Um.. So... Yeah...

I'm a dork.

I haven't posted in... ever. And this is for no reason in particular.
School has started.
Pookey has been sick for a week.
You know- the regular stuff.

But mainly I haven't been writing because I don't like what I have to say. TTC is on permanent hiatus, and I don't know what to say about that. And bloggies- really, I'm okay. I mean, it sucks.. but honestly, it's going to be ok.

I'm assuming that one day (hopefully soon) the floodgates will bust and there will be a long and pitiful post about the suckage...
...but for now... excuse the ridiculously liberal use of ellipses... and enjoy our new kitten (WHAT? YOU HAVE A NEW KITTEN? --- *yes!*). Her name is Cinder (thanks for the suggestion, Spanglish!) and she is a very admirable infant substitute.
:)





More later.
I think...

And It's All Small Stuff

Those of you who've seen "Burn After Reading" will remember George Clooney and Frances McDormand reciting the platitude about what and what not to stress (watched that movie on the plane- it was good, but also very WTF?.. so a perfect Cohen flick). I feel this way about my trip (the "stress" part, not the Cohen WFT? part).

I mean, it was great. The program's purpose is to train teachers to help students gain a feeling of ownership when it comes to Shakespeare, to make Shakespeare a breathing, workable text that has meaning. In short- great, worthy aspirations. The program was executed very well (slight exception to our lodgings, but see title of post), and the staff were amazing.

I saw six shows (3 Shakespearean Globe shows with the program and 3 *extracurricular* shows), one of which was Arcadia by Tom Stoppard, starring his son, Ed. I was so relieved Ed was actually a good actor.

It was another life, Dramalish in London... I did so many things on my own that I usually do with at least two other people when I'm at home. I conquered the tube and learned how to navigate my way through a city not large by size, but confusing enough for me to be proud of my feat.

Around week 2, I began missing my husband. Don't scold me for not missing him sooner- we've lived together 13 years now, every once and a while, a break can be healthy. But midway through the trip, I missed cuddling on the couch, eating together, watching a Cubs' game... and a few days after that, I started missing other things. In a way I have not missed those things since I was 19. Ahem.
Moving on.

I missed my daughter.
I had a minor panic attack towards the end of the first week, when I realized I wasn't even half way through the trip, and didn't feel like I could go another hour without her. Pookey, conversely, dealt with my absence reasonably well. My husband, who cannot lie (that's a good thing, most of the time), admitted that she cried for me the first few nights. Beyond that, she seemed fine as we chatted right before I went to bed every night.

On the flight home, I told myself that as long as she was without major scars (physically and emotionally), I would laud my husband as a prince, and praise his accomplishments. So what if she ate ice cream for dinner occasionally? So what if he taught her to say, "Mommy in jail" when people asked where I was (he swears he only prompted her to say it to me. hm. what a card.)? So what if she slept in to 10am everyday grandma and grandpa watched her?

Don't sweat the small stuff. And it's ALL small stuff.


Kings Cross Station, platform 9 3/4. I just might make it to Hogwarts yet!

Non-Update Update

Things with my possibly-very-cool situation are on hold, but in a good way. We just have a lot on our plates right now, and since I will be in London for 16 days starting Saturday (GULP), it seemed most prudent to re-tackle the whole issue in August. I hope good things happen then. Hope. Hope, hope.

*****

As mentioned, London calls in less than a week. I can't believe it. I'm thrilled to do this thing- thrilled to experience Shakespearean theatre like this, thrilled to learn from professionals and other educators, thrilled to BE in London, etc....
But...
I'm also sick to my stomach about leaving my daughter. There are a lot of things I didn't realize when I said yes to this opportunity.

1). 3yrs, 3 mos is not old enough to fully understand the concept of time. Going bye-bye is going bye-bye. She has no clue what a day or week (or, say- 16 days) means. I keep telling her that when I go away to always remember I WILL COME BACK. But all she says in response is, "I go with you."

2). She is going to miss me. Okay, I knew that already. But she is going to miss me A LOT. A lot lot. I'm not trying to make myself more important than I am, but I worry about who will fix things when I'm not there to do it. I guess this will be Daddy's opportunity to step up... and I know he will... but it's just hard to put that faith in action.

3). I am going to miss HER. I knew I would worry about her, and I knew I would miss her.. but lately when she does all those wonderful little Pookey things, like grab my hand when we're walking, or sings her made up songs, or says something priceless (like when I was putting her into her car seat on our way to a 7/4 BBQ... she looked down at the shirt we decorated for the occasion and she gushed "Momma, I love this shirt!" I literally couldn't breathe, it was so freakin' cute)...
It strikes me that I will be 16 days without any of that. Which makes me sad.

So.
Do me a favor, would you? Tell me everything will be fine- even if you personally think that I'm a jerk for leaving my family for 2+ weeks. Tell me that she won't be scarred for life, with her first memories being of her mother abandoning her (I recently realized that my first memories came from when I was the age Pookey is now).

