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.

Just another sorority girl

The Seattle Yacht Club

Last night was a pretty rare occasion for us.  We don’t usually go out, and we certainly never splurge.  Last night we did both.  It wasn’t a normal date night; it was the Puget Sound Association Phi Beta Kappa Chapter’s 60^th Anniversary dinner.  Dr. John Churchill, secretary of the national Phi Beta Kappa Society was the guest speaker and the event was at the Seattle Yacht Club.  This might not seem like a big deal, but it kind of was.

Dr. John Churchill inspired both Duane and me with his speech about higher education.

Most people when I tell them I am a Phi Bete, which I rarely do for this reason alone, think I am just another sorority girl.  Nothing against sororities, but Phi Beta Kappa isn’t one—it’s the nation’s oldest academic honor society.  It’s kind of a big deal.

Requirements for nomination are tough.  Less than 10 percent of the nation’s universities have a chapter and less than 10 percent of students at those universities are nominated for membership.  I was inducted in 2002, my senior year at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville.  I’m fairly certain if you knew anything about my past, you would know this was probably one of the proudest moments of my life.

Duane and I at an Airman Leadership School graduation

At any rate, when the opportunity to attend this dinner came up, I asked Duane if we could go.  I say “asked” because I know it isn’t in our budget, and I knew I’d have to buy a dress since we haven’t been to an event like this in ages.  Spend almost ten years in the military and see what happens to your wardrobe.  The nice thing about being in the military is any time there is a function, you can wear your service dress. 

I made a pretty good Flapper at a Decades party

We weren’t quite sure what to expect since Seattle is fairly laid back.  People wear leather and cargo pants to the opera.  No joke.  And no one stares.  It’s Seattle.  That said, I didn’t want anyone to stare at me for being over- or under-dressed.  Call me paranoid.  I wasn’t all that excited about shopping.  I hate shopping.  Last time I had to calculate on this level what I was going to wear was for a decades farewell party.  Everyone chose the 70s or 80s because it was easy; we chose the 20s.  It goes without saying if there was a costume contest, we would have won.  We looked awesome.  It isn’t that easy anymore to just slip into something comfortable.  Shoe shopping is a special kind of torture—not only are they extremely expensive, but I will only wear them once and I immediately regret my decision to be wearing any shoes about 14 steps into the evening.  In Mississippi, I just wore capri pants and flip-flops and looked fabulous.  Four pregnancies, 11 rounds of hormone-laden fertility treatments and two surgeries later, things don’t fit me like they did then.

Jessica Simpson can kiss my ass if she thinks I am going to wear these shoes for longer than five seconds.

Duane and I both managed to get through the formalities of trying very hard to look like we hadn’t tried hard at all to fit in at this event.  We had no idea what to expect or who would show up with their A-game for networking.  Turns out, we shared a table with the University of Washington’s provost, a World War II veteran, and a brand spanking new member of Phi Beta Kappa.  The best part about it all, is as I tried to practice my conversation skills, I played the “Who is the Phi Bete” game and learned every single man at the table was the spouse, not the Phi Bete.  Even the woman married to the WWII veteran—she was the scholar.  Girl power!

Our tablemates.  He is a WWII veteran, she is a Puget Sound Association Phi Beta Kappa Chapter past president.

At the end of the night, I felt like a piece of me had returned.  It was a piece that has been missing for a long time, and that piece is the fighter in me who worked full-time while going to college full-time.  It’s the woman who became a woman, not by wearing pretty clothes or learning how to do my own makeup, but by reading books, studying and learning how to argue and defend my beliefs.  Last night reminded me how I got here: by spending five years of my life working my ass off, nose in the books, learning, determined to make a better life for myself and my future family.  When we first moved to Seattle, people assumed we moved for Duane’s job.  I watched their faces turn to embarrassment when they would learn it was my job we moved for.  Last night I realized just how far I’ve come and how much farther I can go.  The American Dream is still alive and well and I am proof of that.

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.

Chicken Pot Pie

This is a fairly simple homemade chicken pot pie that is very forgiving and the recipe isn't exact.  It makes six to eight servings, depending on how many ladles of filling you prefer.  I thaw just enough puff pastry for the evening's dinner and I freeze the rest of the filling in quart freezer bags in portions perfect for another meal.  For this particular recipe, it makes three meals--one that we will eat now and two quart-sized freezer bags that I can pull out, thaw, ladle into oven-safe crocks or bowls and top with puff pastry for a quick weeknight meal.  This is everything you want from a chicken pot pie.  You could certainly substitute turkey or even go meatless and pack in the veggies.

1lb boneless, skinless chicken (white, dark or a combination), cut into bite sized pieces
6-8 c diced vegetables (I use celery, onion, broccoli, peas, carrots and mushrooms but you could use beans, potatoes, spinach, parsnips, or any other favorite vegetable.)
1 to 2 tsp dried thyme (you can use fresh thyme, just use about 1 tbsp finely minced instead
3 dried bay leaves
1 tsp dried rosemary, or 2 tsp fresh rosemary finely minced
1 tsp garlic powder or a couple cloves of finely minced fresh garlic
1 tsp black or 1/2 tsp white pepper
1 to 2 quarts chicken stock
1 c dry white wine
1 to 2 c half and half (to taste)
1/2 c to 1 c cornstarch mixed into a slurry with cold water
1 pkg puff pastry (found in the freezer aisle near the desserts) OR 1 package refrigerated pie dough OR any recipe of biscuit or dumpling--we prefer the puff pastry and that's what is pictured here
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/2 to 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese (depending on how many you are making)
1 to 2 tbsp sliced almonds

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees if you are using puff pastry.  If you are using biscuit dough, pie dough, or dumplings, preheat the oven to whatever temperature your recipe calls for to cook it.  If you would normally cook biscuits at 350 degrees, then preheat the oven to that.  Honestly though, this recipe is so forgiving that if you just put the oven at 375 degrees and cook the pot pie until whatever crust you put on it is brown, the filling will still be amazing.

