tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79981665878161216792024-01-09T23:26:28.041-08:00My Path to MommyhoodFollow me as I move beyond parenthood into childfree infertility resolution -- things may not have worked out how we'd hoped, but "success" is redefine-able!Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.comBlogger805125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-5570740295423850922021-02-19T12:20:00.000-08:002021-02-19T12:20:02.410-08:00Moving Forward Is Sooooo Hard<p>Mentally I have a paper bag to my mouth and my head between my knees right now, hyperventilating. </p><p>Why? </p><p>Because I started my new space. And I'm not saying this my last post on My Path to Mommyhood, mostly because I like to leave doors open (literally, I am physically incapable of closing cabinet/closet/bedroom/bathroom doors all the way, just ask Bryce), I don't want to say LAST. I'm keeping this space open. </p><p>But, the NEW (albeit still under construction) space is here, with a brand-spanking new first post: </p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://findingadifferentpath.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Finding A Different Path</a></p><p><br /></p><p>I am excited at a new adventure. I've had support in making this move for a while, and it's just that taking the actual leap is SO HARD. I don't like to let go of things. I keep singleton socks far longer than they deserve, because I just keep holding out that the missing one will magically appear. I have underwear I bought forever ago that doesn't even fit but I can't bring myself to throw it out (some of them have cupcakes on them! Although cupcakes are probably one reason they don't fit anymore). I keep pens that have run out ink for some reason. Oh, and once upon a time I did 13 cycles of IVF, which also is indicative of my complete inability to LET THINGS GO. </p><p>So I'm going to cheat. I'm linking to Finding a Different Path here but not retiring this space. Once I figure out how to do tabs in the new space, I want to have a way to link to this space too. If that's even possible. I kind of need some blog-tech-savvy help on some of the ideas I have rattling around. It took me the better part of the day to just get a basic setup going. </p><p><br /></p><p>I am excited to write under an umbrella that matches my authentic experience -- I've felt wrong about being known as "My Path to Mommyhood" now that it's been so long since I've actually been on that path. "Mommy" has absolutely nothing to do with me. This space holds ten+ years of my life -- unimaginable pain, joy and hope, and a resiliency that I'm so proud of. But it's time to move forward and show that I am truly embracing this path I'm on. </p><p>I write because it helps me to process, but I write for the community, too. This community has saved me time and time again and I am SO grateful to you for reading, for sharing in my pain and joy and ridiculous laughter, for helping me to feel less alone and hopefully for me to return that favor to some of you. I am excited to continue being a part of the community, just differently! </p><p>Thanks and see ya later! <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Like really, please see me later, I am feeling a smidge insecure and needy about this whole change thing. A friendly comment would make me feel so much less like I'm entering into the Bermuda Triangle of blogging...) </span></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-30681818845139783632021-02-16T17:48:00.001-08:002021-02-16T17:48:22.259-08:00Taking the Plunge<p>I did something on Saturday that scared me. Every so often, I like to push myself to do something outside my comfort zone, even though I fully admit that I will be neurotic and vocally fearful leading up to the moment that I do said thing. </p><p>It started with being late after school on Thursday. I had a meeting with the reading specialist, and then I stopped in to chat with my friend who teaches the 12:1:1 program (all but social studies, which is mine), and then I made it to the other reading specialist's room to chat, and really I was just wasting time bigtime. But, we never see each other and are always rushing from place to place, so it was nice to actually have a social interaction. (A masked, socially-distant interaction.)</p><p>At my first stop, the reading specialist brought up the Polar Plunge. That a small group of people from my school were doing it on Saturday to support Special Olympics, and it was a bucket list thing for her, and she thought I should give it a shot too. </p><p>HELL NO was my response. </p><p>Not 45 minutes later, I was 80% in. </p><p>How did this happen? PEER PRESSURE. And also, the appeal of doing something batshit crazy for a good cause, and, as the reading specialist said, "if ever there was a time to fully LIVE, to go for the gusto, NOW IS IT!" The seed was planted. And it grew and grew until I could think, "Yeah, you know what? Why not plunge in single-digit windchills?" </p><p>I have always looked at the Polar Plunge as an act of organized insanity. Usually, it is organized and on Lake Ontario, with a roped off area and "heats" of plungers and a full EMT staff and a warming tent. Well, not with the pandemic. </p><p>With the pandemic, people were encouraged to SAFELY plunge in small groups, from what I was told. I didn't do any research because I didn't want to psych myself and decide not to do it. The organizer teacher came out of his classroom as we were talking about it, and he was like, "YOU can DO this! I do it every year! Nothing bad will happen! You're in and you're out, and I'm First Aid certified!" </p><p>I asked about what happens if I have a heart attack. What happens if I trip and hurt myself. How likely was it I'd end up in the hospital, a place I DO NOT want to be right now. Or ever, actually. Everyone was like, "You're such a worrywart! None of that is going to happen!" </p><p>Yeah. Well, I have made a habit of falling into the "unlikely, low percent" for all kinds of weird shit. I have had THREE Hold-In-Place drills in my honor. I have left school in a wheelchair and had Bryce called for all of those. I had all kinds of unlikely things happen during infertility. I didn't want to tempt fate, but I also didn't want to hold myself hostage to my fears. </p><p>I committed. </p><p>We were going to jump into Irondequoit Creek, which runs all through the county. They chose a park that the organizing teacher swore would be a good spot. I started gathering supplies: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMr7QaJR6DzN_UDpIzwXzm7IWn1uDlPDnVvHKsJrZ4V0oTcw2xr00xcT78nG96z7SX3QRJXX3Sa1nUiwJapM1KWWlnPFsmvlisypcnAmL8Zm_gC1AS9UYToOsBzqHE0Q7qnDYKPXf2vA/s4032/PXL_20210213_155832894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMr7QaJR6DzN_UDpIzwXzm7IWn1uDlPDnVvHKsJrZ4V0oTcw2xr00xcT78nG96z7SX3QRJXX3Sa1nUiwJapM1KWWlnPFsmvlisypcnAmL8Zm_gC1AS9UYToOsBzqHE0Q7qnDYKPXf2vA/w300-h400/PXL_20210213_155832894.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>In this giant bag -- three towels (mostly in case someone forgot theirs, which turned out to be a good thing to plan for), a sweatshirt, my giant nose-to-toes fleece zip-up bathrobe (which was a GODSEND), extra cozy socks, a waterproof-backed fleece blanket, layers of long sleeve and short sleeve shirts, and leg warmers. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TsgAOwtL24E2wiCdGtbC5loYxxq5Up8SmP6dURkguJWpFPIQM5w_x72-PsP0o-9le1lEI-57M66FM1ONcQk1OyFhdKvvafPJLa6DP3kooeY29mcy0l_7tNLD0RS04kBIy-zeTPLfRgw/s3264/PXL_20210213_154740320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TsgAOwtL24E2wiCdGtbC5loYxxq5Up8SmP6dURkguJWpFPIQM5w_x72-PsP0o-9le1lEI-57M66FM1ONcQk1OyFhdKvvafPJLa6DP3kooeY29mcy0l_7tNLD0RS04kBIy-zeTPLfRgw/w300-h400/PXL_20210213_154740320.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>I was going to wear tights instead of shorts, but then Bryce said, "You know, you probably want something you can take off real fast and not have clinging to you, you can dry your skin real quick but the tights may keep freezing water on your skin longer." So I ditched the tights. I wore my crabby socks, and put on my snow boots but brought my water sneakers for going in the water. </p><p>I think you can tell from my facial expression that I am thinking this is a real stupid idea at this point, an hour from arrival. I did get a text from the retired school nurse who was there for all my unfortunate events, and she said she was coming with her kit so she could help if anyone needed it, which (not so) strangely made me feel better. </p><p>I pulled into the park and saw the creek -- and the FIVE FOOT DROP to get down towards it. Oh hell no. The organizing teacher was walking around with a rope, sussing out the situation. ARE WE RAPPELLING DOWN TO THE CREEK? WHAT? NOOOO! I started hyperventilating. But no, the area where we parked was deemed private, but not safe enough for easy access. </p><p>So we drove to the other parking area, for the dog park, where there was a more reasonable access point. Of course we had to tromp with all our supplies past the dog people, with my assistant principal dragging his mobile audio setup playing "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC, and so there was no secrecy to be had. My heart was racing, but I felt exhilarated. I WAS GOING TO DO THIS. </p><p>We set up on the bank of the creek, and my principal started a countdown WAYYY earlier than we were shedding all our warm clothes (oh cozy fleece pants, you were so wonderful). We lined up for a picture once we were all plunge-ready: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRGIqhz7aPz8iIWSQRFBsV-WMbHbfBbyL5Sva8oudc51Xy73IubbwEvAhkcILwq9kv72WEHE05WZ4gxjAQvIojaXwbFzjZm9RfUyS6N8BO40SS06S3PDXIhQV9qGlRk28GP9Mf9agzAY/s1080/FB_IMG_1613523881254%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRGIqhz7aPz8iIWSQRFBsV-WMbHbfBbyL5Sva8oudc51Xy73IubbwEvAhkcILwq9kv72WEHE05WZ4gxjAQvIojaXwbFzjZm9RfUyS6N8BO40SS06S3PDXIhQV9qGlRk28GP9Mf9agzAY/w400-h300/FB_IMG_1613523881254%257E2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>I'm the one not protected for anonymity. Second from the right. I think we are yelling "We are Martha Brown!" like total lunatics. Look at that stuff on the shore, like we're setting up at the freaking beach. And LOOK AT THE ICE! At least we could walk right in here. </p><p>We turned around, and faced our fate. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVQKbDBackscmCgoKwizKrvR8yZT34JykM78wdLztc8-H4d-JzhSGizPKEAPTYeTkpaqGwNbAIl_pv1jUNnsADuaoq0MxGyPfoSbf3aWuEnm2KpytZu4tLgjkUtU8-IRSTU3n48k92PU/s751/FB_IMG_1613523872821%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="471" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVQKbDBackscmCgoKwizKrvR8yZT34JykM78wdLztc8-H4d-JzhSGizPKEAPTYeTkpaqGwNbAIl_pv1jUNnsADuaoq0MxGyPfoSbf3aWuEnm2KpytZu4tLgjkUtU8-IRSTU3n48k92PU/w251-h400/FB_IMG_1613523872821%257E2.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><br /><p>Clutching on to my special ed coworkers for DEAR LIFE. It's GO TIME. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkrlIRYVYQmm1z2FR4fZ7ZI0YVvfSYmQMhnSYvMYwcvjCfYkbo5iVxH9oFbduYKOZSwmBYw4RfQ-7L5yWlKTGD12u9prdyQ7oxbbgTqbFTNqopQP4az3AwinXaSlFairCLRA2pBTn0w8w/s980/FB_IMG_1613523904947%257E3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="735" data-original-width="980" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkrlIRYVYQmm1z2FR4fZ7ZI0YVvfSYmQMhnSYvMYwcvjCfYkbo5iVxH9oFbduYKOZSwmBYw4RfQ-7L5yWlKTGD12u9prdyQ7oxbbgTqbFTNqopQP4az3AwinXaSlFairCLRA2pBTn0w8w/w400-h300/FB_IMG_1613523904947%257E3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>My face in this picture is, "WHAT THE EFF ARE YOU DOING, CRAZY PEOPLE? I AM NOT PLUNGING ALL THE WAY! NOOOOO WAYYYY!" I did squat down but was not about to have frozen underwear. Can I just say that it was 16 degrees (F) out with single digit windchill? </p><p>We scrambled out, dried off, and got dressed again. The crazies who went all the way in needed to change all the way, so we made circles of towels and I used my giant bathrobe as a screen to protect their nakedness. Their freezing cold, damp nakedness. </p><p>There was ice in the water that floated past in the current, and somehow I was the only one who left the water bleeding. Nothing major, just a few bumps and bruises and scratches from rogue ice (ice sharks? Ice leeches?), but I was thrilled that was my only injury. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrJIOHfukoiA5N2V4NTPAZryqmpykDtc4NTSSd6xNb4dr0OqA6LUeKJfBdBRHfRc0OY1NjgnlNPv2votARoW2mnKcy4W-xW0BtyEubr79MARF6_JkuogEWKi9Ia2exHFQy6Nnm9h4ARg/s3048/PXL_20210217_013842614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3048" data-original-width="2243" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrJIOHfukoiA5N2V4NTPAZryqmpykDtc4NTSSd6xNb4dr0OqA6LUeKJfBdBRHfRc0OY1NjgnlNPv2votARoW2mnKcy4W-xW0BtyEubr79MARF6_JkuogEWKi9Ia2exHFQy6Nnm9h4ARg/w294-h400/PXL_20210217_013842614.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>Not super impressive, but this was all swollen up and I have a few of them along my shins. <div><br /></div><div>After the dip, we met back at the other parking area and had a firepit, and I may have sipped a bit of Constant Comment tea with some bourbon in it. Hey, if St Bernards bring it (the bourbon) to you in the Swiss Alps, it's got to be worth SOMETHING! Also, that is a really good combo. Kind of like a badass little old lady teatime drink.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpsOigoHrsxxAHQHGr3qwC8MCwW1Cw-uI_t1Gh3x3kRJ6upu4zmtAuYG2YBlmlUap_86yGMw63yNLbtDJDIMbnfyWfKHrVQs-_bsLKcvsld9yFyHhL2MOGgfEiQXim6Izkcl_Q0RFF5A/s3264/PXL_20210213_175513781.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpsOigoHrsxxAHQHGr3qwC8MCwW1Cw-uI_t1Gh3x3kRJ6upu4zmtAuYG2YBlmlUap_86yGMw63yNLbtDJDIMbnfyWfKHrVQs-_bsLKcvsld9yFyHhL2MOGgfEiQXim6Izkcl_Q0RFF5A/w400-h300/PXL_20210213_175513781.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><p>Here I am, in the parking lot, cold but toasty from adrenaline and bourbon and the knowledge that I DID SOMETHING SCARY AND IT DIDN'T KILL ME. I did not let the stupid voice in my head talk me out of it. I helped raise money to support Special Olympics so they can run safely this year. And I bonded with my coworkers in the craziest of ways. </p><p>I'm actually not sure if I would have done this if not for the pandemic. I may do it again, who knows? All I know that is that it showed me that I am stronger than my fears. And maybe a little stupid crazy. </p></div>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-50942746592797210242021-02-15T18:08:00.003-08:002021-02-15T18:08:21.987-08:00Valentine Challenge<p>Yesterday was Valentine's Day (is that just a States or an Anglo-y thing?), not that you could miss it for the decorations and excessive social media posts. I made the poor choice of going to the grocery to pick up some things on the day itself, and it was a madhouse -- the flowers were all wiped out and there were chocolate strawberry stations and baked goods and king crab legs and lobster tails galore. There was also a cherry picker thingie with a guy taking down all the hanging heart decorations and another employee replacing Valentine chocolate with Easter chocolate. Poof! Holiday gone! </p><p>But, Facebook was a stream of Valentine's day stuff, for DAYS before, largely due to the "Valentine Challenge" -- a hashtagged invitation to share your couple-y coupledom, from beginnings to traits to photos. It was EVERYWHERE. </p><p>All I could think was, "for single humans, this must feel like the Mother's Day onslaught feels to me." Which was verified when a teacher friend posted, "never am I so aware of my single status as I am on Facebook on Valentine's Day. ☹️" </p><p>I know that you can't ever make everyone happy, And I know that everyone will be excluded from something at some point, but these challenges make me cringe. They fill the feed with even more highlights of what some have and some do not. It can feel like a tidal wave of exclusion, which is how Mother's Day/Christmas/Back to School/Easter feel to me. </p><p>So I didn't participate, and I didn't even post anything from our Valentine's mini celebration, which was super low key and involved handmade cards and wine and food and me falling asleep on the couch and then talking in my sleep and waking up while Bryce was trying to make sense of the nonsense I was saying and feeling super confused (apparently I do that a lot, which is a horrifying revelation). It felt kind of nice to keep our evening a bit more private, a bit less on display, a bit less in the face of people for whom Valentine's Day is an unpleasant reminder. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4sUYYq-GTMygZdpQp_vH0PddMeAYWrbApIKrC549to8LE5D3Y9vkL2J-ICqRVfRZp_Sr6sOce5TYlaioAvInJ1jjIoHCvJ9lor4sKMNw2ovFqXQPbpMtj3NoEymX-Ox3EbUoROQha6Y/s3264/PXL_20210215_021901885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4sUYYq-GTMygZdpQp_vH0PddMeAYWrbApIKrC549to8LE5D3Y9vkL2J-ICqRVfRZp_Sr6sOce5TYlaioAvInJ1jjIoHCvJ9lor4sKMNw2ovFqXQPbpMtj3NoEymX-Ox3EbUoROQha6Y/w300-h400/PXL_20210215_021901885.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right before we put pajamas on</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3tLfBICvMpl26XH2ssDrOtQA03avuFCBiEE6iO5jQNfiYEU9lQcKdEAhRNj7FmCAN6gocZqmOoqGkg9mpAXCmx21j-XbYetXQyPHgAFA3hw_XSfKzzHxzoZx4Ktd3YCcmbSFG2gQNfs/s3264/PXL_20210215_021723467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3tLfBICvMpl26XH2ssDrOtQA03avuFCBiEE6iO5jQNfiYEU9lQcKdEAhRNj7FmCAN6gocZqmOoqGkg9mpAXCmx21j-XbYetXQyPHgAFA3hw_XSfKzzHxzoZx4Ktd3YCcmbSFG2gQNfs/w300-h400/PXL_20210215_021723467.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always need a stupid face photo</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b><i>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2021/02/microblog-monday-338-my-favourite-thing-right-now/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </i></b></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-81735054729252472021-02-10T14:38:00.000-08:002021-02-10T14:38:01.732-08:00What's Your Identity?<p>Some days, you feel super well-adjusted. And other days, everything seems to weigh so heavily that the tiny hairline cracks in your mended porcelain gape and split into shards. </p><p>I am exhausted. The cumulative impact of pandemic stress and feelings of living in a neverending cycle combined with the joys of IEP writing, early meeting dates, and being the owner of the schedule as lead special education teacher this year, it all has me so tired and thin-skinned. Add on to that that yesterday afternoon my district announced that we are going back to in-person on Wednesdays (alternating cohorts, but now I will be in the building all 5 days), and they are pushing for a return to 5 days a week for every student school with 3 ft distancing, and I am just overwhelmed and frustrated. </p><p>So when we had a faculty meeting that was small group facilitation around cultural competency, I was a little nervous about how that was going to go. Today's topic was identity -- what is your cultural identity, how do we see others' cultural identity, what is above the waterline and what is below (enter iceberg visual here), and 20 minutes before the meeting I realized there was a reflection activity we were supposed to do ahead of time. So I read it. </p><p> </p><p>Part I was to think about different categories of cultural identity and reflect on your own experiences: </p><p><b>LANGUAGE</b> - what language do you speak, what language do you work in, language of family</p><p><b>MIGRATION</b> - where is your home? where were you born? when did you come to the U.S. or to our county? If you're not from here, what made you relocate? What did it feel like to relocate? </p><p><b>CULTURAL BACKGROUND </b>- How do you describe yourself ethnically/identify yourself culturally/describe your cultural background? </p><p><b>FAMILY'S ROLE</b> - How do you define family? Who are family members? Where are your family members? How involved do you wish your family to be? Who raised you? Who parented you? Are you/did you parent your children? Who did if not? ETC ETC INSERT INCREASED HEART RATE HERE. </p><p><b>SOCIAL NETWORKS</b> - Who are your sources of support? Who do you rely on? Activities/hobbies you enjoy? Community connections/resources? Groups? </p><p><b>RELIGIOUS/SPIRITUAL BELIEFS & PRACTICES </b>- is religion important to you or your family? Do you feel comfortable sharing your beliefs? Is it important that your beliefs are represented in school culture?Are you connected to a spiritual leader? Have you experienced a school system, as a student or staff, that overtly or subconsciously reinforces certain religious beliefs or traditions at the exclusion of others? </p><p><b>EXPERIENCES OF TRAUMA</b> - has your cultural background had some effect on how people have treated you at school/relationships/social settings? Did you experience any form of intolerance at any time in your life? Have you experienced discrimination, prejudice, and/or marginalization due to any aspect of your identity? Have you experienced or witnessed any loss due to natural disasters or human-made disasters? What are your experiences of toxic stress, childhood adversity or acute trauma that impact your life? Have you experienced the loss of someone who was important to you? </p><p>There's two more categories but that was the point where I got a little panicky. Was this just for us to think about, or would we need to share?