Running Down a Dream

I had a miscarriage in April. The day before my birthday. It was really, really awful, but I'm okay now.

Part of getting to "okay now" for me was getting back to the gym. I used to work out somewhat sporadically, then really regularly, then sporadically again, and then not at all. Lather, rinse, repeat. As a chubby teenager I took up jogging and long walks to help trim down, then went off to college and promptly cut that crap out because I was too busy losing my mind.

Last October I "ran" my first 5k, which is to say I walked most of it and the 70-something guy who started out behind me finished in front of me by quite a lot. The moms with their jogging strollers pretty much kicked my butt, too, since we're being honest here. But the experience, over all, was pretty awesome. The energy was intense, everyone was having a good time (I know, right? Sweating, gasping for air, and still having fun. I wouldn't have believed it either if I wasn't there.)

So when it came time to mentally recover from everything, I went back to the gym. It felt good -- the energy there, the endorphins. Endorphins are some addictive stuff, y'all. Their street value would be huge if it didn't require exercise to get them. (Actually, I know exactly what the street value is -- $19.99 a month. Yay for Gold's Gym!) <-- a="" endorsement.="" not="" p="" paid="">
Anyway, for the last month or so I have been doing a treadmill 5k three times a week, and doing some light cardio and weights the other two days. (Yes, I go to the gym 5 days a week. I'd hate me too if I didn't know how much I weigh and how incredibly out of shape I still am. It's a necessity, people. Trust me.)

All of which is leading up to, I hope, running in 2 different 5k's this year. The first one is a local run in October. The second one is THIS little piece of awesome -- the Hot Chocolate 15k. Because an event that includes both running AND Ghirardelli chocolate is pretty much my current idea of Nirvana.

I am nothing if not a walking contradiction, people.

Tap-Tap-Tap... is this thing on?

I feel like my voicebox is broken, and I must only be hearing my voice in my own head.

This would explain why my kids hear me repeat the same mantras endlessly, and yet ignore me with impunity.

"Don't hit your brother!"
"Close the fridge!"
"Stop yelling!"
"No sitting on the dog!" (Yes, really.)
"Pick up the legos! Pick UP the LEGOS!"

And the list goes on and on. In between the thousand things I hope to accomplish every day (and you and I both know that, of those, I accomplish - optimistically - 4) I find myself saying the same things over and over until I am pretty sure I'm developing that vein that my Dad always got on the side of his forehead when he got mad. I can FEEL it pulsing and swelling until it threatens to explode in the Mother-Of-All-Aneurysms.

But I keep hoping, in spite of all signs to the contrary, that maybe NEXT time will be the time that sticks, and suddenly they will get it.

This is when I remember the most succinct definition of insanity that I have ever heard:
Insanity is repeating the same action over and over, with the expectation of a different result.
(See also: Slot Machines that never pay out, vending machines that won't take your dollar no matter how many times you try to straighten it out on the edge of the machine, and expecting there to be a roll of toilet paper available when you need one).

Which proves it: Parenthood makes you crazy. It's totally not my fault, y'all.

The Life List

This list is a living document. It breathes, it grows, and it changes.
Just so you know. The newest additions will always be in blue.
**I'm noticing a trend here; most of my list items have to do with cooking and travel.

100 Things To Do Before I Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil:

1. Stroll along the Avenue des Champs-Elysees in Paris

2. Learn to make authentic pork tamales

3. Learn to ride a Harley

4. Open my Bakery

5. Stand on the Grand Canyon Sky Walk

6. Host a formal dinner party

7. Make a savory entree that includes fresh figs

8. Go to an old-fashioned clambake on the beach

9. Learn to play an entire song on my violin

10. Audition for a play

11. Read in the BlogHer Community Keynote at least once

12. Learn to make blown glass

13. Take a gondola ride with Trip in Venice

14. Attend the Newport, RI, Kite Festival

15. Take the kids to Walt Disney World, FL

16. Have dinner at Citronelle at the Chef's Table

17. Spend an entire afternoon playing outside and getting filthy with the kids.

18. Take a class in French cooking

19. Learn to speak fluent Spanish

20. Take a woodworking class

21. Learn to give my car an oil change

22. Learn to Belly Dance

23. Take a zipline tour

24. Learn to water ski

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Truth.

