it doesn't happen on tv, so that means it doesn't happen, right?

Basically I'm pregnant. They didn't find a heartbeat at the first ultrasound last week and the baby measured six weeks when I was supposed to be further along. We went in today (seven days later), no heartbeat identified and measurement is still six weeks, so apparently this classifies as a "missed miscarriage" because my body has not yet recognized that the baby stopped progressing and continues to make me vomit and feel sore and gross. I am scheduled for a D&C on Friday.

This really sucks. But it's nowhere near as bad as what happened in May, when I had to naturally deliver a perfectly healthy baby knowing she wasn't developed enough to be saved.

What really ticks me off is that there is a 15-25% chance that ANY pregnancy will result in miscarriage. That seems like an awfully high percentage for something we hear so little about. I get that people need privacy, and I respect that. But the less we talk about this stuff and how it hurts and how it isn't the fault of the mother, the father or the heavenly ghost, the worse it is for those who have to go through it thinking no one else understands how they feel. And it's more people than you think.

So hug a friend today. There is a good chance that they or someone they are close to have lost a pregnancy. Maybe even more than one.

Stitch Fix: My first box

It's no secret that I hate shopping for myself. Particularly for clothes. I feel I must look at every item in the store to make sure I don't miss anything. Then I'm wracked with indecision if I sort of like something. And let's face it, it's going to have to be one heck of an awesome piece to even consider taking my pants off to try it on. Half the time I talk myself out of a purchase for that reason alone. These factors combine to make shopping a giant, time-consuming pain.

So when my pal Kaiya recommended this lovely shopping service called Stitch Fix, it seemed tailor-made for me:

a) You fill out a profile with your sizes, style preferences and price ranges.
b) You indicate what you're looking for (in my case work-clothes are out of date and I have a few pieces from high school that probably need to go).
c) You pay $20 for a "stylist fee."
d) They send you a box with five items in it they think you'll like.
e) You try everything on, and buy the ones you like (the 20$ goes toward that). If you don't like anything you send it back and just lose the stylist fee.
f) You tell them what you liked and didn't, and schedule another box to come on a specific date.

I am superlame and worked too much this week, so I didn't have time to properly photograph myself trying everything on for my first "Fix." So you will just have to imagine me wearing these items. I promise to do better next time.

I looked at this and thought "I would never choose this for myself." Jon thought it looked like something I totally would pick out. I put it on and it was great. The sleeves were a more knitty type of material and the pattern was silkier. The drawback was that it's snug around the extra weight I am still trying to get rid of from the baby, so I would always be self-conscious about that. I sent this one back.

This blouse is sheer and has pretty little birdies on it. I really liked it, but it is FREEZING at work and I'd have to wear something over it until next year. Plus I have a top that is very similar. Sent back.

This infinity scarf has an nice triangle pattern and a very tight knit that would have taken forty years to make myself. And it's warm without making me feel like I'm choking. Awesome for the office, and neutral! I kept it.

I really liked this jacket, but it was light and fitted so I would not be able to wear it comfortably over a sweater, so I'd probably just wear it when it was pretty warm because I'm cold regardless. One thing I LOVED was the bound seaming (the seams were covered in a cute floral fabric that was also used for the pocket lining). I wish I had taken a photo of them. Those kinds of details get me every time. Reluctantly sent back.

As a tip to the stylist, on Pinterest I had posted a photo of my fall coat, which has an off-center zipper. I love that it's different. So she sent me this hoodie that I pretty much wore right out of the box. It is also kind of snug in the post-baby area, but I'm hoping the stripes distract from that. This looks better on me than lying on the carpet.

I will definitely be scheduling another box. I tend to binge shop when the mood actually does strike me, so having a box of five things sent to me every once in awhile saves me time and gives me the peace of mind that the thing that I might like isn't off trend/crazylooking, AND I don't have to sort through everything at the store. That saved time can go toward doing something worthwhile to me. You know, like watching Cosby reruns or knitting booties. 

