how to feel accomplished in 2 easy steps

1. start a blog
2. list day's activities on said blog
bonus step 3. mirate one's list

• woke up (always, always list this -always)
• stumbled around
• smelled and then cleaned up cat diarrhea from under the bathroom sink
• washed hands
• washed face
• went to city market
• bought food
• paid back vendors who nicely didn't charge me full price last week when I ran out of cash (this niceness sort of negates my market bugeting technique which is to leave when I am out of money)
• came home and started laundry, cleaned floors
• hung laundry out, continued cleaning floors
• went to parade!
• came home, started more laundry, summer-ized wood stove area and ate lunch
• hung out more laundry
• brought in laundry, first old (dumped on couch) then new (left damp in basket on porch), because of rain
• hung out old (damp) laundry, again.
• napped
• mowed half the lawn, brought in old laundry
• swept clouds - yes, CLOUDS - of pollen off the porch and washed porch down with old mop water
• watched the thunder storm

Now, here's how to feel unaccomplished in 1 easy step: go check out what this girl got done before 11 am.

and the horse you rode in on

It's been a crap day. How about some pictures?

The highlight of the otherwise crap day was remembering that I drove the t-bird to work (thanks, Dad). This one's for J.














Here's the new dye job, compliments of cho-girl. You can see my funny ear in this picture.



I sure am glad y'all are around. Let's all have a better day tomorrow, shall we?

some clarifications

I fear I have mislead you. I am not myself an Arm Wrestler. I am a Rule Keeper. That is, I watch to be sure no rules are broken under the table. My post is up now, over here, after some technical difficulties.

Also, I am not quite so nice as y'all think - my neighbor's Condition means many things to me - both positive and negative. We're tight, so it is generally positive, especially because they will at some point need infant-style childcare. Which, providing I knock myself up sooner rather than later, fits well into my financial plan, because I'd be the infant-style childcare. So the almost happy is actually pretty self-serving.

And, since I know you've missed hearing about my ovaries: I went to the RE's today. It's CD 10 and I've got one 10-11 mm follicle on the right and a nice 5 mm lining. "Good," according to my RE, who it turns out, developed a way to check estrogen levels in blood back in the 70's. Prior to this? Yes, my IVP friends, doctors did just what we've all done at home - looked obsessively at CM. Serious.

le sigh

My neighbor is knocked up. By accident. I am mostly happy for her.

(This is not yet news for public consumption, oh, ye local kids who know who I am talking about. She's only 8 weeks.)

just another morning in spring

So it's been weeks since I worked a full 5 days in a row. Weeks, I tell you. There's no school today and it smelled like spring when I opened the front door to let the cats in. I've given up on cutting out coffee and so I am here in the sun with a totally indulgent cup of 2/3 coffee, 1/3 heavy cream. And did I mention the sun? And the lack of school today?

I woke up and walked down here to pick up my milk first thing, because I have been slack this week and didn't pick up on Wednesday, which is my usual pick up day. The whole milk deal is a little shady, which I kind of love. You cannot buy or sell unpasteurized milk in Virginia, so people get around it by purchasing a share in a cow, so the milk is technically theirs and they consume it at their own risk. I do sometimes wonder what part of my cow I own - the tail? The cute nose? Anyway, I'm not one of those Raw Milk Will Save the World people, but I'm pretty happy to have local milk and I'm always after food that's had less shit done to it. And it is good - the real test for what to buy and eat in my mind. Local and organic and unprocessed are fab and all, but really, I'm into food that tastes good. Which this milk does. The poorly lit warehouse and the old soda refrigerators and the sneaky hidden key are all pure entertainment for me - the real deal is that I like this milk better. Now if only I could ride my bike down to the IX to get it....

Yes, it's true. I do not know how to ride a bike. I thought this wasn't news here on teh internets, but the injector has only recently discovered my lack of biking prowess and is threatening to come come south and remedy the problem. Others have tried - valiantly - before, but with no luck. (somewhat embarassing pics here)I'm not so good at the whole practicing thing, you see, and I think that's probably key. Anyway - I do want to know how. It fits in well with everything else about my "Lifestyle." But falling is so scary!

Moving on to other things I cannot do yet - let's talk about ttc, shall we? (That' trying to conceive for those of you just joining us here in Starr Hill.) Here's the lowdown from the RE's visit this week: I will be doing an unmedicated, monitored, home insemed cycle this month. Woo and hoo for the home insems! Go DIY AI go! There's several things going on here so I'll try to be all linear and shit so you can get the full picture and the you can weigh in as you see fit.