</p><p><br /></p><p>It was definitely interactive. At first pretty benign, but then the question became, "Did you find any of those questions difficult? Was it difficult to answer any of them?" And there was silence. </p><p>So I volunteered to speak. </p><p>I said that answering the questions wasn't difficult, it was thinking on the answers themselves. It was realizing how multi-faceted cultural identity can be. It was realizing that while I am decidedly dripping in white privilege, I also belong to some groups outside "the norm." </p><p>The facilitator asked me to elaborate, so I chose "childless" as opposed to "atheist," because I work in a fairly religious community and that one can be tough to swallow for some. </p><p>"I am not a parent, and I will not ever be a parent, and that can be very difficult working in a school environment. Everything is based off the presumption that you are also a parent, that 'as parents' or 'for our own kids' or a million other statements that assume that everyone in the room is a parent. And that being a parent is the holy grail, that it's the most important aspect of your identity. Which then takes people who don't have children and minimizes their contributions and/or worth, like I'll never understand or have the MOST IMPORTANT JOB EVER, which is the unfortunate inverse of those statements. And I'm not alone -- there are many people in our school who do not have children, either yet or who won't ever have children, but we are forgotten and invisible in the culture." </p><p>Then the facilitator said, "It's interesting that you said, 'invisible,' like you feel that due to this aspect of your identity you aren't there?" </p><p>"No," I said. "it's more that I'm there but not seen. It's actually quite painful." </p><p>Then the facilitator skillfully noticed someone else nodding while I was talking, someone who interestingly HAS KIDS. He called on her and asked if she was agreeing through her body language. And this person, who I could have hugged, said, </p><p>"Yes, I totally agree. The parent role is put up on a pedestal. I will never forget a time I was in a parent meeting and this parent said, 'You can't possibly understand, you're not a parent.' All I could think was, 'What if I never have children? Will I never be seen as good enough because I am not myself a parent?' It was painful." </p><p>That was amazing, because I didn't realize that she had that experience. It was lovely to have that feeling reverberated by someone else, differently, who actually is a parent now but remembered how that felt. It was a demonstration of empathy I don't often get to see at school for non-parents. </p><p> </p><p>The last activity we did was to take four small pieces of paper and write four sections for the book, "The Story of My Life." I thought, I'M GOING TO NEED A LOT MORE PAPER, but I followed the rules. We were to pick four categories of our experiences/identity. After we picked, he said, "you need to eliminate one, sorry, shorter book." That choice was pretty easy. Then he said, "Yeah, more people are contributing so you need it to be down to two." </p><p>That left me with LOVE and LOSS. Seems appropriate. </p><p>But then, he said, "as your editor, I am going to choose the next one to eliminate. You only get one. Take away the one on your left." </p><p>And so I was left with LOVE. Which really is the ultimate triumph in my life. It was somewhat of a nice feeling to have LOSS taken away (if only it was that easy!), and then I thought about all the LOVE I have. </p><p>Bryce. My friends. My family. My students. My coworkers. My job. All of you. </p><p>Loss is all through everything too, but I'm glad, even though it was completely random and not intentional, that love won out. </p><p> </p><p>The entire exercise was exhausting, emotionally. The end takeaway was that we often only see what's above the iceberg, and some of our students' and families' identities are taken out of sight and we don't get to see them, but they are there. The more that we can understand all the parts of everyone's identities, the better we can reach and teach them especially in times of trauma. </p><p>I signed off after a collective deep breathing exercise, where my eyes filled up and I worried they'd spill over, and then I just sobbed at my desk (at home, at least for a few weeks more). I just felt exhausted. Wrung out. Emotionally spent. In a (mostly) good way. </p><p>It was scary to share my thoughts, but worth it.<br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-82596556607425874422021-02-01T18:09:00.004-08:002021-02-01T18:09:51.708-08:00It's Not Too Late<p>I went to get new glasses a little while ago, and my eye doctor at Pearle Vision changed from an older man to a middle aged woman. </p><p>At one point in the eye exam, she asked me if I had children. When I said no, she said, "me either."</p><p>Then she told me about how she had focused on her education, and then her career, and she never met the right person in time to have a family of her own, and she grew up without a father and so didn't want to raise a child alone. She clearly felt very comfortable sharing her life story while setting up my new prescription. </p><p>She also said she didn't feel like she had a hole in her life, because she had nieces and nephews and she was an Auntie, and that was just fine: she loves her life, as is. </p><p>How refreshing! </p><p>Except then as I was leaving, she asked, "how old are you?" and I told her. The next statement blew my mind. "Well, it's not too late!" </p><p>"I DON'T HAVE A UTERUS," I said, followed by "and I'm actually happy now, I love my life as is." </p><p>This is the SECOND time I have had to throw out my missing reproductive organs to say that yes, it's "too late." How old do I have to be before people who know nothing about my boundlessly spectacular infertility stop saying how I could possibly still have a baby? 50? Older than Janet Jackson? </p><p>And more importantly, what happened to bring resolved and "not having a hole in your life?" It felt like that message got diluted by the "but wait! You could maybe still get pregnant, because that's what you really want, right? That's the only ending people actually want, so it must be what you want, too, you sad childless lump." </p><p>I AM HAPPY AS IS. It took a lot of work to get here. Bryce and I have built a new life, in a new house that was never meant for children. I am glad I have no uterus anymore. I am glad there's no ambiguity about my (in)ability to conceive. </p><p>It seems weird that this happiness isn't believed though, that it sense the possibility of a late life surprise pregnancy is considered a prize, a winning lottery number. Weird and disappointing, especially from someone who professed to be a whole, happy childless person. </p><p><b><i>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2021/02/microblog-monday-336-tidying-up-digitally/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </i></b></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-61529560596316871032021-01-18T14:23:00.001-08:002021-01-18T14:23:25.559-08:00#Microblog Monday: 800! <p>800. This is my 800th post. That is CRAZY. It's a lot of change, a lot of reflection, and a lot of connections with people. I missed <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2021/01/international-blog-delurking-week-2021/">International Blog Delurking Week</a>, but if you have been reading me and you don't normally comment, I would love for you to just say a quick hi. </p><p>Today is also my 12th Engage-o-Versary -- it was 12 years ago on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day when I made a nice dinner, set out a lovely pinot noir, lit some candles, and greeted Bryce with a letter I'd typed up that was actually a marriage proposal. I love that I proposed and he accepted, that we did it differently to make it our own. It's also crazy that this June we will have been together 15 years. </p><p>He actually has MLK Day off for the first time, EVER, because his company has finally decided to make it an official holiday (finally!). We have spent it doing insanely romantic things like starting to de-Christmas our house, vacuuming, and catching up on work after a more relaxing weekend, but it sure was nice to sleep in a bit and have a more leisurely morning than usual on our special day. He's making cochinita pibil tacos, which will be amazing (slow-cooked, fall-apart citrus pork! poblano tortillas! habanero-carrot sauce! pickled red onions! avocado! yumminess all the way around). They already smell AMAZING.</p><p>I think this is the year I update my blog, or change it up to a new one. I hate change, but "My Path to Mommyhood" is just not authentic to my experience anymore. I have been officially off that path for over three years, and it's time to name it something different, or start something new. I don't want to disappear, though. Any thoughts on how that works? </p><p>I'm looking forward to this week, while also dreading the threat of violence. I hope that we can have a peaceful transition of power and enjoy having an Executive Branch that is based in empathy, compassion, science, humanity. I hope that there can be healing from what's happened in the U.S. -- the fear, the hate, the intolerance, the destruction from within. Sigh. </p><p>I hope that I can chalk up most of January to a 2020 hangover, and we can have a 2021 that goes in more hopeful direction. </p><p><br /></p><p><i><b>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2021/01/microblog-monday-334-not-all-rest-is-the-same/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </b></i><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-70154507149868950392021-01-16T19:42:00.001-08:002021-01-16T19:42:38.001-08:00The Power of Music <p>Music, for me, is an emotional touchstone. It can link straight to memories that bring feelings of joy, or grief, or an association. </p><p>I will never hear Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven Is A Place On Earth" or "Circle in the Sand" without being transported to the house where I lived from age eight to 22, sitting on the couch with my dad while he watched the movie Cave Man (with Ringo Starr!) and I listened to my Belinda Carlisle tape on my Walkman. That was also when I realized that when I made my Barbie and Ken "do it," I was setting it up all wrong. Please tell me I'm not the only girl who just mashed Barbie and Ken together and called it sex. </p><p>I am sad that I won't have much opportunity to serendipitously hear my wedding song with Bryce, "Rings," by Leo Kottke, because it's not exactly in the radio rotation. We can make it appear at home, but that's not really the same thing.</p><p>However, I do hear my first wedding song, try not to gag too much, "Don't Want to Miss A Thing" by Aerosmith (it was 2000! And yes, it was from the disaster movie <i>Armageddon</i>, the irony of which is not lost on me) from time to time. It used to make me physically nauseous, and now just leaves me feeling vaguely icky. It does not remind me of the wedding. It reminds me of the tenuous period after infidelity(ies) was discovered, and I was still living in our house but he was living on a friend's couch, and he would come get stuff and then be gone by the time I got back from work. I would go to the bedroom and see the dvd player going, and when I turned on the TV, <i>Armageddon</i> would be cued up on loop, ostensibly to remind me of all the good things and that I shouldn't leave but the result was more... growing unease and the gelling thought that this was my out, that I would not be staying. </p><p>When I hear Ani DiFranco I think of my sister wearing hippie dresses, home from college for the holidays. When I hear Chopin piano pieces I think of my mom's senior recital, her fingers flying across the keyboard. When I hear Dolly Parton & Kenny Rogers' Christmas song, "With Bells On," I am back at my best friend's childhood home, dancing in wild circles around the big dining room table. When I hear the hymn "Be Thou My Vision" I remember playing violin for my grandmother, and then playing it with my mom accompanying on piano for her funeral service. </p><p>Today, I had a visceral reaction to music that was played on Vermont Public Radio's "Sunday Cinema" with Lynne Warfel, which we listen to every Saturday morning at 11:00 while we eat breakfast shamefully late after sleeping in. I can't hear this music without crying. Literally I hear the strains and I see the images that go with it, and the feelings just leak out my eyes, down my face. </p><p>It's the instrumental theme "<a href="https://youtu.be/2rn-vMbFglI" target="_blank">Married Life</a>" from Pixar's <i>Up</i>. I linked to it without the visuals, because it is goddamn traumatizing. Basically, it's Karl's backstory -- he's a grouchy, curmudgeonly old man, and this short vignette lets you know exactly why. It's the whole story of his marriage, including a devastating turn of events where they lose a pregnancy after decorating a nursery and you can infer that they are told children won't be possible, because Ellie, the wife, sinks into a depression where you can feel her numbness, and he gets her out of it and they follow other dreams, planning a trip to Venezuela that just keeps getting pushed due to life hiccups and expenses and then she gets sick AND DIES. </p><p>So that's why he's a grumpy old guy.</p><p>JEEZUS, PIXAR. What a way to start a movie with a balloon-flying house and a talking dog with ADHD that's FOR KIDS. Way to dissolve the adults, particularly those with histories of loss. There's a reason why I watch that scene on YouTube when I am emotionally constipated and need a good cathartic cry. </p><p>When I hear that music, I see the whole thing. And I am struck by similarities and fears. Replace Venezuela with puffins. I feel her excitement and joy when decorating the nursery. I feel her pain and disbelief when she's sitting in the garden after their loss, all empty-eyed and hollow. And I fear someday leaving Bryce a widower, alone and curmudgeonly. </p><p>So I cried. And then I explained it to Bryce, who was looking at me with concern while I cried during the song at breakfast, and then when he understood where it was coming from, he cried, too. </p><p>But then the music changed and it wasn't the intense sadness trigger anymore. My face was a little puffy, but then the day moved on and that crushing memory of grief didn't follow either of us. </p><p>I'm glad that music can make me feel so much, but I'm also glad it can touch those places in my emotional memory without breaking me for the rest of the day. <b>What music moves you?</b></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-67911618211427551032021-01-13T19:38:00.001-08:002021-01-13T19:38:27.054-08:00A Compliment That Made Me Cry (or, I Have No Dignity But A Lot Of Fun)<p>New Year's Eve was totally low key here. We don't normally do much of anything (other than drink wine and champagne and watch the ball drop and realize how old and out of touch we are when we can't recognize any of the entertainment), but this year was particularly nothing. We dressed up and had dinner, and then promptly pajama'd. We read and watched the ball drop, the sad sad ball in the most empty Times Square I've ever seen, which was good, because pandemic, but still weird. Bryce said they should have made the ball a coronavirus, which was a dark moment but I forgave him. He read his math book at midnight and I got my kiss and we finished our bubbly and went to bed. </p><p>But BEFORE the ball-dropping, math-reading, midnight-smooching, and champagne-guzzling, I did something different. </p><p>I had what can only be described as a "weird selfie war" with my best friend's 9 year old daughter. It started with me just sending weird selfies to my best friend, and then I received an eye up close that was definitely her daughter's. And then it got weirder and weirder from there. </p><p>I will share with you my side of the selfie war. Everything I did, she returned in her own way, like a strange dance circle competition at a wedding or a prom. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVTjsJPpgbrQLjoVt3H1gKHPR17usgIorgpviOSx2ysuZbe5qAgAAi5Cd5lpa16covK1oeVNCOtrGy8XDvJbA5RfBlTsKV455enbiXpUechwC7sd1oN9g8zHpWs6UOTg85Us4_QttEz8/s3264/PXL_20210101_034637611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVTjsJPpgbrQLjoVt3H1gKHPR17usgIorgpviOSx2ysuZbe5qAgAAi5Cd5lpa16covK1oeVNCOtrGy8XDvJbA5RfBlTsKV455enbiXpUechwC7sd1oN9g8zHpWs6UOTg85Us4_QttEz8/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_034637611.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The highly unflattering and creepy selfie that started it all.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsL4GRJB3mxC2jzHcjSOQPZCmlFaQ0FAfSjActJBMLPBWTmPO0ZiIvviflifynQdmIzzBT0u_QGK-yIJlNGxX-Dzq4UbfFZ4gfBnJJlQ2WPYPTkz6VBDqK9SUlzEQyT6UTYPhXrASbX4/s3264/PXL_20210101_034919898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKsL4GRJB3mxC2jzHcjSOQPZCmlFaQ0FAfSjActJBMLPBWTmPO0ZiIvviflifynQdmIzzBT0u_QGK-yIJlNGxX-Dzq4UbfFZ4gfBnJJlQ2WPYPTkz6VBDqK9SUlzEQyT6UTYPhXrASbX4/w400-h300/PXL_20210101_034919898.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Followed by this one, which I dubbed "Pretty New Year's Princess." I got one with a Happy New Year bead necklace from the 9-year-old in return. Also my best friend said, "Insane Asylum Princess, maybe" <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1daERLEJWtVt9FCnZrBkuXSHnxE1dGgvFVdbMZKHOVsWiy_fPsLXeiImAAkf4GFb3Vww9bQkgO8P6AKKCnEca23EcaJSqxVXsDyxF0qK64YFf1E5x6oiBSvELeqrMb9b-jsPgt_pSqYI/s3264/PXL_20210101_035047499.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1daERLEJWtVt9FCnZrBkuXSHnxE1dGgvFVdbMZKHOVsWiy_fPsLXeiImAAkf4GFb3Vww9bQkgO8P6AKKCnEca23EcaJSqxVXsDyxF0qK64YFf1E5x6oiBSvELeqrMb9b-jsPgt_pSqYI/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_035047499.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had to follow up "Insane Asylum Princess comment with something real weird. Don't mind my pores and dark eye circles. She sent a similar nose-forward picture.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY1KoWqbJW2111ITixW1htTWucaVi9UmxuSm1pxmZ_NqOrhcPx60Zpb_x0l4bx-TSIn3lcmuSUzN9iFrtc7V2wjx1sxNQ2qqgO8TG9znK5Y1jTfHMrqfh0mV2uZGRT15anGCPmejMjOA/s3264/PXL_20210101_035145404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJY1KoWqbJW2111ITixW1htTWucaVi9UmxuSm1pxmZ_NqOrhcPx60Zpb_x0l4bx-TSIn3lcmuSUzN9iFrtc7V2wjx1sxNQ2qqgO8TG9znK5Y1jTfHMrqfh0mV2uZGRT15anGCPmejMjOA/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_035145404.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was titled, "Like my nose ring?" I then got one with the Happy New Year bead necklace as a nose ring. :)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhV2j01cIg9wlZpkqj-22V6z3hdiXLUChDoFhJWYvDtUTW4iLNfmtfNOlYKXoBxohtyp3jQxva0jFkIzyeURlZjc6mxV0B-BtVonAVFRwpFW2ptu5uswHksu4Fn4VrgpgCGudG7Cukxo/s3264/PXL_20210101_035256897.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhV2j01cIg9wlZpkqj-22V6z3hdiXLUChDoFhJWYvDtUTW4iLNfmtfNOlYKXoBxohtyp3jQxva0jFkIzyeURlZjc6mxV0B-BtVonAVFRwpFW2ptu5uswHksu4Fn4VrgpgCGudG7Cukxo/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_035256897.