If you're interested in giving Stitch Fix a whirl, here is my referral link.

the day i lost my magic touch

This is going to sound ridiculously absurd, but the first time that I waited until the last minute and was UNABLE to complete a task was in October 2011, when I was 33.

It's pretty damn impressive if you think about every single math assignment I completed on the bus, five-paragraph essay I wrote during lunch and entire textbook I would read in the 12 hours before the examination. The number of all-nighters is off the charts. Trust me when I say I pushed it to the VERY EDGE. And, pretty much every single time, I pulled it off.

That is, until I needed to complete the quilt I was making for my friend/realtor's baby, who was born the day before our wedding. Jon helped me choose the perfect fabrics and I started piecing it together, taking my sweet time. I made plans to visit the baby and her mom one day after work, so I had the first thing that I always need to know about any project: the deadline.

The night before my visit approached and I hadn't yet quilted the layers together or put on the edging. No big deal, right? I thought, I can conceptualize each remaining step of this process so it shouldn't take me more than a couple of hours (this is a lifelong problem that also translates to me thinking any place I know the route to will take me "about 15 minutes" to get to).

I ran into some issues and had to re-pin several times, and as the birds started chirping, the sun came up and the alarm for work went off it started to dawn on me that I WASN'T going to finish. This was an earth-shattering revelation. I have always believed that if I work hard enough I will accomplish my goal. And I have done that (usually due to lack of pre-planning/inspiration). But not finishing? Not making deadline? WHAT? Had I lost my mojo? Was I going crazy? Am I a failure now? Resounding yes, all around.

I took a little outfit I had bought as a backup to my friend, whose daughter is gorgeous. They actually had sofa throw pillows in a very similar pattern to one of the fabrics I chose for the quilt so it was extra disappointing that I didn't have the handmade gift ready. I mailed it to her a couple of weeks later.

I still think about that morning. It was like an end of an era. The pseudo-invincibility I had cultivated all those years of pushing the limit and coming up with something good from all that pressure sort of deflated like a balloon you let go of before tying the knot. I think of it every time I want to put something off till later.

But then I put it off anyway.

pie! in the mail!

Hey, do you know my friend Shalini, author of readingandchickens and the new book, "Lost & Found"?

SHE SENT ME A PIE! IN THE MAIL! FROM SEATTLE!!!

Cranberry Walnut (in the style of a pecan pie) and it is delicious!

 AND they threw in some very good-looking Manchego cheese from Spain. :)

Apparently, the US Postal Service gave her a hard time sending me one of her delicious pies, so she had to send one from a "Bakehouse." I'm imagining it's as good as hers (it's really good).

Thank you, Shalini!!!

nothing like nature to spoil organic plans

When I lived at my parents'/a high-rise condo/apartment, I didn't have my own yard, so I sort of co-opted my the one at my parents' house. And I had a lot of ideas.

My dad's favorite thing to tell me was, "when you have your OWN house, you can do whatever you want." But they did let us do a lot of stuff.

There was that time Jon and I made a pretty sweet new garden for my mom's vegetables. 

And the time I made composters in my parents' yard with their leaves. I was so excited when I actually got some compost out of it. My dad tolerated it for about two years.

But now we do have our own yard. Because he loves me, before we even closed on the house Jon bought me a fancy spinning composter. And we've spent the last few weekends raking/shredding almost a dozen bags of leaves. I'm getting all the used coffee grounds from work, and throwing kitchen scraps in with handfuls of leaves at a time. The leaves from our house should last awhile, but I doubt they'll make it until next fall.

I had big plans this week to get the rest of the leaves and shred them up for my stash. Then we were going to rototill the backyard to even it out and spread seed for actual grass. 

Unfortunately, Mother Nature put a halt to all that by throwing a bunch of snow all over the place.

at least i have a window

This is where I spend most of my time. Other than hitting the snooze button from the warm cocoon of my bed. This is also what I blame for why my NaBloPoMo is not up to par this year. I'm sorry.

the marketing department for the city was on vacation

On my way back from Los Angeles, I had a layover.

