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The Groups
Does GM know something I don’t know?
A Grandmother and Granddaughter sit, snuggled up with warm cups of coffee, gazing at the memorial to Princess Diana on the BBC.
The boys choir begins to sing and GM begins to slightly sway. She turns to the Granddaughter and states, “When you have your baby we will make him sing in the boys choir.”
For the record the progesterone is working like crazy and my morning temperatures are insanely high. I am beginning to glue gun cotton balls around my heart to protect it when the inevitable happens.
Annoyances: Television Edition
- Star Jones hosting anything. Especially annoyed by her hosting the New York City episodes of House Hunters. Cringe.
- Commercials that are insanely louder than the programs. GM & I like to get our Jessica on and watch back to back episodes of Murder She Wrote. The commercials are crazy loud. Jennifer Love Hewitt is screaming at me to use proactive. The old Surgeon General is yelling that we need life alert. Don’t they know that old people are watching Jessica and that chances are we have the volume just where we need it? Stop yelling at me.
- Animated promos/ads for other tv shows while you are currently watching a show. Do you know how creepy it is to be watching someone about to be killed and then an animated person walks across the bottom of your tv with a flashlight and tells you to watch The Closer? Seriously scary.
- Jon Stewart is on vacation. So annoying. Can’t he do a broadcast on location? Or just write the jokes & pay an intern to read them. So much is going on this week & I just find myself craving his perspective.
- Summertime tv is, for the most part, sucky. Now I will admit that I do have some favorites that are on this time of year- I love Top Chef, My Boys, Big Love and The Closer. I put up with Design Star, Kyle XY and Big Brother. But I am soooo ready for the new fall season. I check my tivo every day to see if they have any shows that I can set to record. Just knowing that something exciting is in my to-do is thrilling. What shows are you guys looking forward to?
At least football season is officially starting in our house this weekend. Seriously- that will thrill GM a million times more than Jessica, and we do love our Jessica.
Oh & you know what else happens this weekend? Or rather the monday following it? Labor day. Sheesh! How did that sneak up on me. As Ms. D was leaving today (woo hooo thursday respite! 2 hours reading a book at a café) she gave me a hug and told me to have a good holiday. How is it that August is ending & I had no idea. And please don’t tell me that all of my blog friends are going to be off vacationing with Mr. Stewart. While Labor Day will give Mother a 3 day weekend, really, for me, it’s just a monday with more housework.
Talula the Leo
Finally, I can bring you my belated show and tell photo post.
As is the case around this time of year Talula stops caring about her hair (much like her Mother stops caring about toenail polish). Her hair gets so matted and unbrushable that she is miserable. Chunks of dander form and she just tends to sit in a cool, shaded spot in the den and sulk.
Last year the place I used was kind of awful. The people working there were heavy smokers and Talula was in a cage right next to some very loud dogs. Her cut wasn’t that great either as they didn’t even touch her tail.
Calling around to find a place that will shave your cat is an experience in and of itself. Luckily I found a place on the third try and was able to book her a grooming appointment for this morning.
According to the hip cat ladies at the cat grooming place “Talula is just the sweetest cat!”. Heh. I wouldn’t ever describe my cat as sweet, but maybe she was just thrilled to have the matted hair shaved off.
In any case I think she looks adorable. Here is a better photo of her lion tail.
Pedantic Feet
What I am about to tell you might seriously gross you the fuck out. I am sorry in advance.
I can not remember when I last painted my toenails. No, that is not the gross bit. The gross bit is that they are, indeed, painted. Meaning at some point I did put polish on them, but it has been so long that I have no viable memory of painting them.
When I am home I wear your basic black flip-flops to jaunt about the house. If I am going out I sock up and don my black chucks. I’m not really a summer shoe gal. My feet are ginourmous and for some reason strappy sandals look more like river rafts harnessed to my feet.
At some point, heaven knows when, I realized that my toenail polish was chipping off. But you know that impulse that so many of you have that would trigger you to either get a pedicure or touch up the toes yourself? Well I seem to lack that.