From the information gathered during my monitored cycle in January, the RE thinks that I had 2 problems: old Polly and low progesterone. Now we'll all bow our heads a minute to Polly and then move on because that particular problem is gone. Woo! So then the issue becomes the prog. Now, I knew from blood-work with my nurse practitioner that my progesterone was low back last summer and she put me on prometrium (by mouth - whew) for it, but her protocol for the dosage was very different from my RE's protocol and I don't wonder (or rather I do wonder) if hers was not so hot. See, the half-life of prometrium is 12 hours and my NP only had me take it once a day, so I'd imagine the level could float around more than would be ideal. The RE has folks take it 3 times a day, which know knowing the half-life of it (thank you Obsessors) makes far more sense.

Anyway. My RE deals with low prog in one of 2 ways: dose with prometrium or take...... clomid. His thought process is this: The corpus luteum is what produces progesterone after ovulation, so if there is a problem with progesterone, perhaps tweaking the follicle that will become the corpus luteum will make for better progesterone production. Plus the "bonus" of more follicles - i.e. more "targets" for the sperm to hit. He very, very slowly and seriously did the math for me on how the chance of multiples goes up in this scenario and listened patiently when I said in no uncertain terms that I was scared shitless of the mood swings I hear can come with clomid and said femara was a fine choice when I asked about using that instead. The man's a dream. And he delicately pointed out that, in his view, time is not an issue. I'm young and healthy, as they kept telling me before my surgery. All that said, I am going with no meds for this cycle other than a prometrium supplement. Because I like to ramp it up slowly.

As for the home insem part - well, there's some bureaucracy involved here. In the past, sperm that needs washing for an IUI would get sent to Richmond, washed and sent back. But my sperm don't roll like that because they've been Bio-Tranzed. The shipping method my donors (Remember them? You can't beat them with a stick.) and I are using, bio-tranz, only keeps those kids alive for 24 hours. Not enough time to get from the West Coast to Richmond and then here. They'd be dead. Now, the University has been promising my RE a machine for washing sperm here for sometime now. They said October 2007 at the latest, he told me. Then we both looked at the calendar and sighed. Any day now, they keep telling him. He sighed again. So if there's a machine here, I'll wash those prostaglandins right out of my sperm and do an IUI. But I'm not going to count on that, so we'll just all plan on one very last home insem. What do you say?

There's a mess of us cycling together this time, which has to be worth something. There's me, the injector's best girl KK, Mrs. B, Chips, Tiff, Katie who has no blog (ahem) from FF.... damn. I though there were more of us. Anybody else? Anybody?

finally!

It snowed! We are still ourselves, not Richmond!

None of the area schools had it together to close this morning, so we all trecked to work just as it was starting to come down and then closed by 9 am. Ok, actually, it was much more dramatic than that and involved me leaving my car at school and my assistant leaving her car at my house and my boss driving them both home, but the real point is: SNOW DAY! Hooray!

I will: nap, read, look at the snow, eat lunch (maybe at the diner if I can find a date), nap, look at the snow, watch the second disk of Gangs of New York (which I just read the book of), nap, look at the snow, and blog. I swear. There will be blogging.

i <3 lists

(I love a list, y'all - love, love, love a list. So tidy, so organized, so.... list-y.)

Things I saw on my way to the Valley today:

• One tall skinny white kid picking his butt on Main st. Really - he had several fingers up in there; I think it was an underpants problem. I laughed aloud. Loudly.
• The total and complete lack of the typewriter store. Oh, noes! I'd been meaning to get new typewriter ribbon there for years - litterally years. It was just over the bridge from my house, not a 5 minute walk and I always forgot to go in and get ribbon. And now? It is Teh Gone. I said, "oh, dear!" aloud. Really. (As a very, very sad commentary on the state of my town, there will probably be a ((good but)) overpriced restaurant there shortly. Let's play guess who will own it!)
• Millions of students crossing the street willy-nilly in front of any car they could. Yes, I did stop for them, but did they wave in thanks? Nope. Kids these days.
• Yet another skinny white kid (the place is lousy with them) - this one was doing something weird with his hair. He had both hands up in it, head bent down slightly and was shaking and ratting it around as if there was a spider in there he just had to get out. Then he thew his head back up, all Ferrah Fawcett-ish (or, rather just like my best friend in 2nd grade, Allison, used to do to get her "wangs" right), and looked smug. I was at a light, so I got to watch the whole damn thing. And, yes, I laughed outright again. And yes, I was alone in the car this whole time.

