Summer Vacation

Double time
Originally uploaded by karijean

With the Fourth of July over (or, as Will says, "Happy Birthday Fourth!"), I'm staring down the gun at a long summer.

I know, poor me, right? It's hard to get sympathy about two* months off. To be fair, I work hard all year in order to earn this summer off. Plus, I get paid for crap, so I might as well get two months off--one of the very very few perks of teaching.**

Sometimes, though it doesn't really feel like a perk. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind not having to get up with an alarm in the morning. But to go from a world of daily deadlines where planning and organization can make or break you to absolutely aimless days is a little overwhelming.

I don't do aimless well. I do one of two things: I sink into a well of inertia which, yeah, good times! or rearrange every closet in my house while weeding the lawn and building a to-scale model of Portland's Pearl District.*** I may have a problem with finding a happy medium (ya think?)

In the meantime, take a look at Flickr. Fourth of July pictures are up (compare them with last year's! Lookit me, coming full circle!), and I'll be updating the Flickr stuff with pictures as I find a way to distract myself from having nothing to do. I've got some geocaching I did out in wine country, and I plan to do more around PDX and its environs.

Happy Fourth of July, happy summer everyone.

* Yes, it is only two months. June 20-something was our last day, and I have to return on August 20-something. Again, I know, poor me, but I just wanted to clear that up.

** Not that I don't love teaching, because I do. But it's a damn. Hard. Job. With very very few upsides. Objectively speaking, summer is one of the few.

***Or I rearrange someone else's basement. True story.

View out my back door.

View out my back door.
Originally uploaded by karijean

Some days are better than others.

Yesterday was a very fulfilling day. For once, I was glad it rained ("What do you call two days of rain in Portland?" "The weekend."). We've had a gorgeous June so far (want proof? go to flickr and see my camping pictures!) so I can't begrudge a day of rain. Moreover, I'd promised myself that THIS was the weekend to clean the basement.

And oh, did I.

Other reasons I have to be happy:

It's nine school days till summer.

Nine.

The sun's out today.

Andrew's nearly done with his book. Three chapters left and then I get to see my husband again! At least until his revisions are due.

Did I mention it's nine days til summer? Okay, technically, I suppose, it's like 11 days, but really, weekends don't count. And nine sounds so much smaller.

Nine. 9. neuf. divyet. nueve. 9.

Knowing.

One of the hard things of dealing with infertility is that you don't know who else is. Because it deals with such personal issues (like MY CROTCH), most people don't, you know, bring it up around the water cooler. So when you're dealing with the various indignities of intra-uterine insemination and the cost of dildo-cam appointments that aren't covered by health insurance and what it's like walking back into the fertility clinic that you triumphantly--and pregnantly--sailed out of three months ago, it's hard to find those "Girl, I know" moments.

As good as good friends are--as sympathetic a sounding board as they can be, and level headed as they can be when Clomid is making you cry for reasons you can't even put into words and as you apologize they can say, "I think that's Clomid talking, hon,"--as lucky as you can be to get that support, even those friends (especially those friends) will acknowledge that there's aspects to your situation that while they might understand, they don't truly know.

I should know, I have great friends. So that when my family or inlaws make well-meaning but bonehead moves like sending me emails about how great adoption is, or how "it's meant to be, so it'll happen", those great friends are there to be outraged on my behalf. When yet another friend finds out they got pregnant the very first time they tried and isn't that funny? these wonderful saintly friends will let me rage and rant and cry until I'm ugly and they still love me (I think). I'm super super lucky on that point. But... they don't, and they can't, and I wouldn't want them to know

And I just don't have the wherewithal to go make Infertile Friends because blech. I don't want to be friends with someone just because they can't get knocked up either.

Which makes my newish friend a lifesaver. I'll call her Rhoda.

Rhoda is really a friend of a friend. We've orbited past each other for a decade or more. I've known of her for a long time, but we've met and hung out for the past few years a couple times a year and I've always really liked her. She can be crass (like, um, someone else I might know) and that's a good thing. She can be funny. She can be thoughtful. She's not embarassed to be blunt and to have a sense of humor about things that suck.