Instead I am sort of mesmerized by the chipping and flaking. I am convinced that the pattern forming on my middle toe looks like Hawaii. The polish on my pinkie toe is nearly gone.
This is the sort of thing that might have depressed me- the realization that I don’t care about my feet. The things that ground me to the earth, the bane of my growing up years, the thing that leaves my imprint on the beach (if I ever went there). But now I am just sort of amused by the sad state of my feet.
Really the greatest amusement my feet bring now is a little game I like to play with Talula. I call it the “watch out- I might step on your tail” game. Of course I never do step on her tail, but for some reason she is convinced that one day I won’t see her so if I get within a foot (heh) of her person she emits a glass breaking mew.
So for some reason I feel like if I ever got knocked up I would have better looking toes. I also feel like I would dress better and be way more in tune with fashion. I imagine that I will eat amazing and pure meals and that I will become an expert on skin creams. Pregnancy will help me become a better woman. It sucks that I am holding back now, but it’s he truth: I feel stilted. And my toes look like shit.
Moon stuff
The startup page for my internet connection is a fun little scene theme from google. As the day progresses the little scene changes color and goes from pink sunrise to a groovy purple evening glow. You can have any number of things visible on the startup page. For example I have a widget that shows my e-mail, one that shows current top news stories, another one that is supposed to be a game like tetris (except it always says “unable to load”) and of course there is the phase of the moon widget.
For some reason I just really dig watching the moon evolve from new to full. Full moons excite me.
And because I am in to all things moon I would like to tell you that tonight is a full moon and tomorrow morning (5:52am eastern) there will be a lunar eclipse for something like 90 minutes. (but not sure how it will be visible at that time of day)
I wish I could be a moon goddess.
Tips for Sticking?
There are a handful of you that I know I could e-mail this directly to, but I am feeling the need to have a mass collection of tips. So please tell me everything to try and or avoid when it comes to PIO injections. I am pretty certain that Mother will be able to help, but just in case, I want all of the facts.
I really hate that it is an intramuscular shot. I always felt so empowered by the sub-Q injects, so proactive. But after lots of weekend reading and googling I am officially in a state over how much it is going to hurt and bruise.
But I plan on trumping my LP big time.
The Iceman Cometh
And all I can do now is wait. We all know how fanfuckingtabulous waiting is. But I am glad to be waiting with expectations. The year that I have allowed cobwebs to settle around my poonani was filled with very little emotion in the waiting game. Sure there was the emotional moment of getting a period each month & realizing, “oops, I’ve done it again.” And by it I mean ovulated for no reason other than to pass the time.
This month I did something proactive and while it still feels like a lottery ticket that I will check the paper for every morning it is something. I have introduced sperm to the equation. Now we get to see if the math works out.
Doing a home insem was a bit freaky. Many years ago, when I first decided to become an SMC, I knew that I needed to get a doctor. I wanted text books and experts and diagrams and a plan. I wanted there to be people in white coats. I honestly didn’t know that sperm could be delivered to ones home. And even if I had known I most certainly would have shuddered at the thought.
I believe firmly that specific people do specific things. I am not a DIY kind of gal, but I am a fantastic call someone to do it for you person. Don’t get me wrong, if I can do something myself I will, but I am the last person to try anything that I know I am not capable of doing.
I will gladly write your thank you letter, dramatically read you a novel and/or make you a cup of coffee. Those are some of my most basic skill sets. You won’t find me tinkering with a car or trying to fix a crazy plumbing problem. I am not the girl to agree to cater a function or cut someones hair. However if you ask such things of me you can rest assured that the job will get done as I will call in the best mechanic, plumber, caterer and stylist.
So this getting knocked up thing? Well I called the friggin specialists and that got me nowhere. Somehow I managed to convince myself that I just might be able to do this myself. You’d think having control would be thrilling, but honestly last night, as I but on Van Morrison and dimmed the lights, I was scared to death. I could think of a million ways to fuck up an insem (pun not originally intended). I had a panic about freezing my fingers to the tank, panic about not thawing the vial correctly, panic about getting the catheter firmly onto the syringe, and don’t get me started on the panic of shooting up with air bubbles. Quiffes be damned!
