Chilly Willy

Call it a hunch, but something tells me that something great could be happening in our family.

My first IVF procedure is today.

As if on cue that something monumental is already happening in our life, our furnace, which could barely reach 68 degrees yesterday, is struggling to make 60 degrees this morning. Crazy, dying furnace.

My mother is in town which makes the whole chilly house and houseguest situation a little tricky. I can deal with the cold until the heating guy comes, but I hate for her to have to hold down the fort while we go today. 

Our spirits are remarkably high. Chilly, but high. :)

Red Adult Drinks

This morning I got a really great phone call from my neighbor, Mari. 

She asked me if I'd be home later. 

She asked if I was allowed to drink any "red adult drinks". 

I laughed. "I think so, " I answered. 

"Good," she said, "because it may be the last drink you have in a long time." 

I laughed again. 

And my laughter almost became tears. 

It was, quite possibly, the coolest way that anyone has shown hope to me in our entire fertility journey. Honestly. It wasn't the timid "We're hoping for you, Emily" kind of statement. It wasn't a short "thinking of you" or "we're praying for you" email. Not that those aren't good, mind you. They are. And they have their place.

But this statement from Mari was the best possible kind of hope ever: It's the "go get 'em tiger" kind of hope. It's the kind of hope that sees into the future and draws all the blessing of it right here into the present. It's the kind of hope you would want if you were a cartoon in one of those ridiculous settings where you had to jump from a high diving board into an itty, bitty bucket of water below. In other words: it's the kind of hope that doesn't see the size of the bucket, but sees the cool soothing water inside it.

From my vantage point, I'm feeling pretty exposed right now. In a moment of stupidity? humility? love? vulnerability? I let just about the entire world know that I'm going through IVF. In essence, I bought a billboard that said, "We want a child and are willing to pay money, sanity and privacy for said child." I let people make strange comments to me about insurance coverage  and multiples. I found myself talking with a select IVF group about IVF lingo. I made an instant connection with a lady in my fertility clinic who brought a baby into the office; fertility issues do that to people. We become instantly open about medical conditions, follicle size and have a way of not blushing when saying the words ovary or sperm. (My male counterpart would disagree with this last statement, by the way.)

But in the end, my friend Mari was the cool balm of hope that I have wanted someone to say for the entirety of this IVF process. But I didn't know I wanted someone to say it to me. Deep in my soul, I wanted someone to say with reckless abandon, "By jove, you're on your way!" 

I know I'm speaking like a crazy woman. And believe me, there have been moments of buzz on these drugs that have caused me to see through time and speak very strange utterances. But I have nothing to lose, do I? 

It may not work, but you know what-- it very well may. And if I'm planning on some future beauty in my life, I want these little follicles inside me to be in a hopeful, happy environment-- now and the flip side. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some drinking to do. 

Thank God

One week ago, my sister had an ultrasound.

She's pregnant. With twins.

They weren't sure if the sacs had something viable inside them.

But today she heard a heartbeat. And then another. Two babies.

She's completely stunned. For 10 days they didn't know if the pregnancy was strong; she had some spotting. But today, they're reeling from the news. They'll have 4 children under the age of 4.

This story reminds me of Hannah and gives me joy to know that God remembered. My sister lost her first two pregnancies at 8 weeks and 11 weeks. She grieved them and left them in God's Almighty hands. And today, her infertility is becoming a blip on the timeline of life.

God remembered.

Jehovah's Witnesses

Today, the day after Easter, two men knocked on my door. Jehovah's Witnesses.

They left me a flyer and said they would come back. "No thank you," I told them.

Then I went right to my bookshelf to read portions of The Kingdom of the Cults by Walter Martin.

I remembered our differences:
- I can't embrace a faith based on a man's interpretation of God, claiming to be a prophet, but who was a sinner; I need a faith based on a non-sinner, based on God.
- I can't embrace a faith that claims Jesus was just a good man and not God.
- I can't embrace a faith that doesn't include the entire Trinity; without Christ I have no intercession; without the Holy Spirit I have no deposit of God in me.
- I can't embrace a faith that doesn't have grace; without grace, I don't live.