Approximately 4 feet away from this sign in the airport was a stand of tshirts that said, "I've tried polygamy!"

i am so proud of Illinois today

Everyone, everywhere, deserves the opportunity to celebrate love like Jon and I did.

back when i had style

I queued up this not-very-good Janeane Garofalo movie from Netflix--which has probably been on my list since 2004--and I had to rewind one miniscule scene, where two ladies walked in front of a souvenir shop for 1.5 seconds, about three times.

I owned this EXACT SAME COAT in eighth grade. You know which one I'm talking about. One of these days, I will dig out a photograph.

And I rocked that sh-t.

timber

"I think I've found my new favorite song."

"Please tell me it's by Ke$ha."

"No...It's by Pitbull FEATURING Ke$ha. And it's about square dancing."

"Um, you grew up in California. I'm pretty sure you don't have the first clue about square dancing."

necklace

When we were in San Diego, having a wonderful time watching our nephew take some of his first, wobbly steps, Jon's sister A gave me a little box. It was from all his sisters. My sisters.

 

 It's emerald green--the birthstone for May. It is perfect. 

I may not be able to wear it every single day, but I will cherish it forever.

the view

We told everyone we were taking a quick trip to California to see family, hopefully see the Dodgers play in the World Series of baseball (they were eliminated), and to just get away for the weekend before Jon's birthday on the 31st.

But the November 1 due date has been looming large over us since the day we found out we were expecting. And we knew this birthday was going to be excruciating for Jon, who had been looking forward to it for the first time in decades. We had separated the ashes in half, knowing exactly where we'd like to lay one part in California: At the top of a hill in Jon's hometown, overlooking the downtown area and the ocean. It's one of his favorite places in the world, and the first place he brought me to see when I came out to visit him for the first time in 2005. It's become one of my favorite places, too.

When we arrived, Los Angeles was foggy. San Diego was cloudy. His hometown was misty. Saturday, Sunday and Monday, threats of rain. I was having second thoughts about letting her go, but I reminded myself that we had a small portion of the ashes at home. So Tuesday morning--before we had to leave for the airport--we got up very early and drove up to the cross.

After all that gloom, it was an absolutely glorious morning. It felt right.

 

 We carefully chose a spot with the best view. You can see out for miles.

 And there were other little white piles peeking out from underneath bushes. She will not be alone up there. That made me feel better.

We felt at peace. Still, it was hard to say goodbye.

Today was our baby's due date.

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real
I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel

 

Remembering you standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in, holding you close
How I always held close in your fear

 

Remembering you running soft through the night
You were bigger, brighter and whiter than snow
Screamed at the make believe, screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage to let it all go

 

Remembering you fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white, so delicate lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark

 

Remembering you, how you used to be
Slow drowned you were angels, so much more than everything
Hold for the last time then slip away quietly
Open my eyes but I never see anything

 

If only I'd thought of the right words
I could have held on to your heart
If only I'd thought of the right words
I wouldn't be breaking apart all my pictures of you

 

Looking so long at these pictures of you
And never hold on to your heart
Looking so long for the words to be true
And always just breaking apart, my pictures of you

 

There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart, my pictures of you

The Cure

Oh, and for the eighth year, I'll be doing NaBloPoMo this month.

OH the PLUMBING

The house gave us a present when my SIL m and her husband, Joe, came to visit from Ohio. All we did to deserve it was take four showers in a row.

The drain in the garage backed up with some sort of dark sludge. The plumber described it as, "Yep. That's Number 2." 

AWESOME.

The thing about living in a beautiful neighborhood with old trees is that the roots of those old trees can find their way into your pipes. And when the people who live in your house hadn't done anything about it--say, for a decade or more--the roots form a tangled net that can't let a lot of water (or solids) through to the main drain. It makes for a lovely surprise on a Sunday afternoon when you have out-of-town guests. Especially when you've only been living in the house for less than a month.

