Posts Tagged ‘family’

Quick vent.

October 11, 2012

Mom: After entire conversation, as an afterthought. How is TMD?

Me: Well, we are hoping she has Hopeful Pregnancy Symptom, so that might be a good sign this has worked.

Mom: In Eeyore voice. Oh. Okay, well, I have to go now.

I know she isn’t happy about us trying for more children, but would it fucking kill her to pretend to be supportive in any way?


What I need to remember.

September 30, 2012


No step of this IVF is easy.

September 27, 2012

TMD has a lining thickness of 8.8. The minimum lining they need is 8. It appears I’m not the only one cutting it a bit tight.

She asked them what the nurse meant by that, and they said it referred to the number of eggs. They also told her to tell me I need to eat lots of protein, and the hopes are that more follicles will grow.

Before hearing any of the above news, I was already in breakdown mode. These hormones are killer. I’m going to choose to not worry. Her lining is thinner than mine was when I got pregnant, but it is still enough to foster a good pregnancy. My eggs may be fewer in number than last time, but at least I have eggs….let’s hope we have enough and the cycle can continue to move forward.

So rather than obsess over things I have no control over at this point, I’m going to eat some protein rich three bean chilli and watch a movie. TMD’s mum has the kids as I called her this morning and started crying Iike a lunatic because I couldn’t decide what to do today. I have to say, these horrible borderline hiccups with IVF and the accompanying emotions are more like what I expected IVF to be like the first time around. It’s just coming as a sort of shock because it wasn’t like this the first time around.

I hope this is not bad foreboding shit.

But on the bright side, the cycle is like 1500 cheaper than I thought it was going to be. So if eggsharing goes ahead, we aren’t hemmoraging as much money as we were going to.

Baby three, I want you. Your big sister and brother want you so very, very much (no, we’ve not told them we are trying, and no one has asked questions despite Coconut seeing us shoot ourselves up with needles). Your mummy wants you. I don’t know if the cat wants you, but I do know she likes babies better than three year olds.

So if you are out there in the magical ether, hear me. We are ready for you. You will have lots of fun and cuddles with us.

See you soon, and I promise that your in utero nickname probably won’t be as heinous as Mano or Torre, though if your mum has a weird dream giving her a nickname there’s not much I can actually do about that. Love you.

Happy birthday to me!

September 5, 2012

Woke up to three people very excited about my birthday. Snort exclaimed, ‘Your birthday is NOT tomorrow!’ and keeps singing Happy Birthday to me. Coconut said, ‘Mama, is your birthday a chocolate or ice cream one? I think chocolate.’

Snort picked out a Yankee Candle that was the exact flavour (Mango Peach Salsa) he bought for TMD last Christmas. Spooky.  Coconut got me the heavenly smelling Red Velvet. Made me laugh as they each picked a candle that was their twin’s favourite colour.

Anyway, I also woke up to this from my sister.

“You’re Smart and Pretty and Cool and I Want to Be Just Like You,” says Stephanie Tanner to DJ Tanner

When I was little my sister was not a human.  She was my God.  She was defiant, not eating any foods that resembled membranes.  She checked the packaging on every meat we ingested to make sure it wasn’t killed by our father’s hands pulling a trigger.  I trusted her above all other sources.  I ate what she ate.  I wanted to do what she did.  She was my world.

My sister was impossibly intelligent.  My mom would not let her take baths because she would read in the tub until she got wrinkly +hours.  When we peaked in the shower she was just doing the same thing… with the water spout turned inwards.  She could read a book in hours.  I watched her eat up novels, one by one… in every place we traveled.  I always wanted to be in the world she had found for herself as I clumsily trounced through my life.

My sister was my imagination.  Around her I wasn’t Blondie.  I was a mermaid.  I was diving in our pool not for golf balls, but for magic shells.  Anything could exist.  Anything could be.  It didn’t matter if I was three or four or fix or six.  We’d build cruise ships out of rafts and on them our dolls would float to exotic places that I knew one day I’d see myself.  We had a Saturday night sneak out club.  We wrote in notebooks of the places we’d escape to.  We could sleep on the roof, under the table, anywhere…. Though we may have never left our beds it was about the possibility of the all in front of us that made me feel like the world wasn’t impossible to conquer.

My parents divorce was almost as scary as thunderstorms.  When either happened I would crawl into my sister’s bed.  I knew she could keep me safe.  I knew she understood something I didn’t.  Somehow it all made more sense when I saw that she was OK.  She was stronger than I was… older and wiser.  I managed to get through everything mostly unharmed from her hugs and occasionally covering up my ears while turning up the TV to mute out the arguing.