It's strategic that they came after Easter, the day after we celebrated God incarnate connecting heaven and earth.

Easter Celebration

The dancing daughter strikes a pose. She's growing so fast!

Chef Dan serves bunny pancakes.

Two scared bunny cakes.

Easter Sunday 2008

“For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?" Matthew 16:25-26

Amen and amen.

*Photo from sunrise earlier this winter. Isn't that streak of light hauntingly beautiful?

Bloggy Break

Hi, Friends-

This blogger is taking a break.

I love you, but I can't think about anyone but my family right now.

Talk to you on the other side.

Weekend

Wow. What a weekend.

For starters, Dan spent a great deal of time memorizing and acting out a portion of Matthew for the Palm Sunday service. There was no sermon, just a handful of actors dressed in black who recited portions of Scripture. They did more than just recite the words, however. They gave them life and breath. Dan spent several hours on Friday, Saturday and Sunday preparing his part. I missed seeing him a lot this weekend, but the end result was beautiful. He joined a talented throng of actors in our church in preparing our hearts for Holy Week.

It does help, I should add, that Pastor John has a background in theater. He staged the group in various and subtle ways on the stage so that when the actors brought the words to life it seemed as if we were dropping in on a family dinner or a coffee shop gathering.

In the end, the words were powerful and drew our attention to the cross.

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This morning, after an immersion in Romans 8, I looked at my mounds of laundry, rolled up my sleeves and challenged the mounds to "Bring it on." There's nothing like a good dose of Monday housework after a Sunday sabbatical.

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In other news, we got our living room painted this weekend. Hiring a painter really goes against every frugal fiber in my being, but it took me a week to paint two rooms this summer. And that was with Morgan gone to grandparents. Plus, our living room has a two story ceiling which promised to cause us considerable trouble.

We didn't paint it any wild colors. We painted the walls a cream color and our bookshelves which flank the fireplace a gray mortar color. It's a very soft color palette.

In the end, I'm really glad we hired painters. It took a team of 4 people about 15 hours to prep and paint the whole shebang! Dan and I laughed at how it would have taken us 3 months to do it. They did an excellent job.

Ditch and Doc

It was nearly 60 degrees today, so I brought Morgan's bike out and helped her ride.

She kept looking at the edges of the sidewalk which made her steer to the edges of the sidewalk.

"Morgan, if you want to stay on the sidewalk, look at the sidewalk," I told her. "If you keep focusing on the ditch, you'll end up in the ditch."

I listened to the audacity of what I was saying; I struggle every day to not think about the ditch.

Being a parent has changed the way I look at life tremendously.

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I have a knee which has been sprained-ish for 3 weeks, so I went to the ortho doc today.

He gave me some tips on healing my leg better. Morgan decided to pipe in, "I have an idea! How about kissing her knee?"

The doc laughed, said that kisses would be great but that he would not be the one to administer them.

Man, I love this kid.

Chocolate Kisses

This morning started off like almost every morning.

There was the 6:15 wake up call from Morgan.
There was the daily "put something on your feet" talk.
And there was soggy cereal, a staple in our house.

But somewhere between our groggy morning greeting and the (Hallelujah Chorus) S*esame Street hour, there was an altercation.

I don't even remember what triggered it, but I do remember my 4 year old humorously barking at me: "Mom! Stop loving me!"

A shadow of a memory came upon me; I'm certain I said that to my mother as well.

I took Morgan up on her offer. "Okay, I'll stop loving you. I'll be your sister instead. Good morning, sister! Would you like some chocolate for breakfast?"

She looked stunned. I gave her a piece of chocolate.

I continued, "And since you don't care about your poopies (she has constipation when she has too much sugar) how about some more chocolate?

I gave her a Lindt truffle ball. Her eyes were wide as she wolfed it down.

"Come to think of it, I have a cupcake here. Why don't you polish it off?" I emphasized that since she didn't care about her poopies, it would be okay.

But what's cake without ice cream? "Here, Morgan, how about some ice cream? You don't care about your teeth anyway, right?"

Her mouth, still full with cupcake, said something to the effect of, "Well, maybe I shouldn't have ice cream, just this cupcake."