So after the deed was done instead of feeling empowered and excited I felt kind of foolish. As in, “what makes you an expert to do this?” I expect I will get over that and move directly along to feeling like I got the timing wrong or to feeling like it could never work. And then, from what I remember, there is the feeling that it TOTALLY worked and my body will become one giant phantom symptom, and then the dread and doom will begin to take over and I will begin to cringe at all things pink and blue. And then I will get my period and link back to this post as a way of saying, “See! I told you I was no expert!”
One more date with the Captain this evening, I’m a right slut, and then monday the tank will return to sea.
Tanks for the memories.
Well I promised a play by play of sorts so get ready people, there is a positive OPK in the house. Tonight I will be Tank Girl.
Dear Calliope,
Here is your horoscope
for Thursday, August 23:All of your planning really comes together now, and whatever you’re doing today works nearly perfectly. See if you can find a way to squeeze a few moments of relaxation out of your schedule.
So I guess we shall see once the 2pm OPK test results are in if I am going to be, er, doing something today.
2pm is also the time Ms. D shows up for my afternoon of thursday respite. The fab news is that, at last!, the café down the street is open. I have a great book I am reading so I think I will take that rather than my laptop this afternoon. Or maybe I should take my laptop as well. Hell, it has been so long since I just went to a café all willy nilly I am a bit of a loss as to what to pack.
I woke up super early this morning to clean the house. I spent nearly 3 hours scrubbing and mopping and pledging and wiping and vacuuming and changing sheets and cleaning up clutter. The house looks so fresh now. A clean house is one of the best fixes for so many things in my life. There are so many metaphors that can be drawn from it- but really the thing that comes to mind is that great South Pacific song: “I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair.” Except instead of “man” I just sing whatever else I need to wash out of my life. Clean counters = clean life. Ah the mojo of Mr. Clean…
I’m totally sucking at coming up with photo friday theme, by the way. I’ll post over there in a mo’, but just a heads up I think I will be totally slacker and suggest something like “photographer’s choice”. Participation is down and I just want the inspiration to be as organic as possible.
Damn is my house clean.
Now don’t get me wrong, I clean every thursday morning as I want Ms. D to sit in a pleasant house. She has told me about some of the other places she sits and I strive to be the opposite. I want/need Ms. D to be around for a while. But right now, as the potent smell of probably earth killing cleaning supplies wafts through the house I just feel so good.
Dear Calliope,
Here is your horoscope
for Thursday, August 23:All of your planning really comes together now, and whatever you’re doing today works nearly perfectly. See if you can find a way to squeeze a few moments of relaxation out of your schedule.
So I guess we shall see once the 2pm OPK test results are in if I am going to be, er, doing something today.
2pm is also the time Ms. D shows up for my afternoon of thursday respite. The fab news is that, at last!, the café down the street is open. I have a great book I am reading so I think I will take that rather than my laptop this afternoon. Or maybe I should take my laptop as well. Hell, it has been so long since I just went to a café all willy nilly I am a bit of a loss as to what to pack.
I woke up super early this morning to clean the house. I spent nearly 3 hours scrubbing and mopping and pledging and wiping and vacuuming and changing sheets and cleaning up clutter. The house looks so fresh now. A clean house is one of the best fixes for so many things in my life. There are so many metaphors that can be drawn from it- but really the thing that comes to mind is that great South Pacific song: “I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair.” Except instead of “man” I just sing whatever else I need to wash out of my life. Clean counters = clean life. Ah the mojo of Mr. Clean…
I’m totally sucking at coming up with photo friday theme, by the way. I’ll post over there in a mo’, but just a heads up I think I will be totally slacker and suggest something like “photographer’s choice”. Participation is down and I just want the inspiration to be as organic as possible.
Damn is my house clean.
Now don’t get me wrong, I clean every thursday morning as I want Ms. D to sit in a pleasant house. She has told me about some of the other places she sits and I strive to be the opposite. I want/need Ms. D to be around for a while. But right now, as the potent smell of probably earth killing cleaning supplies wafts through the house I just feel so good.
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