In a 6 or 8 quart pot, add the wine, one quart of chicken stock, herbs and seasonings (don't add the salt yet) and the raw chicken.  Bring this to a boil and let it simmer uncovered.  And since the bottle of chardonnay is open, pour yourself a glass and start chopping vegetables.  Make sure you've thoroughly sanitized the area where you cut up the chicken.  Cross contamination is a huge concern when working with raw meats, especially chicken.

Side Note: We only use organic chicken.  You will never eat factory-farmed chicken again if you knew what happens to it.  This is a rare meal for us and a special one because organic chicken isn't that cheap.  If you are really ambitious, you could buy a whole, organic fryer and cut the meat off the bone and use it for the pot pie.  Save the wings and the carcass and make chicken stock from it along with all the vegetable scraps you will get from this dish.  If you haven't got the time tonight, toss the raw carcass along with the scraps into a gallon freezer bag and just start adding vegetable scraps to it and make stock another day when you have a little more time.  I'll post a blog later about how to make stock, but for now, start saving the vegetable scraps and meat bones in a gallon freezer bag.  Even save those onion skins and carrot peels!

Next, start chopping.  Tonight I used a combination of what I had on hand and what I like.  Plus this meal is a great way to add extra vegetables August might not eat alone.  I added 3 celery ribs finely diced; 4 peeled, thinly sliced carrots; half a finely diced yellow onion; 4 broccoli heads, stalks removed, cut in to bite-sized pieces; one bag of organic peas; and about 10 sliced crimini mushrooms. Once everything is all chopped up, just add it to the pot.  Turn the heat up to bring it back to a rolling boil.  At this point, you will want to assess your broth.  If you need some more stock or wine, add it to just barely cover the vegetables.  Make sure the chicken is fully cooked, however, before taste testing the broth.  You will also want to add salt and adjust seasonings at this point.

Once you are happy with the flavors, you can thicken the sauce.  I prefer cornstarch, but use whatever you like to use as a thickener.  You are going to need a lot of cornstarch.  Start with a small mixing bowl and mix 1/2 cup cornstarch with just enough water to cover it and stir.  This is how you make a slurry.  Make sure you've scraped the corners well and there are no lumps.  Slowly add the slurry to the simmering pot pie mixture and watch it thicken.  Keep in mind you are going to also be adding cream, so you want it about as thick as a pudding, maybe slightly thinner.  You can always add stock to thin it out too.  Tonight I had to use about a cup of cornstarch and it was perfect.

Cut the pastry into four squares.  I cut one of the squares to fit August's baby pot pie.

Add the cream slowly and stir.  I say add about a cup and taste the sauce.  Add more if you want a creamier flavor.  You actually don't even need cream, but we like it.  Of course the more cream you add, the richer it becomes and the more calories it has.  We add about a cup, which is just enough to give it some richness, but not enough to make it too heavy.  Taste the sauce again and adjust the seasonings, especially the salt.  This is what your filling will taste like, so it needs to be perfect--you don't want the filling to be bland since it will have a pastry covering it and will be difficult to season.        

Can you guess which one is for the baby?

At this point, your puff pastry should be pliable and thawed.  I only thaw one sheet for our family and even then I have some left to refreeze.  Each box comes with two sheets.  Don't try to unfold them until they are thawed since they are folded in thirds and you will be cutting this into four squares.  Set the thawed pastry aside and don't handle it until you absolutely need to.

You will need some oven-safe crocks or bowls for this.  Most cereal or soup bowls will work, but just make sure before you make this recipe you have something that you can put in the oven.  Place the bowls on a cookie sheet and fill each one with a few ladles of the hot filling.  Gently take a square of the pastry and stretch it slightly so it will cover the bowl in one pass.  Try not to stretch any holes in it because once there is a hole, it's difficult to patch and the pot pie needs a tight seal to get the big beautiful dome for a remarkable presentation. If you are using pie dough, biscuits, or dumplings, cover the pot pies similarly.  For the pie dough, roll out enough to cover and then reroll the dough for each one.  For the biscuits, drop a rounded heap on top of the pot pie.  For the dumplings, drop a few dumplings on top of the bowl.

Once the bowls have been covered, brush the pastry with the lightly beaten egg.  This step isn't necessary, but it will give the pot pie a nice shine and help the cheese stick to it.  Top each pie with a few tablespoons of shredded cheddar cheese and a teaspoon or so of sliced almonds.  Now you are ready to bake.  Pop them in the oven for about 15-20 minutes, depending on your oven.  Check them at about 12-13 minutes.  What you are looking for is a raised, golden brown crust.  The cheese should be melted and the almonds should be toasted.  I like to serve them on a side plate with a folded napking underneath to keep the bowl from sliding on the plate.

To freeze, ladle the number of ladles you needed for one dinner--for my family, we used ten ladles to fill all the bowls.  This amount fit well into a quart-sized freezer bag.  I cleaned it off, marked it with a sharpie including the date and what it was and froze it flat so I can stack it in the freezer with things like marinara sauce and beef stew.  When you want it for dinner, thaw it in the fridge a day or two before, heat it in a saucepan or microwave and ladle it in to bowls.  Add your topping and bake.  Dinner couldn't be easier or more of a treat.  

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.

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.