Back Where I Come From

When thinking about a topic to blog about next, many ideas ran through my already cluttered and busy head. My thought process stopped dead in its tracks after reconnecting with two people I have always carried with me, who in my teen years were instrumental to my relative success now.  Due in large part to their mentorship, my love affair with food exploded under their tutelage.  Many years later, I am just as passionate about food despite a near 20-year hiatus from the restaurant industry.  A few weeks ago, a spark reignited when I started shooting a series of cooking videos for our local CSA to help people expand their recipe ideas when dealing with large amounts of fresh produce and some not-so-common vegetables produced on the farm.

Angela and Seth Raynor

What's For Dinner?

When we first moved in together, I burned through my arsenal of recipes,including a dish my mom used to make: Chicken and Rice.

When Tanya and I first started living together, we were both excited to show off how well we could cook.  One night she made the most amazing meatloaf I’ve ever had in my life.  Other nights she’d introduce me to her Sloppy Joes, Beef Stroganoff, chicken pot pie, lasagna, and the list goes on.  For her I made some of my specialties like grilled pork chops, potato salad, grilled cheese, risotto, polenta, Caesar salad, and the list goes on.  I think most people have a repertoire of things they make and they run through that when the question, “What’s for dinner?” comes  

up.

When we first became CSA (community supported agriculture) subscribers to a local farm, Whistling Train Farm, we encountered a problem.  We couldn’t just eat tacos on Tuesday or whip up a bowl of mashed potatoes when our mood demanded them.  We had all this produce we needed to use each week and sometimes there were things in our weekly basket we had no idea how to use.  Sometimes we just got plain sick of eating what we were given and had to find creative, new ways to use it.  The first winter we were subscribers, we had beets every single week for 12 weeks straight.  And Tanya HATED beets.  She hated beets though because she remembered the pickled old-people beets of her youth that came out of a can and ended up on some social gathering next to pickled herring and bread and butter pickles.  They taste a little different when they are orange heirloom beets, tossed in a little olive oil and roasted with some grey salt and cracked black pepper.  The point is, if we were going to do this, we had to be committed and we had to get creative.

We started to examine how to use preexisting recipes and techniques, tweaking them to use what we had on hand. One example is the often beloved, technically misunderstood, and not very intimidating once understood, Sushi Roll. We deconstructed the roll ingredient by ingredient and substituted what we could to meet our needs. The only thing that we couldn’t get away from buying in the store was the Japanese sticky rice (one because it is so farkin delicious and two because I love rice).  We did find an organic source, however.  I think it’s also important to remember you don’t have to go all in to make small changes. Replace one ingredient for something easy.  In this instance, we couldn’t get organic nori, the seaweed paper used to make sushi rolls, so we substituted it with blanched swiss chard.  

Here's a short instructional video about how to roll sushi in general.  Keep in mind, we've replaced the nori with blanched chard.

First I steamed the rice in a rice cooker.  For me, this means 1 cup of organic Japanese sticky rice to every 1 1/4 cup of water.  I added a little rice wine vinegar once it was done.  I realize sushi chefs train for years just to learn making rice before they ever even look at a fish, but it is what it is--let's get dinner on the table.

Next I got all the vegetables julienned and roasted off some pork the night before and shredded it.  You can use whatever combination of vegetables, fish, or other ingredients you choose.  It isn't the ingredients that matter, but the concept that sushi can be adapted to whatever you have and will be a nutritious and filling meal.  Unless of course you eat sushi in Mississippi where it's deep friend and sauced with mayonnaise.

Once the fillings were prepped, I got the chard ready by bringing a shallow, wide pot filled halfway with boiling water.  Next to it, I had a bowl of ice water to blanch the leaves to stop the cooking process once they came out of the boiling water.  You only want to soften the leaves and turn them bright green--cooking too long will compromise the leaf's integrity, making rolling the sushi difficult.

Once they are blanched, cut the tough rib out of the center.

