It's Barely Fall and I'm Already Pissed at Winter

(Before I get to my original post, you'll notice the look of my blog has changed.  It's rather....plain.  Years ago I gave a designer a decent amount of money to make customize my blog design. While it looked decent, she messed up some major template things. For awhile, I could let it slide, but I've finally reached my limit.  After countless days of banging my head against the desk researching code to fix it, I've finally decided to blow it all up and start from scratch. 

So this is what you get for awhile. 

I'm in the market for a new blog designer. Not just someone that can do graphic design but actually get into my page and do all the magic coding put it into blogger. I'll pay more if they can orchestrate a switch and move everything over to Wordpress. Email me at saididneverdo@gmail.com )


Personally, I declared the season of Autumn to start onSeptember 1.  That’s when the Pumpkin Spice Lattes come out and we all know Starbucks has sway more than some fancy-pants scientist with multiple degrees. 

Speaking of Starbucks, I’m to going to make a highly controversial statement:

The Salted Caramel Mocha is significantly better than the Pumpkin Spice Latte.

That’s right, I have the balls to say it. Just try it for yourself.  You’ll see you’ve been misguided for years.

Ok, I got off topic. Sorry.

Anyway, though I declared Autumn begins on September 1, technically it began on September 22.  To celebrate, we did the most Fall-like thing I can think of- attend a Fall Festival. 

My mother-in-law, Renee, was in town while my husband and father-in-law went off to do some go-kart racing thingy.  After a big breakfast, we packed up Max and headed 45 min north of Cincinnati to the Hidden Valley Fruit Farm in Lebanon Ohio. Their “Apple Daze” festival was in full swing and it was perfect introduction to Fall for my southern-born preschooler. (Fall is just a state of mind in Coastal Georgia.  It doesn’t get cold til December)

Apple picking!  Bouncy Houses!  Pumpkins!  Hay Rides!  Apple Cider! Apple Fritters!  Caramel Apples!  Sweaters!  Boots! We basically knocked out our Autumn Bucket-list in a 5 hour period. All I have left to do is go for a drive when the leaves change and eat some sort of butternut squash soup. Then, I can happily greet winter.  And by happily greet, I mean shake my fist at it while angrily grumbling that I never had to scrape ice off my car in Savannah. Why the hell did we rent a house with a one car garage anyway?

Huh.  I’m preemptively mad at Winter.  That’s not a good sign.

But it’s not Winter yet.  It’s fall.  And it’s AWESOME.

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Loss

I miscarried. Yesterday.

It sucked.

There’s a million things running through my mind.  The “what-ifs” of the past. The “what-ifs” of the future.   I’m sad.  I’m frustrated.  I’m scared. But most of all, I feel so incredibly lonely.  And that makes me pissed off.

I’m pissed because miscarriages have to be a hush-hush thing.  No one wants to talk about it.  No one wants to hear about it.  It’s a sad thing and no one wants to hear about sad things. For a woman going through a loss of a pregnancy it’s devastating and what she needs most is a community of people to put their arms around her and send her love.  

To say they are sorry. 

To send their prayers.

To watch her child so she can grieve or bring a meal so she can focus on herself for a day instead of worrying about the needs of her family.

But societal norms dictate she cry alone in her home with only her partner or a few close friends in the know. 

Twenty percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage. When you are pregnant, you look at 20% as a small number and hope you don’t fall onto that side of the statistics.  But when you think about it, that’s a lot of women grieving. 

I just wish there was more acceptable for women to say “Hey. I’m sad. This sucks a lot and I wish someone would just put their arms around me and let me cry. Please pray for me or send good thoughts, since I can’t do it for myself right now”.  Lots of women go through this.  I’ve watched friends be devastated and yes, not having been through it, it was hard for me to fully understand what they were going through. Now I get it and now I feel even more heartbroken for them. I just wish women who have gone through this could connect more easily, without the whispers

Women who’ve gone through miscarriages experience a unique pain. Event though the majority of miscarriages are not preventable, there’s still a weird guilt you did something wrong.  Having to whisper about it or only share your pain behind an anonymous screen name on a message board only magnifies the guilt.

Some people say “Well, it’s early, at least you weren’t attached yet”. Bullshit.  That’s absolute bullshit. Sure, the baby was the size of a poppy seed but that doesn’t mean these women didn’t start planning nursery or thinking about names. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to feel like my heart is broken in a million pieces.

Then there’s the innocent, but painful remarks.  I get crap all the time about not having a second child yet. Normally I brush it off, as for our own reason, we weren’t trying.  That’s recently changed. Now those comments are not only rude but they’ve become incredibly painful. This is my first experience with pregnancy loss. I can’t fathom the pain of those who’ve been through multiple miscarriages. Or late term miscarriages  I truly don’t understand how they keep going.  I’m not sure I’m willing to try again.

I just wish it was more acceptable to talk about.  This sucks too much to have to hide. While I don’t want to make anyone else sad, I know there’s others like me who want to talk, want to share and want to grieve with others who’ve been through the same.  I don’t want to be ashamed. I just want to share my story and find hope from those who have been through the same thing and in the end, came out stronger. 

Like Sands Through the Hourglass....

 Like sands through the hourglass, this is a day in my life.

 6 a.m.- A cup of coffee, a bit of facebook, a bit of emailing, a bit of blog writin' while the house is quiet. 