We have been going quite often of late to a local Unitarian Universalist congregation. More on the entirety of the experience later, but for today I want to focus on something I learned one of our first weeks there. A buddhist monk spoke about some of his journeys and experiences, and led a guided meditation with the following simple mantra:

"I am well. I am happy. I am peaceful."

There is truth in this for me. When my grief and my anxiety over what I have been through lately threatens to overwhelm me, I grab onto this mantra. I let it pour into me and fill my soul, and I embrace the truth of it. No matter what is happening around me, no matter that so many things in life are beyond my control, in that moment I can recognize the truth of that simple mantra.

It's not that I am free from the grief at the loss of the pregnancy. It has been over a month now, but it still feels like it just happened -- as fresh as the sting of a slap on the cheek. But I am walking on a tightrope, a narrow bridge that holds me above the chasm, and I refuse to look down. You don't get over something like this, but you do get through it. The only way out is through.

I spend a lot of time feeling anxious. Mostly I am anxious over financial matters - it's the number one worry of my life, because I know how quickly one horrible twist of fate can ruin a family and leave them destitute. We've been close to that before, when I was pregnant with Jack and Trip got laid off, and I never want to be there again. But when the anxiety threatens to be too much, I realize that even if we lost every dime we would find a way to provide the basic needs for our family. We would find a way through, because that is what we do.

When a grief, a fear, an anger, or a hurt begins to seem too big to face, I think of this mantra and force my mind and heart to open to the truth of it.

I am well. I am happy. I am peaceful.

And, wouldn't you know it, despite all the things swirling around outside the tiny bubble of this truth, the fragile and incandescent edges remain intact and I am safe, inside, where these things remain true.

By Definition

I often wish I was more organized.

This desire applies to all areas of my life, really, but when it comes to writing I often wish I was as crazy-organized and "defined" as some of the blogs I heart the most. Blogs like Dooce and Girls Gone Child and Mighty Girl.

I am not that organized, and this blog doesn't have so clear a purpose. It remains a place to simply vent out some of what is in my head and my heart and my life. I think I'm learning to accept that.

I wish I could post photos of cute outfits I put together, but the truth is that - while I own a fairly impressive shoe collection (which lately includes a pair of vintage cow-girl boots) - most of the time I can be found wearing some variation of jeans, shirt from Kohls (hey, we have but one department store here in the sticks, and we are grateful for that much) and sneakers.

And by sneakers, I probably mean the Hanna Montana brand slip-on black canvas sneakers that had rivet hearts on them, which I removed with plyers after purchasing them at Walmart. A fashion plate I am not these days.

But there are the rare and glorious occasions that call for breaking out the clothes that remind me that once upon a time I felt like a Pretty Girl. So once in a while I'll try to post a picture of those moments. If I remember -- since, as we have established, I am not so organized or good at remembering to "Do Things".

Trip and I also love to cook -- when we have time. That second part is the trick. Tonight, for example, I got back from soccer practice with the boys and stared blearily into the depths of our refrigerator, past mushy strawberries and wilted spinach. With a limited window before Cub Scouts, I finally opted for deli roast beef sandwiches and potato chips. It wasn't gourmet, but it was fast, cheap, and easy. (There's a joke about my character in there somewhere, but I'll leave it for the gatherers of such low-hanging fruit...)

On the nights we manage to pull it together enough to work out dishes like peruvian chicken, or homemade sushi, or lamb rogan josh with saffron rice, though... I will attempt to share that with you.

Basically, rather than a steady diet of brilliant and interesting things happening in my life, this is more like a buffet line of rants about laundry and wondering when my muffin top earned its own zip code. I may wish I could define it as something more cohesive... something with more of a purpose... but, let's be real, people. It is what it is, and filled with flaws... pretty much just like me. In both cases, I am working on learning to be just fine with that.

Happy Earth Day.

We were going to plant a tree today... but it rained.

We were going to pick up trash outside in the neighborhood... but (see above).

I was going to cook a turkey for dinner... but I forgot.

I was going to post something really interesting today... but I couldn't think of anything.

In lieu of anything interesting, I am throwing in the towel, ordering a pizza, dosing up on Nyquil (Hello, spring cold 2011! I wondered when you would make your appearance.) and settling in for a night of movies, pizza, beer, and relaxation.