I set all the ingredients aside and got plates ready.  I wrapped my sushi mat with plastic wrap to keep the rice from sticking and layered the chard leaves on top of that.  Then I added a thin layer of rice, not coming all the way to the edges.  To that I added vegetables and the shredded pork in the center.  I rolled the sushi and cut it into six pieces with a very sharp knife, being careful not to push on it and saw, but rather slice the roll gently so as not to crush it.

When we set out on this adventure, we didn't always know what to expect.  Cooking isn't like baking--it's very forgiving.  And even if everything fell apart, we could have just eaten this dinner as a bowl of rice and it still would have been delicious.  Don't be afraid to step outside of the box.   You never know what is waiting there for you.  While we still make Sloppy Joes, cheddar polenta, chicken pot pie and Caesar salad, we make new things too.  It turns out, we have some favorites we didn't even know about.

Winter begets Spring

My dad and I at Mardi Gras in 2007 after my Iraq deployment

When I left the doctor yesterday, I was devastated.  As I drove home, I felt old and barren and I blamed myself for pissing away my youth on things I have nothing to show for except memories I can barely write about anymore.  I started to feel numb to protect myself from the pain I was feeling and the scenery began whizzing my car’s windshield.  The trees had no leaves; everything was grey and lifeless.  Everything was sleeping.   But the sun was shining and bright and I thought to myself, there are tiny little buds beneath those dormant branches that will sprout soon.

The Space Needle in Spring

Spring will be here before I know it and I will be sneezing from all the flowers—life will be abundant again.  I didn’t realize until today as I started thinking we need to plant seeds soon for our plot in the community pea patch if we want ripe, juicy tomatoes in August.  I’ve already ordered the seeds and put planting instructions into a spreadsheet.  I did this so I wouldn’t be surprised by the fact that it’s February 24^th in case I was planning on doing nothing this week, but apparently I have 14 varieties of tomatoes and peppers to plant and I haven’t even thought about which containers they will go in, let alone purchased the soil.  Yeah, about that. 

Last year, we flew by the seat of our pants and it worked.  We had a beautiful harvest and not much failed.  Apparently, according to the unwanted advice and comments from other gardeners in the pea patch, no one in the Pacific Northwest plants tomatoes from seed directly into the soil.  If you are going to have any success, you have to either start the seeds in January, or buy starts from a nursery.  Well, my tomatoes not only grew from seed after I planted them directly in the soil in May, but they made some pretty incredible salsa and were darn tasty on summer salads.  This year, I won’t take my chances though since last year was unseasonably dry and hot.  I’ll start those seeds indoors in two weeks.  Last year was the equivalent of two teenagers experimenting in the back of a car and getting pregnant when the planets aligned.  We know our luck won't let this happen again.  Seeds need conditions to be just right to grow.

Duane tilling our pea patch plot before we planted last year

I will blog later about other aspects of beginning, growing, and sustaining a garden.  I just wanted to point out today that it’s February.  This darkness and the cold, rainy days will be over soon.  Spring will be here soon and life will be bursting at the seams all around us.  For us, that may mean a pregnancy, but it may also mean the birth of a new direction for our family.  I don’t know, but right now I'm focused on creating the right conditions to make those seeds sprout and take hold. 

In this moment, not much is clear.  But it doesn't matter.  What does matter is that when I was noticing only the lifeless tree branches and yellow grass, suddenly I am planning for a new season and cultivating life.  Winter always begets spring.  It’s part of life.  Knowing this gives me hope when everything looked bleak and dormant not long ago.    

The Power of Might

"I wish I could go back and tell myself when I was going through fertility treatments that none of the pain is going to matter and those feelings I felt then were gone the moment I held my baby."  

This is what I thought when I was full of hope to have another baby when we first began fertility treatments again last February.  All the pain was gone when I held August for the first time, but I never knew if I would get to that moment until I held her.  We sailed through the first few months on the high of having a newborn, feeling like our bad luck was finally over.  Stupidly, we listened to everyone tell us my body might just know what to do after the first baby, that I might be super fertile after giving birth.