I noticed that the dry cupcake was causing her to gag a little.

"Want some soda?" I offered. I was already pouring a 6 oz. of Sprite in a cup for her. This was getting fun.

"Um, well, I don't want my teeth to fall out. Maybe I'll just have the cupcake and no soda," she managed to say between bites.

Scratch earlier statement. This was fun.

I poured her some water in a cup. "You know, you can have whatever you want because I'm not your mom. I'm just your sister and I don't care if your poopies hurt."

I could be imagining it, but I think I saw a light turn on in that upstairs of hers.

I'll pay for this later today. With a very active and possibly constipated child.

Hopefully she'll know that she can't make me.
Stop.
Loving.
Her.

Enlarged in the Waiting

I've taken a sabbatical from writing anything related to fertility issues, but lately some really beautiful spiritual lessons have risen from them. I had to share.

First of all, in the past whenever I have had miscarriages my main goal was the following:
1. Try to "get over it" as soon as possible. Get to the stage where the pain was just a blip on the timeline of life.
2. Heal.
3. Brush the dust off my knees and try to get pregnant again.

I could handle that thinking for the first miscarriage and even the next few chemical pregnancies, but after my January 2007 loss, I was broken. I couldn't "get over it".

I realized something at that point that has changed my life ever since: Faith is now. The pain, the joy-- it's all part of the script. You can't pause life to "get back on track". Nope. God wants that relationship always. He wants us when we're gritty or squeaky clean. There's no coming to God when we're "prepared" or "ready". He wants our wrestlings and all.

It was at that place that for the first time in my life I took at honest look at leaving God. If God was Almighty, why didn't He stop the losses?

I wrestled a great deal with God. I cursed. I cried. I ignored Him. I felt justified in all of this.

My friend Kathryn was bold enough to talk to me about real faith then. I don't remember the conversation entirely, except that after talking with her, I realized that if God was going to be God in my life, this was the time. This was the hour.

Since then I have lost one more pregnancy, but the grieving was very different. It was a joint grieving process, God and I holding hands and cursing the effects of sin in the world.

Today I am still hopeful for another child. I've just finished my first week of drugs for IVF with 3 more weeks to go. In the past I wouldn't have shared this information because I didn't want people to ask if "it worked" or to know if I failed or succeeded. But I don't feel that it's in my hands; it's in God's hands. If He wants it to work, it will.

People know about my failures, my body's failures, that is. But hopefully they'll notice that though my "outer man is wasting away, my inner man is being renewed day by day". 2 Corinthians 2:16

I should be floundering. I should be unable to stand. But I am being recreated:

"That is why waiting does not diminish us... We are enlarged in the waiting." (Romans 8 portion from The Message, a modern translation of the Bible.)

Church Rules

When I was a little girl, there were rules for church:
Little girls wear dresses to church.
And outfits.
No gum is allowed and no running either.
We're in God's house.

I agree in spirit with the sentiments of these "rules". Meeting with God in a formal way should be a special occasion, after all. But yesterday I was challenged by these traditions.

Morgan and I were getting ready for church.

I knocked on her bedroom door and asked if I could come in to help her get dressed. I didn't expect her to tell me she was already done.

*gulp* Done? She can't be done. I haven't told her what dress to wear.

Before I turned the knob to her door, I knew that I would be greeted by a very proud little girl.
A very proud, albeit strangely dressed, little girl.

I set my expectations very low, unfurrowed my brow and pasted on a smile.

To her credit, all her clothes were pastel colored. Not bad. Blues and purples, mostly. Blue shirt, mint green pants and purple socks. She looked like an Easter egg.

She was not, however, wearing a dress. The "rainman" inside me repeated "Little girls wear dresses to church. Little girls wear dresses to church."

But there stood my proud little girl, beaming from the joy of dressing. All. By. Herself.

I melted. I sat on her bed and marveled at her growth. No really- I marveled... the pants and shirt were becoming too short for her sprouting limbs. She was wearing mismatched, too-short clothing that was not *gasp* church wear. And I couldn't be prouder.

What happened next really floored me. She sat by my feet and started rubbing them. And it felt amazing.

"What are you doing, funny girl?" I asked.