The rest of the drive was the usual - prettier than a picture. I took the slow way, 250 up to Afton and then 64 back down and over. The trees were all bare and a bazillion colors of brown and gray, except for a good-sized stand of pines off to the right just as you start to come down the west side of the mountain. I drove home in the dark and so there was less to see. Sorry to let y'all down.

pass me the torch, please

Pro.cras.ti.na'tion
Did you think I was done with those reports for my parent teacher conferences? Haha! Fooled you. I'm working on them right now. I swear.

Meanwhile, I'm cruising craigslist, because you know, the right temporary roommate could be out there right now, waiting for my house.

6:55 pm - three done, three to go. Oh, come on. Did you think I was going to do the ones for Tuesday tonight? Please. Time for dinner.

Here I am! Why does blogger use the time one started a post as the time it was posted? You'd think it would make sense to time-stamp it with the time it was published. Ok, 3 more reports.

9:30, reports written, dishes washed, laundry hung to dry by the stove. Check, check and check. I am turning into my mother. There are worse things.

Today, I went to Richmond with my long-suffering parents, to help my great-aunt move from one apartment to another, smaller apartment. I now want to be sure to set fire to my house just before I die, so that no one will ever have to look through my highly unorganized desk and deside if the random scribbled note from Sophie about going outside to play is worth saving or should be given away or thrown away. Oh, and how about the broken rice cooker? Nobody but me needs to deal with that. Why do we hang on to so much crap? Fear of death? I'm here to tell you that fear of death is going to make me clean out all the useless shit from my house. Someday.

(Except for the couple few things I brought from my great-aunt's house today, like the cool knife that straps to one's belt. And the 2-part cast iron pan. And the wire-mesh sieve.)

not good

It's only the 5th of November and already I am resorting to photoboothed cat pictures. Jesus. I blame my as-yet-unvanquished-motherfucking cold.

Meanwhile, it's a sauna in here, the stove's going so well.

peeves and other shit

My roommate situation is pretty good. I cannot complain.
But why, god, why don't people clean out the shower drain? Why?

I just broke into my stash of birthday popcorms from the Crazytown kids. What's better for a cold than popcorms? Don't answer that.

Also, my sourdough from yesterday turned out pretty good. I'm proud.

And cho-girl left her salty-caramels here. That is not a euphemism, but it should be. Damn those caramels are good. Now they are mine. What's better for a cold than salty-caramels? Don't answer that either.

gospel of morning

Hey! Look at this! It's almost 8 am and I am posting! No waiting until the last minute for me, no sir.
Okay, I am a little sad to be writing this early on a Saturday - I should be a the city market. But, alas, the market is over. Let's pause here for weeping....


(oh, the bunches of chard and boxes of chilis are no more, how sad the last of the goatcheese man's goat cheese looks all alone in my freezer, no more the snappy comments of the PED guys, oh, the loss of peaches from Birdy and bacon from Richard....woe, woe....)


Tissue? Here.

Now, on to the good news. I peed on a stick this morning! Woo and hoo! Yes, yes, I know you're thinking, "duh, Starrhillgirl, you *always* pee on a stick between CD 9 and 16. Not news, babe, not news." But, you see this stick handed me a nice peak reading on old Clear Blue, machine of my heart. Hooray! Peak! So my timing with New "Can't Beat It With A Stick" Sperm seems pretty good. I'm in the game y'all. Save me a seat, my friends - I'll be in the tww with you before you know it.

In other good news, despite the lack of the city market, I am having some fucking fabulous coffee. (I've given up coffee in the name of ttc, except for my weekly dose at the city market. What? Quit laughing, CHO-girl.) My last, possibly best sub of the week (you remember that my fab assistant had Teh Shingles, don't you?), was not only a great, great sub, she is also is part of a great family of coffee-ers. Because she is the best, she brought all us tired-seeming teacher a little sample bag of their coffee and - wow - it's great.

I've got a delicious cup of coffee, sun coming in the front windows, a hot fire (had to get up early for that one), a batch of sourdough waiting to be mixed up, a peak reading on the monitor, and Jelly Roll Morton on the radio. Good news all around.