Well they were wrong and I'm mad at myself for believing them because here we are, all over again and I'm not quite sure if I'll ever get to the other side again.  I'm mad at everyone who told me to go to college, buy a house, wait until I was settled before having a baby because lots of women are having babies in their late thirties and early forties.  None of the women who told me that were ever women who had babies in their forties--they were all women who had children too young and now regretted they hadn't lived, that they hadn't gone to college.  Well how many of those women who go to college and have a career first get babies compared to how many wanted babies and have to be satisfied with just their career?  How many of them had to at some point, face the music and realize their bodies just weren't physically capable of creating life anymore?  I know we might be at that point.  But I keep fighting because I don't want to look back one day and regret I gave up what could have been for what might have been.  Those other women can always go to college.  This is my last chance to have another baby.

 Today at my doctor appointment, I didn't have the useless advice from well-meaning friends telling me to relax or take some ridiculous combination of Chinese herbs and I might get pregnant.  I didn't have the backing of a thousand facebook friends telling me they will pray for me and it might work.  I didn't have people telling me to just adopt or stop trying and it might happen on its own.  What I had was the undeniable blood test and an experienced doctor telling me my estrogen level should be around 100; it was 34.  I had the ultrasound results showing only five small follicles when I should have at least 10 to 20 given I'm on 450 IUs of Gonal-F and 150 IUs of Menopur, an extremely high dose.  I had the doctor telling me she has seen people get pregnant with these numbers, but she might have to cancel the cycle and try again.  I was left with a sinking feeling that perhaps it's time to think about moving on from the idea we might be able to give August a sibling.

August and her cousin

I don't know how I can feel anything but anger right now.  I'm trying not to though; I'm trying to focus on the positive and that all hope isn't lost and we do after all have this incredible little toddler.  But right now, in this moment, I just need to be angry.  It doesn't help that my nightly injections are like feeling chameleons--they can somehow figure out whatever I am feeling and intensify it by a thousand, so if I'm sad, it's Niagara Falls and Duane gets to help put the pieces of my world crumbling on the dirty floor below me that needs to be vacuumed but I don't have time and how am I supposed to get everything done with all this filth and then it all just crashes down as my feelings become a runaway train of darkness. 

The worst part about all of this isn't the side effects of the drugs or how it affects me emotionally, mentally and physically.  It's coming to the realization that we didn't have hindsight in the beginning--we had to go through all of this just to get here.  And now that we are here, we have all this pain, sadness, emptiness, guilt, anger, regret, rage, and the echoing hollow question every single day: why this is our path, why us?  And we still might not get to have another baby.

I realize we might still get pregnant this IVF cycle or during another if we have to cancel this month.  I know all hope isn't lost.  The biggest corner I turned today, though, is that it might be.  It might just be August is an only child.  It might just be my body can't get pregnant again.  It might just be that we are at the end of this part of our journey and what lies ahead for us is accepting it.  I hope it's not, but it might be.  Despite what might happen, I will continue to fight.

Often Overlooked, Always Present: Fertility Treatments From Husband's Perspective

I had a conversation last night with Tanya about possibly being a guest blogger or in some way, other than by just being her husband I could contribute to her blogging.  I promised her that I would not rant about politics, guns or anything that is overtly offensive (not that anyone has ever told me that I can abrasive or anything). Well, here goes nothing.

A friend suggested for my first posting that I share about infertility from the father/husband/male prospective as this is overlooked more often than not. My ex-wife and I divorced primarily because she changed her mind about having a family sometime after we got married. Tanya has poor egg quality and diminished ovarian reserves coupled with a host of other reproductive issues that we have tackled along the way. I say these things not to assign blame, or hurt anyone’s feelings, but rather to help you better understand much of my frustrations later in the post.

