So. I have this problem. When in fun social situations, I completely forget to take pictures because I’m too busy trying to talk with everyone and just generally have fun. I can never remember to focus on taking photos while I’m focusing on their 8 million conversations that are bouncing around me.
It is a serious problem. And it’s the reason I only have two photos showing really anything that happened on Friday, the day I met some fabulous new and old friends, ate some terrific food, shared some terrific stories and met a terrific blogger/photographer/author/who-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up, Ree Drummond aka Pioneer Woman.
These photos were taken during our hour-long wait to eat at Maggiano’s. Up top you’ll see Suz, Beth and Amy. Down below is Beth Anne in the front with Sally and Meredith behind her.
Even though I royally suck at remembering to take pictures (I will partly blame my other photo-taking friends, because I see their cameras and just think, “Oh! I’ll just have them send me theirs. We don’t want to have a zillion cameras out taking the same shots.” err. right.), my friends do not.
So here’s a shot I snagged from the gorgeous Alena:
most of our group waiting to meet Ree
Don’t I have the most gorgeous friends EVER?
I sometimes forget many readers are people I know completely away from the Internet – friends, family, etc.
Why? BECAUSE YOU PEOPLE NEVER LEAVE ME COMMENTS! 
Seriously, though. Many of my IRL folks (that’s In Real Life, Mom) read this blog, and the only way I know is when they drop a tidbit only found on the blog into a conversation (which totally throws me for a loop) or, send me a really sweet card cheering me on and telling me about how they enjoy what I write.
Like my good friend Andi, who sent this cute card chock FULL of handwritten cheerleading and motivation.
I write for myself, but I also write because there are so few people I have the pleasure of speaking with on a regular basis. Having this blog helps me stay connected with the giant spokes my life has sprouted through the years.
Andi, thank you so much for the card. You have an e-mail coming your way shortly.
Other people who’ve known me before this blog started? Say hello, would ya? 😀
Mother’s Day has been strangely bittersweet for as long as I can remember. The woman who carried me in her heart and in her belly for nine months and then spent the next 22 months loving me in her arms and fighting to stay here on earth with me – she’s been my Angel Mom since May 21, 1984. She’s now loving me from somewhere else.
Not long after she lost her battle with leukemia, I met my second mom, the woman who cleaned my scrapes, wiped my tears, helped me with homework and dealt with me as an angsty teenager, the woman who sat behind me on my wedding day.
I celebrate them both. I always have, and I always will. One celebration makes me angry and sad for the woman I never knew but blindly love; one celebration makes me give thanks for the wonderful woman I know and love.
I’ve been blessed with two women who love me no matter what. They are amazing for what they’ve done and for what they continue to do in my life. One continues to teach me that each day on earth is a gift to never take for granted. I can’t hear her voice, but I know her legacy. The other has taught me more than I could ever put into words and continues to give me new lessons all the time.
To my first mom, Debi, I love looking through your pictures and at the letter you wrote to me. I know that, even though I don’t know what your laugh sounds like, I’m going to hear your voice one day and know you’re my mom.
To my second mom, Louise, I am so thankful that you chose to be my mom and chose to stick by me and love me through all the good times and bad. Thank you for loving me.
Mother’s Day is complicated in my head, right? Now it’s even more muddled.
I’ve been just-barely-pregnant twice in the last year, long enough for those pregnancies to leave a lasting mark on my heart but not long enough for me to be among those traditionally celebrated today. I’d rather be rubbing my big, pregnant belly today, but instead I’m trying to decide what we’re going to do for our next cycle of trying to conceive the baby who will one day sit in my lap while I try to type on the computer, who will smother my face with slobbery kisses.
Bittersweet. Confusing.
Complicated.
Happy Mother’s Day to those with simple celebrations. Happy Mother’s Day to those with complicated celebrations. I hope, for us all, that today is a beautiful one. After all, each day is a gift in itself.
“We were on a BREAK!”
Yes, I keep quoting Ross Geller in my head. Over and over and over and over.
I should be thrilled that I ovulated on my own for the first time since February of 2009. I should be proud of my little ovaries (since the productive party shall remain anonymous, they can both take credit). That should be then end of the story.
A am thrilled. I am proud. Sort of.
Except I never got that break I so desperately needed.
And I’m not pregnant, either.
And now I’m questioning whether I should move back into medicated-cycle land or if I should gamble another cycle with my fickle ovaries and see if they function again on their own.
It was SO nice to not feel the financial pressure of making something happen with the precious dough we normally spend on medications and copays. In that sense, I got my break.
The problem with that is, if I do ovulate without medication, I will most likely only release one egg. When I’m medicated, I have released up to three eggs. So, you see, medication increases our chances.
But are the increased chances worth the financial burden and the stress? Logically thinking, yes. Historically speaking, maybe. Emotionally thinking, I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE.
I have no fucking clue. Everyone has suggestions, but no one has answers. This is a Very Grownup Decision, and there is A LOT at stake. Each new suggestion, each new prospective treatment, each time I hear, “Just relax” – I question myself and my decisions.
Should I be doing acupuncture? (I had an appointment but canceled because the cost wasn’t going to work for us right now.)
Are the Gonal F injections worth the extra $100?
Am I putting too much trust in Western medicine?
Am I not giving my body a chance?
Is Metformin alone enough now?
Am I not pregnant because I didn’t actually throw my ovaries a party and instead scolded them for crashing my break cycle party?
If relaxing gets people pregnant, why doesn’t my insurance cover spa packages around ovulation time?
If we hadn’t fought that one night and spent the night on separate sides of the house, would I be holding a positive pregnancy test?
Why do doctors (of both Chinese and Western medicine) sell their (million possible and possibly long) treatments as The Thing that is going to work, and, without it, you’re fucked?
And since I’m having fun asking questions:
Why does pregnancy loss roll off the backs of some people yet it sits and hammers repeatedly on the heads of others?
Why did my break cycle that wasn’t a break have to have a two-week wait with an ending hovering around MOTHER’S DAY?
Why is it OK to be falter in strength, but no one can do or say anything to help during the weak times?
Sigh. I want to eat a whole pie. With whipped cream. And ice cream. And a tall glass of milk. But you know what? All that stuff has carbs, and carbs are might be EVIL to my stupid PCOS.
This sugar-free Jell-O doesn’t taste anything like the feelings I so desire to eat. I can’t fucking win.
We need to mow.