 7 a.m.- Time to wake up little man for school. He is not thrilled.

 8 a.m.- Little man has been dropped off so it's time for me to hit up the gym.  In this case, the elliptical. Of all the exercise I hate, I hate this one the least. 

9 a.m.- The best part about Max being in preschool is that for the first time in over 3 years, I can take an uninterrupted shower. 

10 a.m.- Kites and vacuum cleaners don't mix.  

 11 a.m.- School pick up. Max was not happy to leave.  School is more fun than Mommy, apparently.

Noon- Play time at the bookstore. The weather was icky so we were forced to find inside play. 

1 p.m.- Lunch. Look at me being all healthy and shit.  

2 p.m. - I was desperate for my own nap, so I thought maybe bringing Captain Whineypants into my room would help him fall asleep. Obviously it didn't work. 

3 p.m. - No nap for anyone.  I paid bills instead. 

4 p.m.- Max and his imaginary friend Scout were having a chat.  Scout was at work, obviously.  Scout's a dog so I'm curious as to his employer.

5 p.m. Dinner prep. Chicken Gyros.  Quite excellent if you ask me and as an added bonus, we were able to keep vampires away just by breathing.  There's no such thing as too much garlic.

6 p.m.- Max serenaded us with his version on Gangam Style.  Nothing makes a mother proud like hearing her 3 year old sing "Heeeeeyyyy Sexy Lady".

 7 p.m.- Couch, blanket, gossip magazine, ice cream, handsome husband.  What more could I want? 

8 p.m.- Obviously, I could want nothing more as I hadn't moved. 

By 9 p.m., I was in bed. I know, rock style life, right?  I wish this Writer's Workshop Prompt could have happened on a more exciting day but lets be honest-  when you have a 3 year old, no day is boring. 

Menu Monday-ish

I suck at schedules.  My retreat threw me off and I’m just now writing up Menu Monday.  I’m sure you are all on pins and needles waiting to see what this family is eating. Right? Right?!

Last week was mostly leftovers which was AWESOME! Not really the eating part.  Just the not cooking part. Brett was working late every day last night so it was a well-timed week of leftovers.  I hate cooking later in the evening. Then we eat later, clean later and ultimately get to bed later.  I love my sleep too much for that.

The Good

I really enjoyed the Avgolemono soup though Brett found the lemon to be too strong and Max responded by spitting it into my hand.  Thanks, buddy.  I also enjoyed the loaded eggplant rounds.  90% of the time I’m eating eggplant, it’s topped with marinara and cheese, in some variation on eggplant parmesan. This was a nice way to use eggplant without getting my parm on.

The Not So Good

I had such high hopes for the Apple Cider Chicken Bake.  It looked so yummy in the picture.  However, when I tried it, it had tons of extra liquid, the apples were too mushy and the entire thing was bland.  I don’t think it was chef’s error.  Many of the commenters on the website had the same experience.  After a taste test, I pulled out the liquid, added more cider and cooked it down to half the volume. I hoped that would create some stronger flavors.  It didn’t. I’m bummed. 

Also, thanks to everyone’s recommendations for PF Changs.  The overwhelming consensus on Facebook was to go for the Lettuce Wraps. They were quite good and made a decent meal, but I feel I could get similar quality Chinese food for half the price at the local joint down the street.  That being said, they had EXCELLENT Whiskey Sours.  My local Chinese restaurant can’t provide the same.

Monday: Checking out Dancing Wasabi, with friends.

Meatless Monday Delayed til Tuesday: RoastedSweet Potato wrap, Salt and Vinegar Potatoes

Wednesday: HungryGirl Chicken Gyros, Roasted Corn Kernels (recipe is actually part of a larger recipe)

Thursday: Crockpot Coconut Curry Chicken

Friday: SkilletGnocchi and Shrimp Asparagus

Saturday:  Buffalo Chicken Soup, Buffalo “Fried” GoatCheese

Sunday:  Leftovers

Retreat

I took my headphones off as I approached the cemetery.  It didn’t seem right to be blaring Fall Out Boy as I walked among the hundreds of headstones, each for a woman who spent her entire life serving the Lord.

I continued past the cemetery and around the small pound.  I crossed paths with large man walking a small dog. A lit cigarette dangled from the man’s mouth; the hip hop music blaring from his headphones felt out of place on this scared ground.  Then I realized- so did my rock music. I removed my headphones.

The path ended abruptly, just past the cornfields where the crows were already working to get their share before harvest. The end of the path was a busy highway.  One direction lead into the rolling hills and white fences of Louisville horse country.  The other direction signaled the beginning a medium sized city with a Walgreens and an Applebees. The small city felt soulless in comparison to the peaceful, holy grounds was my weekend home. I felt bad for the members of my group that needed to stay in the hotel just off the property.  After an amazing day of reflection, community and love, they were forced to face reality in the real world.  I felt lucky to stay encased in my little bubble of peace on the grounds owned by the Sister of Charity. 

The meals this weekend were simple, hearty, country food. My accommodations- basic. My weekend of retreat- extraordinary.

I had no revelations about my life. I had no spiritual breakthroughs after a long and bitter spiritual drought. I didn’t come back a completely changed person.  I did however, find some stability after a summer of change.  I found simple joy in lying in the grass, the warm sun covering me like a grandmother’s quilt.  I found community in like-minded women (and a few men). I found a tiny bit of my soul that had gone missing over the last year.