The plumber put a cutter into our pipes and "rodded" out a three-inch-diameter hole through the roots in the service line until he hit something inpenetrable at about 60 feet. Three days later, the pipes backed up again. 

The second plumber put a cutter into our pipes and rodded out a three-inch-diameter hole through the roots in the service line. He, too, hit some sort of impasse. They suggested we call for a camera, because the clay (yes, in the '60s Midwest, they used CLAY) pipe could be broken or there could be a gigantic ball of roots at that 60-foot mark.

The camera guy had a lot to show. The roots looked like that scene in Disney's Snow White where Snow is running through the forest and the tree branches look to be so thick and menacing that kids in the '20s who saw it in the theater peed on their seats. But I digress. No broken pipe, just a maddening amount of roots. 

The plumbers were accessing our service line through the corner of our garage where the cast-iron pipe is only four inches wide. In the yard, the clay pipe is six inches wide. They said it would be much better to dig a 5.5-foot-deep hole in the yard, cut out a section of the clay pipe and put in an access so they can forevermore get directly to the six-inch pipe and not have to come through the house. 

They did that. But still couldn't get through the massive root ball 60 feet from the house (and a lot closer to the main), so we have to call another plumber with a more powerful cutter. In the meantime, we just have to time our water usage and make sure nothing offensive (I'm talking two-ply toilet paper), gets into the pipes and hope for the best. 

After all this is done, we need to sanitize the garage, the downstairs bathroom and the laundry room, as well as the brand-new carpet and padding in the downstairs. We estimate the entire endeavor will cost a cool five thousand dollars.


Here are some things I learned from this experience:

• Don't flush anything down the toilet but the thinnest of TP. If any product says "flushable," it'll likely go down the drain, but if you have anything (like our roots) in your pipes, it will get stuck. Tampons are even worse with their stringy parts that can get tangled.
• You do NOT want a backup--the sewage could ruin your walls, floor, furniture and anything else you might have near the drain.
• If you don't have an existing clean-out access in the yard, the plumber will be happy to put one in for you--6 feet underground using an excavator machine.
• You don't have to disclose roots in pipes when you sell a house in Illinois (per my realtor). The plumber said there is no way the previous owners did not know about this. 
• However, the plumber can record the video of the insides of your pipes and put it on a flash drive in case you want to try and take somebody to court. The footage will look like a very disturbing colonoscopy.
• There's a homeowners' insurance policy that includes backup coverage--only 50$ a year! Your homeowner insurance agent will regret to inform you that you did not get "backup coverage," but conveniently email the form you were supposed to have declined the day after you inquire about how much damage is covered in your policy, saying he "forgot to show it to you."
• If you're buying a home near mature trees, you may want to ask when the last time the pipes were rodded/have a camera down there before you sign any papers. About $200 is way better to spend than 25 times that.
• Apparently this happens to a LOT of people. Ours is the only house on the block that hasn't had a clean-out access put in/pipes back up. Pretty good for a place that was built in 1968. Lucky us.

Welcome to home ownership!

looks like she's made it

Hey guess what, Internets, my friend Shalini wrote a book! And people can buy it on Amazon!

I think it is amazing that she's been talking about this for a long time, then put in the sweat and tears and hard work, and now when you click on this link, you can see all that hard work and even read it on your Kindle. 

Who knew that the shy girl with whom I roasted marshmallows in fifth-grade girl scouts and then again in my backyard in high school was going to be a bona fide author (under a pseudonym)?

Makes me believe that things can really happen if you use your talent and a LOT of hard work. Congrats!

***edited to add***
You can get a print copy, now!

cotton

It feels like two months, not two years. I never could have made it through without you--and I never want to. 

Happy Anniversary, Jon.

 

 photo by SecondPrint Productions

reversal

I have been working in a hospital on and off for more than a third of my life. I'm used to the noises and the fluorescent lighting and the terse whispering and the weary-looking eyes of nearly everyone there. And unfortunately I have spent way too many hours in hospital waiting rooms. But when I found myself sitting on a cart in Emergency Department Pod A trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my water broke 23 weeks too early, I went sort of numb--and all I could think about was my brother.