I know it's both Earth Day and Good Friday, but I'm pretty sure that both Jesus and Mother Earth want me to eat pizza and drink Pilsner Urquell tonight. I'm sure they'd let me know if they felt otherwise, and I will totally be recycling the pizza box and empty bottles when we're done.

So HAPPY EARTH DAY! :)

Lost.

I lost it.

Those words get applied to so many things... The car keys. Those extra 10 pounds from the holidays. Your composure.

I don't really get how the same phrase can be applied to misplacing something, deliberately ridding of something, or freaking out.

In my case, it was none of those things.

In January of 2010 we started trying to get pregnant again. I know it seems insane. We already have 3 boys - 3 incredibly energetic and demanding boys - but we wanted baby number four to round out our craziness. And it shouldn't have been hard to get what we wanted, right? I mean, every other pregnancy was basically conceived by the time my husband waggled his eyebrows at me over the dinner table. Fertile as the Tennessee valley, that was me.

So imagine my surprise when months later, I still wasn't pregnant.

First came frustration. Anger. Depression. I didn't write about it -- what could I say? We considered.. should we see a fertility specialist? It seemed wrong somehow, made us feel greedy in the extreme with our 3 boys as we compared ourselves to the heartache of friends trying so hard to conceive just their first. We have an embarrassment of riches by comparison... what right did I have to complain?

Trip finished his Business Degree in November. By then, it didn't sting so much, this lack of pregnancy. We're pragmatic sort of people. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and said "So, it's not meant to be. We can move on. What do we move on to?"

The time seemed ripe for me to get back into school, myself. After all, I had withdrawn from my nursing program in 2002 when he got laid off just before we discovered my pregnancy with Jack. Trip had more time to pick up the slack, and we could use the extra income if I could finish school and get to work Nursing the sick back to health. And so... I enrolled in the local community college, lined up my student loans, and prepared to venture back into the wilds of part-time school.

I hesitated. A week before I was scheduled to start classes, I realized that I had not had reason to crack open the box of feminine products under my sink for about six weeks. "Hrm!" I thought. However, one negative pregnancy test later, I was reassured that it was just my body reacting to the stress of going back to school.

I started classes. That afternoon, I noticed my boobs were sore. Not just a little sore, either. One more pregnancy test left in the box, so... OMGWTFBBQ?! Two little lines. TWO.

Panic ensues. Rapid mental calculations. More Panic. Then... slow, like a match against kindling, the glow began to spread. It happened. It actually happened! Baby number four. My chest still hurt, but now it was because my heart was swollen up in its cage of bone, threatening to burst through with the joy of it.

I could tell from the first appointment that my OB was concerned. I had stopped tracking dates, so we didn't have any specific idea when conception might have happened. Still, he expected to see a bit more on that first ultrasound. Then, 2 weeks later, the bad news. No heartbeat. There was supposed to be a heartbeat. But maybe it was just too early? Maybe?

Weeks of waiting. Weekly blood draws. The levels were dropping. My birthday was approaching.

4 weeks later, 12 weeks into the pregnancy, and the day before my 32nd birthday, I lost my baby.

I lost it.

I don't understand that application of the phrase, is what I am saying. I didn't misplace it;I knew where it was. I searched high and low for some sign, some tiny clue, that would make it all okay. But it wasn't okay.

I renewed my domain for this little blog because I realized I was ready to start talking again. To start sharing again. Because it's so damn hard to talk to the people in my life. Or rather, the talking is easy... it's the saying anything that matters part that is hard.

I lost my baby. But maybe it's time I found my voice again. Even if there's nobody left listening.

At the end of the day, it's cheaper than therapy, and it's the easiest form of honesty I know.

I hate to come back and start again with something so painful. I wasn't even sure I should share it, because the wound is still so raw, the pain so fresh. I'd rather be funny, or snarky, or any number of things. I'm sure those things will come -- this is me we're talking about. I look for the laugh in most everything that happens in my life, because it's the only way I know to get through it. I am sorrowfully ill-equipped to handle most of the obstacles life throws at me, but as long as I can find a smile in it, a chuckle here or there, I can make it from today to tomorrow. We make do with the tools we have, and this is mine.

For the moment, though, I needed to open a vein and share. My hope is that, once shared, the wound can begin to heal in earnest. I'm ready to feel the sunshine again, and come out from under the storm clouds. I'm sure I'll write about it as it happens. Apparently, that's what I do.