I was as naïve as most people are about infertility when we started this journey and would have preferred to stay that way. I can honestly say that I know more about the female reproductive system than many women, including Tanya. I am the one who doses and administers each injection, deals with her crazy when the hormones go completely nuts, accompanies her to nearly every appointment she has ever had, holds her hand in pre/post op and during many of her procedures, worries while she is in surgery, is briefed by the doctors on the successes and failures after surgeries, shoulders the household responsibilities while she recovers, supports her during the processes and consoles her when we are unsuccessful yet again. This is to say nothing of the financial burden this has put on our family and our relationship.

When I talk about fertility treatments, people usually assume that I am the one with the issues. They jokingly say extremely insensitive things like “you want me to come over and take care of your wife for you?” or “hey, my swimmers never miss.” This is like telling Tanya to “just relax and it will happen.” Most people, thankfully, have no idea how difficult it actually is to create and sustain a life. The best part is when the doctors tell you that even though you have paid all of this money, taken all of these drugs and spent all of this time, there are still no guarantees. Wait, what? We do all of this for a maybe? That is exactly correct, we do this for a maybe, because having a house full of children is that important to us. 

I, like most people, have periods of time that I feel sorry for myself. I sometimes think that this is such a cruel joke. I had one wife who didn’t want to have children and now I have one who can’t. What are the odds? Why do I always need to be the strong one? Why don’t people ask how I’m holding up? Do people think that Tanya is the only one that is devastated when each cycle fails? Then I pull my big boy pants up and start again.

As men we are programmed and conditioned to be the fixer, doer and the one who takes action. When that ability is taken away from us it is not only painful but demoralizing and emasculating as well. I have spent untold hours watching Tanya in pain and in some instances am the one directly responsible for inflicting it. I try to make jokes like, “this is the only time in my life that I can stab my wife and get away with it,” but the truth is that it hurts me deeply to have to give Tanya injections nightly, knowing that I am the one causing the pain. Although extremely adorable, it hurts my heart that when August sees me getting ready to give Tanya a shot she pulls up her shirt to expose her tummy too.

Now for the good stuff that everyone wants to know about. SEX! Imagine, if you will, spending three years of hot, steamy, intimate relations with your partner. Each one dictated, literally, by exact time and doctors prescription. No spontaneity, no fun, and certainly no “hey, lets get drunk and make a kid.” Or the “you need to abstain from any form of sexual contact for a minimum of 5 days” and then there’s the “here’s your cup.” Needless to say sex and intimacy have been extremely difficult to keep, well, passionate about.  

This process has been frustrating, crippling, heartbreaking, but also extremely rewarding. I am so grateful every time I hold, see, kiss and think about August. She has been what has kept me going through this. The knowledge of how awesome it is to be a father and look into the eyes that you helped to create. To watch this thing grow into a little person and be directly responsible for the outcome.

I can understand how dealing with infertility issues has caused lesser mortals to give up not only on the treatments but their marriages as well. This has been no easy road we have ventured down, but I think the voyage has strengthened our relationship and brought us closer together. How is that possible you may ask? I have no idea, maybe it's because we are thick headed and hate to admit defeat. Maybe it's because we have seen each other at our most vulnerable and rawest points. Whatever the reason is, I’m grateful to have my best friend be my wife and mother to our daughter.

The D-Word

Debt is the only four-letter word no one talks about unless we are griping about the current state of political affairs.  But we all feel the sinking in our hearts, that punch in the gut, the hopelessness when we hear that word.  Debt.  The calculator starts running in my head subconsciously when I hear the word debt, when I swipe my ATM card at the gas station or the store.  I am human living in a consumerist society.  Everywhere I go, I am not encouraged to save and pay off debt but to spend and consume more.  I am enticed by sales, promotions, BOGOs, Groupons, and in some weird way, I feel like by spending more on these items, I am actually saving.