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was hiding in this one. It is not a bad picture all things considered, ha.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwIvRR8rwla1jh1xIbR0pjH665sMZovSo0BOk0J0FnvGRS3DxKnqZ0uw01xc9GAVDr3v1Br4Jq5KbLJqqpLyqIEdAE2TaG-dUADbnjla3bLV5mti13Osy_SGL0CwGq5u7fpp5b489Yy4/s3264/PXL_20210101_035428076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvwIvRR8rwla1jh1xIbR0pjH665sMZovSo0BOk0J0FnvGRS3DxKnqZ0uw01xc9GAVDr3v1Br4Jq5KbLJqqpLyqIEdAE2TaG-dUADbnjla3bLV5mti13Osy_SGL0CwGq5u7fpp5b489Yy4/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_035428076.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sparkly eyeliner. Yup, got the same thing back with the Happy New Year bead necklace! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSKSXYoliwdtsIMkN4oGM1fzlD4E7VC7l6UJPbakjzUgj9_Cpk5lofiGOTWQANqjCeOMwgkW_w278cka-ycSDgw1yRW36J2qeEQPvc2dWJNT_pAuuO6elezkIdi_wAspzhTpFwpkn7Gg/s3264/PXL_20210101_035516555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSKSXYoliwdtsIMkN4oGM1fzlD4E7VC7l6UJPbakjzUgj9_Cpk5lofiGOTWQANqjCeOMwgkW_w278cka-ycSDgw1yRW36J2qeEQPvc2dWJNT_pAuuO6elezkIdi_wAspzhTpFwpkn7Gg/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_035516555.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tried for a silly scary one, and the hair-in-the-face I got back was truly terrifying and a bit too much like the girl from "The Ring."<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7t4B-XMJDgZhr7Q1EixsXWlQ9B0Ok4265jlbL82FCBCcFUMuMFgYOS3AID_cz2HTZpeTWLai09XU-KxNkhzqaCpKauba0I2Kb8RPqCXyy99j5zK7HutmXbVdbuM9I0MDNbnyEm2DGOJY/s3264/PXL_20210101_040139821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7t4B-XMJDgZhr7Q1EixsXWlQ9B0Ok4265jlbL82FCBCcFUMuMFgYOS3AID_cz2HTZpeTWLai09XU-KxNkhzqaCpKauba0I2Kb8RPqCXyy99j5zK7HutmXbVdbuM9I0MDNbnyEm2DGOJY/w400-h300/PXL_20210101_040139821.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was not going for glamour at all, obviously. Moustache selfie, returned with a mustache and long 9-year-old hair beard. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiu8CxX3NDhHYPzVLpel-lfrI43DZsEEBrdRZCvAeEaq0uPGyocUMUU19RQ4mCKsTglj7SgixElR2nkhyCGLLXCOkH2hESPYAjMrTutEMVVmGqwoew2s-7wMPsEZ4Klnz9BYgbwP2ZEGg/s4032/PXL_20210101_041018578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiu8CxX3NDhHYPzVLpel-lfrI43DZsEEBrdRZCvAeEaq0uPGyocUMUU19RQ4mCKsTglj7SgixElR2nkhyCGLLXCOkH2hESPYAjMrTutEMVVmGqwoew2s-7wMPsEZ4Klnz9BYgbwP2ZEGg/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_041018578.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upping the ante, this was Bryce's idea. DOUBLE OCTOPUS. The one before this that I can't find had the orange octopus on my head and a orange 3-d printed thingamabob in my hand, I got a blanket on her head and an orange lego thing in response. Pretty clever! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7kbqwdB-7h8c60BWQAn0dGK_kYDpXjSRwIxCeJj0z-5BwuAO-Ck-kAIVbaE8t8blFbzz35iRAg8cuOEVp69zaOtoWGamx-Oz0peqmWkiinZdwraMUBOxnIQHrL2Z0iYf0Ridf2TKM5E/s3264/PXL_20210101_041145855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL7kbqwdB-7h8c60BWQAn0dGK_kYDpXjSRwIxCeJj0z-5BwuAO-Ck-kAIVbaE8t8blFbzz35iRAg8cuOEVp69zaOtoWGamx-Oz0peqmWkiinZdwraMUBOxnIQHrL2Z0iYf0Ridf2TKM5E/w400-h300/PXL_20210101_041145855.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then I went feral. She followed up with one just like this, but from the stack of flattened cardboard boxes to be recycled. RAWR<br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__onoijpZASZ_-iveetCNiKX3F38iBfOPAUn7vpeOU1v1TrVUA_1rlT4QT4WL32szC7W2deb1LzSQfXZguMBPhsX5ejdqKtoRjhk-1ahHHI-PZTo7iWWCpTgiLNLHQSS2KuGchsCF3VM/s4032/PXL_20210101_041859640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1838" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg__onoijpZASZ_-iveetCNiKX3F38iBfOPAUn7vpeOU1v1TrVUA_1rlT4QT4WL32szC7W2deb1LzSQfXZguMBPhsX5ejdqKtoRjhk-1ahHHI-PZTo7iWWCpTgiLNLHQSS2KuGchsCF3VM/w183-h400/PXL_20210101_041859640.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then she got fancy and sent me her doing a handstand, and was like "BEAT THAT!" So Bryce and I mocked up a handstand on the floor, because I'M FORTY-FOUR AND COULD NEVER DO A HANDSTAND. Pretty clever mockup, no? <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOIYHm4YbAuatrw3fCi7E0JijlQZwGz7AOET-uwD9hzmcd93EW61PpSpFLVRCjlrFu5jPH0EMChN7DPORne3q5_gxK2Mso7shEX9j9sEVspk68bH5N0CxCNuZG8Z__Spc5PyR9fR35P4/s3264/PXL_20210101_042701601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaOIYHm4YbAuatrw3fCi7E0JijlQZwGz7AOET-uwD9hzmcd93EW61PpSpFLVRCjlrFu5jPH0EMChN7DPORne3q5_gxK2Mso7shEX9j9sEVspk68bH5N0CxCNuZG8Z__Spc5PyR9fR35P4/w300-h400/PXL_20210101_042701601.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She won. This is me laughing after she sent me a video of backflips, and I sent her a video of me basically rolling around on the floor and pretending to run while lying on the floor, and I couldn't stop laughing, and then she sent back her version of my floor-rolling, with a somersault-backflip grand finale. SHE WON. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>It was insanely fun. I cannot believe I just shared that handstand photo, but I draw the line at the rolling around on the floor video. There was a lot of belly and Bryce made a farting sound to make it seem like I tooted when I rolled over, which was hilarious, but not necessary to put on the internets. (Is any of this necessary? Nope.)<br /></p><p>The next day, I talked to my best friend, who was still talking to me after this display via text/video/video call, and I thanked her for also doing a video call with me a day earlier so I could see her and talk with her kids and husband (who is also my friend from college). </p><p>And then she made me cry. </p><p>How? </p><p>Well, a couple years ago we were named guardians in the unlikely event that she and her husband passed at the same time, which is an awesome responsibility and an amazing honor, one that you hope never actually comes to pass (and is a lot of trust, since there are three kids!). I have been dubbed "the crazy sort-of-aunt, right?" by her kids, and they call us Jessica and Rice. We send them Christmas presents from Jessica and Rice. Rice is all in on this. </p><p>So when she said, "You know, we don't plan on dying at all, but it's nice to know that if we did, our kids would have people who really GOT them." </p><p>Cue tears that I hid until I got off the phone. What an insane compliment. And yeah, I love her quirky kids. Obviously it's not at all the same as having our own, but it's wonderful to have kids we can be silly with and maybe, when this stupid pandemic is over, can do Camp Jessica and Rice and give my best friend and her husband some alone time while their kids go nuts at our house sometime. </p><p>It felt good to know that even though I don't have kids, I really do "get" kids, even ones who aren't my students. I think this might go down as one of the best New Year's Eves, ever. <br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-70044298497864984492021-01-11T19:12:00.000-08:002021-01-11T19:12:08.373-08:00#Microblog Mondays: The Christmas Books<p>Every year for Christmas and my birthday, Bryce gifts me with books that he has hand-selected with the help of various lists, hoping that they are books I've never read and may not have heard about before. </p><p>This year, my haul from Bryce was TEN books: </p><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img aria-label="Photo - Portrait - Jan 10, 2021, 12:59:11 PM" class="SzDcob" data-atf="false" data-iml="14090" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTm9LR7_O0lE4qsQwTse77_mtqcM9VoKtwvs4otpyMjpVXA8e6viJKRC1s5NKE-04LS0RSGTMB6GpfqpxQZXJVnGLjyEV4s0EAl3-UXxBUBjkwtWvY6rlEZa10rg7D1iolu2SHZJ4U02U/w345-h400/?authuser=0" style="transform: translate3d(0px, -0.5px, 0px) rotate(0deg);" width="345" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am so excited, it seems to be a really well-curated haul (they usually are, but these in particular seemed perfect for the times we're in!). I am also sad to say that there are books he's gifted me previously that I haven't read yet, so I am now reading <i>The Fifth Season</i> by N.K. Jemison because that was a pick a year or so ago that just hadn't made it to the top of my TBR pile yet. BUT, first I read three (although one is cheating) of the books gifted above during break: </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">1) Notes On A Case of Melancholia or A Little Death - this is a wordless picture book but probably (definitely) not for the small children, about Death who is frustrated that he can't kill this therapist and then opens up about his disappointment in his progeny who apparently just wants everyone to smell flowers. Not giving anything away, it's delightful and very Edward-Gorey-like. This is the cheating one. Do you "read" a book with no words? <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">2) A Game of Fox and Squirrels - This is a young adult, really closer to middle grade, novel that mixes reality and fantasy, in a slightly less disturbing way than <i>Pan's Labyrinth.</i> The main character and her sister have been removed to a family resource foster care situation with her aunt following an incident that revealed her parents' abuse, and there's also a charming-not-charming fox and some (maybe?) helpful squirrels. It was good but also painful to read. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">3) Why not try to end 2020 with reading short stories by Brian Evenson, <i>Song for the Unraveling of the World</i>? I didn't quite make it, it was my first book finished in 2021 (not thinking about that too hard), and it was SPECTACULAR. Excellent science-fictiony-horror that sometimes defied classification. Really great collection. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">SO MUCH GOOD READING ahead. It's great to have something to look forward to! </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2021/01/microblog-monday-333-aging-a-cake/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy!</b></i><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-18365934326044962782021-01-04T17:28:00.001-08:002021-01-04T17:28:05.240-08:00#MicroblogMonday: Happy New Year, Lady Doctor<p>No one loves going to the gynecologist. I truly have a gynecologist and not an OB/GYN -- I was thrilled to find a doctor who does not see any pregnant patients, since one doctor I had towards the end of our fertility process had an office that was a shrine to motherhood (all the paintings and statues were of giant pregnant bellies and women nursing, which is actually a small percentage of a woman's lifelong experience at her OB/GYN), which was all a bit much for me to swallow. </p><p>This was my annual exam, which apparently I haven't had since the hysterectomy. I appreciate that they do an internal ultrasound to check out my ovaries, since I am terrified that the remnants of my nonfunctioning reproductive system will try to kill me someday. </p><p>Overall, it was a positive visit, full of good dark humor but no scary results. And a moment where I forgot how gowns work and tried to wear the paper lap "blanket" until I realized the gown was on the back of the chair thing and tried to unfold it. It wouldn't unfold. The damn thing was more of a paper bolero jacket. What the hell is the point of that? I guess it's why they give you the lap blanket, to try and cover the massive amounts not covered by the crop top boob flap vest. Ugh. </p><p>Until next year, Lady Doctor! </p><p><br /></p><p><b><i>Want to read more Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2021/01/microblog-monday-332-old-resolutions/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </i></b></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-24024014149195858842020-12-31T16:18:00.003-08:002020-12-31T16:18:57.384-08:002020 Goal Reflections<p>New Year's Eve is a particularly good time to look back on the year and reflect--what did we do? What were our goals? Did we meet them? Last New Year's, Bryce and I wrote down our goals for 2020 in my under-used bullet journal. </p><p>I just reread them and HAHAHAHA'd and then put my head down on my desk, dejected. </p><p>Then I remembered, "oh yeah, we made those goals PRE-PANDEMIC." </p><p>I have to be kind and recall, the me who wrote those goals, many of which are not fulfilled, had NO IDEA that only three months into the year everything would become very, very stressful and "normal" would become relative. So forgiving myself all the things that were left undone or completely abandoned is reasonable. </p><p>Even if they aren't on the list, I want to think on the things I did achieve this past year. That DESPITE a global pandemic and DESPITE a very not-normal world and DESPITE a lot of stress, fear, and anxiety...I did manage to get <i>some</i> shit done. <br /> <br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>HOUSE</b></span><br />1) I expanded the front hill garden on the right side. 2019 me wanted to attack the giant bramble hill on the left, but 2020 me knew that was unrealistic. But I am pretty proud of how the hill garden grew. Hard to see it all, but there were so many pretty switchgrasses (Ruby Slippers, Shenandoah, Cheyenne Sky), mistflower, and ferns (including a painted fern called Godzilla, that will apparently grow to be nearly 3 feet tall, which sounds amazingly prehistoric and I might have to get a dinosaur garden sculpture for it). <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-6gkvbj6CUcIEkSaV7tcCa4Ov5myCK-MaLzqc0X1xpsQRi-NEfnG1TF-LCsGyFDHOYsC_qWzhfNsGZDGvndDF-jYbwV6x6TcsGwVi3-s-e6fqMsEDNaMnvnEXBEZq43R9BASYDKDCF8/s4032/IMG_20200824_134233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-6gkvbj6CUcIEkSaV7tcCa4Ov5myCK-MaLzqc0X1xpsQRi-NEfnG1TF-LCsGyFDHOYsC_qWzhfNsGZDGvndDF-jYbwV6x6TcsGwVi3-s-e6fqMsEDNaMnvnEXBEZq43R9BASYDKDCF8/w400-h300/IMG_20200824_134233.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6Mu1ehndz8PVDFTKHwc-9jyf7A8j2xD6PhSTdfgY0Bdkrv8gnCEDkSg1LWKeIdR0k_P6uyXIB3imTtNyqUd34FSI1_UYEcYPzaio4Or1bE8e7dVk5e9Oyvumzq9tTwoV8ovmhr7GjKI/s4032/IMG_20200824_134305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6Mu1ehndz8PVDFTKHwc-9jyf7A8j2xD6PhSTdfgY0Bdkrv8gnCEDkSg1LWKeIdR0k_P6uyXIB3imTtNyqUd34FSI1_UYEcYPzaio4Or1bE8e7dVk5e9Oyvumzq9tTwoV8ovmhr7GjKI/w300-h400/IMG_20200824_134305.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>2) I created a whole new garden space, my "birdbath garden," which is right out my office window. Turned out to be a key spot as I spent A LOT MORE TIME at my desk in front of that window this past year. There were annual Black and Blue salvias, red lobelia, verbena bonariensis, liatris (well, one got to flower this year, the rabbits beheaded the rest), and a new butterfly bush. I saw so many butterflies, hummingbirds, and even a hummingbird moth.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz66p4E1CNh-vFb1bIw0gLVAsqa76rgyEjkqkR8KT6IDC9lSYUIuI9lgSjEbBlH1oLtxDGUl6RdFA_JMTa_PtzSY_6zy8DEZrHCgItBBwCmwtfEG6Tey14iA1J85UVuE48Qq9dRJQVAsU/s4032/IMG_20200824_133839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz66p4E1CNh-vFb1bIw0gLVAsqa76rgyEjkqkR8KT6IDC9lSYUIuI9lgSjEbBlH1oLtxDGUl6RdFA_JMTa_PtzSY_6zy8DEZrHCgItBBwCmwtfEG6Tey14iA1J85UVuE48Qq9dRJQVAsU/w400-h300/IMG_20200824_133839.jpg" width="400" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz66p4E1CNh-vFb1bIw0gLVAsqa76rgyEjkqkR8KT6IDC9lSYUIuI9lgSjEbBlH1oLtxDGUl6RdFA_JMTa_PtzSY_6zy8DEZrHCgItBBwCmwtfEG6Tey14iA1J85UVuE48Qq9dRJQVAsU/s4032/IMG_20200824_133839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQ7zEXah-vQRQvAewYOjQtTzfDEb55dlaXeboEYb9FGsaDNZvTp4Ku-LW3estui2FjQ9mXELMvi1wQtIpovNjZ50gIQFrtOABE9pUpCiUGZlx3JlPYPeJIVJNj6X6k2Hp6QyOhBqYudg/s4032/IMG_20200824_133900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQ7zEXah-vQRQvAewYOjQtTzfDEb55dlaXeboEYb9FGsaDNZvTp4Ku-LW3estui2FjQ9mXELMvi1wQtIpovNjZ50gIQFrtOABE9pUpCiUGZlx3JlPYPeJIVJNj6X6k2Hp6QyOhBqYudg/w400-h300/IMG_20200824_133900.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><p> </p><p>3) ANOTHER new/expanded garden space! This is on the hill going up the side of the house from the driveway, and started with a boatload of daffodils I planted in the spring. It doesn't look super impressive since it's Year 1, but there's narrowleaf mountain mint, helenium, pink lobelia, astilbes galore, dwarf bleeding heart, purple verbascum, and campanula. Then I put in some coreopsis since it did so well in my corner garden, but we'll see what comes back! Always nice to have new garden space. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPcT2-61WCfxy4Lz5kjgKzIXTHraHWLx1DYQguASyqF_Rx3zwwGGqKCy0i5Mdd_STMGAyvW7Gqe-MHywHGH5BZJpnKI5EuDLGnpSWd0IQd9GMu56C_ydK4UNtw5wtjSYT9UCG4aJnd3Q/s4032/IMG_20200722_144023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipPcT2-61WCfxy4Lz5kjgKzIXTHraHWLx1DYQguASyqF_Rx3zwwGGqKCy0i5Mdd_STMGAyvW7Gqe-MHywHGH5BZJpnKI5EuDLGnpSWd0IQd9GMu56C_ydK4UNtw5wtjSYT9UCG4aJnd3Q/w300-h400/IMG_20200722_144023.jpg" width="300" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">4) We painted the house a lovely dark color and replaced the siding on the "weather side" of the house. We painted our front door a fun butternut squash orange that makes me happy every time I see it. Also, a small thing that made a huge difference was replacing the door in our bedroom to a tiny deck that turned out to be grandfathered and not particularly structurally sound (plus the source of a giant yellowjacket nest IN OUR WALL that you COULD HEAR, a favorite space of wasps, and an area with absolutely brutal sun in the summer) with a window and no deck. Sooooo much better. Can't find a "before" picture, but it was a door with a window and a broken seal, and it was half the glass size. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <img aria-label="Photo - Portrait - Sep 21, 2020, 5:02:24 PM" class="SzDcob" data-atf="false" data-iml="71905" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJI3bpXSU99dT-gncuIqucqu5fWsLZ0XPeEo0WMl4q2vSv7OGFqBL_q-hT7_x56PjzIS2hQE1qmHJeThmLB3WuvwSqFvwg-TY0fwDI5K1kroWgkWG5QZNw4IRE21PrJ0sHNz18vvYBhRE/w289-h386/?authuser=0" style="transform: translate3d(0px, 0px, 0px) rotate(0deg);" width="289" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFMTqjRrIW0EdXDuCMteSIalojIPUpYPjM7RYYWJkiGGosoVaatRG8-urMenGrTJ_fpGWma81STyjuga4xP2h_itiY10Cbb2U2YlZr-2mZqxPT_NnGUV4bOm-uuZ_ny7kjawwVtAhsy8/s4032/PXL_20201018_160436553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFMTqjRrIW0EdXDuCMteSIalojIPUpYPjM7RYYWJkiGGosoVaatRG8-urMenGrTJ_fpGWma81STyjuga4xP2h_itiY10Cbb2U2YlZr-2mZqxPT_NnGUV4bOm-uuZ_ny7kjawwVtAhsy8/w400-h300/PXL_20201018_160436553.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> 5) Bryce made that campsite area behind our house, and then we worked together to clear up the pond a bit and get it even more campy! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXTMB8fT_GOB17vIl3QKQjF5fDxxGXJyFDt8RWNacy5pYZccISvUKmpX-UeEzOquZkeGN_xYogw4sQdAaI6Hc9axOdfuG_lIZH1fqrDcy2SO2_j6FXz_-st3OIQPRfef7s1jzRM6C4f4/s4032/PXL_20201114_203446457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXTMB8fT_GOB17vIl3QKQjF5fDxxGXJyFDt8RWNacy5pYZccISvUKmpX-UeEzOquZkeGN_xYogw4sQdAaI6Hc9axOdfuG_lIZH1fqrDcy2SO2_j6FXz_-st3OIQPRfef7s1jzRM6C4f4/w300-h400/PXL_20201114_203446457.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cTr_ktyLOI3iVohRrnsK6d3vcKRu8wBPSHxjTAsQEm8-E5eYSLkWZhVrAyfL0oWbC8s7qstAeOs3sfp0OkzDAwrqY0kNYScgc-Hrlk8BNpoxi83umVYlUQxilFQwdLAhuQUWZBOm2Mw/s3264/PXL_20201114_212006116.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cTr_ktyLOI3iVohRrnsK6d3vcKRu8wBPSHxjTAsQEm8-E5eYSLkWZhVrAyfL0oWbC8s7qstAeOs3sfp0OkzDAwrqY0kNYScgc-Hrlk8BNpoxi83umVYlUQxilFQwdLAhuQUWZBOm2Mw/w400-h300/PXL_20201114_212006116.MP.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>WORK</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1) So many of the things I had on my list were impacted by the pandemic. HOWEVER, I did become Special Ed Lead Teacher for my building, which was a goal of mine and came to pass. A bit of a trial by fire, being lead teacher for the first time in a pandemic with hybrid model school, but I guess if I can do it now, I can do it anytime! I have no desire, NONE, to ever be an administrator, but I do enjoy being a teacher leader. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2) I did join the Diversity Council, and have done a lot of diversity and equity work in my building. Including being the point person for the apparently very controversial Black Lives Matter In Schools t-shirts and support days on the 19th of the month, which landed my district in the news and had some back and forth before the district-level administration wisely concluded that teachers wanting to participate in this county-wide conversation celebration were looking to support students and build awareness, and not looking to attack kids of police officers or teach kids that the police are racist or go marching down the hallways shouting "No Justice, No Peace." For the love of all that is holy, it was a hot mess but we worked through it and have lots of good work that we're doing. I got a fun catalog full of amazing Black History stuff (my favorite is a t-shirt that you can put your school's name on that says, "Black History Happens EVERY DAY: Learn, Live, and Celebrate the Legacy") and looked to see how come it came to me and it was addressed to "___ ____ Middle School Black History Program Director." Which is NOT my title but was pretty damn cool that someone saw the catalog and said, "yeah, that needs to go to Jess." <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3) A teacher colleague and I started a Social Justice Club that is limping along (hard to get a new club going when kids are in school 2 days a week but we're trying!). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">4) I haven't yet had a nervous breakdown due to the stress of pandemic teaching. A small thing, but an important one. Sadly I think the "yet" is an important modifier, as cases rise and this new variant makes itself known I am getting more and more nervous. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>FITNESS</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1) Note it doesn't say "weight loss." I'm going for strong, which is good because the pandemic stress goes straight to my belly. I was AWESOME at doing virtual Pilates classes 2-3x per week, every week, all the way through to the summer. The summer even saw me able to do outdoor classes at the new Mobile Studio, an open-air trailer. I love how strong Pilates makes me feel. I hate how once school started, it became VERY HARD to keep up with it. I was so tired. The showering when I get home kind of sucks away the motivation I have to do anything else after, because why shower after a long day of walking COVIDy halls if you can't immediately put soft, cozy pajamas on and try to relax a bit before doing more school work? However, since I was sucking at doing it, I did jump on an opportunity to do semi-private in person lessons at my teacher's in-home studio, which she cleans and sanitizes to hospital grade, keeps the windows open, has an insane air filtration system, and never has more than 2 established, known clients at a time, always at least 10 feet apart and masked. At first I was super nervous, but it felt SO GOOD to get back on a Reformer, and unlike the online classes, I felt too guilty to skip because a) I didn't want to lose money, b) I didn't want to screw her over if she was being nice and wasn't going to dock me, c) sometimes I just don't sign up for the online classes because I know I'll be tired, which then becomes self-fulfilling. This has been a bit of a gateway drug of sorts to get me back into the swing of things, and now I'm doing classes more regularly(ish). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2) We're walking a lot, but mostly on the weekends. Because of the whole shower situation. And break has been great for long walks. I actually did so much better with fitness when we were on lockdown and all virtual, because while that was stressful in different ways, I didn't have all the protocol maintenance to help us feel safe at home to contend with. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3) SUPER UNDER THE WIRE since we did it today, but we bought an exercise bike. Apparently, you can get really nice magnetic upright bikes that fold up. We just need something for cardio when we can't walk. Or when we want to do something different. I am excited, because I did the bike at the gym (although preferred the elliptical, but those are BEASTS to have at home), and when we stopped going to the gym (you will NOT find me in a gym-gym during this pandemic, no way) I missed that cardio part. Also I read my kindle on the equipment, so that will give me a 2-for-1! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>WRITING</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1) Well, I sucked sucked sucked ass on this one. I don't know why I am so scared to branch out, to put things out into the greater world. Still haven't done it. Did more research on places to submit and stuff like that, but ultimately I chickened out. And it felt like more of a fail because of the whole "oh, pandemic, SO MUCH TIME to do that thing you've always wanted to do!" but then I forgive myself because THERE WASN'T ACTUALLY THAT KIND OF <b>PRODUCTIVE</b> TIME. Being in an anxiety state all the time kind of makes it difficult to do new and exciting things. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2) I did keep blogging, and I'm trying to be more consistent about it since I love this so much. I really, really try not to fall behind but it's been sooo hard with all the stress of school. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3) I have written some pieces, some stuff, and I'm trying to get in the habit of priming that pump and writing every single damn day, apart from this space. I love it so much, and I don't understand why I keep choking on it. Sigh. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>VACATION</b></span><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Obviously we didn't take any vacations or anything, didn't get to see family who live out of state, and have had minimal adventures. We did discover a ton of local trails, many walking distance. We had our campfire nights, and Bryce is cooking up a storm. But no Scotland, no Washington State, no Maine, no California, no Texas. A lot of Pinterest travel. A lot of fantasizing about having a tiny house somewhere off grid but yet with a flushing toilet (I really want to like the idea of composting toilets, but I just can't get over how like a litter box it is). Looking up places to hike all over the world once this is over. I did read 91 books this year, so that was like many mental vacations. <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When all is said and done, it was a pretty good year despite everything else that happened around us. We are surviving, maybe even thriving (even though it is exhausting and sometimes my job feels like a form of Russian Roulette). We managed to have fun and do stuff that made us happy even as it felt like the world was burning. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I think, though, that I am going to make some very, very low-key goals for 2021. Nothing too crazy. I can always try to overshoot. (But not that whole Shoot-for-the-moon-even-if-you-miss-you'll-land-among-the-stars bullshit. No, no you won't. You will fall back into the atmosphere and burn up. Womp-womp...)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happy New Year's Eve, may you be able to (safely) celebrate the end of this year and hope for a better one ahead. <br /></div><p></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-44128201565196780382020-12-28T09:18:00.002-08:002020-12-28T09:18:49.095-08:00The New Tree<p> Well, we did it. The artificial tree is up, and I have to say that I LOVE IT. It's not quite the same as a "real" one, but it has: no needles everywhere, no sticky sap giving me hives, no fear of cat death from tree water lapping, no wondering where to put it when it's done, no lingering guilt over sanctioned tree-murder... and for positives, it HAS A REMOTE for the lights, which sparkle like stars, it fits ALL our ornaments, it's bigger than any tree we could safely transport in our cars (7.5 feet tall!), and it can live in the attic. I thought I would be all grudgingly okay with a fake tree, but man, I feel all in on it, even though the branches feel somewhat like mascara wands. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9zbgJtGjzFKrrDqctQYjJ02oMNOJGzSPgUU7axm2GUdWSiahYn9DPfioICO8SovhkCcEGjLBElJ-fS3plMcHlsF_4AUsb88Sggll6rKXyBxCSsIGJ4kfUhG8dimpGgfaWsUIw8ZZSgw/s4032/PXL_20201223_015453467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9zbgJtGjzFKrrDqctQYjJ02oMNOJGzSPgUU7axm2GUdWSiahYn9DPfioICO8SovhkCcEGjLBElJ-fS3plMcHlsF_4AUsb88Sggll6rKXyBxCSsIGJ4kfUhG8dimpGgfaWsUIw8ZZSgw/w300-h400/PXL_20201223_015453467.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p>I thought I'd share some of my favorite ornaments. Sadly, we couldn't find my puffin ornament (it's SOMEWHERE, I just don't know where), and this is not exhaustive, but here's the ornaments and stories that go with them: </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Yxn75XvacuIiMJp6m8xg9jEB8VuIPtRhqZVB3V5nUxvRh59cuz7S_iI9ubV3s7snLSJEOuejdN67XguasXZtGG6Nv7XqIUidhVBWkUYqlX1ojv3vMnR_ZeoQUwSzuqTn3eedI8cqWe8/s4032/PXL_20201228_160422028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Yxn75XvacuIiMJp6m8xg9jEB8VuIPtRhqZVB3V5nUxvRh59cuz7S_iI9ubV3s7snLSJEOuejdN67XguasXZtGG6Nv7XqIUidhVBWkUYqlX1ojv3vMnR_ZeoQUwSzuqTn3eedI8cqWe8/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160422028.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love this book-toting mouse. Saw it a year ago and toyed with giving it away but couldn't part with her! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4nc_1dEJFN7ZPGIpkrkPJEFGR-AM2Lw0pvweWL_0ntMgNlcQp9mqz2iyw4LFfxwxBuqoPeyR7g1fmgM72bHHr65I_7XlNV83IbA2SdsmfHgE3zV-nWpRaaEzvLt2eAkmGxq8KO2_Ohs/s4032/PXL_20201228_160953924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4nc_1dEJFN7ZPGIpkrkPJEFGR-AM2Lw0pvweWL_0ntMgNlcQp9mqz2iyw4LFfxwxBuqoPeyR7g1fmgM72bHHr65I_7XlNV83IbA2SdsmfHgE3zV-nWpRaaEzvLt2eAkmGxq8KO2_Ohs/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160953924.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the newest, a Danforth Pewter Snowflake Bentley 2020 ornament. Trying to make this a tradition. Also love the owl peeking from the back. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVwCl8ItWPMAElW2f6O25-ypI3chM3eUBs60ANRZOoxynx4RBdZOK7DFgfZePUB85eWjSA2FWfQRenEbH7GOA0dF1CB_bvBvmCjqCQmujNJw2j8zfNrnDZwnuDLcWUhpKnQ0Ljo1xOBSk/s4032/PXL_20201228_161003970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVwCl8ItWPMAElW2f6O25-ypI3chM3eUBs60ANRZOoxynx4RBdZOK7DFgfZePUB85eWjSA2FWfQRenEbH7GOA0dF1CB_bvBvmCjqCQmujNJw2j8zfNrnDZwnuDLcWUhpKnQ0Ljo1xOBSk/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_161003970.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is also new, from our administration at school and the Tech teacher, who churned out one of these FOR EVERY STAFF MEMBER. Nice, right? <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3Uyd3c1ZUuhC1r1sJJS8p5T9INWEvTJLa6IuLQ4gQJB6Kk0wVgE2_CngizCeDShRbQ31-2PfpQTYSa8m5O3Myl4MkW-fLamwb9_1blHhWVTz6inerx4V-ktd7Uxs2xfWw5AxhsCdbuE/s4032/PXL_20201228_160619343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn3Uyd3c1ZUuhC1r1sJJS8p5T9INWEvTJLa6IuLQ4gQJB6Kk0wVgE2_CngizCeDShRbQ31-2PfpQTYSa8m5O3Myl4MkW-fLamwb9_1blHhWVTz6inerx4V-ktd7Uxs2xfWw5AxhsCdbuE/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160619343.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beautiful hand-painted owl<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCsIVmwYNXxcUqnBdH1B7-GgyLYWbAsmQQfer2IuyUUSYrMBt4UzXrx56YmFwMlWOFObyGhGz4ciNcEGpDno7BUSaSbDf-53TwjG7bSM2aAHy4kp5i0Rr9yvrU2sQfWSSYnPCVhmKv-c/s4032/PXL_20201228_160932819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCsIVmwYNXxcUqnBdH1B7-GgyLYWbAsmQQfer2IuyUUSYrMBt4UzXrx56YmFwMlWOFObyGhGz4ciNcEGpDno7BUSaSbDf-53TwjG7bSM2aAHy4kp5i0Rr9yvrU2sQfWSSYnPCVhmKv-c/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160932819.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another owl, with slightly evil eyes and apparently placed where it can remind me that the tree has joinery. Hmmph<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifUMgAagL9Cut9kgpt0cDUhqvd9AA4-sybvMBgjv0L3dNS7wL78qFT-d0u6unDxiRTi44Rmi0PnexuBwrfriR-rYZ8AnmFpe_EEF0zERVO76CWcKdBaZEbiwveXu1dxBVoMxncd-Tadc0/s3264/PXL_20201228_160827824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifUMgAagL9Cut9kgpt0cDUhqvd9AA4-sybvMBgjv0L3dNS7wL78qFT-d0u6unDxiRTi44Rmi0PnexuBwrfriR-rYZ8AnmFpe_EEF0zERVO76CWcKdBaZEbiwveXu1dxBVoMxncd-Tadc0/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160827824.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was part of a set from Target within the last couple years, the rest is a bluebird in a scarf and an owl, but this reminds me of BingBong from <i>Inside Out.</i> So fun and also terrifying.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiS66DDel0pNN1GGfaR6WriqLo1Q9jpySOPv881uaVJ1-2_kOgCX4eIQYVXCg9tRMdA5V3kt3PouECWFMVDC6SkIKNY30b2NTuVhilzzjXCn8KLPF19yHaBfqecUYar6WHxBUoGuSJjgA/s4032/PXL_20201228_160751191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiS66DDel0pNN1GGfaR6WriqLo1Q9jpySOPv881uaVJ1-2_kOgCX4eIQYVXCg9tRMdA5V3kt3PouECWFMVDC6SkIKNY30b2NTuVhilzzjXCn8KLPF19yHaBfqecUYar6WHxBUoGuSJjgA/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160751191.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speaking of terrifying, this was a gift to Bryce last year -- his very own Cthulu blown glass ornament! Hilarious, a Lovecraft Ancient Evil One on our tree, watched over by the fox that goes with the owl up above. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVbNYPTqt9Lb4BB0DjTa-pTiQ4glThiixOT-hhF0e9TWGiscA1TGl14lrz99JLc4reu2s2V-C6rZG5ovFq6AgEug0FSNfeMeQbczFSnuO8jCzBmxce8YOsZfs23V3GfvGTDK71tiN2d0/s4032/PXL_20201228_160654471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQVbNYPTqt9Lb4BB0DjTa-pTiQ4glThiixOT-hhF0e9TWGiscA1TGl14lrz99JLc4reu2s2V-C6rZG5ovFq6AgEug0FSNfeMeQbczFSnuO8jCzBmxce8YOsZfs23V3GfvGTDK71tiN2d0/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160654471.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful, woodsy new home ornament. And a violin!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVY_ue4ZpvXmOacY4Qq3w0Ko-894_HPWHUeNhfs6s9_c9NkuVQqwIgVXJGMHsJHOriDXAERMN90DFeoYyMXuQJMhbib9KywhqGIVcKTRlVbvbozNeG9351UMSe3u7HkLvv2jmsimI-Bgw/s4032/PXL_20201228_160905017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVY_ue4ZpvXmOacY4Qq3w0Ko-894_HPWHUeNhfs6s9_c9NkuVQqwIgVXJGMHsJHOriDXAERMN90DFeoYyMXuQJMhbib9KywhqGIVcKTRlVbvbozNeG9351UMSe3u7HkLvv2jmsimI-Bgw/w400-h300/PXL_20201228_160905017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bryce loves a woody tree car, and we have them hidden around the house all season (pillows, pewter ornaments, etc). So old-fashioned.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiz9MBy_2_i3ICUBfORUx7ORc8-c_kvTVjQpWIpHpdF04rPrrPv9aD2pHsBS1Y-m67YGLDMcLs_WPDrjg6cyNHAUSDLw5Eu5jogObFOWVdBlpR9POqxd_IAt544g9JQwpqRz5R5lJT0wk/s4032/PXL_20201228_160435491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiz9MBy_2_i3ICUBfORUx7ORc8-c_kvTVjQpWIpHpdF04rPrrPv9aD2pHsBS1Y-m67YGLDMcLs_WPDrjg6cyNHAUSDLw5Eu5jogObFOWVdBlpR9POqxd_IAt544g9JQwpqRz5R5lJT0wk/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160435491.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is special, it was from the family of a young man with autism who I taught for three years in a unique situation where we were 1:1, when he was 15-18. This was the last year. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZ02q4gV__PHaIX8hDa8pa6pDNhh8U1EfKjH784GAD_Z85WTKt0rCSEpwLS3VNaW2KLIqUMgRJmdXnERiUtAgXcNm9JL-Ge5orPAFgSfiDdtSqNYPOlerCpvYh7bSym_Z0fcNE29WxIQ/s4032/PXL_20201228_160536927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZ02q4gV__PHaIX8hDa8pa6pDNhh8U1EfKjH784GAD_Z85WTKt0rCSEpwLS3VNaW2KLIqUMgRJmdXnERiUtAgXcNm9JL-Ge5orPAFgSfiDdtSqNYPOlerCpvYh7bSym_Z0fcNE29WxIQ/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160536927.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also special, flowers from my grandmother's funeral. I love that she always has a spot on the tree. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjkDAgihcR6xA1x0YTzSfQ-pn9aQzeWo76oXJzG1dNW0cb10ZUqgWYkHXqq_2nKmDQ89CJHEKVxY3B5tpl0_cvffIE-s3qu-h_QKowh5Gqk9mJfoyhCzVm-fNtobQRd0sEtLy1Xx6s0s/s4032/PXL_20201228_161021333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjkDAgihcR6xA1x0YTzSfQ-pn9aQzeWo76oXJzG1dNW0cb10ZUqgWYkHXqq_2nKmDQ89CJHEKVxY3B5tpl0_cvffIE-s3qu-h_QKowh5Gqk9mJfoyhCzVm-fNtobQRd0sEtLy1Xx6s0s/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_161021333.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhh, Cape May! Used to go there in summer with my best friend, her mom, and her aunt, until she started having kids and I started not-having-kids. Someday we'll go back! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>These are super special: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOjv548lHHTh_UMY6twDR-5uwsMe8U-hvD0pb_2gziEqbIN2j5qmejd9wUokt2uL30LovZVMt5lSkac8ps_gV9ClX72KD5rIghB3BjewH_mI-LE7u9yPgAqJK_W2bNQbB9L3aVvRGceY/s4032/PXL_20201228_160455504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSOjv548lHHTh_UMY6twDR-5uwsMe8U-hvD0pb_2gziEqbIN2j5qmejd9wUokt2uL30LovZVMt5lSkac8ps_gV9ClX72KD5rIghB3BjewH_mI-LE7u9yPgAqJK_W2bNQbB9L3aVvRGceY/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160455504.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kLdOUrKtSoXVnwDYEiaOxs7wD_q0nuH6f7gSytINzDM3yAHZCqLyKDh6-xaJifRwChTsMW3Xn99lnB9-zdA15MfjOBdfLN_7O7uYYtft4vqDaGwRy-KnF-wKwslwldweG2Gk_nltNLY/s4032/PXL_20201228_160723838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5kLdOUrKtSoXVnwDYEiaOxs7wD_q0nuH6f7gSytINzDM3yAHZCqLyKDh6-xaJifRwChTsMW3Xn99lnB9-zdA15MfjOBdfLN_7O7uYYtft4vqDaGwRy-KnF-wKwslwldweG2Gk_nltNLY/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160723838.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6tYHzDWb9DcIt60SwJmLmeetStxxLugFWOy13hxYXgntVf-3JZeT3843XhtzTZfeUoWBrWSjxuJKhb4edx20DE4r3fx-N3WFbvad2m6JIpRRPhDuMIo5fb6VCXcgQGGDQhW2tWL5pkE/s4032/PXL_20201228_160735510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6tYHzDWb9DcIt60SwJmLmeetStxxLugFWOy13hxYXgntVf-3JZeT3843XhtzTZfeUoWBrWSjxuJKhb4edx20DE4r3fx-N3WFbvad2m6JIpRRPhDuMIo5fb6VCXcgQGGDQhW2tWL5pkE/w300-h400/PXL_20201228_160735510.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p>These are each part of sets that my best friend bought me in 2006, sort of new-start ornaments. I had lost a lot of ornaments when I left my first husband. There was a box when I went to pick up stuff but I didn't feel safe or comfortable going inside the house formerly known as mine, so I had to be fine with whatever was there and chalk the rest up to loss. Christmas 2005 was pretty much a disaster as my marriage imploded spectacularly with the revealing of horrid secrets right before Christmas, and my dad whisked me away to L.A. so I could be somewhere totally new. So my first Christmas, sort of on my own (I was already dating Bryce at this point, but just, and living in my parents' house they'd bought for retirement), I got to have sets of brand new ornaments. I cried my eyes out because it was such a meaningful, thoughtful gift. And they go on the tree every year! </p><p>There's about a zillion more ornaments with stories, but seeing as how it's supposed to be Microblog Monday, I'll stop here (which is still over the rules, sigh). </p><p>Happy holidays to you and yours! <br /></p><p><br /></p><i><b>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/12/microblog-monday-331-good-feelings-about-unread-books/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </b></i><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-76794848840341361312020-12-20T09:02:00.002-08:002020-12-20T09:02:37.959-08:00Creating Holiday Happiness<p>In a world where everything is filled with doom and gloom and terrible news and isolation and fear, I want to create some joy, dammit. </p><p>I need to. </p><p>I have been feeling really, really low lately. The cumulative impact of the pandemic is just weighing heavily. Teaching in person in a pandemic with soaring numbers and no testing and a film of rosy denial settled all over school is insanely stressful. I worry about getting sick. I worry about getting Bryce sick. I don't see anyone else, so I don't have to worry about that, but with the information out about possible <a href="https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/the-hidden-long-term-cognitive-effects-of-covid-2020100821133" target="_blank">long term cognitive impacts</a> of the virus, I am TERRIFIED of getting it and also passing it to Bryce. He has a special brain. I like to think I do, too, but his mathy sciencey PhD-y brain is kind of our (gluten free) bread and butter. It makes me want to vomit and it makes me very upset to think that the job I absolutely love could change our lives forever in such a negative way. </p><p>So, back to the idea of this post -- JOY, not further doom spiraling. </p><p>I absolutely love decorating for Christmas. I love sending out cards, those photo cards that typically are covered in children. I love finding presents for people that I hope they absolutely love, and wrapping those presents in fancy ways. </p><p>This year, we did a photo card again (we have one for every year since we were married, which is a fun little time capsule) but did not do a photo shoot. We did "photos of the pandemic" that we took ourselves because that's the kind of year this is. It wasn't funny or silly like previous years, although we could have done pictures of us in pajamas or business-up-top-and-cozy-bottoms. I firmly believe that my family of two can have these photo cards and illustrate that families come in different sizes. I get an insane amount of joy putting these together and sending them out, and then looking at each year (I have a box with now 12 years of cards).