November 29th

Thanksgiving went so much better than I thought it could. Our friends arrived very early Thursday morning, towing a massive, blackly gleaming ATV sporting horns (underwater exhaust kit). That Texan means business when it comes to ATV riding, I tell you what!

It was so very good to have a friend with me during the dinner. I never realized before that what with three sisters in law, someone is going to be rattling around somewhat, just purely by the mathematics of it.

And my friend has a personality that is quite similar to mine. I glanced over at her and saw that she was sitting the same way, upright, hands together on her knees; attentive, quiet. We sat perched on bar stools and drank French Lick white wine. She is a peaceful person to be around.

I made a beeline for my newly pregnant sister in law as soon as she arrived, to give her a quick hug and tell her congratulations. I wanted to head off as soon as possible any potential awkwardness. I'm certain that helped a lot.

During the annual family poker game, the oldest niece, just two, came up to me with a crayon and began using my knees as a platform for her coloring book. Then the crayon went missing, so we had to look for it and then she found a bouncy ball. This she held to her mouth with thankful glee.

"Ball!" she declared.

Anyhow, before I knew it we were heading to the stairs to the second floor loft, which is a place of mystery and adventure to a person not quite two. There was the solemn chimes of the grandfather clock and the shadows on the ceiling, the muted tones of adult conversation coming from the room on the other side of the open floor plan.

We played there for about an hour, climbing up the stairs, throwing the bouncy ball down the stairs and then calling for the bouncy ball.

"Here ball! Ba-all! Come here, ball!"

"Right now!" sternly chimed in the little person beside me. "Right now, ball!"

To our great disappointment, the ball never listened, so we would have to go after it, all the way back down the stairs.

When it was time to leave, my niece threw herself into my arms with loving abandon. Children do tend to love me. I think it's because I have never fully left childhood myself, so I understand where they are coming from. Also, I see them as a person first and a child second. I have a deep respect for the integrity of their personhood.

Needless to say, it was bittersweet. I could see how the features of her mother and father blended perfectly into her cute face and wondered if I would never have the chance to see that in my own children. I wondered why God would give me such good instincts with children and yet deny me my own. The answer is fairly obvious, even to me. My good instincts will be put to perfect use when I adopt.

The rest of the visit with our friends went well. It rained all day Thursday, so on Friday when the boys went to tear up the trails, they got mud bogged. They had come prepared; with face masks, thermal underwear and heavy rubber boots. My brother in law pushed his ATV too far out into the river and the look of astonishment on his face as it slowly sunk completely into the water was something to see, so we heard. It actually started floating down river.

We girls, wisely, had opted to stay home, where my friend basked in the peace and quiet. I baked pumpkin cookies, with filled the house with the smell of cinnamon and allspice. It was sunny and warm inside and we each felt comfortable to just read, or watch cooking shows or chat. Next year we'll be in GA; maybe we'll go stay with them.

Keith and I have talked, quite a bit, and have decided to try clomid again, this time for three months. I already put a call into Tricare, to get the referral extended. So there's that. Also, I have done quite a bit of further research into adoption and it has stripped away the last of my preconceptions about that journey.

Firstly, we cannot do the fost/adopt. There is no way of having any guarantee of either our stay in GA, or the amount of time needed for the child to become free to adopt, if he or she ever does. We cannot go that route, not until Keith retires from the military in about ten years.

Next, we cannot pursue domestic infant adoption without at least twenty thousand dollars cash. This means some very serious, adult financial decisions. Adoption agencies say ten to twenty thousand on their web sites, but when you talk in person, no one takes the ten thousand figure seriously, especially Bethany. Their adoption specialist assured me it would be well over twenty thousand, due to legal fees and that I might wait three years to be matched with a birth mother.

It would have to be a personal loan. I have already figured out payments, interest rates, etc. We could swing it, but it would set us back on our financial goals for the future. There is no way of knowing if the adoption tax credit will survive past next year.

However, if we get that all secured, then we would be choosing American Adoptions to work with. They put a cap on the expenses incurred during the adoption, so we can feel secure knowing we will not exceed our loan amount. Also, if the birth mother changes her mind, we will recoup all money except any spent on legal fees. That's also a crucial aspect.

It would be one to nine months to be matched with a birthmother, and then one to nine months to have our baby placed with us, naturally depending upon how far along the birth mother would be in her pregnancy. She could be anywhere in the United States, as American Adoptions is a national agency.

It's so bewildering. I can only process so much information at a time, you know? I am looking at embryo adoption as well. Those adoptions run from five to seven thousand dollars, but there is only a forty eight percent success rate, though that's actually much better than with clomid; or IVF, not that we are planning on doing IVF.