It all began when we moved to Seattle and Duane's only income for four months was unemployment.  I make a modest living, but my paycheck covers the bills and that is it: water, gas, rent, food, mortgage, electricity, student loans, retirement fund (I will address this in a separate blog and why it goes in this category, but think about it for now), and daycare.  It doesn't even begin to pay the health or car insurance, Pocky's annual vet visit, medical bills, haircuts, dog food and medicine, clothing and diapers for August, cell phone payments, and it certainly doesn't put a dent in the credit card bills or any kind of entertainment fees.  Duane and I were sitting in the apartment hot tub a few weeks ago adding up our bills.  We try to talk about our situation as much as we can; we talk about our struggles, successes, ideas, and we give each other positive and negative feedback about what worked and what didn't.  As I talked about in my blog last night, this was the first step for us, to remove the taboo and the nature of talking about debt as if it's a dirty word.  You aren't going to make it go away if you don't even acknowledge it.

I check the Craigslist "free" column regularly and saw a free photo shoot if only August would model very expensive christening dresses.  Not only did we not have to buy the dress, but we didn't pay for a professional photo shoot as well.

The first thing we had to do to start paying down debt, was identify our priorities as I mentioned in the "Are You Ready" blog.  Once we could identify what was a necessity--and this is an important distinction to make since we once thought TV was a necessity--we could begin removing payments from our monthly outflow.  TV used to be a big part of our life but when we moved here, if it didn't directly contribute to our ability to eat, sleep, or get to work, it wasn't a necessity.  The problem with moderation when you've been living in excess for so long is that if you don't scale back a lot, it will be easy to return to the previous spending volumes once you are debt free.  It doesn't work like that, just like a lot of people who lose a bunch of weight by dieting regain the weight because they don't make a lifestyle change.  That's what this is about.  This is your new reality.

What did this mean for us?  What did we cut out?

I began making baby food for August because the jars were expensive and they weren't organic.  It only took me a few hours and I made enough for all three months she was eating purees.

Stroller Envy



Duane gives me my nightly injection of fertility drugs



I have to preface this post with the fact that I began this yesterday in a lighthearted attempt to talk about how my life has shifted from deciding which beers are on tap to whether I can afford the $1,000 stroller at Babies R Us to keep up with the moms toting tots at all the places I take August on the weekends.  I had to stop.  Something wouldn't let me keep it lighthearted, but I'm used to that, so I let it sit for a day.  Something silly hit me mid-post, much like it does in my real life: I can't just get pregnant and I've lost three babies to miscarriage.  Some people who haven't lived this life I lead might wonder why I can't just get over it or if I will ever move beyond this, and the short answer is, I don't think so.  And as much as I want to move on, life happens and I am reminded of who I am, where I came from, and how far I've come.

Beautiful August Cameron

I never wanted to be the poster child for infertility or miscarriage.  I never wanted to be the person holding an acquaintance's hand, letting her cry to someone, anyone, after she just lost her baby (they call me sometimes because they can't bear to hear what well-intentioned friends and family say to them such as it was God's will).  I never wanted to have to explain to my own family day after day what to say and what not to say to help me heal, knowing Duane and I will likely always have this tender scar that will never heal and it can burst open on certain days or in certain moments (June 6th, November 14th, Christmas time).  I never wanted to be the woman who has to constantly answer the questions, "So do you want to have kids," or "Is she your first," or "Do you want more," with answers like, "We are working on it," or "Someday," or "Yes, she is our first," (feeling like our son Connor is looking down on us from heaven saying what about me?  I didn't choose this life, but it's the life I've got and I can't be bitter about it, lest it eat me alive and I forgo all the beauty surrounding me).