"Daddy said that when you're sad, that you love foot rubs."

So she did know. Gulp. I just love this kid.

We went to church. Dressed a little funny. But with smiles.

Heads and Teeth

Morgan: "I have the worst headache I have had in my entire life."

Emily thinking to self:
Does Morgan even know what a headache is?
Where did she get that line?
Does she know what "entire life" is?

And then I remembered:

In Jon and K*ate plus E*ight, the mother had "the worst headache she had ever had in her entire life".


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Yesterday our friends the Vandermeers were over. Their first-grade daughter was over a bit while waiting for a doc appt. Her name is Celeste. While she was here, she lost a tooth.
There was surprise.
There was blood.
And Celeste was a little scared.

It occurred to me that I never told Morgan about this phase of life: baby teeth falling out.
She looked absolutely scared.

I explained to her that baby teeth have to fall out so big teeth can come in.
All that Morgan saw was blood. She kept jumping up and down in fear.

Can you imagine being a kid and having your teeth come out without knowing about this phase?

Worse yet, can you imagine being an adult and having your teeth start to fall out to make room for your "geriatric teeth"?

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Morgan: "Mom, if I grow long hair and get lots of strengths, can I wrestle a lion?"

I say nothing. I'm dumbfounded. I have no idea what she is talking about.

Morgan: "Like Samson? Can I grow long hair and get strengths like Samson? Then can I wrestle a lion?"

She's wanted long hair for a while now. Perhaps this is why?

Squibble Squabble

Emily: "Morgan, do you know why you're in a time out?"

I'm asking her to see if she knows. But I'm also asking because in the 4 minute time lapse since banishing her to the time out step, I have honestly forgotten why I put her there.

Morgan: "Because I called you the ridiculous lady I ever knew."

Oh yeah, now it's coming back to me.

Emily: "Um, no. That's why you got soap in your mouth. You're here because I told you NOT to do something and you did it."

And just like that we're back on track again. Hugging. Forgiveness.

The "most ridiculous lady you ever knew"... ha! Just wait until you're 13, baby!

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What Ma Said:

I found myself saying to Morgan this morning, "You want to cry? I'll give you something..." and then I stopped. A cliché hit me over the head. Do I really want to hear her reenact this with her dollies?

Motherhood Musings

Dan was out of town earlier this week. Whenever he is gone, I let Morgan sleep with me.

I tell her we're having a "sleepover".

Okay, I'm scared.

But it sure is fun to hang out with a 4 year old. She's at the age where she doesn't squirm too much at night. I noticed that sometimes she giggles in her dreams. It's really cute.

And sometimes when we're in bed she asks me, "What's that smell?" just before I get the whiff of vapors she has offered us. She's a girl, but she's not yet a lady. She makes me laugh.

Last night I went to Costco with her right before bedtime. To avoid hitting a car, I had to run over a bit of a snowbank. The snowbanks around here are somewhat in the road b/c of all the snow. Morgan thought we hit the sidewalk. All the way to Costco I heard a song that went something like this: "You shouldn't drive on the sidewalk with your car. You should drive on the road. And if you're on the sidewalk WATCH OUT because someone may ride on the sidewalk..." The tune was a very gentle one, almost a lullaby, which mismatched with the lyrics. Hilarious.

The whole time we were in Costco she talked-like-this-without-stopping-because-she-had-so-much-to-say. She barely took a breath with her brain rants. At first, being tired, I was annoyed. I wanted to know where her "off" button was, or at least her "volume" one. But then, I stopped, took in a breath, remembered that I would very much like another Morgan, and enjoyed her goofy verbosity.

This morning I will help her get dressed. First she'll request that I tell her to jump X amount of times:
"Okay, Morgan, jump three times before we put your shirt on"
followed by
"Now, Morgan- spin 2 times before we put your pants on."
She'll jump around unabashedly in her little tshirt and princess underpants before diving into her clothing for the day. And if I have my head screwed on straight, I'll laugh with her and forget that getting dressed in 5 minutes is not the point.

It's all about the journey.

Jon and K*ate + E*ight

Dan was gone tonight so I watched TV with Morgan.

