just saying that some poor soul who hadn't worked out since the wedding might be sorely disappointed when she tried to slip back into her cinderella costume.

So I think I'll just leave my dress stashed in its hermetically sealed container where it will slowly turn a pale shade of yellow until my son announces his engagement, at which point I will sprint to the basement, grab it from its shelf, and transport it to the waiting arms of my future daughter-in-law to-be because of course she'll want to wear it since she'll be just like me.

Like Water for Milkshakes

I spent last weekend at an old farm set up for art and craft instruction. I learned glassblowing, which happened to be the only thing on my "Do before I die" list. It was a trip a long time in the works (more than ten years) and I can honestly say it was perfect. This was the perfect timing, the perfect setting, the perfect everything.

I left behind husband and son on the first beautiful sunny morning of spring. After a two hour drive I arrived and met the other three people in my class. I also met my teacher who was one of those people born to be doing what she's doing. She's a talented glassblower and a natural teacher. I could not have asked for more.

We spent our first day making drinking glasses, our first night making paperweights. We spent our second day doing whatever we wanted and for me that included more drinking glasses and some vases and bowls, all with a lot of color to spice things up. The third and final day was more of the same. Everything came out a little wonky but each is a treasure to me.

So, like I said, the weekend was perfect. It certainly didn't hurt that I got to be outside for the first beautiful days of spring. I worked outside, I ate outside, I relaxed outside. I enjoyed the heck out of the weather. But more important than that - and as I tried to explain to David - I feel as though I nourished my core. It's times like these that I wish I was a writer so I could accurately put this experience into words. I don't think I can fully capture it, but I can try.

As someone who loves nothing more than to create (with fabric, with wood, with paper, with whatever), spending three days doing nothing BUT that was such a gift. I felt more privileged than I ever have in my life. And I don't mean that in the sense of "I'm glad I could afford to pay for this" (though I am certainly grateful for that). I mean that more in the sense of "I'm glad the universe aligned to allow me to be here." I just kept looking around at the people in my class and the people in other classes - who were spending the days doing things like weaving and making beads and painting canvas floor cloths and rustic furniture - and thinking "This is too good. How did we get here?!"

I've had time to create in recent years but it's always been stolen moments and it's always been with some very specific goal (sew a quilt; knit a blanket; make a scrapbook). There's always some deadline involved and there are always restrictions (though, admittedly, they're usually self-imposed). For three days I was free to create whatever came into my head. When I said it was done, it was done. If it got screwed up, I started over. I didn't have to think about a single other thing. Heck, they even fed me. Every bit of this weekend went right to the core of who I am and shored me right up, like a tall glass of water when you're so, so thirsty.

I've done other things in the last year that were designed to re-energize or rejuvenate me, but their effects have been temporary. To continue with the same metaphor, they've been like fabulous milkshakes that tasted great in the moment but were little more than distractions from the ongoing, nagging thirst that had been building - the thirst that started growing when I stopped having the time or the energy to nourish the creative parts of me that yearned for freedom and time. My glassblowing weekend was pure water that went right to the core of it.

Often in the past when I've had really wonderful experiences, I've been sad to see them end. There was a small part of me that was sad the weekend was done, but overwhelmingly I was happy to come back to this life. And I think that's really saying something because it means it was enough. Too often now things get cut short and I wish for more. But this weekend was not cut short in any way and that made all the difference.

My wish is that everyone could do something like my glassblowing weekend. Maybe crafting wouldn't do it for everyone, but I wish that everyone could find the thing that would do it and find a way to make it happen. The farm where I spent three days actually has a high school program and they never turn anyone away because they can't pay. So when they told us they were refunding a third of our tuition because of some problems with the glass on the first day I told them to keep it and use it for their scholarship program. I wish I could do more and in the future I know I will. And in the future I also know I'll go back.

Introductions

It's true this won't be a blog exclusively about being a parent, but that doesn't mean being a parent isn't central to just about everything I do these days. With that in mind, it seemed fitting to introduce my favorite small person, Eli.

We gave Eli the Hebrew name Shalom Asher because we wanted nothing more for him than peace and happiness. In his 2+ years he's lived up to that name in spades. He is the calmest, most cheerful little soul I've ever encountered. He's sweet, he's forgiving, he's thoughtful, he's generous, he's funny, he's quirky, he's quick, he's skinny, he's smart, he's determined, and he's very much two.

Also, he's currently an only child. We've been working on changing that, but so far no dice. I got pregnant easily with Eli so we hoped for the same experience when it came time for #2. Nine months later, here we are, and no sibling. One advantage to being 40 is that the specialists will fast-track you when it comes to infertility so I'm now just finishing up the preliminary testing (Clomid Challenge and HSG) and I'll hope for answers in a couple of weeks. In the meantime I'm preparing my heart and my mind for every other possibility and I'm finding that I'm largely at peace with all of them.

I had this sudden flash a few days ago that not knowing if I'll conceive a second child is actually exciting. I don't mean to put a Pollyanna sugar coat on something that's not simple and certainly not easy, but I believe strongly that you can make your own reality. I choose to make this exciting. How? Well, think about it. If I conceived a second child like *that*, then whammo, my life is settled. A husband, a house in the 'burbs, two kids. No mystery there. But with a second conception in question, there are so many scenarios to mull over. We know we want a second child, but how will he or she arrive? Will we adopt? If we adopt, will it be a baby? Will it be soon? Will we adopt an older child? Maybe in five years? Or maybe we'll decide we don't want a second child after all and we'll be us three for the duration. It's an appealing thought, I have to admit. So I choose to see all of this as possibility and anticipation. It beats limitations and frustration any day.

This is the beginning

I've felt like there might be a blog in me for a while, but it's amazing how much coming up with just the right title can hold you up. This blog will be about parenting, but I'd like to reserve the right to write about other things so I didn't want the focus just there. This blog will be about gossip - people in my world, in the celebrity world, in the world at large - but I can't spend all my time talking about other people so the title couldn't be about that. It might be about fertility, but I'm hoping that's a temporary theme so I didn't want to put too much focus there. There will be some Internet shopping involved, but I'll run out of money eventually and who wants an out-of-date title? It's complex, no?

Then the other day I was reading a book with my son (singing, actually) and we came to the old song "Merrily We Roll Along" and it took me back. My own mother used to sing that song (along with "Good Night Ladies") to my sister and me as she wished us goodnight. It's a happy song. It has to do with parenting. And most importantly I think it captures the essence of who I am and what I hope to do, both with this blog and with my life. So there it was. My title.

A little about me...

I'm newly 40, the mom of one and the wife of one. I've been married to David for four years and in that time have moved from the west coast to the east coast, lived in four places, had one child and spent the last 9 months trying to have another. I used to teach and do research at a university and now, for the foreseeable future, I'm home with my son, Eli. I think about doing various things to get back into the money-making working world - from teaching part-time to becoming a book indexer to selling homemade bibs on Etsy - but for now those are all just in-process and my focus is on home and family.

I guess it's time to start rolling merrily along!