My sister and I thought we could get anything via rhyme.  Our favorite restaurant was Red Lobster, though both of us didn’t eat seafood.  We wanted to go simply to eat baskets of the cheesy bread that came before any meal.  Together we’d sing songs of why our parents should take us, snapping our fingers in a way only a very convincing childhood duo could do.  This was the stuff of legends.  THIS is why our diet consisted of a lot of cheese bread.

At some point I became the annoying little sister instead of the friend.  I wanted to follow my sister around everywhere.  I wanted to understand her.  I wanted to read her diary (and to my shame, I did, even leaving comments in the margins).  I felt left out as she grew up without me.  Me, without boobs & wearing a pink K’s School of Dance shirt when I thought I could do jazz competitions for a living.  I didn’t know what I wanted without her.  I didn’t know what I was supposed to do on my own.

Then my sister left for college.  Occasionally, we would get lost in the car a lot in the upcoming years… once for hours trying to find Old Navy.   Another time we got hopelessly lost coming back from {awesome amusement park}.  Lost we were never lost.  We laughed.  We talked.  My sister is the reason I’m not afraid to be unsure as an adult.  I can enjoy every moment of uncertainty and love the people around me like crazy doing it.  It’s OK to be unsure.  It’s OK to not follow anyone’s plan.  It’s OK to be different.  These are all the things I gathered from her wisdom & still all the things that get me through every single day I live to date.  I still totally suck at directions, but it works out alright because I’m always open for adventure.

Years later my sister is a mother to twins and a loving wife in a just over ten year relationship.  It’s funny because she always told me she had twins in her belly when we were little. I thought it was because she didn’t want me to punch her in the stomach, but perhaps it was something more.  She is selfless and patient in this way I have never seen a human be.  She is a fun and creative mom and it makes me giggle with glee that now her children will get to dive for mermaid/men shells.  I know that when they are sad she holds them just like she used to hold me when I was angry or scared.  I know that when they are lost she will laugh and show them that misdirection can end up beautiful.  I know she’ll protect them in a way I used to think was reserved just for me. I know she’ll show them that it’s OK to be different, in fact, it’s preferred.

And watching her instills a sense of faith in me that love and family can exist in a remotely non-painful way.  To see genuine love, something my sister and I always believed in,  get found makes it feel safe for me to hold out for something just as great when all my friends seem to be moving on in their lives.  I’m strong alone, and because of my sister I know that it’s not about if it exists, it’s about being patient and just having faith in yourself until it gets there for you.

Today is my sister’s birthday.  Though it kills me every single day to not be around her and her lovely wife and children she’s with me in every moment.  She’s the stack of books I can’t wait to consume on my bedside table.  She’s the little dance I do in front of the mirror as I yell out lyrics she taught me. Most of all when I ever feel lost or confused she’s the voice in my head that keeps me calm and safe.  She’s the first true love I ever experienced… the kind of love that only we can understand.

Happy Birthday, Existere.  I love you more than words can say, and though I probably don’t say it nearly enough, thank you for everything you’ve taught me and for everything you’ve contributed to who I am today.  You’re the most wonderful person I have ever had the chance of getting to know and you are truly my hero.

Wow, huh? Just wow.


The view from here.

July 1, 2012


Reunited with my money…now only nappies for one kid forEVAH….for now, anyway.

June 30, 2012

We are in Country A!

Coconut survived a three hour journey to the airport, a night in the hotel, three hours at the airport, an eight hour flight, another hour at an airport, and an hour drive to my mom’s house with no accidents. I think it is safe to say we no longer need to carry three pairs of spare trousers and four extra pairs of underpants everywhere we go.

We’ll be at her house today, but tomorrow we are driving to…uh…north, very north, and we’ll be in a cabin in the woods for a week. Hope your week is nice, all.

Thing I am most ashamed of.

May 7, 2012

The obvious, and most true, answer is losing my cool with my kids. I have written here before about my struggle with anger, usually on a specific day of my period cycle every month. I am fine the rest of the time – I do not hit, smack, or yell. I’m fucking awesome. Except when I’m not. I am deeply ashamed of this and will probably return to the subject again.

But for now, I’ll talk about what keeps coming up in my head when I read the comment by @tatchull that suggested I write on this topic: a trip to the doctor when I was about eleven or twelve.

I don’t remember why we were there. My mom took me. My mind seems to colour in the details as being there for a jab/injection of some sort, though my experiences in therapy years later suggest something else. But perhaps I’ll return to that. Whatever the reason we were there, my Mom and me, it seemed pretty harmless and not a big deal.