So let's recap, for the ttc-er in me: that's surging lutenizing hormone and high estrogen - check, sperm on this side of North America - check, nasty Chinese herbs steeping in the kitchen - check, more CM than I care to admit - check, all fingers crossed - check.

i has

a fire.

Just a small one. Just for me. Or for you! If you want to stop by.... There's whiskey. You know you miss it - the fire and the whiskey. No? You're too far away? Why?

Well, then I'll just sit here with the newspaper and Hope For The Best™.

That's the M.O. these days - there are no more arguments to be made, links to be sent. There is only Teh Hope.

And the everlasting gratitude. Y'all know who you are.

Oh! And Happy Coming Out Day! Lesbian Dad says it all, as usual.

4:30

It used to be, back in the day here in Starr Hill, that things *happened* at 4:30: children and parents came and went from the house, the cats began to whine for dinner, I'd hit the point where I'd think I couldn't make it through another minute of the day. Back in the day, it was rough, you know. But into all that, damn near invariably, there'd be a knock at the door and my dear, dear friend from next door would stroll in. "What up, cat?" he'd say to the cats, and he'd chat up whatever combination of children where still here and when they left, he'd listen while I cried about how I "hate this...." (by which I meant everything, back in the day), and he'd scan the paper and he'd just be there. And I would make it. Through the new job and the crappy assistant and the children and parents who wanted me all the fucking time and the sad, sad break-up.

I could tell you how he also took care of my house when I was gone, and showed Sophie how to play frisbee in the street. How we'd sit on the porch with the paper and talk about girls or just say nothing. How we picked plums from the tree by the school on our way the the theater and how that was the best season those plums ever had. But even if I told you all those things in the tiny and precious detail that they deserve, I would not even scratch the surface of the wonder that is this man.

They're not made any better than this one.

Today, I was napping on the couch, and Sophie was hogging the internets and it got to be 4:30 and when I opened the front door to the knock that woke me up, there he was, same as ever - boy-huge shoes and falling-down pants, speaking to the cats and hugging Sophie.

He could not have been as happy to see me as I was to see him.

friday

Sophie fell asleep upside down in the chair after reading this afternoon. It was like relay napping - first me, then her. It is so fucking hot here that there is nothing else to do but lay around under the fan and nap and read. The humidity has made her hair very curly, which she hates, but I (secretly) love.

This morning was The Morning Of The Home Visit Marathon - 5 visits in 3 and 1/2 hours. Greenbriar to Belmont to Ivy to Ruckersville to Barboursville. And then back to Starr Hill in time for lunch with Jen at the Diner before picking Sophie up. Whew. It was like a whirlwind tour of the county. It's pretty here - it really, really is. The sun came out after a week of hiding and so it was suddenly again true Virginia in August - hot like you don't want to move and so hazy and humid you can hardly see the sky, let alone the mountains. But, lord, it is pretty.

Last night, in the midst of the sangria (oh god, so good...), I was talking with the girl I had dinner with about the land here. See, she just moved back to Virginia and she said something about wanting to write more and thinking that would be easier, somehow, at home. Even the sky looks different here, she said. (She was far more eloquent in the way she put it, but I was not taking notes - sadly.) I started running on about something I'd read in one of Montessori's books about how physicians in her day - say, 100 years ago - would send really sick folks back to the land where they were born. It was supposed to be healing, or something, because a person would have a connection with that land, having been exposed to it in infancy. Now, old Maria used this to help justify her ideas about oh-so-carefully constructing an infant's environment, because that's one of the first and best tools that babies use to create themselves, but it hit me like a ton of bricks that summer I was doing my Montessori training. I was away from home, from my bed and my house and my world, for the longest I'd ever been and I realized, I missed the land - flat out missed it. I do appreciate how pretty or breathtaking it might be somewhere else, but there is something else entirely about how it looks here, where I'm from (although, I wasn't born here, just raised here). There's a palpable sense of relief for me, flying home from somewhere, when I see that first bit of the mountains out by the airport, an almost painful feeling like falling in love when I cross the Blue Ridge at Afton and see the valley spread out, looking like it will never end, like it goes on and on until it gets to the Pacific a whole continent away.

So, even though I drove to hell and back, even though it was hot and humid in the car like a motherfucking sponge, it sure was pretty. Pretty like the end of summer, which it is, and stuck in my mind, helping me to create myself, still, like Maria said.