My written observations about being a mom began here yesterday:

Duane and I taking August for a walk in the jogging stroller on the Green River Trail behind our apartments

Every time I go to the zoo, I get stroller envy.  Parents with toddlers know what I am talking about.  Stroller envy makes you seriously rethink your priorities so you can buy that $1,000 stroller you registered for during your baby shower but no rich benefactor bought.  I always dread this about going to the zoo since our strollers (yes, we have a few), though adequate, would never propel us among the stroller elite circle.  In fact, I keep two strollers in my trunk at all times, which pisses off Duane because it keeps me from being able to go to Sam's Club to buy large things like diapers and toilet paper since I have no room; I have two strollers in my trunk for crying out loud!  We also have a wagon, a jogging stroller, and a hiking backpack, all of which are perfectly suited for certain occasions.  I no longer buy cocktail dresses, shoes, or makeup anymore, by the way, because my efforts are focused on Smoosh.

August looking at the gorilla from her adequate stroller

I didn't know about "mom culture" until I started taking my precious cargo to places like the zoo, the aquarium, the Children's Museum on the weekend.  And I don't think anyone is competing to be the best mom, but c'mon, we kind of all are.  Rest assured, my baby will be in the cutest outfit on the planet, lest anyone try to upstage AugDog.  My goal is to collect as many comments like, "Oh my gosh, she is just the most adorable baby I've ever seen," or "Wow, her cheeks are just so...."  Yeah, I know, she's my daughter.  And I try not to judge, but I do when I think no one is looking in how we handle our children's behavior or what they eat.  In my head, I am always telling myself, "my kid is far superior to yours."  And I don't mean anything by it.  I am super cordial around other parents.  Until they are more concerned with their iPhone than they are with the snot running down their kid's nose and how they let their kid shove my kid and totally didn't correct the behavior.  Let me just tell you.

August playing in the water at the Children's Museum

And then I deteriorated.  I got in my head.  I began to process the day, not by how lucky I am or how much fun we were having, but by the observation that every. single. woman. was nine freaking months pregnant.  No joke.  It was like a shampoo commercial of long-haired perfect women waving with streaks of sun showing through their glee flying by my face with a perfect smile and infectious laugh.  The pregnant women were everywhere in many colors and sizes, representing diversity and life itself--be fruitful and multiply said God.  They represented every woman but me and I felt my thoughts turn bitter, angry and confused again.  This feeling isn't new.  I battle it often and my demons are mostly other peoples':  Why can't she get over it?  Isn't she grateful for August?  She just needs to relax.  Why can't they just adopt?

Here's what went on in my mind:

I always feel inferior when I see bulging pregnant women in these places, despite the fact that my kid is one breakfast away from winning the Nobel Prize for whatever.  It feels like God is mocking me.  Not many people were at the zoo today since it was cold and raining.  Despite the dismal weather, it seemed like every woman in Seattle who was more than six months pregnant decided to go to the zoo.  And they weren't just pregnant.  They were glowing with rays of golden light illuminating them as they rubbed their fertile bellies dressed in perfectly tailored L.L. Bean outfits that probably weren't even made for pregnant women.  Their kids laughed in slow motion and made eyes at the pregnant bellies and the moms acknowledged me as our kids intermingled.

Dad on a rare family day off work helping August paint

At one point, August made eye contact with one of the lucky pregnant women and she shyly walked up to her.  August stared at her belly since she's been obsessed with them lately and I could tell she was trying to find the courage to touch the pregnant belly.  The lucky mom laughed and made some casual comment about how August wanted the maraca she had and gave it to her.  August continued to stare and inched closer.   All I could think about is how August loves babies--she signs baby, says baby and walks up to babies and won't leave them alone.  August would really love having a baby here.  And I want to give her one.  But I can't and one day she is going to ask me why.

I resent these women and then feel guilty about it.  I don't know how to fix it.  I try to avert my eyes and then there is another bulging woman showing off her "I didn't eat any ice cream or cupcakes or french fries" body in the pants she wore in high school with nothing more than a hair tie attached to her button fly and she wouldn't even need the hair tie if her hair hadn't become so long and luscious due to the prenatal vitamins and the pregnancy hormones.  Oh and bluebirds will fly out of her vagina when she gives birth, by the way.