Until he asked me to take off my underpants.

He had asked if I’d started my period, and when I said no, he said he wanted to look inside my vagina to see what was going on. As an adult, this shit boggles my fucking mind. What does my vagina have to do with my period?!?! And why would my mom, a medical professional, countenance this sort of invasion of a young girl?

So I was naked, ashamed, lips spread open while a man I did not know peered into my vagina, his face so close I probably felt him breathing on me. He said my hymen was still intact, and that I would need to come back in six months if I still had not started my period as he would have to cut my hymen open (!!!!!!!!!) so the blood could come out.

My mom thanked him and said we would come back if needed. Thank fuck my period came.

I don’t understand any of this, even now. I am ashamed of my mother, that she let this man do this. That she let him touch me, talk of cutting me. Surely she knew letting a strange guy rupture my hymen was unlikely to suddenly bring me to physical maturity? The whole thing confuses me. And, my GOD, if a doctor tried to mess with either of my children’s genitals – well. I’d stop that shit, and we would never return. I would talk to my child about it and try to help them make sense.

My old therapist, L, (if you are a new reader, I am a counsellor. My intensive training required each candidate to undergo extensive personal therapy – and I LOVED it!!) made a suggestion one day. Might my mother have taken me to the doctor specifically to check if my hymen was intact, given the high probability of sexual abuse from my father? Just to make sure that whatever else had happened, I was intact? As disturbing as this suggestion was, at least it makes sense – and happened because my mother was trying to protect me.

I have spoken to my mother about this incident. She says she doesn’t remember it ever happening. So she either wants to keep the truth from me, or it was a such a non-event to her that she genuinely doesn’t recall it. I think it’s the second option. Given that she insists on keeping me up to date on a family member who DID sexually molest me, given that when I told her she told me to shut up, given that when I repeatedly told her as an adult she just acts embarrased, well, I can believe she might not consider this event a big deal.

I don’t write this to say I had a bad mother. She did, and continues, to protect me in the way she can. But was it enough, when I was so young, and that man looked at me in that intimate way?

It was not.

So I feel shame, on many levels. But the main one is not my own shame, but the shame of my mother. Her shame around my sexual self (another long blog post or two, folks), her shame around any sexuality, how her shame impacted her ability to say NO or to allow me to say it. I don’t remember if I tried. Probably not. Sometimes, when you’re little, you need someone to say no for you. This is a lesson I have learned, carved deep into my core self. I needed someone to say NO, to stand up for me, and they didn’t….in the way I needed. That being said, I don’t remember ever going back to see this doctor, so perhaps she did what she could, when she could. I forgive her.

This post brought to you by my compelling desire to write, and complete inability to do so. Generous people have given me funny, thoughful, and factual suggestions for posts. Click here to see them, or add your own. I’ll work through them all in time.

I am more awesome for my mother in law than my wife. Whoops.

May 4, 2012


TMD jokingly asked if I was dating her mother yet. I might be.
She’s (mother in law) been wanting this out of circulation dvd series. I found a bargain on ebay, wrapped it up, wrote her a letter- and then wrote some scavenger hunt clues to hide around her house.

This is all as a thank you for all the help she’s given us since we have moved. And just a general present for fun.

Let’s hope I get a chance to hide this stuff soon! Like today.

Give and take.

May 1, 2012

The awesome pajamamommas (go see their blog!) says: I’m curious to hear more about what it’s like to live in a country that’s not the one you grew up in. What do you miss most about Country A? What wierd cultural differences have you encountered? (if you can say without giving away your top-secret location).

Country B does not have tablecloths as people in Country A know them.

It sounds simple, but that’s a pretty profound difference. Something that a whole country of people – jillions – barely think about. But if you want a tablecloth like that here? They literally do not exist. Other kitchen things are that a ‘spatula’ is referred to as a ‘fish slice,’ which grosses me out considerably because, well, I have a little problem with seafood. Remind me to tell you about that sometime.

I guess there are more important things to worry about than kitchen utensil themed linguistic differences, though. Like the people.

People over here are generally more aware of what is going on in the larger global community. Politics are discussed more in casual conversation (my mother found that quite difficult, particularly our family and friends being critical of Republicans!). Our media isn’t as biased or openly, uh, ignorant as many channels in Country A.

People don’t go camping in great big forests, but in wide open fields. This is one of my most difficult things to get over, and I don’t think I’ll ever reconcile myself with it. We have found a few places with trees to camp, but by and large big ass fields seem to be the order of the day. People also often equate trips to the beach with bringing a big windbreak (like a portable wall, seriously) and heavy rainfall.