At least now we know more clearly the steps we will have to take. Who knows. Maybe the clomid will work this time. Either way, Keith and I are both grateful that we can even seriously consider these options; it might be tight, but we can certainly swing it if we have to.

This year, I'm incredibly grateful for my loving husband, who is my close friend and companion on this journey. There's no way to explain how powerfully good it is. There are some hurts in life that only a husband's embrace can help and I am so grateful for the many I receive from Keith.

November 22nd

I am currently washing almost every piece of washable fabric or bedding in the house, as we are but days away from having house guests. Also planned for today is the vacuuming of the entire upstairs, followed by deep steam cleaning. Tomorrow will be dusting and bathrooms and the next day will be shopping and baking.

It is going to be a busy visit. These poor folks are driving eleven hours Wednesday night in order to arrive on Thanksgiving morning. I assume after that they'll take a nap. Later on, we are all going to drive up to Keith's father's house for the large, family dinner.

Yes. We will not be having a nice quiet dinner at our house, with a ham. Someone in Keith's family found out that we were planning to retreat from the messy battlefield of holiday dinners and sounded the collective alarm. Massive amounts of family guilt were deployed and consequently, our two friends are now being brought into the bosom of family, despite the fact that they are complete strangers to everyone else but us.

Fun for all! Oh well. At least the family dinner will be much less agonizing with our friends there, since it will diffuse weird family dynamics. At least, that's my hope.

Sometimes even I feel like a stranger at the family parties. Maybe because Keith and I didn't have a formal wedding, which helps to fuse one into place. Also, I didn't have a divided family growing up (though trust me, we had our issues.) I'm not used to having the whole step family. It feels like there are two entirely separate family parties who just happened, unluckily, to rent the same venue at the same time. And I don't really belong in either party, since I only married into it.

What I normally do is curl up on a huge leather sofa with a glossy catalogue of home furnishings (the only reading material available) and pretend that I am not there. This has been my coping mechanism since lunch time in the fifth grade, which explains my incredible amount of focus and attention span.

Usually I end up having small child care foisted upon me, as I am the only one who does not play poker. I don't mind taking care of children, but taking care of children while their mother and grandmother are playing poker and the child is on the verge of breaking one expensive decorative do dad after another is nerve racking.

Usually it's my well meaning husband who initiates this. "Jenny loves kids!" he cries, the proud and loving husband. "Jenny won't mind! She'll keep an eye on her (or them.)"

I don't think he'll do that this year, since we both are on the same page. I have been doing some studying of the impact of infertility. It turns out that the emotional pain of infertility is equal to that of a woman facing cancer, or a woman facing HIV. It hurts that much. It's that hard to get through.

I won't lie; every time I acknowledge the extent of this pain, it revives in me anger and incredulity at God for allowing it to happen to me, on top of everything else. Why would He allow that? Then, last night I realized this question is not the one I should be asking. It's not the definitive question.

The definitive question is, how am I going to live with the question unanswered? The fact is, there simply is no acceptable answer; the only choices available to us is to be stuck in the question, and the anger and pain it engenders, or to live the best we can without resolution. The latter option is the best, because it frees us to celebrate life just as it is, to love the gift of life in it's imperfection. But I have to keep reminding myself of this.

On the website about managing the pain of infertility during family holidays, the first recommendation was simply not to go. The second was giving yourself permission to go into the bathroom, shut to the door, turn on the water and cry. The third was giving yourself permission to calmly say that you are not up for holding or caring for any children. Or, if holding children is your thing, to do so all night long even if it means you will cry in the car all the way home.

Reading all that really, really helped. I do not feel so strange anymore; in fact, apparently I am right on target.

So I keep thinking about ways of being. How do I want to be during the Thanksgiving dinner? Do I want to be the wallflower who never says a word and reads quietly in the corner? Do I want to be more proactive? Wouldn't it be interesting to just be rude, I sometimes wonder.

I feel like I was deeply wounded the last time I was around family, even if it was by accident. I feel this need to find some kind of protection before going into the same situation again.

But how do I do that? What does that look like? It may surprise you to know that I have no idea. The fact of the matter is, when threatened, I always made myself more vulnerable. It's like the possum trying to play dead or the ostrich with her head in the sand. It's a child's way of coping with the unthinkable, and, most importantly of all, the thing that cannot be stopped or controlled anyway, so there is no point in trying.

I typically assume the best of other people; I don't say this to be vain, it's a weakness. I don't have accurate judgement. I even go so far as to think that if I assume the best of people, they will magically rise to my higher expectation of them and be free to be the best they can be, and then I will be safe from the worst of them. This is magical thinking; it's a child's thought pattern.