Is this what it felt like for him all those endless mornings at 4 a.m. when he was getting prepped for surgery? When everyone was bending over backwards to make him smile or be comfortable and nothing really worked but he pretended that it did work just to make them feel like they were helping? Did it hurt him this much every time a nurse went digging around for an IV? Did his muscles cramp up like this? Was it just as annoying to have to drag a beeping pole to the bathroom while holding the back of a gown closed? How did he lie like this for WEEKS at a time? I was only there for three days. Oh my God it must have been so much worse for him. HOW did he endure this? How did he not complain more? How did he get through this over and over, so many times? I just wanted to see his face.

But I couldn't call him. He was in St. Louis, probably sitting at his desk toggling between work and ESPN. He was looking forward to holding his niece or nephew someday. Making plans to indoctrinate the child to root for Chicago teams despite the kid having 50% Los Angeles DNA. I kept picturing his expression on the FaceTime when I told him I was pregnant (he was the first person I wanted to tell)--usually so stingy with his smiles, he was absolutely beaming. It had been a tough time and it was nice to give him something to be happy about. A few days later, I got a text picture of him holding a friend's newborn and he looked so happy. I could just picture what a tremendous uncle he will be. For years I have said my children will call him the Hindi name for Mother's Brother: "Mama," and he has threatened all kinds of bodily harm if I made good on that promise. But as soon as he heard there was going to be a Baby, I was certain he would love my kid more than anything in the world--even if she called him "dookieface." This news was absolutely going to break his heart. If I could delay that in any way, I was going to.

A few hours into my stay, Jon and I were trying to decide how to tell the doctors we weren't going to listen to their stern recommendations. I decided it was time to call my brother. I gathered my composure and picked up my phone.

"Shut up, I'm already on the road."

I don't allow myself to think about what was going through my husband's mind on the 40-min drive to the Emergency Room, and I don't want to know what that five-hour drive was like for my brother. Jon has since said that anytime he sees someone frantically overtaking people on the road, he imagines them worried and rushing to a loved one, so he just gets out of the way.

Jon never left my side for more than a few minutes throughout the entire ordeal. My mom and dad were on the other side of my hospital bed. And then my brother burst into the room. Things did not magically get better. We were still helpless and losing our child. But when I looked around and saw that my team was complete, I finally let out a breath.

Many times I have tried to explain how I feel about my brother. Maybe everyone thinks of their siblings this way, I don't know, but making sure he's ok has simply always been a life requirement. I remember tiptoeing into his room at 3 a.m. to see that he was still breathing when I was 10. He came to visit me in Champaign after he got his drivers license, and on the way home his car broke down on an unlit stretch of Interstate 57 at Sauk Trail; the sheriff lit some flares and just left him there. My then-boyfriend couldn't understand why I was pacing around in tears thinking about my brother, scared and alone, waiting for hours after the flares went out for my parents to get there. And I cried just as much as our mother did at his college graduation.

I feel like an overbearing just-as-bad-as-mom who lectures and worries and causes the biggest eyerolls imaginable. Most of the time, I probably am. However, my brother dropped everything, threw together a bag, jumped into his car and drove 282 miles just to be in the same room as me and all he said was, "How could I NOT be here? You are my sister."

People say that you don't know what it's truly like to care about another person's wellbeing until you have a child. Having had one--albeit very briefly--I agree. But I think I already had a pretty good idea.

Happy Birthday, brother.

9/9

Today is our beautiful nephew Declan's first birthday. Just 366 days ago we were hoping to get a glimpse of the guy. And for the last 365, people all over the country eagerly await each photo update and hope for the briefest chance to hold him. A curious little man, he's crawling at top speed, tasting everything that's cold and shiny, and climbing stairs. They're taking him to his first professional football game (San Diego Chargers) to celebrate. As far as I can tell, he's having a blast. I'm sure Uncle Jon approves.