What do I miss about Country A? My family and friends. Big expanses of land. Huge forests and bodies of water everywhere (where I grew up, you were never more than a mile from running water!).

Generally, though, I prefer it here. I like the history – you can be in a McDonald’s and it happens to be a building older than Country A. Political ideaology is a lot more progressive and liberal. We, as a gay family, have rights here that are probably years away in Country A. This year, in fact, our civil union will probably legally be changed to marriage.

I don’t like that the houses are waaaaay smaller. That closets really don’t exist. That most houses are attached to the houses on either side.

I used to not like the crazy ass driving – cars parked all over the fucking road, and you just weave back and forth over the centre line like nobody’s business. That doesn’t bother me anymore. Nor does driving a manual/stick shift – most cars here ARE manuals. If you can only drive an automatic it says so on your license, like, hey, check out THIS fucking loser!

I guess the odd thing for me is that I’ve lived virtually all of my adult life here. After I completed my first degree in Country A, I had a year in between where I alternately lived out in the middle of the woods – just me, alone, on 500 acres of woodland – and lived illegally with TMD in her dorm room in Country B. Then I moved.

It was difficult having to learn many skills I had previously learned whilst in university in Country A – everything was different. Cheques/checks, bus riding procedures, big ass city subways/tubes, just everything. Rather than being an adventure, it made my first year here rather difficult as we lived in the country’s largest city and I knew no one other than the other people on my MA course, and we were all mature students living all over. I’ve only kept in touch with one person from that course, and she’s probably reading this.

But many of the true adult skills I’ve learned – how to get a mortgage, starting a retirement fund, becoming a professional accredited counsellor – well, those are things that I would have to relearn if we ever moved back to Country A.

At this point, I’ve been here so long that I have to really stop and pause to think of the ‘Country A word’ for certain things. I’ve always felt more at home stepping off the plane here than when I go back to Country A. Again, ask me and I’ll tell you more about that sometime.

The main issue is really my family. I can’t help but think that we are all getting older, and I am cheating my mother and stepdad out of being involved with my children on a daily basis. That we are cheating ourselves out of being involved with them. My sister is the one we have appointed as legal guardian should anything truly terrible happen, yet she’s only met the kids twice.

I’m definitely past the point of thinking of my primary, immediate family as myself and my sister/parents. Now it has shifted to what is best for me, my wife, and our children. It is better for us to live here. Laws protect us here as lesbian women, as home educators, etc. Our lifestyle here matches what we want – to move to Country A would require massive rejigging of how we conceive of our family as working.

Do I miss nice, big gas guzzling environment killing cars? Sure. Sometimes. But do I love the ethos here of walking everywhere? Yes.

Do I love being able to stay home with our children, secure in the knowledge that no one questions we are both the moms and we can educate our children as we wish? Yes. Do I miss my family every day and long to live within a half hour of them, rather than half a world away?


This post brought to you by my compelling desire to write, and complete inability to do so. Generous people have given me funny, thoughful, and factual suggestions for posts. Click here to see them, or add your own. I’ll work through them all in time.

Shit I found today, our one week anniversary of moving in:

March 28, 2012

1. A *pile* of about ten garden gnomes, all smashed up and beheaded.

2. Three more filthy toothbrushes in various places.

3. Receipts from 2007 stuck onto the white board.

4. The realization that the white board has been written on in permanent marker.

5. A bed frame in the greenhouse.
6. Six screwdrivers. Handy for getting out the screws holding every window shut.

7. Seven trays, that you buy big flats of flowers on. Every one full of muddy, diseased looking water.

8. Three large moth eaten sponges on a shelf that was just ‘cleared’ of junk. If the sponges were keepers, I can only guess what was not. Except I don’t want to think about it.

9. Three bottles of Flash bathroom cleaner and two toilet bowl cleaner liquid things. Odd considering I gagged multiple times while cleaning the nightmarish bathrooms today. (Both brand new and gorgeous, just covered in dry pee, hair, fingerprints, etc. None of it ours.)

10. I think the garden gnomes deserve another mention. They are so carefully heaped in a pile. I’m going to take a picture and will share once we have the internet up and running again.

Have you ever found weird shit when you moved someplace new? My mother in law suggests perhaps the gnomes are part of a bizarre ritual. All I know is that I’m going to sneak out one bag of trash/treasure to her every day.

Bye bye weird and creepy shit. Don’t tell on me, you lot.