August's first time working with clay

Today we went to the Children's Museum and things were a little better, even though every woman I encountered either had a narcoleptic newborn in some fashionable front carrier on her chest or was also bulging with a future tax credit in her biological oven.  It was easier today.  I don't know why.  I never know why.  And I never know when it is going to hit me either.

I know this makes me seem like a raging lunatic who is unapproachable or overly emotional.  But I'm not.  I'm just a mom who has lost three babies and has a really hard time bringing life to the ones I know God wants me to have.  I struggle daily, but I struggle because I know the reward is greater than my fight.  What I want people who want to support me to know is that the best way to support me is to just listen.  Call me and ask questions.  But ask questions about my struggle.  Ask questions about my son.  Ask questions about how I am feeling and when I answer honestly, just listen.

If you know someone who is experiencing infertility and just don't know what to do or say, please click here.  My guess is that you aren't alone.  None of us who experience infertility want you to have to be a part of this, but the honest truth is, we are glad you are because we can't do this alone.  We might try to do this alone, but we need you.

Thousand Mile Journey

I've been thinking about how to get started blogging again since my computer was the issue.  Duane got me a new computer for Christmas so I wouldn't have an excuse.  I guess I have to start somewhere.  So much time has passed; there's so much I want to tell you.  I can't cover it all in one blog and every time I get started, I stop because I think it's getting too long.  My solution is to just not worry about it.  I figure if I just start here and write, I will get better.  Eventually, I will be where I want to be with this blog.  I suppose life is like that.

Duane tilling the garden at the Pea Patch last spring on his only day off.  It took four hours and left blisters on his hands. 

I heard on the radio today a follow up on New Year's Resolutions.  I thought about my own--to plan out the garden, to get through next winter entirely on our own produce with things we've canned, frozen, and dried.  I plan to be more organized and not have piles of things with numbers that will eventually equal a stolen identity leaving me paranoid to just throw anything in the trash.  I'm also becoming a bit of a hoarder when it comes to bits of paper August has scribbled on.  I vowed also to come up with some sort of system to save money, pay bills systematically, and to bake bread daily.  We plan to be debt free so we can buy a house in the fall.  All of this goes without saying that I have also vowed to not eat too much, drink too much, exercise more, and call my family every Sunday.  Have I gotten to how bad I am at making sure Christmas cards and thank you notes are sent out on time?  What, am I crazy?  I thought so too.

This is one month's supply of drugs for an IUI cycle.  After five rounds of this, we are now on to IVF and our drugs are five times this.

 By the way, did I mention we have been trying to have another baby since August was six months old?  Most people just get drunk and squander away their savings on impulse purchases when they are trying to (not) have a baby and wind up pregnant.  Not us.

I'm not sure, but some nights it feels more like revenge and less like love and the beauty a couple shares when trying to have a baby.  Duane takes a little too much joy in the process.

It's almost February and I don't even think I stood a chance past the first week in January with goals like that.  Yet, when I look back on the past few weeks, I'm actually proud of what I have accomplished.  When I think about it in these terms, I realize it isn't even February and I've already experimented with a few different kinds of breads, frozen a bunch of sugar pie pumpkin puree from the farm for pies, breads and dishes later in the year.  I've taken inventory of the freezer and created a spreadsheet for the garden and begun to plan.  I've ordered seeds and enlisted help from nearby friends who are willing to help plant and weed in exchange for some produce.  I've started a calendar for meals and begun inputting recipes I've gathered from my favorite cookbooks I hope to make in the future.  I even attacked laundry mountain once this year, which is *almost* more than I can say for last year.  And our IVF cycle is scheduled for February!

In just a few days, with no air conditioning when it was 90 degrees outside, we canned 110 pounds of tomatoes in two days.  Four weeks later, we canned another 125 pounds.