And for any blogger in the London area.. if you have not recently given birth and are otherwise occupied, please feel free to email me, or leave a comment. We can do lunch.. or tea? (herbal, anyway) And I do have a performance halfway through the second week of the academy for anyone who doesn't mind seeing Romeo & Juliet performed partly by American school teachers at midnight... I can't wait to come back and get into a show at home. That way I can put in the program, "Dramalish is happy to be performing back in the States after a successful limited engagement on London's Globe Theatre stage..."
;)

So if communication for the next few weeks is spotty... well, you're used to that with me, but you'll know why this time. At this point, I'm open to well-wishes. For now... for August... for whenever...

*******

Lastly, it's been a long time since I put up pics of Pookey. These are from a mall-type photography place, and I'm probably publishing them illegally, so enjoy before they haul me off to the big house...

It's Like They Can See Into My Soul

Something about this pic from lolcats made me giggle. It would be like me to take a small white kitten somewhere dangerous for protection. It's sort of how I roll. "Alright, Dramalish- you are off to battle the Beast of Blarzog. You can take the Galatic Super-Ray Atomic Blaster... the impregnable Force-Shield.... or, the small white kitten."

Hmmm... that's a tough one. But I think I'll play it safe and take
THE KITTEN.

Yep. That's how I roll.

Exactly, Kierkegaard***

I don't want to update too much about the maybe-could-be possibility until I communicate more with the donors, but no doors have been shut, and each day I think this maybe-could-possibly happen without The Universe smacking me over the head with a big stick is a victory in my book.

I know you want more information. So let's say....
68%
My confidence level is right at 68%
...with a good possibility of rising. More updates soon, I promise (*and not Dramalish "soon," the real kind of "soon" that almost everyone else in the world operates under) just as soon as I talk more with our (possible!) donor.

J is coming along. We are different people. I live in the realm of fantasy much of the time. Theatre, Literature, Fairy Tales. The concept of possibilities is something I can fathom without too much frustration.
But for my husband it is hard. Abstracts are not his friends. He wants facts. Figures. Charts. Building Plans. Maps. He wants someone to tell us: Yes, this will work.
I keep telling him that even if the success rates were obnoxiously high (say, 85%)- there are still people who fall into the minority. Hell, the fact that we are dealing with azoospermia AND DOR/POF puts us in a very very small minority. No one would have ever laid money on the odds we would be put in a position of absolute sterility, but here we are.

So looking at the odds can guide us, but we can't treat them as gospel truths. And yet... he knows this. He goes back and forth with me every day- one second ready to write the cheques and take the plunge... the next second he's hesitant, with a million questions.

Finally, when he asked if I knew our donor's ethnic background, I responded, "Will the answer make a difference as to how ready you are to do this? I mean, if I say Irish and Swedish, will you be like, 'Oh, I had the credit card out, but I draw the line at those damned Swedes!'"
He laughed.

"No, I guess it won't."

You know, I think there are some situations in which you're never "ready," but you do it anyway. My memory flashes on

Being called for my first audition, and stuttering through a jittery, but successful cold read.

Kissing a boy for the first time, watching "Honeymoon in Vegas" in the theater. I was so friggin' scared when that boy put his arm over my shoulders and tilted my face towards his with his free hand.

Stepping into the classroom in the beginning of the year (the first time, and every time since) always feels a little terrifying... I'm perpetually wishing I had prepped more, hoping that this year's crop of kids will inspire me (they do).

Completing the registration for Pookey's preschool for the fall. I don't like admitting that she's a little girl and not a baby any more. I realize that I sound ridiculous when I ask my husband to go in her room and "check on the baby" while she's playing with a neighbor girl. Even when I hold her in my arms and ask, "are you my baby?" she gives it to me straight: "No, Momma. I'm a big girl."


So grow she must. And to that end, I made another trip today to the gently-used kids' store to sell some more of Pookey's old clothes and make some room in her closet. As I hauled the large tub of outfits to the car, J's eyes locked on a pair of overalls on the top of the pile.
"You're not giving *those* away, are you?"
No, darling. I like to add an outfit I plan on keeping to the stack. Just for kicks and giggles. Actually, I said:
"I was. Why?"
"Well..." and I could tell he was trying to be as nonchalant about it as possible, "it's just that she was wearing those overalls in the Mothers' Day pictures we took for you last year. I like those overalls." Then, pulling back quickly, he added, "But you can give them away, it's cool. I don't really care..."

I put the tub in the back of the car, but wordlessly removed the overalls from the rest of the outfits. It will go in the storage bin with the other priceless treasures that are the un-relinquish-able outfits of our daughter's babyhood. One day I'm going to make a scrap quilt out of these things dresses, jumpers, and overalls and give it to her when she goes away to college.