Today is also the 92nd birthday of my Godmother's mom. Everyone knows her as Ma. She's sweet and vibrant, and she can hang with the multiple energetic great grandchildren she watches during the week. She made me her time-consuming family recipe, Methi Laddu (Fenugreek bars full of all kinds of nutritious stuff that's helpful for post-delivery moms) to help me get strong after Baby. She added extra sugar to cover up the bitter taste, and I ate every last one.

I realize I have been saying it lately--maybe I'm just getting old-- but it's amazing how quickly the time goes tripping along.

Here is Declan last February, finally big-ish enough for his raccoon costume.

Declan at 4 months.

OH the PAINT

Hi friends!

Here are some lessons I learned in the last few hours:

1) IF you spent a lot of time pondering paint colors and finally made a decision on just two colors to use throughout your ENTIRE home with a certain brand, STICK TO THAT DECISION.

2) BECAUSE it will be very easy to get swayed into changing to "close enough" colors when you can only meet the person painting your house at dusk after a grueling day of work. Mostly because you discover he gets a discount on a different brand because it will save a) time and b) money.

3) ESPECIALLY because you will want to throw yourself out a window when you walk into your home and realize that instead of gray, every single wall is one of two shades of purple. Not because it's ugly, but because it wasn't what you wanted and it was ALL BECAUSE OF HASTINESS.

4) AND THEN you will have a toddler-style meltdown because you realize that yes, you guess you DO remember signing off on a swatch called "Mysterious Mauve," and you did mention that it looked kind of purple at the time, but didn't really think hard about what that means. You'll want to kick your own butt into next week.

5) SO you start scheming to try and mask the color with lighting and draperies and distracting furniture, but you know in your heart that every time you look at any wall (and they're EVERYWHERE) you'll be reminded of what a moron you are. And you decide you MUST find a way to ask the guy to re-do it, even if your budget is at negative eleventy hundred dollars already.

6) OH BUT THEN the painter quotes you even more than you dreamed it could cost, a ridiculous amount when you find out YOU HAVE TO BUY THE NEW PAINT, and you calculate that this re-do will cost exactly 75% of what the original quote was, even though that quote included many tasks that would not need to be re-done. But the dude now has the upper hand, so there's not a lot of room to negotiate, what with you buying $30+ gallons of paint.

7) THEN you will hem and haw and imagine you just inherited a ton of money to re-do this, knowing inside you must do it to protect your sanity.

8) AND THEN you will cry, thinking about all the stuff you would rather do with that money.

however long they tell you, add two weeks

Here are some updates:

• We closed on the house on August 7. 
• There were several projects we wanted accomplished before we moved in, so we set a move-in date for September 1. Almost a month should be long enough, right?
• Several things about the house needed to be updated before we moved in--more posts on those later.
• We hired a contractor, painter, cleaning service, but were thinking we could move ourselves in (after all, Jon and I ended up moving all our stuff into the apartment from the condo by ourselves in 2010).
• During the last week of August, it became clear that we were not going to be able to get out by September 1. We extended our lease at the apartment a week.
• Things are coming together at the house! Jon and I are doing a lot of stuff ourselves, including taking off the baseboards in the bedrooms, which we are guessing are original to the house. Behind the baseboard along the wall where our heads will go when we sleep in our future bedroom, we discovered a mummified bird. While the Internets say that's a bad sign, I've decided that because we found it and will be removing it, we are helping ourselves.
• We are having a horrible time packing the apartment. HOW did we manage to get all this stuff into a one-bedroom apartment? (Note: Do NOT pack up the kitchen first. You will be very sad when your time at the apartment is extended and you cannot use or eat anything you already have).
• Also? I have a ton of stuff in my childhood bedroom at my parents' house. Jon has no idea how much stuff. And I had promised it would only stay until we bought our own house...
•  Oh, and work and comedy are still clipping away at a breakneck speed.

Our house was featured in the latest The Second City shorts competition entry (Jon, Madelyn and company won 2nd place).