When I look back at last year, I try not to be too hard on myself.  I try to look at what we've accomplished rather than get down on myself for what we didn't.  Of course Duane has his own set of things he wants to accomplish, but collectively, we've moved mountains even though some days it feels like the mountain is on top of us.  We paid off almost $10,000 in debt by cutting out things we thought we needed but don't, like cable and Starbucks.  We learned how to grow a garden and canned hundreds of pounds of vegetables.  We learned about organics and changed everything about the way we eat.  We learned sign language to be able to communicate with our daughter.  And oh yeah, there's that--we raised her into a toddler too, which is no small feat.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes when you just don't know where to start and everything feels overwhelming, start at the beginning .  The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step (that's a Chinese proverb).  And if you just keep placing one foot in front of the other, you might not get to the end today or tomorrow, but you will be farther along on your journey than you were when you began.  Keep looking back and you will see how far you've come and one day, you just won't need to look back again.

August is signing "more, more" with Daddy.  At just 17 months, she has about 300 signs and understands concepts like seasons, colors, temperature, feelings, days of the week, foods and family relationships.  She also knows about 50-75 animals and can differentiate between a variety of categories such as different types of birds, monkeys, fish and other sea creatures, and mammals.  She isn't deaf, so we didn't need to teach her sing and at first, it felt overwhelming since she didn't sign back for a few months.  But now it's like we opened a portal to be able to communicate with a little girl who has so much to say, but didn't have the ability to communicate the words in her brain to do so.

Leaving breadcrumbs

It's been three months since we arrived in Seattle.  When I started this blog a year and a half ago I had every intention of writing about being an insta-mom when we got our foreign exchange student Muro.  Now that I am a mom, I have no idea where the time went and there is this big abyss between this blog post and the last.  I suppose life is like that.  We spend our lives looking ahead, fixating on that end goal, where we want to be and at some point, we stop and have to connect the dots to figure out how we ended up where we are. Some of our living is deliberate while other times life just takes its course and Duane and I let it.  I wanted to start this blog up again for two reasons.  One is to give myself a roadmap to talk about the goals we set for ourselves as a family, as parents, as spouses, as friends, as workers, as Airmen, as humans.  The other reason is to give us a place to reflect on where we find ourselves when life takes its course and there is no trail of breadcrumbs to get us back to where things are comfortable and familiar.  In the end, it's all about the journey, the trail of breadcrumbs we leave along the way and the things we see and experience while leaving them, not the destination.  This blog is my trail of breadcrumbs.

I recently created a book for our families that took them back to our beginning.  It got me thinking about all the places we've been and how far we've come in just a short time.  

All those images and memories dance in my head and they emerge when something triggers them.  Big fluffy snowflakes make me think of Duane's smiling face when he was in Iraq.  I was living day to day then, each day waking up hoping it wouldn't be the day I had to leave him, yet wanting to leave Iraq and get home to Japan.  Then I spent the next nine months wishing time away so we could be together again.

Last night Duane and I watched the movie Click where the character in the movie, played by Adam Sandler, spends his days with a magical remote fast forwarding through life, hoping he will hurry and get to the good part only to find that the little moments in between where he finds himself is the good part.  It isn't until he is on his deathbed that he realizes he's inadvertently wished away all the good stuff.  Looking back over the whirlwind of the past five years, I want to make sure those moments in our lives find a home that will always be there.  I was able to capture some of that when I made that book, but I realized I've been a terrible keeper of our memories.  This fueled my decision to blog again.

Five years later, here we are.  How did we get here?

I'm not really sure, but it sure was nice to go back and connect the dots.  I realized in the process I hadn't left myself any breadcrumbs and trying to make sense of our journey was harder than I'd thought--we'd done a lot!  All of those memories in between might one day fade away.  At the same time, here we are in Seattle, making new memories, and we are here alone.  Our friends have to live vicariously through our facebook posts and our families cling tight to their email inboxes, hoping for another photo of August.  Whatever we do, whoever we tell, one things for sure: wherever we go, there we are.  Time will continue to pass and I don't want to forget what happens in the middle.  So come along with us on this journey and we'll get lost together.  At least we know there's a trail of breadcrumbs to get us back to the comfortable and familiar.