<br /></p><p> Here is the 2020 card: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5DuHCunoBh8bPDQei5RgLQxf1Ij9CRgWPRlAmt1PWVRv4KOQHDlYNWb4Sq0pnYtt7Ddt8YM3EhyphenhyphenNi5ybteaDGGT_we0QvtuIVqzjFg1vrWv54WNw10kIGSU2eJXK-mVL1t07qFO1G_4/s3571/PXL_20201220_145300475%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2544" data-original-width="3571" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI5DuHCunoBh8bPDQei5RgLQxf1Ij9CRgWPRlAmt1PWVRv4KOQHDlYNWb4Sq0pnYtt7Ddt8YM3EhyphenhyphenNi5ybteaDGGT_we0QvtuIVqzjFg1vrWv54WNw10kIGSU2eJXK-mVL1t07qFO1G_4/w400-h286/PXL_20201220_145300475%257E2.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQnddbedZgHZK573Ja86k0fT9SNqOagrIWdo45jWhebuYHNtsMeox0yzoFdF5rSLFtqF42kcBukTwlwN3mPRbPZabgl-NR85qogT-KLgwJs5EMBYSOtCzE_5U5qngW0k63tqcyhImzEOg/s3468/PXL_20201220_145315290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2184" data-original-width="3468" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQnddbedZgHZK573Ja86k0fT9SNqOagrIWdo45jWhebuYHNtsMeox0yzoFdF5rSLFtqF42kcBukTwlwN3mPRbPZabgl-NR85qogT-KLgwJs5EMBYSOtCzE_5U5qngW0k63tqcyhImzEOg/w400-h253/PXL_20201220_145315290.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>I don't know why the text came out so insanely tiny on the back. But maybe it just makes it an extra challenge, like an eye test for the holidays. </p><p>We don't have a tree yet. I am still mildly resentful about having to pick one up, by myself, at Home Depot last year. It had to be small so I could pick it up myself and shove it in the back of my Subaru, and neighbors who happened to be there helped me get it in too, but it was worth it to have an actual tree in the house. And, I guess, to save a somewhat scraggly last minute tree that ended up looking lovely in our living room, even from the deck outside: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKpAVQRV3iSCQLOHVtopb4F4PuzkKGZ0zZbnB7N-ANhO1kqiYGidCkRxT800_WA4wKQnFBgDATDczgoXpVhaoWljl8UPKOUywuky1qrTkXcRrK3X62JPZLSvUfAfkpcekl96IJcl0M_G4/s4032/IMG_20191225_165959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKpAVQRV3iSCQLOHVtopb4F4PuzkKGZ0zZbnB7N-ANhO1kqiYGidCkRxT800_WA4wKQnFBgDATDczgoXpVhaoWljl8UPKOUywuky1qrTkXcRrK3X62JPZLSvUfAfkpcekl96IJcl0M_G4/w300-h400/IMG_20191225_165959.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>I didn't want to go get a sad tree by my lonesome this year. I wanted Bryce to have to get it, or go with me. But there was nowhere we felt comfy going, and so this weekend Bryce ordered our very first artificial pre-lit tree. It's 7 1/2 feet tall, which is the tallest tree we've ever had, and it is being delivered tomorrow. I have been assured that it's the environmentally-friendly option, that it will last year after year after year, but it still makes me sad that it's not real. Probably it will make me less sad when I'm not constantly watering it, sweeping up dead needles, freaking out that the cat may drink the tree water and die (not sure that's actually a thing), or worrying about fire hazards. And of course, not worrying about where in our yard to dump it when it's done. That always seems wasteful, although I like to think that putting it somewhere in the scrub brush area of our property it provides a habitat for...something. </p><p>Otherwise, I've decorated up the inside, and even splurged on some new decorations for a spot I've been dying to decorate: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsk2NjsxE2UYVkYfRN_5NkwtINFs5KfTlNhqWrQwqUV-1Dgr238pvBiY2TlnNXsqcJCa-el2c0LzJgNo-J4S4ATYEsxsAwIbDDgpV4_inJfk9g3g6RNUjHKUCYuX5GT5BNhc88jqoU94/s3706/PXL_20201210_232212059._exported_735_1607643853442.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2779" data-original-width="3706" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKsk2NjsxE2UYVkYfRN_5NkwtINFs5KfTlNhqWrQwqUV-1Dgr238pvBiY2TlnNXsqcJCa-el2c0LzJgNo-J4S4ATYEsxsAwIbDDgpV4_inJfk9g3g6RNUjHKUCYuX5GT5BNhc88jqoU94/w400-h300/PXL_20201210_232212059._exported_735_1607643853442.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDakDAhYVQWiYxO03pYMzoEiSSqM6iqK-iIbBRGAzvhIVoLF3uYijTCJiM9LNQBWfftedOF35F_F72YZy3S9M-Pdqr8PEDJ7DkKJ3YDIGXKBc29xd8jA3N6ox8PEqHMrDn7ko_B2PUVo/s4032/PXL_20201210_232252547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDakDAhYVQWiYxO03pYMzoEiSSqM6iqK-iIbBRGAzvhIVoLF3uYijTCJiM9LNQBWfftedOF35F_F72YZy3S9M-Pdqr8PEDJ7DkKJ3YDIGXKBc29xd8jA3N6ox8PEqHMrDn7ko_B2PUVo/w300-h400/PXL_20201210_232252547.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>Bryce has since put some fairy lights behind "Merry Christmas," which is lovely and cozy. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJAs3LmmzQGf1hsQnGpyfgU8zCrfMXM2AlM0LtoQHsVrSDyqSZHjn56cq_wb0eF2Ug6KJ6RRXZ_5roVacF8TyTMOR9iYoLLf4H55fTX95KQZfUxUoKBLBH2PgYo5ELxvGrMckX1RKhkU/s4032/PXL_20201210_232323046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJAs3LmmzQGf1hsQnGpyfgU8zCrfMXM2AlM0LtoQHsVrSDyqSZHjn56cq_wb0eF2Ug6KJ6RRXZ_5roVacF8TyTMOR9iYoLLf4H55fTX95KQZfUxUoKBLBH2PgYo5ELxvGrMckX1RKhkU/w300-h400/PXL_20201210_232323046.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p>I guess I do have a little tree, but can't put any presents under it. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVuCf7KQkkrwF6zF0hJnz_TnPEimkdNrowVyZTk0GONwNjX6uN8Th9DsYoo9ViwVgP8raJLcJR1oAH0D9QXqv-tXy-heaDZJ_bVVbih3n35WqdmucxCoYJugLiAqm4dp7_tcsQBMpiko/s4032/PXL_20201205_231947405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVuCf7KQkkrwF6zF0hJnz_TnPEimkdNrowVyZTk0GONwNjX6uN8Th9DsYoo9ViwVgP8raJLcJR1oAH0D9QXqv-tXy-heaDZJ_bVVbih3n35WqdmucxCoYJugLiAqm4dp7_tcsQBMpiko/w300-h400/PXL_20201205_231947405.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCe9Fn17GzfD9O0dmS6xzM80bgcHfF4mqYwZonIJkxmPWKHTCJ18Dg765a86OSJfZsUa6kVbJ3qeHCsFyCYbetY-vK9GB9fS1IruhMMRFgSSNKnwdD9qiJUbQBxcCw8dRFbXy5pO-POw/s3771/PXL_20201205_232023654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2828" data-original-width="3771" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBCe9Fn17GzfD9O0dmS6xzM80bgcHfF4mqYwZonIJkxmPWKHTCJ18Dg765a86OSJfZsUa6kVbJ3qeHCsFyCYbetY-vK9GB9fS1IruhMMRFgSSNKnwdD9qiJUbQBxcCw8dRFbXy5pO-POw/w400-h300/PXL_20201205_232023654.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Love our mantel decorations, including the card I received twice from the same friend that always has a place of honor in the middle.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmXdQe_TKNwlUg1YvwDV58roly9v39I05gy6bMt27zDKkSy3Q3U4tlPFnXMdEpQFYyNF6xSrD-qEMeQzspquT9lePgVaIpCVNDtMuCuc_OtWUyFfEahk5T4OTr-RwXf1zydYL8wEoR9o/w300-h400/PXL_20201205_230948151.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dining room side of the fireplace. Not sure if you can see that the little black owl statue on the right has a Santa hat on.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmXdQe_TKNwlUg1YvwDV58roly9v39I05gy6bMt27zDKkSy3Q3U4tlPFnXMdEpQFYyNF6xSrD-qEMeQzspquT9lePgVaIpCVNDtMuCuc_OtWUyFfEahk5T4OTr-RwXf1zydYL8wEoR9o/s4032/PXL_20201205_230948151.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCUmCnSh3gC2FXx-IjLo1PgnzanfKMQLCF3D2rd54IAvN2UjK7dR7uW4nAxQVkFjJgqyD8oPTS17w7ZeRuuEyr7uiMXfL5uzrb6GDz9A5BIPy7ceWREKoSsiD3PVBTsCyW9ds8u-wWcQ/s4032/PXL_20201205_235757357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCUmCnSh3gC2FXx-IjLo1PgnzanfKMQLCF3D2rd54IAvN2UjK7dR7uW4nAxQVkFjJgqyD8oPTS17w7ZeRuuEyr7uiMXfL5uzrb6GDz9A5BIPy7ceWREKoSsiD3PVBTsCyW9ds8u-wWcQ/w400-h300/PXL_20201205_235757357.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p>The world's tiniest reindeer pulls a ginormous sleigh, while I tempt fate with a zillion tiny fires.</p></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJFHZmZxDG10GGybBmJLmQ3IA25smLvBzXm0G4UNlpHg1QycKrZM9NobkofuShu7F7VuyxOXEqcae87mXJM2QQx0Xh1EyxFYOXhWMZ1LgJBk6Cet1o2DkL8X4i0g3jCtVujlr-idOc1M/s4032/PXL_20201220_164524666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJFHZmZxDG10GGybBmJLmQ3IA25smLvBzXm0G4UNlpHg1QycKrZM9NobkofuShu7F7VuyxOXEqcae87mXJM2QQx0Xh1EyxFYOXhWMZ1LgJBk6Cet1o2DkL8X4i0g3jCtVujlr-idOc1M/w400-h300/PXL_20201220_164524666.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And of course, our woodland critter countdown -- every day we pick a new critter from the bag. It's such a fun ritual!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>The outside got a wreath courtesy of my mother-in-law: </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TiVACgpHYRaTm33eVR7mQLKXwkf1RJ6B7oVjW00NTeJD7jgHVUR1OrwFQfI00XmtL-wozfUPOtQrTSZsYiymhYrs5pYfy6zyQa0lu5bGXiOkNEy_SnjOJySuDukB2duX2qPj7lXlVEI/w300-h400/PXL_20201205_213931039._exported_1129_1607210486020.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lit at night(ish)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TiVACgpHYRaTm33eVR7mQLKXwkf1RJ6B7oVjW00NTeJD7jgHVUR1OrwFQfI00XmtL-wozfUPOtQrTSZsYiymhYrs5pYfy6zyQa0lu5bGXiOkNEy_SnjOJySuDukB2duX2qPj7lXlVEI/s4032/PXL_20201205_213931039._exported_1129_1607210486020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjo8nnkRDO6yM95MGayLSOO1BeuVKj1iIg05y6UUwUeO9tyci4V-KFIUN2eP9hLQeTHxdrETEFBqIWy_Jp9ifYsSJr-C1sA7E6DbFaXfiqyMzbEwVgHvJv2pzhRcih-MxXydTEt3u20c/s4032/PXL_20201220_163652817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjo8nnkRDO6yM95MGayLSOO1BeuVKj1iIg05y6UUwUeO9tyci4V-KFIUN2eP9hLQeTHxdrETEFBqIWy_Jp9ifYsSJr-C1sA7E6DbFaXfiqyMzbEwVgHvJv2pzhRcih-MxXydTEt3u20c/w400-h300/PXL_20201220_163652817.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iced in snow during the day.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>I felt like we needed more. So I went out and decorated our skeletal bushes: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtrZeQX_5D4P1J9sTMa5dTpFkdX1kLu1vgRiPXE5qYP2EY6ZeUmODYc_OIZ3hvQXD8uop_U3GdciauccAbbZSS08cdxp75D7kk45HsO8NQNcZwisTckDskObJGXeIJu792Du9W1F1Hfw/s4032/PXL_20201217_205000521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtrZeQX_5D4P1J9sTMa5dTpFkdX1kLu1vgRiPXE5qYP2EY6ZeUmODYc_OIZ3hvQXD8uop_U3GdciauccAbbZSS08cdxp75D7kk45HsO8NQNcZwisTckDskObJGXeIJu792Du9W1F1Hfw/w300-h400/PXL_20201217_205000521.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y7T5imkoWWuj2dwNuGzfml8JhsJvMHj1mmYRgviExbvDrUlILAo7JzB6gPgQJatzZIO2JLeCXf8svkxNhar14iPE7HdwZZ8ZFt9TxQqZghBrXHbqvQdQQ-W22iVjI4NRZ_CmRhvD-6A/s4032/PXL_20201220_162003382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7y7T5imkoWWuj2dwNuGzfml8JhsJvMHj1mmYRgviExbvDrUlILAo7JzB6gPgQJatzZIO2JLeCXf8svkxNhar14iPE7HdwZZ8ZFt9TxQqZghBrXHbqvQdQQ-W22iVjI4NRZ_CmRhvD-6A/w300-h400/PXL_20201220_162003382.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>And our pine tree out front: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7YrC79jr1EkZr905arogC0OfrgcdwkxQ0rBBj9vbU80xuRvz2jPcMTZseU-Uy8BBKxxxpPzzwdhq7fXU7PdCUuMVdtytB2HfJJ4gRD0BJxqmjgehsymvAKq0ZCjSiY_DzS3jI6s-OcY/s4032/PXL_20201220_162055311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7YrC79jr1EkZr905arogC0OfrgcdwkxQ0rBBj9vbU80xuRvz2jPcMTZseU-Uy8BBKxxxpPzzwdhq7fXU7PdCUuMVdtytB2HfJJ4gRD0BJxqmjgehsymvAKq0ZCjSiY_DzS3jI6s-OcY/w400-h300/PXL_20201220_162055311.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLBO8OJNHm65aNVrm-m7lUb4T8ai2gzkXokZTOu-_PlZq267wovK3uHcgjbjZGMyBc8O_Hqldc-9CCelg9T6ABJAWYCuafNZe_KZXk8Ew3-B6OzRpJS0G6TGkP8zcUFXD38MdggiT8zE/s4032/PXL_20201220_163350908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLBO8OJNHm65aNVrm-m7lUb4T8ai2gzkXokZTOu-_PlZq267wovK3uHcgjbjZGMyBc8O_Hqldc-9CCelg9T6ABJAWYCuafNZe_KZXk8Ew3-B6OzRpJS0G6TGkP8zcUFXD38MdggiT8zE/w400-h300/PXL_20201220_163350908.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p>And even our mailbox: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4od81xPyceUx8S6wRkFNDNb0x30bnBkKT5i6AOG7ZicmSE9lc5A8PfjUhakJSCkh3UgsAIc30eVU8LA_zfr1tyMDlgmkgSkmtUA62u7dgyZjAffLLys775PGp3bceJt_E0v7fP3ROVz4/s4032/PXL_20201220_162127328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4od81xPyceUx8S6wRkFNDNb0x30bnBkKT5i6AOG7ZicmSE9lc5A8PfjUhakJSCkh3UgsAIc30eVU8LA_zfr1tyMDlgmkgSkmtUA62u7dgyZjAffLLys775PGp3bceJt_E0v7fP3ROVz4/w300-h400/PXL_20201220_162127328.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>I feel this overwhelming need, in a time where everything is so dismal, to spread joy and happiness everywhere I can. To make the magic of the holidays something special for a couple of 40-somethings without kids. Everyone deserves some magic!<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br />Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-26453693187010218272020-12-16T17:11:00.006-08:002020-12-16T17:11:42.581-08:00An Antidote to Doom<p>I suck at blogging right now. Then again, I am feeling pretty sucky and down in the dumps in general.</p><p>Maybe it's because I am exhausted to the bone from teaching, STILL IN PERSON, with an 8.8% positivity rate in the county where I teach. It is more stressful every day. </p><p>Maybe it's because when I get home I literally feel like mush and struggle to function. </p><p>I cannot wait until break. A week from today I will be there. And by there I mean at home, no longer going into what feels increasingly like a gauntlet of germs and exposure.</p><p>Since I have limited brainpower at the end of the day, I scroll mindlessly on my phone. (Not social media though, that is pretty much a guarantee of doom spiraling.)</p><p>And I discovered the antidote to "doomscrolling" -- <a href="https://joyscroll.lookslikeyouneediceland.com/" target="_blank">JOYSCROLLING</a>. Click on the link and you will be treated to sights and sounds of Iceland, including PUFFINS. And some great music, and delicious food being cooked, and waterfalls and rainbows and ocean. </p><p>Enjoy. </p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-53914050680664813262020-11-27T10:15:00.000-08:002020-11-27T10:15:04.157-08:00On Thankfulness and Grief<p>Sometimes Facebook throws out gems of wisdom, and this week I saw one worth sharing: </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIqsLjQVw30_V5pYNN1LpAHafQmnUPueiHh0uN7FmJaZ-r1a3v3U___LHD6-oJtv8-tVMUazEejY16QGLh4QNOtEUHDB0aFeirBpa4_30EnkXFyBbPkVKDtwabCZkGL7L0bjO7k7wkHOg/s1080/Screenshot_20201126-100436%257E2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1080" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIqsLjQVw30_V5pYNN1LpAHafQmnUPueiHh0uN7FmJaZ-r1a3v3U___LHD6-oJtv8-tVMUazEejY16QGLh4QNOtEUHDB0aFeirBpa4_30EnkXFyBbPkVKDtwabCZkGL7L0bjO7k7wkHOg/w400-h396/Screenshot_20201126-100436%257E2.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <br /><p></p><p>It's meant to apply to this pandemic holiday, but oh man does it apply to infertility, too. LITERALLY ALL OF IT. </p><p>The tiredness. </p><p>The missing normalcy. </p><p>The grieving heart. </p><p>Swap out "It's okay if you wish the holidays would be the same as they have been in the past" with "It's okay if you wish the holidays looked different from what they have in the past." </p><p>My favorite is, </p><p><i><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;">You can cry for what you are missing, and at the same time give thanks for all you have. </span></span></b></i><br /></p><p>It's a double whammy, I would imagine, for people fresh in the throes of the pain and loss of infertility, adoption, resolving differently than you'd hoped -- those losses AND the loss of the pandemic (and the pandemic amplifying the uncertainty of treatment, of finances, of stability, of the ability to pursue parenthood). </p><p>This sums up my feelings on loss. You can BOTH see the things that are missing, and be happy about what you have. One does not cancel out the other. I can be grateful and happy for my health, my marriage, my home, my job, my family, and my friends... and also feel the loss that the holidays usually bring because my immediate nuclear family is me, Bryce, and the cat. I can be grateful for that reality, and also mourn my 35 ghost embryos, two that got further than the rest but still didn't stay, and 8 of which became a double lost dream through embryo adoption. They didn't thaw, they didn't take, they were our loss and another couple's loss, and added some hefty guilt to the mix as well. I can mourn the adoptions where we weren't chosen, those moments where we thought we could become parents imminently but just weren't quite right for anyone to say, "I want THEM to parent my child." </p><p>I really dislike the culture that shoves gratitude down your throat. The "Well, at least you..." culture. It diminishes grief. It diminishes the fact that grief doesn't have an expiration date, that it is ever-evolving and cyclical and able to be triggered at any moment, no matter how happy and grateful and fortunate you are in other arenas. <br /></p><p>When I commented on <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/11/the-welcome-table-an-annual-online-thanksgiving-meal-7/" target="_blank">Mel's Thanksgiving post</a>, I realized... It's been THREE AND A HALF YEARS since we made the decision to resolve childfree. It blew my mind. In some ways it feels like a lifetime away. In others it feels more fresh. In the comments you say what you'll bring to the virtual table, and you say where you are in life (usually infertility but doesn't have to be). It amazed me that I am in such a different place than holidays past -- that I feel truly resolved, that I can look at my house and see the life we have and not ghosts of the life that just never came to pass. </p><p>But. </p><p>It doesn't mean that grief doesn't live there, inside my rebuilt life. It just has further to go to seep to the surface, unless something cuts deep enough to cause an immediate bleed. </p><p>It doesn't mean that while I will enjoy the (increasingly dwindling) cards that will be coming through the mail, that I won't also notice fertility friends' kids who are now nowhere near babies, signalling a passage of time and a widening gap between my life and theirs. </p><p>It doesn't mean that while I will decorate my house for Christmas and participate in traditions Bryce and I have cultivated over the years, that I won't also feel a twinge of sadness that we will have no one to pass these traditions on to. That much of our collected treasures will likely end up donated and enjoyed by people we don't know, we hope. </p><p>It helps a lot that we're not in the house where I had a room set aside for a nursery, where I had a room that WAS a shell of a nursery. It helps that I don't have to go down the steps and see the Christmas tree and stockings on the hearth that I imagined each year would NEXT YEAR be joined by a third stocking, presents for a baby, some year a child or children racing down the steps to see the magical transformation. Our house now has never had that dream living within it. It's harder to see what we lost quite so viscerally. And for that I am so very grateful. </p><p>This is a hard time for many people, harder now that we are in a pandemic, people are grappling with family loss and financial hardship and isolation and health worries, on top of other issues that complicate the holidays. </p><p>Give yourself grace. Give yourself (and others) the right to both enjoy the happiness and gratitude of the holidays AND feel those losses. To not slap a smile on all the time or always answer with "I'm good! Great! Okay!" all the time. To be honest about where we are in these unprecedented pandemic holidays. It was hard enough before, to feel the pressures of so much joy and togetherness when inside you might at times feel sad and alone. </p><p>I hope you have space for the grace, for the love you can give yourself and others who need to remember that it's a balance, that you can be both happy and sad, both grateful and feeling that something/one is missing. Being able to sit in both of those feelings is what makes us beautifully human. <br /></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-74486673116605676672020-11-21T12:33:00.001-08:002020-11-22T05:13:43.125-08:00Home and Adventure<p>I was tooling around Pinterest (trying to waste my time there instead of Facebook, ha), and I came across a farmhouse-style sign that looked strangely perfect for us. </p><p>I'm not going to lie, I hate most farmhouse-style signs. Like the ones that say KITCHEN or LOVE LIVES HERE or IN THIS HOUSE, WE (and then list of things that family does or doesn't do, and for some reason, not cleaning sticky floors is a common bullet point, which makes me wonder about ant infestations, which doesn't make for good decor if you ask me). My least favorite is ALWAYS KISS ME GOODNIGHT. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before... I see this advertised as an over-the-bed, romantic-type sign, but all I can think is <i>if you need a sign to remind you to give your significant person a goodnight kiss, then you have bigger problems. </i>By all means, if goodnight kisses aren't your thing, that's fine, but a reminder sign on a two-by-four seems like a sad commentary. </p><p>I have bought the occasional farmhouse sign though. I bought this one, when we were going through our transition of trying-to-adopt to resolving child-free. Which was a BIG transition that took a full year (maybe even two) to feel like a reality we were living and learning to love and then loving (mostly). <br /> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwh9DyM9UK2B78FHN_kJbG3VGdFynWRe7vcqgB2gBnlLQNuh8v4n0zDQcfHdn1yWdPXfSGq6e14Yp7T81Jq4lBi5fRgjRwV1exWHlt_0UwuM3g83n5LjbAalm6QSlXAMYwwnVPy3c2XA0/s4048/IMG_20170501_201024.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwh9DyM9UK2B78FHN_kJbG3VGdFynWRe7vcqgB2gBnlLQNuh8v4n0zDQcfHdn1yWdPXfSGq6e14Yp7T81Jq4lBi5fRgjRwV1exWHlt_0UwuM3g83n5LjbAalm6QSlXAMYwwnVPy3c2XA0/w300-h400/IMG_20170501_201024.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>It was small, and it had a message that spoke to me in the moment. I still have it on my desk in our new dream house, which makes it sound a <b><i>little</i></b> obnoxious from the material standpoint, but from an emotional standpoint it's perfect. The gratitude is for our little family of two. </p><p>The sign I found more recently on Pinterest haunted me, and eventually I tried to find it to buy. Of course the link was dead (oh Pinterest, your dead links or links to weird unrelated sites/products kill me on the inside). So a couple of weeks ago I did a search, and found one on Etsy that was just perfect. </p><p>This sign is small too, but bigger than the Gratitude sign. It's hefty, framed in rough wood. But it's only maybe 12" square. It came from <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/theWAREHOUSEstudio?campaign_label=shipping_notification_otb_add_recs_treatment_v2&utm_source=transactional&utm_campaign=shipping_notification_otb_add_recs_treatment_v2_010170_918630582831_0_0&utm_medium=email&utm_content=&email_sent=1605200100&euid=qVkw7LE7mRPXsWdGP_jHOGK35SN8&eaid=84066234&x_eaid=507f0caaa0" target="_blank">a shop in Mississippi</a>, that apparently has many religious and faith-based things (which this in my mind is not). When it came, much like the Love Bats, I couldn't hold off until Christmas. I had to give it to Bryce RIGHT NOW. </p><p>Because again, it wasn't solely a gift for Bryce, it was gift for us and our life together: </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_MavwcvGNpfQAjtkistkPq5gk3KB-1Nt2ImckciJO9A-ctiTqt7iFjBlt_Vm1hw-DCcU9UZFytfXRF98K3gJv8GhJZmkY7aG12_c2M8F52EB6fVyuuMEwP5Q_BjKBZ6VZoguKUaeGrE/s4032/PXL_20201121_152634979.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih_MavwcvGNpfQAjtkistkPq5gk3KB-1Nt2ImckciJO9A-ctiTqt7iFjBlt_Vm1hw-DCcU9UZFytfXRF98K3gJv8GhJZmkY7aG12_c2M8F52EB6fVyuuMEwP5Q_BjKBZ6VZoguKUaeGrE/w400-h300/PXL_20201121_152634979.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />Doesn't that just sum it all up. It was like an extension of our wedding vows, and our way of life, really. It's hanging in our bedroom, and makes me insanely happy when I see it. <p></p><p>It feels particularly appropriate given the pandemic, as our adventures pretty much have to be at home. And we've done a great job of that, with making our spaces adventurous, like our backyard adventure area with the pond. And all the hiking adventures that we take locally. And all the adventures that we will hopefully get to take when this pandemic is over (which I hope is a reality-based statement). And in all those adventures, no matter where we are, we will be home. Because we're together. </p><p>Life has been quite the adventure for us, and not always pleasant. The years of pain and setback and lost dreams were incredibly difficult. But we had a home in each other, so we came out the other side of it. We have had amazing moments, like building our new life together and finding the house that is our dream home and perfect for the life we now have, not the life we'd hoped for. But a beautiful, beautiful life all the same. We are both adventurous in our ambitions, and in our desires for fun (food, hiking, vacations with adventurous things, but not too adventurous, because honestly we're big homebodies). </p><p>It's so lovely to have a little sign that affirms all of that, to hang in our bedroom, like a secret lovenote to each other. <br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-70994358295091088692020-11-16T17:55:00.000-08:002020-11-16T17:55:13.059-08:00#Microblog Monday: Beauty in Letting Go<p>I saw this on social media and it spoke to me:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmq-DxX77FsroKDqVpPWLudMAKat8LywgjOf_0RoBAVUN3sf4S4mOLVSm4Ohb-D0MkdTTuYebnTQ4VUxuOdwTs4rmieDprkEMuCjHrYRdTJeLTvD4lYGq18fMAMcDtAz-2uin98J-xBs/s960/b5b7efa19632e2e83af1b6d23fc1ba15.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnmq-DxX77FsroKDqVpPWLudMAKat8LywgjOf_0RoBAVUN3sf4S4mOLVSm4Ohb-D0MkdTTuYebnTQ4VUxuOdwTs4rmieDprkEMuCjHrYRdTJeLTvD4lYGq18fMAMcDtAz-2uin98J-xBs/w400-h400/b5b7efa19632e2e83af1b6d23fc1ba15.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Found on Pinterest</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>This was one of the most beautiful Autumns I can remember. I actually got distracted driving because the trees were so insanely gorgeous: vibrant reds, oranges, golds, russets, and even purples, sometimes all on the same tree. It was breathtaking.</p><p>It never lasts, though... Even though it was SO gorgeous for SO long, the wind eventually came and the leaves fell and swirled about on the road and now we have the bare stick trees of winter. </p><p>But now we have winter proper to look forward to, and while there's things to grumble about for sure, it is a season of intense beauty in its own right. The snow that sparkles when the sun hits it, ice glazing the trees, frost on the windowpanes, downy flakes floating slowly from the sky, cozy warmth inside while snow blows and swirls outside...</p><p>The lesson I take from this is that it is gift to receive the beauty of each season and see that over the annoying things (raking, shoveling, allergies, frozen toes). To enjoy it while it lasts and then look forward to the next beautiful thing. To let go of things that can't stay the way you'd like them to, which is a hard but necessary lesson in a pandemic. At the same time, the little things can be appreciated and celebrated more when they aren't around all the time. It makes them even more special.</p><p>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/11/microblog-monday-325-house-meal/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-30504744201397402932020-11-15T15:07:00.001-08:002020-11-15T15:07:42.793-08:00A Completely Amazing Anniversary Gift<p>When I gave Bryce the <a href="http://mypathtomommyhood.blogspot.com/2020/10/love-bats.html" target="_blank">Love Bats</a> for our anniversary, he absolutely loved them. He also weirdly took it as a challenge, and kept bemoaning that he didn't have anything nearly as thoughtful, and was at a loss, and our anniversary was going to suck because he was meaningful-giftless. I sort of felt like taking the Love Bats down, because the intent wasn't to make him feel lacking but to be a present for the BOTH of us, but I resisted and eventually he hatched a plot. </p><p>Every October Bryce takes a week, just for himself, to do projects around the house and just plain take a breather. Doing his PhD at the same time that he is working a significant corporate-y job means that a lot of things go by the wayside, like hobbies and house projects and stuff like that. The October week has been a staple of Bryce's life before his PhD, but it's even more important now that he's so stinking busy. </p><p>I totally forgot that he had that week off, which was working out great for him and his gloriously nefarious plans, until I came home early that Monday with shingles pain and informed him I was pretty much out the rest of the week and would be home. </p><p>He was so upset and I couldn't figure it out, and then he said, exasperatedly, "YOU FORGOT THAT I'M OFF THIS WEEK, and I'm working on your present. You being home is kind of making it hard to keep this secret... I'm so disappointed because the secrecy was EVERYTHING." He was actually quite bereft over it. </p><p>I promised him that I could put myself in just my office or the bedroom, and I did have to teach a couple virtual kids and Wednesday I'd be teaching the virtual day from home (although in pain and probably that wasn't the best idea), and the rest of the time I could hole up in the bedroom with a book or Netflix. He was like, "ok, but you can't look out the windows. At all. Any of them." </p><p>I was SO INTRIGUED. What on earth was he doing? I also had to promise not to ask questions, so I was dying of curiosity and also really really trying to honor his wishes. Which I did, except I had to eat lunch on Tuesday and I thought it would be nice if I did my own dishes and when I was doing that, I accidentally looked out the kitchen window and saw him in his bright yellow slicker near the brush pile. I felt terrible and looked away, and then later that afternoon, Bryce came in, disgustingly muddy, and said, "I have to shower and change, but then I can show you your present. But no questions until then." </p><p>SO CURIOUS! </p><p>It was almost dark and he was like, "Meet me outside." I was on the phone with my best friend and she was like, "he's not taking you in the woods to kill you, is he?" And I said,"That would make a TERRIBLE anniversary present. Unlikely. But I will text you after just in case." </p><p> He handed me a heavy MagLite flashlight, and we walked around the front of the house to the street and down the little dead end road that has an entrance to the flatter part of our backyard. We walked onto the grass, and I could see a light in the little tunnel-like part of our secret path behind the magnolia tree. </p><p>As we got closer, it turned out to be a little red oil lamp hanging from a shrub. Bryce told me to take it, and we continued down, past a spooky ghoul and towards a squat pottery owl garden thingamabob. That marked the path that we were to go down, that and my skeleton bat Halloween decoration. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWXtb_x_NevM4KNcsCIW1DYxIbNg8dUPtVIgJ5XVqbdH5WzlUyqWxihREHbUgKQ13tc1HxIkYN8rO5anRXZBNLm9qd0XK5zFe8IPbeb7a6NswgGLVKjnusUJYPFP0cpmqq-duUKFluvo/s4032/PXL_20201027_222706568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWXtb_x_NevM4KNcsCIW1DYxIbNg8dUPtVIgJ5XVqbdH5WzlUyqWxihREHbUgKQ13tc1HxIkYN8rO5anRXZBNLm9qd0XK5zFe8IPbeb7a6NswgGLVKjnusUJYPFP0cpmqq-duUKFluvo/w300-h400/PXL_20201027_222706568.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oooooooo, spoooooooky<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>This was a new pathway, and it was littered with all the gravestones that I had been looking for (normally we have quite the graveyard in my corner garden, this year I could only find one headstone which was a mystery now solved) and other fun treats: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBr1_iLMxKFgEU7S7PvVO3QLow9q03Nwr9zmnb__g7ghoGPqMEJPzWdDV43MSyM1w6aVnlrmXnqRaP_YHHd6oMCgl_TvHZltFXmOaMKXnDRv1AWIbwgPmbOk6HEoikIltEk3OtMEaF5cs/s4032/PXL_20201027_222621723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBr1_iLMxKFgEU7S7PvVO3QLow9q03Nwr9zmnb__g7ghoGPqMEJPzWdDV43MSyM1w6aVnlrmXnqRaP_YHHd6oMCgl_TvHZltFXmOaMKXnDRv1AWIbwgPmbOk6HEoikIltEk3OtMEaF5cs/w300-h400/PXL_20201027_222621723.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxw2JwErQbF6fz-8vQ7ZJknxP0HVa_Lh4csyVVAK65KykpoAZVDYqA4sbGocIYHf5Xqf6B290Ombt_HEQGUtnymhv5KvcypwOyih7CXepOAPwymLHzc0kD8vsBN9iHJ_XUGfnuJYG3pi8/s4032/PXL_20201027_222552065.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxw2JwErQbF6fz-8vQ7ZJknxP0HVa_Lh4csyVVAK65KykpoAZVDYqA4sbGocIYHf5Xqf6B290Ombt_HEQGUtnymhv5KvcypwOyih7CXepOAPwymLHzc0kD8vsBN9iHJ_XUGfnuJYG3pi8/w400-h300/PXL_20201027_222552065.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6lCGgtnnFMn3YJItuuD8kFPaRpDW4B-rHxJPt_4A1P73JvTwYSzpY64_ti0oe40-j3XpV6WRY-Du1J4fz4Z-CjnVuPXkRF7q3V5HwzxhSoQ67WTxiLITD74a2YL3GNnBOM5Jt7jVohw/s4032/PXL_20201027_222412139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6lCGgtnnFMn3YJItuuD8kFPaRpDW4B-rHxJPt_4A1P73JvTwYSzpY64_ti0oe40-j3XpV6WRY-Du1J4fz4Z-CjnVuPXkRF7q3V5HwzxhSoQ67WTxiLITD74a2YL3GNnBOM5Jt7jVohw/w300-h400/PXL_20201027_222412139.jpg" width="300" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Ct7XCu1ZxS0VT233ZAeuliH512MRkXrm-NEtH-ZVluKDwj4nMI24IIdIZ7orFaKmYVMe6GFJoj8FdioBCdIFQRQ3KCE7zJf3UlsjHcD1FT5NljLHjGNgXl8SVX2UNcXeEqA4s299rDI/s4032/PXL_20201027_222442580._exported_1002_1603839026646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4Ct7XCu1ZxS0VT233ZAeuliH512MRkXrm-NEtH-ZVluKDwj4nMI24IIdIZ7orFaKmYVMe6GFJoj8FdioBCdIFQRQ3KCE7zJf3UlsjHcD1FT5NljLHjGNgXl8SVX2UNcXeEqA4s299rDI/w300-h400/PXL_20201027_222442580._exported_1002_1603839026646.jpg" width="300" /></a></div> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoa0BYa9trfDmQ87fjfPGk9bUIxSPreT_ysmAJhsdj3BlYVkIrLXqEwl0uanhWsUHeFBvktxaMY0W1L1iL1n0Ei38OpDXtjKGvBXLV7s4OKxDzlfEZnIJxyrmBCnR9FnUCrY5dL0k_YcQ/s4032/PXL_20201027_222327564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoa0BYa9trfDmQ87fjfPGk9bUIxSPreT_ysmAJhsdj3BlYVkIrLXqEwl0uanhWsUHeFBvktxaMY0W1L1iL1n0Ei38OpDXtjKGvBXLV7s4OKxDzlfEZnIJxyrmBCnR9FnUCrY5dL0k_YcQ/w300-h400/PXL_20201027_222327564.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExo64-kUEFZOrizcZ8Lyp1UmRYc2ZQslRSpZxrVZz269xbs1ASRvwlxyhn0APB6ASH6rncJ8HCUoVxYe9LIAJISsJNEwXF7AhUYum04kswrmJGO-hyRgw25Qis2JZBEUVAzmh65phTUI/s4032/PXL_20201027_222213910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExo64-kUEFZOrizcZ8Lyp1UmRYc2ZQslRSpZxrVZz269xbs1ASRvwlxyhn0APB6ASH6rncJ8HCUoVxYe9LIAJISsJNEwXF7AhUYum04kswrmJGO-hyRgw25Qis2JZBEUVAzmh65phTUI/w300-h400/PXL_20201027_222213910.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p><br />With the exception of the owl (which had been missing since the move), it was like all our Halloween decorations that I hadn't been able to find (or sadly had been relocated and I hadn't noticed, but in my defense, SHINGLES PAIN). All along a completely new path that Bryce cleared over Monday and Tuesday, with a brand new mini chainsaw he'd bought, to uncover the area by a pond we didn't realize was quite so pond-y, where the people who built our house had had a spot to sit (the bench was theirs, it needs some TLC and rebuilding of boards, but it's in great condition for the amount of neglect it's seen!). </p><p>It was amazing, because of the effort and also it was basically our own haunted wood tour, which was lovely because we've been going to this night walk tour of the Genesee Country Village Museum at Halloween time and they do period reenactment vignettes by candlelight (we've seen Edgar Allen Poe and vampire themes pre-COVID), and we can't do it this year because of the stupid pandemic. So we got a little taste, minus local actors, in our own back-backyard! </p><p>What's great about this gift is it's not just for Halloween...it's like a new little campsite that we just have to walk down the hill behind our house to get to. No trip necessary. We've used it twice and it's just lovely! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhMh2XaMhjd_m7ZsVCYWm5z8U1XavCA6s5jjn_0wWczzE_YC29_9W4Xcs9nMxm6zLr93DdUAAiZDmf9vGEhY7CZ1n7YbTblCXeEcLtpjsdB3JGmOBc8i9pjF6nmSXMeL3h_JQvA4PlQ4/s4032/PXL_20201107_215345378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhMh2XaMhjd_m7ZsVCYWm5z8U1XavCA6s5jjn_0wWczzE_YC29_9W4Xcs9nMxm6zLr93DdUAAiZDmf9vGEhY7CZ1n7YbTblCXeEcLtpjsdB3JGmOBc8i9pjF6nmSXMeL3h_JQvA4PlQ4/w300-h400/PXL_20201107_215345378.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can see the trail here, and through the trees our house up top<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQzeNQ633xm8vLwtBPuJOiMIcV6foPKc-HAISOExFbZOBocZhVOPCmc2kiK3-fTlKkPiAtwgdLo9Z15U7Z5nDWuzacQPTRyIGQ5iew4tKUWPCilOLrxOb6o8fuCgEs8B05YRr_6vdbfsk/s4032/PXL_20201107_215439320.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQzeNQ633xm8vLwtBPuJOiMIcV6foPKc-HAISOExFbZOBocZhVOPCmc2kiK3-fTlKkPiAtwgdLo9Z15U7Z5nDWuzacQPTRyIGQ5iew4tKUWPCilOLrxOb6o8fuCgEs8B05YRr_6vdbfsk/w300-h400/PXL_20201107_215439320.MP.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had my chair facing the pond, and Bryce had his by the cooking firepit he built<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgM8IWFjpG2Q6qcVQAXC9et0GuV3NY5bWxcWrU6mzDr3eufktvRQZyuAC-VgoZWhMijwkbUD-b4mUHQhkZC3M39GlNnHhay7wTBoEHMpM-kH3w85yrSNWnhjkvgpZi_MYOXrXJqYYiec/s4032/PXL_20201107_220551405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgM8IWFjpG2Q6qcVQAXC9et0GuV3NY5bWxcWrU6mzDr3eufktvRQZyuAC-VgoZWhMijwkbUD-b4mUHQhkZC3M39GlNnHhay7wTBoEHMpM-kH3w85yrSNWnhjkvgpZi_MYOXrXJqYYiec/w300-h400/PXL_20201107_220551405.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our pond! We apparently share it with our neighbor.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihN8ePPVGs0OI-pWW3-I6i2049InGkVhBcGXzgIBRC5-vwzmcTcUNZMfz6pv_nA8W6TserEw0O3KoXPLEMT347OUR0F-py0eerHZkhJBd7D_1SlZ_DE6325d904kPAT1RmbMuWA_B8wvU/s4032/PXL_20201107_220718586.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihN8ePPVGs0OI-pWW3-I6i2049InGkVhBcGXzgIBRC5-vwzmcTcUNZMfz6pv_nA8W6TserEw0O3KoXPLEMT347OUR0F-py0eerHZkhJBd7D_1SlZ_DE6325d904kPAT1RmbMuWA_B8wvU/w400-h300/PXL_20201107_220718586.MP.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooking firepit's virgin voyage<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9skXfg8a3xlp45SVjp3Iv2yhyphenhyphenQtd3BQmLU-2bTmv9wR8_w-w7gTWCQc4_qoiJr9pMsNuQK3eva4FjG-hj4jZaiNgpUT82xmiU0hd-wGowcXIes5q72Iwgfe88aMABy42bZDK8RLyDLt8/s4032/PXL_20201107_220708248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9skXfg8a3xlp45SVjp3Iv2yhyphenhyphenQtd3BQmLU-2bTmv9wR8_w-w7gTWCQc4_qoiJr9pMsNuQK3eva4FjG-hj4jZaiNgpUT82xmiU0hd-wGowcXIes5q72Iwgfe88aMABy42bZDK8RLyDLt8/w300-h400/PXL_20201107_220708248.