Lately, I feel this deep seated urge within me to see more clearly, to protect myself better. I want an adult's clear eyed, confident judgement and I want to be able to act in my own interests with authority and compassion.

Maybe just knowing that is enough; they say being aware is half the battle. And now, I must go. Reinforcements in the form of my handsome, uniformed husband have arrived and the upstairs awaits our combined attention.

November 15th

I am a bad blogger. Also, I can't believe November is already half over.

What have I been up to lately? I have been baking muffins, for one thing. I made orange cranberry muffins and banana coconut muffins with blueberries. They were made without butter and a person would never know.

Keith got Netflix which downloads movies and shows instantly through his PS3. This is how we came to be watching "Better Off Ted," seasons one and two, for about the past week straight. When we ran out of episodes, it was like losing a friend.

We finally sold the Jeep and put almost every single dollar towards the Star Card debt. We are now so very close to being free of Tier Two debt. It's Christmas season, so perhaps forward movement on that front will stall for the next little while, but we will enter the new year with no more than about four hundred dollars owed.

Also, I had the worst day a couple days ago. It was one of those bad junctures of circumstances that does sometimes land on a person all at once. One of my sister's in law have recently given birth and we were invited up for a barbecue and to meet the baby. So I got myself in hand and up we went.

Only, it was unfortunate because my cycle had been up to its usual tricks and been about ten days late, leading me to believe that maybe, just maybe....but of course not. I started to get my period the night before the get together. How's that for awesome.

What makes it worse is that any time I start to think I might actually be pregnant, I begin to disconnect from the idea of immediately adopting and then when I realize that I'm not pregnant, I have to disconnect from that idea and reacquaint myself with adoption. It's an inevitable emotional swing ride.

So I was literally in the middle of this emotional adjustment as we drove up. When we got there, things seemed to be going well. I couldn't hold the baby because I had a sore throat and wasn't feeling well, which actually made it easier. Not that I would have minded holding her, it's just such a mixed bag.

Then, in the kitchen, my sister in law let it drop that my other sister in law is pregnant.

(Crickets chirping.)

I didn't even know she had been trying, but apparently she had been, for about six months. Even my mother in law had known, but hadn't told me because she was hoping that I was pregnant-news flash-my mother in law knows my cycle and keeps track of it.... So she had also been wondering if I was pregnant.

Well, bloggy friends, there was just no recovering from that piece of news. I said in a stunned way, "Everyone is getting pregnant but me," at which point my sister in law half heartedly assured me it would "happen in time," blah blah blah.

I'm sure she was regretting telling me, but what did she think would happen? I still don't understand it. Did she not remember that Keith and I had been trying for a year and a half now, had tried Clomid and had failed? How did she think telling me that would make me feel?

I was talking to my mother on the way back home and Mom said that most people probably have no idea how painful this is and that really stuck with me. It's true. Most people just don't have any idea, how could they? They can't imagine what this feels like.

The worst part was that I made a complete fool of myself. I couldn't hide my emotions. If only someone had told me in private, I would have been able to pull myself together decently and then presented the proper emotional response, which would have been happiness for her.

And I am happy for her, I truly am. I would not have had to pretend. All I needed was some time to sort through my own pain and grief. As it was, I felt like I ruined the occasion and made it all about myself and ended up babbling on, in a thoroughly depressing way, about adoption. And it was depressing because I hadn't yet reconnected emotionally, as I was still letting go of my own, private hopes of pregnancy.

As my husband would say, it was a clusterf-.

It took an entire day to recover from. I felt like someone had kicked me all over black and blue on the inside. I sobbed on the phone to my mother and then, even off the phone couldn't stop crying. I took the girls for a walk with tears still streaming down my face.

Keith did his best to comfort me, he made omelets for dinner and didn't let me be alone for a moment. We ended up going to bed ridiculously early, and then stayed up talking. He admitted that it was hard for him too; he hadn't even been able to hold the new baby. He had simply passed by, glanced down, admitted her cute and then kept on walking.

I saw him do this and wondered. I also saw the look on his step mother's face. She thought he was a little rude, I'm sure. But there's only so much a person can take. They cannot help being happy and we cannot help being miserable and it is no one's fault. These are the pitfalls of being human.

November 6th

The house is full of the smell of maple sausage frittata, coffee and freshly peeled oranges. The windows on either side of me are full of sun, even though the branches outside are bare. It's cold outside, I know because when I walked the girls I could see a little cloud of my breath when I exhaled.

Of late, I have made pumpkin cookies, two loaves of bread and a barbecue sloppy joe with caramelized onions. The last caused my husband nearly to pass out from over eating. We had been watching Anthony Bourdain and it was making us very, very hungry. But I didn't have any cuts of faty, luscious meat to cook, so I took my molasses BBQ recipe and mixed it into ground beef. It was pretty amazing.