And some things suck a lot.

Turns out we see the same fertility doc. The same Doogie Howser has his face in each of our crotches.

Ordinarily, this might be awkward.

With us, tonight, it was a chance to compare pubic grooming.

We drank cheap beer because her second IUI just failed and I'm preparing for IUI#3 and we're both wired on Clomid and we toasted the crappy things People Who Don't Know Better say.

"It's good you miscarried because it means something was wrong."

"At least you know you can get pregnant!"

"Just relax! I have friends who..."

"Have you ever thought of adoption?"

We made each other cry and made each other laugh and bought each other another round because hell, we're not pregnant so we might as well drink! And Mother's Day is Sunday! And I know I'll get a call from my mom and I dread her fucking sympathy! And then...

... and then we talked about how her husband doesn't understand that mesh tank tops are not hot and my husband accidentally shaved his head last week (yes, it can be done) and where is there good shopping when you're not a size eight and what's it like working with all guys (as it turns out: a lot like working with all teenagers, so a lot of great same-experiences going on there) and we talked about things that had nothing and everything to do with all this crazy shit we're both putting our bodies through.

And suddenly five hours passed.

Because she knows. I don't have to explain why I threw a full glass when I found out my sister-in-law was pregnant even though I really am happy she's pregnant, or why I resent having to be the one to email pregnant people to let them know it's okay to talk to me, infertility isn't catching. She doesn't have to preface a story with "I know so-and-so's trying to help but..." when explaining the crushing blow someone inadvertantly landed or feel lame for describing crying her eyes out when hearing that her sister got pregnant from a guy who isn't really sure he wants kids. Because I know.

But also because we both know that we are more than our bruising desire to be pregnant, and so having a conversation meander off into the embarassing story of a dream one of us may or may not have had about her high school students (it's a dream! we can't be held responsible for our dreams!) isn't weird or awkward because it's what friends do. And then we could both twirl around back onto the topic of our pregnant friends who complain about gaining weight because they're pregnant or how tough their choices are and we both know that anger that has no place to go and we aren't scared by that anger from each other.

We're not friends because we get thrice-montly dildo cams and count those two-week-waits every month... Our friendship as the two of us that isn't mediated by our mutual friend is still new-ish, but I think this is the beginning of something good.

In fact, I know.

Repetition makes the heart grow fonder.

Games Will and I have made up with his parents aren't looking:

Put your hand under your jaw, in a fist (a la Rodin's The Thinker). Now, without moving your fist or lower jaw, open your mouth (will necessitate moving the upper part of your head back, sort of like Guy Smilie from Sesame Street). Go "Ya! Ya! Ya!" while doing so. Giggle until you lose breath. Repeat. And then repeat again. And then repeat again.

Put cardstock insert from magazine on top of tennis ball can. Blow card off. Scream with glee. Repeat. And then repeat again. And then repeat again.

Put (teeny wee) hat on Kari's (ginormous, huge) head. "Blow" off (with perhaps, reportedly, assistance from a flinging motion of Kari's hand). Repeat. And then repeat again. And then repeat again.

Help Woody and Buzz perform "I'm a Little Teapot" in basso profundo. Applaud their performance. Repeat. And then repeat again. And then repeat again.

The game that started it all: Put block on head. Tilt head so block falls off. Put block on someone else's head. Laugh with mad insanity when it falls off. Repeat. And then repeat again. And then repeat again.

Silver Lining, part 3

We can put off buying that 2nd car. Yes, we can, Andrew. No, really. I know. But just think! That's at least a year of no car payments or extra insurance payments!

Silver Lining, part 2

I don't have to hear, "Oh, your mom must be so excited--she's wanted grandchildren for so long, and now she's going to have two in one year!" again. Because that was always awesome to hear.

Silver Lining

I haven't gone skiing in Oregon yet, since we moved here four years ago. We meant to go this winter, but... well, there were those two and a half months where it would have been a bad idea.

We're going to go skiing this weekend.

Yay, skiing!