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">November sunset, from our backyard camp<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>It's kind of crazy that this is in our backyard. It's the far reaches of our backyard, to be sure, and it definitely underscores that the house we moved to when we remade our life is definitely more country than anything I've ever lived in. (Bryce is from Maine originally, so he's used to this sort of thing without the highway noise, ha). This was a short enjoyment visit, as I was in quite a lot of pain still and had vacuumed and cleared some vines, which was ill-advised, so we stayed until it got dark. </p><p>Last night, though, we had a full on camp night from afternoon to early evening. Glorious that it gets dark so early and we can pretend we've had a whole night out there and then have time to have dinner inside and get into cozy clothes. It is so fun to walk back to the trail in the back and go to our "campsite." <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDdTj2Xw7iRfN9GvHlIkeZqoHq9JTWwJOV0n5EE8KeyDU0F8gCRKz7kGetQHCY6ckcc9SIz0eBz-vV1KMAGksfCgwg135lcYsdcrdDMtg4Vcc6OPTpe_kElVe9fiSJiDMQoz4r1let6qM/s4032/PXL_20201114_204109024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDdTj2Xw7iRfN9GvHlIkeZqoHq9JTWwJOV0n5EE8KeyDU0F8gCRKz7kGetQHCY6ckcc9SIz0eBz-vV1KMAGksfCgwg135lcYsdcrdDMtg4Vcc6OPTpe_kElVe9fiSJiDMQoz4r1let6qM/w300-h400/PXL_20201114_204109024.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bryce's bushcraft setup for splitting wood<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhyphenhyphenFMXXadwaT54uBYXE1Nh__NNB_ADPkq16dDh2NAZnw394924EkW98fnwtHXlu4nKMkn8WQn8M9PY65sVmi5sDbqjpD4rVMB9HEREJVw9yYfG46qbG4NplcqiTmJDgo2ae6etK_7blQ/s4032/PXL_20201114_202646120.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhyphenhyphenFMXXadwaT54uBYXE1Nh__NNB_ADPkq16dDh2NAZnw394924EkW98fnwtHXlu4nKMkn8WQn8M9PY65sVmi5sDbqjpD4rVMB9HEREJVw9yYfG46qbG4NplcqiTmJDgo2ae6etK_7blQ/w300-h400/PXL_20201114_202646120.MP.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot log-splitting man! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPun8bHpiViZem0cvnWOJ-DRdKq3sqxpVe_kBx_drMqdZ0qb5QgVaZ4WLn8340-XeoZSXfrGEJe-imxA127fpQTnFOVS3pEWobl5-bzQmsPHvasboaVyzX8lPtMF0q5Z-ic72HwNOR0BU/s4032/PXL_20201114_203458372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPun8bHpiViZem0cvnWOJ-DRdKq3sqxpVe_kBx_drMqdZ0qb5QgVaZ4WLn8340-XeoZSXfrGEJe-imxA127fpQTnFOVS3pEWobl5-bzQmsPHvasboaVyzX8lPtMF0q5Z-ic72HwNOR0BU/w300-h400/PXL_20201114_203458372.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh hey little pond<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IsoGB7dz0PanIbqgWfkr_l1C8W5ByJts2D4HwBG9uguF4W_gwAnrECSMr6dXTqB7H8YKxmkW9kfjBllR96sVCESy2m8ms5Df6zwCtSzi8yGhHjxW0mNW9on47iU51tbw7iFNPjKlE7o/s4032/PXL_20201114_211831485.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IsoGB7dz0PanIbqgWfkr_l1C8W5ByJts2D4HwBG9uguF4W_gwAnrECSMr6dXTqB7H8YKxmkW9kfjBllR96sVCESy2m8ms5Df6zwCtSzi8yGhHjxW0mNW9on47iU51tbw7iFNPjKlE7o/w400-h300/PXL_20201114_211831485.MP.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nice fire in the firepit, the non-cooking one<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHghQkNrbRk9o3Jhfkjj37wBCcQYuzQ6QOo1U2YAxlUSTY2hZgrixtkSb9Z1xO8OeiaADdcK1uewE_KPEEbjtZ8E_aCGpRKpAV2a-tBUl2AGVu-76Jr5Sco6Lq8N8Dq2NLsZ3Yhes7jjk/s2048/PXL_20201114_212006116._exported_401_1605398440905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHghQkNrbRk9o3Jhfkjj37wBCcQYuzQ6QOo1U2YAxlUSTY2hZgrixtkSb9Z1xO8OeiaADdcK1uewE_KPEEbjtZ8E_aCGpRKpAV2a-tBUl2AGVu-76Jr5Sco6Lq8N8Dq2NLsZ3Yhes7jjk/w400-h300/PXL_20201114_212006116._exported_401_1605398440905.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just us chickens, hanging out by our campfire in our own woods...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BJryQfmlF5MF8OQl4YXlqZv3qtiptw7T5nD0CEsano0hOSoWXOhQnKK80HpC2menrGUQg202290g9tC2n8kFGVWiU7K1Ei521J4Rn94MTcbeVuErFnhtwpH7FVBCDN6qh7MFC4bPcJw/s1024/PXL_20201114_221100710._exported_996_1605391930669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BJryQfmlF5MF8OQl4YXlqZv3qtiptw7T5nD0CEsano0hOSoWXOhQnKK80HpC2menrGUQg202290g9tC2n8kFGVWiU7K1Ei521J4Rn94MTcbeVuErFnhtwpH7FVBCDN6qh7MFC4bPcJw/w300-h400/PXL_20201114_221100710._exported_996_1605391930669.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Something fun and kind of magical about having tea from a "campfire." <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDai8B4xnlGrEc4uqbWzxjuMYNJ3BXhPrUhu6SpDb1gRnYIwLhB8wCX7j86CxFhEh6UHnETl-82YxT5byOf9Au8JjtFnRlDo8W3oilZ1xxQHITYgqjg_i7yPtrhMIC7aWiPwLxiToT3V8/s4032/PXL_20201114_224147564.NIGHT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDai8B4xnlGrEc4uqbWzxjuMYNJ3BXhPrUhu6SpDb1gRnYIwLhB8wCX7j86CxFhEh6UHnETl-82YxT5byOf9Au8JjtFnRlDo8W3oilZ1xxQHITYgqjg_i7yPtrhMIC7aWiPwLxiToT3V8/w400-h300/PXL_20201114_224147564.NIGHT.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We stayed long enough to see the stars come out, and to hear a great horned owl hoo hooting away in the pines across the marsh. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>It is so special to have this space. To feel like we can get away, but still run up to a running toilet if we need to. That's a huge plus! I am not a camping girl (I like minimal to no creepy-crawlies, a mattress, indoor plumbing, and zero killers), but I think this is a slow grooming process that Bryce is sneakily doing to get me used to the idea. Maybe a camper thingie would be a nice compromise. It is awfully fun and almost meditative to hang out by the fire and watch the embers glow and burn down to ash. </p><p>Well done, Bryce. You gave the Love Bats a run for their money, and gave us a different gift that we'll have to enjoy for years to come. Even though we're in a pandemic, even though things have been beyond stressful and I came down with the stupid shingles, this 11th anniversary was one of the most delightful and memorable in the books. I love this quiet, lovely life we've built. <br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br />Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-80690213626142675322020-11-09T18:35:00.002-08:002020-11-09T18:35:23.957-08:00Recovery Mish Mash<p>I'm still at home, recovering from shingles -- the rash is not an issue, but the continuing nerve pain certainly is. However, now I am medicated within an inch of my life and home for the week (I've been out consecutively since Thursday, I taught virtually last Wednesday and was home tuesday, so sorry if going into week two?), with the possibility of more time if I need it. </p><p>This weekend I made the mistake of vacuuming and swiffering while enjoying the effects of multiple pain meds. That was a mistake. I was so excited at the news that Biden and Harris were announced as the projected winners that we went through the house cleaning, to get the actual dust and metaphorical dirt of all that came before in the trash. I just forgot that nerve pain will have its revenge if you overdo it.</p><p>Today I did a better job of laying low, but I still checked email and set up stuff and had a meeting about the social justice club I'm co-leading. So I guess maybe not so great. I was like this in infertility treatment, it's hard to truly do nothing. I want to, but I always feel guilty. And now, with our cases rising (over 400 new over the weekend in the county alone) and being in a Yellow Zone for microclusters, I'm worried we may go virtual before I can see my kids in person again.</p><p>Why am I so stressed I got shingles? Ha. </p><p>Leaving you on a funny note. Today we went to pick up an instacart order at the grocery (I was NOT driving) and I got a phone call that said enthusiastically, "HI! THIS IS JERRY AND I'VE GOT SOME FLOWERS FOR YOU--" and I hung up. Bryce was like, "Why did you hang up? That was REAL!" I totally didn't register "flowers" and thought it was one of those hotel special calls or other such scam. I was so embarrassed, I had to call back and say I hit the wrong button, and sure enough a coworker sent me flowers! Whoops. </p><p>Then we ordered pizza for dinner and I got my yummy Caprese gluten free pizza, and I was eating out when I was like, "what the hell? There's no pesto on this!" So I called to complain and they were like, "umm, ma'am, the Caprese doesn't have pesto on it, it's garlic oil for the base." Oh my gracious, I forgot that when I got it last time I swapped the base with pesto. "I'm sorry, you made it right, I'm so sorry for wasting your time! I'm just heavily medicated right now..." Luckily he laughed. </p><p>I hate feeling slow, and a little stupid, and unable to concentrate. I do hate the pain more though so I'll deal with it. Maybe tomorrow will be better! I just have to stay away from the news, ugh. That's some stress right there. </p><p><i><b>Want to read more Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/11/microblog-monday-324-useful-worrying/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </b></i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-9418806360538379532020-11-02T17:21:00.001-08:002020-11-02T17:21:14.944-08:00Manifesting<p>Throughout infertility, I was encouraged to manifest my desired outcome -- to buy onesies to show I was serious and imagine them, like the exorcism scene in Beetlejuice, puffing out into a real live baby; to only allow positive thoughts during transfer and the 2-week wait; to listen to guided meditations that helped to visualize plentiful follicles, and firmly rooted embryos in my plush lining. </p><p>It didn't even seem to work, no matter how hard I tried. It often made me feel worse, actually. </p><p>Well, apparently I could not manifest a baby but I am a champ at manifesting stress, physically in my body. </p><p>I have freaking shingles. Which for me, manifests in a nasty colony on my spine that reaches up to my shoulder blade, but the rash isn't there thing that's awful. It's the nerve pain. It goes from my spine and wraps around my right side along my ribs, along my braline. It hurts to breathe. It is fairly impossible to sleep. </p><p>They told me it was likely caused by stress (REEEAAAALLY? YOU DON'T SAY! WHAT COULD BE STRESSFUL RIGHT NOW???) and I laughed and laughed. And then cried. Because I need this not at all. And it's been going on a week already. </p><p>I need some time, I think. The body is real talented at letting you know when you've overextended yourself. Last night scared me because it was return of insomnia, and insomnia and pain together make for crisis. It just feels like sub plans are also painful, but I think there balance is shifting to STAY HOME, DAMMIT. When you're crying into your planning binder at your desk it's no good. </p><p>Be kind to yourself. Know that stress is great at manifesting in your body. Put your own oxygen mask on first, yada yada yada. I'm off to take some pain meds. Sigh.</p><p><br /></p><p><i><b>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/11/microblog-monday-323-diary-hunters/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </b></i></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-68356111737408781702020-10-25T18:15:00.001-07:002020-11-06T13:53:05.328-08:00Love Bats<p> This weekend marked 11 years since Bryce and I got married at our favorite Mexican restaurant -- we are dorks and have SO MANY anniversaries (our date-o-versary, our engage-o-versary, two wedding anniversaries, 10/23 and Halloween)... but I figure nothing's wrong with extra celebrating. </p><p>Usually we do something where we go away for at least one night, typically local, and have a lovely dinner and enjoy each other's company. Well, with COVID that isn't happening. We have been enjoying each other's company pretty much exclusively since March, but we wanted to somehow mark the occasion with something special. </p><p>So, I did a thing. </p><p>I have a friend from grad school who has turned out to be an insanely talented watercolor artist. She has done a lot of songbirds, some lovebirds, a friend's fluffy gray chick... I love her style and had an inspired thought. </p><p>What if, instead of lovebirds, she painted us LOVE BATS? </p><p>What is a love bat, you may ask? It's just like a lovebird but nocturnal. Bryce LOVES bats. He adores them. We both get excited when the little brown bats in our neighborhood go whooshing around in the summer, and we're sad when they go away. A bucket list thing for us is to see the kajillion bats that live under the bridge over the Rio Grande in Austin, TX fly out at dusk. It's supposed to be AMAZING. We did go to Austin once, but for a day trip and had to leave before the bats came out. It was a bummer. </p><p>So anyway, I was like, "can you paint us some bats? As a secret anniversary prize for Bryce?" </p><p>She did not disappoint. This was the hardest secret to keep. Like, legitimately, Bryce got his love bats as soon as I brought them home because I was SO EXCITED that I knew I wouldn't keep it secret. So he got them 10 days early. </p><p>My friend and I settled on flying foxes, because they are adorable and actually Bryce's favorite bat. (Yes, he has a favorite bat.) They're kind of like cats with leathery wings. </p><p>She got going on some sketches, and every time she sent me a text with progress I just couldn't stop giggling. I am great at other people's secrets, but HORRID at poker-facing my own. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqzYx9WL7KWzzeZOYgtqlwv-H0cKUhtF2Ph1syMAHuhPv8I3CeWwDwW2F1mF_bmGc7utHuEAPreRp7GvKDsemWEgqat7X1oyEjV4pf7Hsdb49WNkx0kUQYYuzGXCyANZq5I4PD1xeK24/s2902/IMG_20201025_210112.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2902" data-original-width="1632" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqzYx9WL7KWzzeZOYgtqlwv-H0cKUhtF2Ph1syMAHuhPv8I3CeWwDwW2F1mF_bmGc7utHuEAPreRp7GvKDsemWEgqat7X1oyEjV4pf7Hsdb49WNkx0kUQYYuzGXCyANZq5I4PD1xeK24/w225-h400/IMG_20201025_210112.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-Qde9C2_gRCO-xghh5PWBII8lyl5kSvQLZJg52KAvn55VJTNDt3VTKzYywOEIT3wbg-jCs0hiKVYAwBV47vJceY71OoYG8PDwjce_xMqqJG4OySLRBCPQWAhNsHf-PluC3vueDoRCsE/s2727/IMG_20201025_210121.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2727" data-original-width="1534" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-Qde9C2_gRCO-xghh5PWBII8lyl5kSvQLZJg52KAvn55VJTNDt3VTKzYywOEIT3wbg-jCs0hiKVYAwBV47vJceY71OoYG8PDwjce_xMqqJG4OySLRBCPQWAhNsHf-PluC3vueDoRCsE/w225-h400/IMG_20201025_210121.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RpVtkeSNwSAghpaVzEZt1a0RFeAWTm2lgtM7G5l4gcj_KQL5yqCuxwyj3w0VxQDKUsnxvs4nPH55EsHgSSGFTe0yk69YdqAG10gMOi_3Mz4_p6jk_Ey-DswPuntY-rjQs8AYOnTfGWM/s2603/IMG_20201025_210132.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2603" data-original-width="1464" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RpVtkeSNwSAghpaVzEZt1a0RFeAWTm2lgtM7G5l4gcj_KQL5yqCuxwyj3w0VxQDKUsnxvs4nPH55EsHgSSGFTe0yk69YdqAG10gMOi_3Mz4_p6jk_Ey-DswPuntY-rjQs8AYOnTfGWM/w225-h400/IMG_20201025_210132.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjr3dAI-S4B3Zxr7EHlhcTz_pHFZpw4_c7agr2kKILGzhPQVgn9e_kQbxHwtx9sPUeUr9DLtgu4I-p22voS8-ImD-33yrPhatPs8s1M3FV_SOFbDlI71duwKv2rBm7lWIdvwkRchilXw/s2532/IMG_20201025_210140.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="1424" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPjr3dAI-S4B3Zxr7EHlhcTz_pHFZpw4_c7agr2kKILGzhPQVgn9e_kQbxHwtx9sPUeUr9DLtgu4I-p22voS8-ImD-33yrPhatPs8s1M3FV_SOFbDlI71duwKv2rBm7lWIdvwkRchilXw/w225-h400/IMG_20201025_210140.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p>I know flying foxes are technically tropical and so they wouldn't have fall leaves nearby, but the lady bat also wouldn't be wearing an autumnal crown so I just don't care. Suspend that disbelief! </p><p>It was so cool to see them take shape. And then, I got to pick them up. And catch up with my friend, which was lovely (from a distance, tailgate-style, in the parking lot of a Starbucks). </p><p>Then, it was time to give them to Bryce. Like, an hour after I brought them home. I just couldn't wait! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Nb01QSJAl8a4w6fM0XqPbZHjR3gHCbRGLo2hxlemeLpTe_LxD3fPX7k4LAjINGYByM_EpHRljaD9pKZ6qgYkj_MuhmMM-qrm6eo9gX-NjFDa0IrvlR99u-ti25ow-YCtl260BLZeX2E/s4032/PXL_20201013_214242491.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Nb01QSJAl8a4w6fM0XqPbZHjR3gHCbRGLo2hxlemeLpTe_LxD3fPX7k4LAjINGYByM_EpHRljaD9pKZ6qgYkj_MuhmMM-qrm6eo9gX-NjFDa0IrvlR99u-ti25ow-YCtl260BLZeX2E/w300-h400/PXL_20201013_214242491.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It kind of looks like a 9 year old decorated that.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEX9hChBL3skTopF66o4Yd41mDnDg2R4gLMs0QqJ5eOCLxEDVnrc_at59qGhfYGv-f7EX_US9MW6J_IQdVxkW3zl9ph9mKr6SKhm2lpUwh6PwgM5Umlk6jQwyml5MibTahsHmqc7eNtk/s4032/PXL_20201013_214323996.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEX9hChBL3skTopF66o4Yd41mDnDg2R4gLMs0QqJ5eOCLxEDVnrc_at59qGhfYGv-f7EX_US9MW6J_IQdVxkW3zl9ph9mKr6SKhm2lpUwh6PwgM5Umlk6jQwyml5MibTahsHmqc7eNtk/w300-h400/PXL_20201013_214323996.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think he likes them...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-KtppNx2hCSOSDggOJXruvyzV3m2SDvnWpz0F_9_LnMFLikqBcEzXLMSg8ARTFBu2c9KDuCj1Ox5L_DnX3JUnWGMeM9I1KIGLGsZN2jN60bqfJtyHZmM4GCCTXZn1Z_qVskzhYOY-b4/s4032/PXL_20201013_214914226.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc-KtppNx2hCSOSDggOJXruvyzV3m2SDvnWpz0F_9_LnMFLikqBcEzXLMSg8ARTFBu2c9KDuCj1Ox5L_DnX3JUnWGMeM9I1KIGLGsZN2jN60bqfJtyHZmM4GCCTXZn1Z_qVskzhYOY-b4/w300-h400/PXL_20201013_214914226.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love bats in their new home! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3nsRxu75rkUrfSh2Uolu4EMS77ETRa6vm70UnSg-Fhiq3IvjwHyEgOea8VfCiihyphenhyphenCR3xDFY3tt5C0OHhigFEbeZuAjIlpA_EsK44WwvKzz9Vyl2VjQ8plUJmI8p1P2hhVKmnq_A854k/s3264/PXL_20201023_230722371.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3nsRxu75rkUrfSh2Uolu4EMS77ETRa6vm70UnSg-Fhiq3IvjwHyEgOea8VfCiihyphenhyphenCR3xDFY3tt5C0OHhigFEbeZuAjIlpA_EsK44WwvKzz9Vyl2VjQ8plUJmI8p1P2hhVKmnq_A854k/w400-h300/PXL_20201023_230722371.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anniversary shot with the love bats. And of course I'm wearing my bat dress. </td></tr></tbody></table><p><br />Anniversary prize success! I love it because it is not just for Bryce, it is for our home and for both of us to enjoy every single day. It's unique to us. I can't say there are other people jumping on the Love Bat train! </p><p>If you are interested in my friend's work or commissioning a piece, she can be found at @free_bird_artistry on Instagram. If you have not the Instagram (I don't) I can email you get contact info! It was such a fun process and so cool to have a gift that is so personalized to us. </p><p>We may not have been able to go out for our anniversary, but it was a great weekend of celebration, hiking, food, and wine. And love bats! We really couldn't ask for more. </p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-1856132784532854082020-10-12T20:05:00.001-07:002020-10-12T20:05:59.178-07:00A Balance of Hope<p>Hope is in the air (the blogging air, see <a href="https://nokiddinginnz.blogspot.com/2020/10/optimism-vs-pessimism.html?m=1" target="_blank">Mali</a> and <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/10/schrodingers-happiness/" target="_blank">Mel</a>) and it's made me think on my complex relationship with the concept.</p><p>I am capable of hoping was against the odds and looking for all the ways things can go right, instead of wrong. I loved that in the presentation I saw as part of our conference day Friday hope was defined as "finding something positive to hang on to, believing that at some point things will get better." That is a lovely, realistic definition. </p><p>Sometimes my kind of hope can be misconstrued as callous. I have been on the receiving end of calls from family telling me that someone got a bad diagnosis, or is waiting for scary test results. I am not a crier in these cases. I feel that I need to save my tears for when there's really something to cry about. </p><p>I guess it's more pragmatic than callous, but it's really hope -- everything is going to work out, and there's no sense getting super upset until the news is REALLY really bad. This pretty much only works for things that are real. I'm capable of imagining and then getting plenty upset over all kinds of horrific things that never come to pass.</p><p>I was not great at managing hope in infertility and adoption. I either swung to complete magical thinking (this WILL happen! Because I'm going to do all the wacky things possible to guarantee it!) or utter despair (actually apologizing to my embryos AS THEY WERE BEING TRANSFERRED towards the end because I was sure my uterus was going to murder them).</p><p>Hope is funny. You can have too much, and too little. It's sort of like a spice -- too much and it's overpowering, too little and nothing tastes good. Finding that just-right balance can be tricky.