"No more Anthony Bourdain for us," I told Keith after we had finished way more than we should have.

Yesterday we went on one of our large, bi monthly shopping trips, but this time at the Commissary. I love shopping with my husband at the Commissary, especially if he is still in uniform. I think it's because of all the darling little veteran couples who slowly wander the isles and watch us young ones with twinkling, knowing eyes.

We have invited some friends of ours to stay for Thanksgiving. Keith met his friend when they were both deployed and in the weeks after they returned, we went riding and grilling together. His wife is a very quiet book worn type like myself, so it was ideal.

I'm getting a little excited about recipes for the two days. Muffins and frittata for breakfast, ATV riding all late morning and afternoon, beef pot roast to come home to, maybe? Keith can't stand turkey after having nothing to eat but turkey flavored MREs on his first tour of Iraq. So I think we'll have a ham. I'll have to think about that. I haven't tried making a ham from scratch, because, let's be honest, it's just so easy to buy one ready made.

We'll see. Anyway, I love this time of year. The golfers are leaving, the air is brisk. Oh, and the Democrats have largely left town.

November 1st

Keith and I were up in Indiana this weekend and as we were driving it suddenly struck me that we had been there, driving, exactly one year ago. It all came back so vividly, the shorn, golden tilt of farmed hillsides, the black shadows stretching further east, away from the setting sun and the few shards of copper leaves that rimmed the trees.

Last year we were there, driving all around Southern Indiana with red rimmed eyes and sore limbs from sleeping on cots and the air mattress, caught up in the agony of looking for houses. We were set loose, adrift. Behind us we towed most of our earthly possessions, my car stuffed to the brim with things like a vacuum and a rolled up rug.

I thought again about how it felt to set out from Colorado, to head East across the state into the flatland, everything around us brown, tawny and still, the grass lands and the rolling hills mirroring the endless sky above.

It is so frightening to leave home behind and head out into the unknown. But exhilarating too, as though one were taking one's life directly into hand, picking up the reins, and staking out a future.

If we knew what the future had in store, I don't think we'd ever find the courage to walk into it. I keep waking up, as it were, into a greater understanding of life's inherent difficulty, or imperfection. It's no longer traumatizing to realize how much suffering life holds, I don't rebel against it or hide from it as I use to.

Instead, I feel this sense of peace. I feel like a tree that's lost limbs, been partially burned, but has its roots deep into the earth and its branches all spread to the sky. God calls us into life not because life is perfect and not because we are perfect, but because we are meant to grow.

We don't have to grovel or punish ourselves or push ourselves. We don't have to shy away from our failures and imperfections. We can simply trust that life will call us out deeper, because that is it's nature, that is the nature of God, to encourage growth, to bring us out further and further into the light.

That is what He has been doing in my life of late. Of this whole year, in fact. This whole year has been one of intense, sometimes down right agonizing growth. I've been called to grow up in a whole new way. And I did not want to.

I did not want to give up my illusions, the beautiful fantasy. I was incredible angry that this is the life God calls us to, one of suffering. Why would God do that to us, to any of us? It isn't fair, it wasn't right. We strive and strive and strive and yet get knocked down again.

Now I see the beauty in what's real. I understand in a whole new way that suffering is inevitable. "Neurosis is always a substitute for legitimate suffering," Carl Jung has said. And the human spirit longs to be healthy, no matter how much legitimate suffering that may require.

Last year, when I looked ahead, I took for granted that at this point, by this time, I would certainly be either pregnant or the mother of an infant. I did not grant any weight to the idea that neither might be true. I just projected this longing into the future, maybe as a way to guard myself from the truth, the truth that none of us knows what the future will look like.

We were up in Indiana to intercept a truck being delivered to Keith's brother on the same day that his wife was in the hospital delivering their second girl, and while he was still two weeks away from returning from deployment.

I walked into the house and saw on the table a breast pump and in the living room a bassinet, newly constructed, standing silent witness to what was happening in a hospital right then. I felt incredibly juvenile and gauche, I felt like a small girl that has her nose to the window of some lovely, warm room that she knows she will never be invited into, a whole experience that will never be a part of her life.

I feel like those fields, rough corn stubble making a golden haze across a shallow valley, half in the sun and half in shadow, but quiet and still. I feel inside me a reassuring weight, a strong ballast; God calls me into life to grow. He calls me out from the things of childhood into adulthood, not because life is safe, but because my spirit longs to expand through the suffering into what is real. It's what I was created to express, I am a living expression of the nature of God; that nature that creates and pours forth life and redeems the dark.