Or maybe she'll think that scrap quilts are for grandmas, and I'll keep it for myself, so even when I'm eleventy-billion years old and my mind is beyond dementia, I'll always have a way to touch that precious time in my life.

But for now, I'm not ready to resign myself to quilting just yet. I'm keeping my heart open to the possibility that the casting for the star roles of Dramalish's Kids has not been set. That rewrites are in the process. That I still have some creative control of this story...

And now I'm off to email my possible donor. Or maybe I'll wait till the morning... I don't want her looking at a time stamp of 2am and wondering what sort of a woman writes email at that time. Heh. A little oversensitive, aren't I? Sigh.
Wish us all luck, won't you?


***If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating, as possibility!
-Soren Kierkegaard

Lessons Learned

Things I've learned this week:

1. If given the opportunity, I will sleep in until 9:30am. My daughter wakes up by 9. Please don't ask me what she does in the interim; all I know is that when I wake up, she's staring at me expectantly, as if she's been waiting.
2. You know how they say employers wait to till Friday to lay people off? Gives people the weekend to cool off and whathaveyou. Well, schools wait for the summer to pile on the bad ju ju as well. (My job is fine, by the way.. I wish I could say more about the bad ju ju- but ya know, Dooce, etc.)
3. I'm constantly surprised by my husband. He puts up with a lot from me- I mean, clearly I am insane. And this maybe-possibly chance at a Donor FET hasn't done much to ground me in the sanity department. Not to say that I'm obsessed (yet), but I do think about it. Even more than thinking about it as a prospect for adding to our family, I think about the fine line of encouraging discussion about it, and driving him crazy with the actual discussion of it. It's working so far. And... things are moving along in a way that does not greatly displease me.
4. I am a troll. It's true. I just wrote a huge paragraph about how I was a troll, and how being called one totally hurt my feelings, and I learned a lesson about non-verbal communication being easily misunderstood, yada yada yada.. and then I deleted it. 'Cause you know what? I'm over it. The real lesson? Don't disagree with someone on their blog when they're writing about something they're clearly heated up about. Especially if it's your first time commenting. People don't like that so much...
5. My child needs to sleep in her own room. And get to sleep earlier. And do it by the time I leave for London (3 weeks). Any suggestions? She's been sleeping with us for the past 6-ish months... I know, I know... troll away. ;)
6. You shouldn't put off preparing your talk (mormon equivalent of... hm... guest sermon?) about Fathers just because you don't feel like giving the talk. Sunday will come anyway... oh yes it will come.
7. #1 is probably in direct correlation with my insomnia. It's 1am. I need to sleep. G'night, blog world!

Something Positive

So.. uh. Yeah.
That thing that didn't work out sort of led to something that *might* work out.
And it's all because of the interwebs. Oh, interwebs, how I love thee.

There's still all those scary unknowns, of course. How will we pay for this? Can I handle doing treatment, and teaching high school, and running a show in the fall? Can we do a cycle *before* fall comes? What if this works?? What if it DOESN'T? Who will scoop me out of the gutter and convince me that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have spent several thousand dollars at all?

Breathing.

I'll type it because it's like a note from me to me: This might not work out. For a variety of reasons. At a variety of different points on the timeline. On a variety of levels.

Lots of unknowns.
And yet... my hopeful little heart is holding on to this prospect like a 7th grade girl holding a note from a boy. Oh, the possibilities. The joy that could be...

Segue-less transition:
Graduation was last Friday. I will desperately miss this bunch. Bright beyond belief... and insanely lovable. I had crazy anxiety the week of graduation, and I think it was about pushing this lot out of the nest. Bye bye, little tweet-tweets!


One of my most favorites. "Brian" solved a math problem that had never been solved before and was published in a mathematics journal, receiving a scholarship to boot. Oh, and he sang Sweeney Todd in our Spring Revue. I love this kid.


"Lorali" is as good of an English student as anyone would ever want. And a fantastic human being. Plus, her parents threw her one heckuva graduation BBQ. I asked to be adopted.


"Jordan" is a lovely girl I taught while she was sick for the better part of this year. Great kid; great family. This was actually a mess up shot, but on second viewing, I think it shows how I feel about my kids (and how they feel about me). In actuality, I had tripped over her robe here (she's not the tallest of girls).


Every year there is one Eddie Haskell Boy. Here is this year's. Don't let the smile fool you. One day I had an errand for him to run, and was about to send him to deliver something to another teacher's classroom when I remembered that this particular teacher wasn't very fond of him. "Eddie, Mr. Cool doesn't like you, does he?" The kid smiled wide and answered, "Mrs. Dramalish, no teachers like me except you. And you only tolerate me. Sometimes."

Oh how I will miss them. But such is the life of a teacher. They are meant to move on, just as we are meant to find and nurture new Brians, Loralis, Jordans, and Eddies. But I will miss them just the same...