</p><p><b><i>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/10/microblog-monday-320-quick-or-great/" target="_blank">here</a> and enjoy! </i></b></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-70749467620506449622020-10-11T18:19:00.000-07:002020-10-11T18:19:06.496-07:00Uncertainty, Compassion Fatigue, and Me<p>Friday was our Superintendent's Day Conference, and the presentation for 8:00-9:15 was a lecture on toxic stress and compassion fatigue: "Are We Going To Be Okay?" presented by a well-known social worker who has a practice focusing on trauma, grief, loss, and life transitions. </p><p>Initially I laughed about it and was like, "Are we going to be okay? UM, HELL NO! This is End Times! You know what helps you deal with chronic stress? An HOUR OF TALKING ABOUT CHRONIC STRESS, bwahahahahaha." </p><p>But then I listened and watched the presentation from our library reading room Smart Board, and I was less flip and a little sarcastic about the thing and more "Okay, let's take some notes on this business." </p><p>First, I loved that she talked about herself in many terms, including "as a parent," but when she talked about teachers, she said, "Those of you who can relate to being parents." Which made me all warm and fuzzy inside because it wasn't that assumption that everyone in the room is a parent, or worse the blanket statement KNOWING that everyone in the room is not a parent for whatever reason. </p><p>Then, she said, "The phrase, <i>We're all in this together</i> is NOT comforting." Which I agree with, even though we are all experiencing this collective trauma it is not quite the same for every person, and it means that there's no one who has a magic answer. </p><p>Then she said, "Uncertainty is life's way of saying there are only a few things you can control." </p><p>This is a lesson that I keep needing to learn and I just. can't. learn. it. I hate uncertainty. HATE IT. You would think I would be a pro at it by now, as most of my life has been spent in some sort of haze of uncertainty, but all this current situation does is remind me that I don't have control and so I try to grasp at it in ways that are probably not super helpful. </p><p>The focus of the talk was on Compassion Fatigue, and how this is exhaustion from caring so much, from wanting to solve all the problems and be a fixer, but that it's JUST NOT POSSIBLE at this moment in time. Or really, any time (but especially pandemic time). </p><p>I am most definitely experiencing Compassion Fatigue, as I am trying to keep track of all the things and help my students with all of the many assignments that they have (five days' worth!) when I only see them really two times per week (the math just doesn't add up!) and try to get those who have been absent to get caught up. </p><p>Let me take us on a tangent and tell you a story about how this did not work out well for me. </p><p>I was working with a student who has been absent a lot due to a sloshy-full bucket of family trauma and personal health concerns, and when he was in last Monday I stayed after to help him. Because I pretty much will never say no to anyone who is willing to stay after or come see me for extra help. Like an idiot, I sat at a table with him for a good 30 minutes while helping to take notes on videos and see what he was doing on his laptop. On Thursday, the next day I saw him in person, he was absent. His mom let me know that he had a sore throat, but no worries because he also gets strep a lot. Fast forward to that evening, when I saw on social media (because this mom has a public profile for a variety of professional reasons) that the mom had come down with flu-like symptoms. OH SHIT. Sore throat, flu-like symptoms in the house... my anxiety started to build. And then broke the next day, when I was supposed to meet with the student virtually but when I called the mom said that he had a bad night and was real sick, and the strep test came back negative, and she was feeling awful, and so she was also getting a COVID test (I knew the student was getting one, because he went to the doctor for a sore throat and that's just a given). Enter massive freakout. I was convinced that they had COVID and I had exposed myself by sitting in close proximity for 30 minutes, albeit masked, and then I became acutely aware of a headache and sore throat I was feeling as well. It turns out I have a headache every Friday from the stress of the week and wearing a mask for 8 hours and trying to talk loudly through it, and that same loud-talking-through-a-mask can make you feel sore-throated, and I was super tired (probably from the chronic stress), so I burst into tears and left early to get a COVID test. Which left me feeling like I was about to sneeze for about 12 hours. </p><p>Spoiler alert -- I did not have COVID, and neither did they. But it took all weekend to get that official news, and in the meantime I slept in a different bedroom and we wore masks in the house and I freaked out but also slept a lot, which was actually pretty healing. Except that when I put my mask on in the house when I got home, I somehow managed to get a paper cut from the inside-metal-edge by my nose IN MY EYE. No joke. So I ended up in Urgent Care a second time to get my eye looked at on Saturday, and because of my history of eye inflammation and scleritis from 2017, the year of unholy hell, I had to make an appointment with the fancy eye doctor before I could get any drops of any kind. Luckily, the prednisone drops they gave me seem to be working, but my eye pressure in that eye was already high and all I could think was GOOD LORD HERE WE GO AGAIN, I SWEAR IF I GET SCLERITIS AGAIN AND HAVE TO GO ON PREDNISONE LONG TERM I WILL TAKE A GODDAMN LEAVE. I don't think that is going to be what happens as my eye is pretty cleared up at this point, but I was at a total breaking point. </p><p>Which leads me back to the presentation this past Friday. It spoke to me, and it spoke to me hard. If I am going to survive this year, I am going to need to reframe how I do things, how I DON'T do things, how I manage my guilt and self-imposed standards, how I truly and fully embrace the idea of self-care and don't feel bad about it. </p><p>It's a tall order. </p><p>But, here are the Cliff Notes of the presentation in case it is helpful for you, too, wherever you are in this pandemic living: </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Compassion Fatigue Impacts Cognitive Messaging, so try these: </b></span><br />- <b>Acknowledgment </b>(THIS IS REAL. Be gentle to yourself.)<br />- <b>Reframing </b>(perspective shapes how we spend our energy and see the situation. PS I am fairly bad at this and go to WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE pretty quickly, but I also can pull it back. Goals.)<br />- <b>Positive Affirmations</b> (Say things out loud and maybe you'll become kind of like your own cheerleader, even something as simple as "I'm doing the best I can.")<br />- <b>Hope</b> (it will get better, somehow, some day; look for positives to hang on to)<br />- <b>Mindfulness </b>(I can only do one thing at a time to do it well, you can't hold all of the things on your plate at once or you'll lose your mind, so stay in THIS MOMENT and do the one thing, then worry about the next thing.)</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Compassion Fatigue Impacts Interpersonal Relationships, so manage these: <br /></span></b>- <b>Boundaries </b>(stick to them, respect them. What are your limits? How can you protect yourself?)<br />- <b>Support System</b> (This is every bit as much about who is in your circle as who is not -- figure out who is truly supportive and who is an energy vampire, to quote Infertile Phoenix...reevaluate and don't feel bad about spending time with those who encourage your better self and letting go of those who encourage you to circle the drain, learn how to express your needs and be okay with accepting support)<br />- <b>Openness</b> (willingness to stretch your learning and opinions, to be willing to consider other viewpoints and alternatives)<br />- <b>Empathy</b> (See others' struggles without judgment -- ex: "She must be really having a tough time," VS "What a freaking bitch." This can be an amazing gift for others.)</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Collective Healing is possible, and can look like: </span></b><br />- <b>Being a Role Model</b> (model these things for friends, family, students, coworkers)<br />- <b>Find Intention/Purpose</b> (what drives you? What makes you keep coming back for more? What's important to you? What are your core values?)<br />- <b>Practice Gratitude</b> (Slow down and connect with what's going okay, give appreciation to people who make your days brighter, embrace those moments that are beautiful and acknowledge them.)<br />- <b>Teaching About Community</b> (What does community mean now? We can be a community even if we're not all in the same place at the same time, even if we don't see all the people all the time.)<br />- <b>Loving-Kindness</b> (This is a type of meditation, to extend compassion and care to others, to humankind, and put that out into the universe. It feeds our heart and reminds us that we're part of something bigger. </p><p>And lastly, my favorite: </p><p><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">Healing is a process. </span></p><p><span>The Childfree-Not-By-Choice core of me let out a (silent) WAHOOOO on this point. Yes. Absolutely. It's a process, it's a step forward and a half a step back, it's neverending but not in a hopeless way, in a "constant evolution" kind of way. </span></p><p>I left that presentation feeling energized, feeling like these are coping skills I have employed through my family building journey that ended child-free, sometimes more so than others, but also they are coping skills I can continue to develop and sharpen in this crappy pandemic time. </p><p>I am committed to finding a way to survive this year with my sanity and health intact, even if it is hard and feels like a betrayal of my work ethic or passion. It's not beneficial to my passion for teaching if I suffer a nervous breakdown and can't be in the classroom. Hyperbole? Maybe. Maybe not. I have to protect myself and really practice letting go. </p><p>Maybe this time I will be better at it. </p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-59113878135966990102020-09-24T19:41:00.004-07:002020-09-24T19:41:58.398-07:00We're All In The Same Ocean<p> I hear a lot of people using the phrase, "We're all in the same boat," to describe this pandemic and all the things that are impacting daily life. </p><p>Are we? Are we in the same boat? </p><p>I say, NO. </p><p>We're in the same OCEAN. Our boats are all different. </p><p>Some boats are veritable destroyers, armored and able to take on whatever slams into them. </p><p>Some boats are hand-lashed rafts made of floating garbage. </p><p>A lot of boats are in between. </p><p>I've written about this before, with regard to <a href="https://mypathtomommyhood.blogspot.com/2017/01/about-those-shoes-weve-all-been-in.html" target="_blank">shoes</a>. I absolutely hate the phrase "I've been in your shoes" or "Been there, done that." It applied to fertility -- even if we both are doing IVF, or both are in the adoption process, our experiences and prior traumas and personal histories are vastly different and that colors how we experience the same thing. Is the process the same? Maybe. Is the baggage we bring to it the same? NO. </p><p>Same with COVID-19. </p><p>I feel relatively fortunate to be in a place where I have had the choice to limit my contact with the public (takeout, grocery pickup) and our job security and economic stability has thus far been largely unaffected. Is it stressful? YES. Do I have the added stress of food insecurity, or job loss, or housing fears, or limited medical care? NO. </p><p>This has been one of those times where I am fortunate NOT to have kids. As a teacher, I am living the most exhausting September in the history of Septembers. I am usually a hot mess who needs a lot of takeout to make it to October in September, when school starts. But this year I feel whacked by a two-by-four every damn day. I am coming home, doing my decontamination shower and scrubs-shedding (reverse order), and then promptly falling asleep on the couch for at least an hour. IT IS PRETTY MUCH INVOLUNTARY. But, because I do not have kids, I am able to come home and take a rest before getting back at the email and the planning and the feeling generally like the world is burning down. (Because the freaking world is BURNING...literally, metaphorically, politically, environmentally... I can't take the news anymore. It's all horrible.) </p><p>My teacher friends with kids? They have this exhausting day and then go home and continue with helping their own kids with routines and work. I forget that sometimes and urged a friend to leave earlier, work can get done later. She looked up wistfully and said, "nope, not for me. I go home and start a whole new set of things to do. I have to stay or I won't get this stuff done." She has backpacks to unpack, assignments to check, dinner and bedtime routines to provide. THEN she can get more done, maybe, and get some sleep. Maybe. I forgot that our boats are different. </p><p>Bryce also reminded me tonight that people with kids also get the benefit of HAVING THE KIDS, of having those joyous moments and milestones and happy family times that we don't have, so I shouldn't feel bad about my naps. I don't feel bad about my naps themselves. I feel bad that I forgot my boat has a hammock for after school napping and my friend has a childcare center, like a Disney Cruise (those are like a dream for some people, and sound like a freaking nightmare to me). </p><p>It comes down to assumption. Assuming we have a commonality that we don't. Are we all doing the best we can to make it through a pandemic? Yes. Do we all have the same tools and privileges and lifeboats? NO. No, we do not. (True for pandemic, true for fertility as well.)</p><p>I know that this phrase, "We're all in this together" is supposed to bring commonality and community, but when it shifts to "we're all in the same boat," we need to stop and think. We're not. We're floating in the same ocean with horrible rogue waves and sharks and maybe a little Scylla and Charybdis thrown in, but some of us have a lot more at our disposal than others. Some of us are a lot more likely to be thrown overboard and left at the mercy of that ocean than others who have sturdier boats. </p><p>It's good to remember that while this is a common experience, it's not experienced quite the same way for everyone. </p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>PS - I am drowning in school stress and work and trying to help families make sense of this hybrid thing. It's late and I should be going to bed but I needed to get this out of my head. I will get on top of this and be a better commenter soon, I promise! </b></span></p>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7998166587816121679.post-33698887708125063692020-09-14T14:09:00.000-07:002020-09-14T14:09:30.710-07:00#Microblog Mondays: The Puffin Project<div class="separator">Back in January, we were planning out a possible trip to Scotland. We were going to see puffins as part of it, on the island of Luffa or Staffa (there's apparently multiple islands where you can walk amongst the puffins, which sounds lovely). But, much like when we went on the Puffin and Whale Watching boat in Bar Harbor one summer and it was foggy so they said to get off and get a refund if you only wanted to see puffins, it was not to be. </div><p>Well, back in the spring I had an idea to make my own puffin sighting. I ordered a ridiculous number of stuffed puffins, including ones from Audubon that when you squeeze them make a puffin sound. It sounds like a cow, but I googled it and that is indeed what puffins sound like. My best friend sent me an extra squeezy puffin to add to my collection. I lost one to a younger sister of a student (she'd bomb the Google Meets and she liked my puffins, so at the end of the year when we did our driving parade I threw one with a name tag on it to her), and now that I've done my puffin project I can give more of them to friends with kids. Because I think I could need maybe 3 stuffed puffins, max, but not 7!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQmT2uJM_KtqOCkKIomS4LOe-bStcMScN-98AiLUL7PtLuy6tPEJmZ4P-YXLmQ9ok-sOj4fPFgvelD2Q-5RrlyI5erKJs8zt89cwW7k_zr0TNbc8hdXVsQHJ97w1ia0kebk2cdUv4Iso/w400-h300/IMG_20200530_153936.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did you know a group of puffins can be called a circus? A gathering? A burrow? A gathering? Or the very boring colony? <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Behold, the Puffin Project. I am so pleased. Bryce thinks I am freaking nuts, as does pretty much anyone who saw the video I put on Facebook without any context. But it gives me such joy and makes me laugh, and I think we can all use more joy and laughter right about now! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qz-639BVwKw" width="320" youtube-src-id="qz-639BVwKw"></iframe></div><div><br /></div>New heights of weirdness, right here. <div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYOEFcPJinx87sJd-XZMMRytFpVPJ3Qnd_4XNhDhFqctvkfuW2j1bDUW8xjkOzQmxQkCMhsQ6DPo4dqRovHiIP_OIFwYs-QzuYiXANdeklknMlzSWcAzzbV_JIt-VasR1foD1bruni44/s4032/IMG_20200912_171452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYOEFcPJinx87sJd-XZMMRytFpVPJ3Qnd_4XNhDhFqctvkfuW2j1bDUW8xjkOzQmxQkCMhsQ6DPo4dqRovHiIP_OIFwYs-QzuYiXANdeklknMlzSWcAzzbV_JIt-VasR1foD1bruni44/w400-h300/IMG_20200912_171452.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look! There's even some nose-rubbing!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vnmeJRhyphenhyphenu5yRi3Hde3PwOcPURsMdVQKw0YgoFTBhA9n7h3cFmTcE99wKc3VKpxQzy6ur7Iogn2fmMftOOtwf8LpmJCCcz-5uNirABpB5QV0dwHhMCb8F28PW-P5r06dB2IO2S6LJZVY/s4032/IMG_20200912_171608.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_vnmeJRhyphenhyphenu5yRi3Hde3PwOcPURsMdVQKw0YgoFTBhA9n7h3cFmTcE99wKc3VKpxQzy6ur7Iogn2fmMftOOtwf8LpmJCCcz-5uNirABpB5QV0dwHhMCb8F28PW-P5r06dB2IO2S6LJZVY/w300-h400/IMG_20200912_171608.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey puffin buddy!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPIRMmnN63lWP3x8mIgFJXEDYFL-77PojEgHiROxRw9wdIgTjZnxvoEzCZI5Hu_a_9aSHwAc4Z3KO2LgN0VlfSseNFAEExkJg7n1QO_B88bY2qs1NTd7bOWKLz4-hZUBjEeBul0DbYP4/s4032/IMG_20200912_172010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPIRMmnN63lWP3x8mIgFJXEDYFL-77PojEgHiROxRw9wdIgTjZnxvoEzCZI5Hu_a_9aSHwAc4Z3KO2LgN0VlfSseNFAEExkJg7n1QO_B88bY2qs1NTd7bOWKLz4-hZUBjEeBul0DbYP4/w400-h300/IMG_20200912_172010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just hanging on the cliff rocks (those are rocks below my deck)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3soQG9YMJDvPyMtt3YtjhnKyrmwp9uewEJNAdjV3uLtx2V1u47sUizYC0mum7Vxudqw_c7HqTQnhDbV-_uLEzmsn74eDoucS4SSjXgg5lT4sOrrFNIBHvrBzLxa_MNc8ek2uv0TZsPI/s3264/IMG_20200912_174440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3soQG9YMJDvPyMtt3YtjhnKyrmwp9uewEJNAdjV3uLtx2V1u47sUizYC0mum7Vxudqw_c7HqTQnhDbV-_uLEzmsn74eDoucS4SSjXgg5lT4sOrrFNIBHvrBzLxa_MNc8ek2uv0TZsPI/w400-h300/IMG_20200912_174440.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh my gosh there's one on my shoulder! <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYM7IqJfNS1_nECY0wCHLMhwxiEYeaa5ss7YO_XD66R51DBrhudsvpG4a_dOy_crlRBMG6QSV_sS2HvSJVs4I9aQJPQ9K1_xchX7y7pENFAOWY9XIN8xzW3s7Qp-oXFis9ahhXX-sjuEM/s3264/IMG_20200912_174506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYM7IqJfNS1_nECY0wCHLMhwxiEYeaa5ss7YO_XD66R51DBrhudsvpG4a_dOy_crlRBMG6QSV_sS2HvSJVs4I9aQJPQ9K1_xchX7y7pENFAOWY9XIN8xzW3s7Qp-oXFis9ahhXX-sjuEM/w400-h300/IMG_20200912_174506.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even though these puffins are tame, you don't want them near your face. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><b><i>Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go <a href="https://www.stirrup-queens.com/2020/09/microblog-monday-316-unwatched-videos/" target="_blank">here </a>and enjoy!</i></b></p><p><br /></p></div>Jesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15868505568965284742noreply@blogger.com12