I watched Jon and K*ate + E*ight.

Morgan's response to the show: "Mom, I want to have those people over at our house."

Emily's thought: "Ain't no way."

Emily's other thought: "Maybe just one more baby."

Go online. No wait, call. Now go online.

Have you been here before?

I'm trying to call in a refill for my mail order drugs. But the automated system keeps encouraging me to "go online" and refill there.

I decide to give it a whirl. It was a relatively easy process. Kudos, website. Kudos.

But then I remembered that for every drug that I refill that the drug company calls me no less than 2-3 times per prescription to give me a status update from an automated machine. That's 6-9 extra phone calls I don't need or want.

So I go online to their customer service in order to ask them how to not get phone calls. I have to register for a second time just to ask them this.

I got a response email today in a highly secure email which required me to register a third time. Not sign in, mind you. Register.

By the time I opened my email it told me to call the drug company. Call. On the phone.

The irony is that when I call them today, I will hear an automated message system encouraging me to go online again.

This had me laughing out loud this morning.

Happy Happy Parenting

If there's anything I've learned in parenting, it's this:
1. I don't think I've ever been more tired.
2. I don't think I've ever been more hungry.
3. I don't think I've ever been more happy.

It's true. Tired. Hungry. Happy. The three little dwarves of parenting.

Generally speaking, I can't say that I learn parental skills smoothly. Lots of trial and error goes on around here, but I imagine it does in every home. However, I am learning a few things that make my relationship with my daughter a little better. May I share?

1. Grocery Day
I'm tired from a morning of talking to "Distracto Girl" while I try to price shop produce. I get home in time for lunch and nap time. And, for some reason, I think I should have enough energy to clean the house, do laundry and make a from-scratch supper.

My new rule for self is: On grocery day, dinner must either be previously frozen, bought or made. *breathe* Ain't that wonderful?

2. Laundry Day
If I'm feeling really overwhelmed with laundry, I'll wash it all on one day and save the folding for the next day. Sometimes I leave the laundry in the living room. Last week I let it mound on the guest room bed. But then, because I didn't technically see it everyday, I didn't feel like folding it. I'm not sure where I'll put it, but I don't feel that it's necessary to do EVERYTHING in one day. I'm pacing.

3. House Cleaning
Okay, I totally tricked you. I have no hints for house cleaning. I got as far as "grocery shopping" and "laundry", but when it comes to house cleaning, I'm either REALLY on it, or REALLY not. Advice for keeping it simple would be great.
I'm tagging you, Kris. Uh-huh. You got the motts on this one.

Lastly, I'd just to encourage all parents out there to be good to yourself. Go for a walk. Read for 15 minutes, even if dinner is burning. Buy a magazine. Heck, blog.

But don't burn yourself out. That's your kiddos job. :)

Six. One. Five.

Our daughter Morgan loves to get up at the same time as us. We try to remain quiet in the morning, but inevitably she hears us talking and we hear her knock loudly at the door and proclaim obviously, "It's morning time! It's morning time!"

We love being greeted by her, but Dan and I get virtually *zero* time alone and found this morning routine to be getting a bit awkward. Plus, I need time to get up BEFORE her so I can get my game on.

Cue joyful crescendoing music: We installed a digital clock in her room. It's one of the best parenting moves we've ever made. We're pretty sure that others have done it as well, but we're pretending like we are geniuses and came up with it on our own.

We told Morgan that she could get up at 6:15. We explained it this way: "When the clock says 'Six. One. Five.' then you can get up."

The first morning went spectacularly well. I heard her get up in her room, pause and actually read the numbers on the clock.
I heard when she read "Six. One. Three."
I heard when she read "Six. One. Four."

And then I waited as the clock turned. She dashed out of her room, banged on the door and pronounced the time: "It's SIXONEFIVE!! It's SIXONEFIVE!"

The plan is working pretty well. It forces me to get up before six.one.five and get a head start on the day. It gives me time to greet my daughter back rather than groan at how disorganized I feel.

It's a little growth. Not much. But it's a nickel's worth of sanity than I treasure greatly.

Now if only I could work to get her to sleep until Nine. Zero. Zero. on the weekends. :)