Dear North Carolina -

So, every now and again, I think it's healthy to take a step back and evaluate what life has given you and decide whether you need to congratulate yourself for rising to the occasion or try and figure out what to do better next time.

It's been 1 year and 1 week since we moved to Cary, NC. So much has happened in our time here. North Carolina has been tough on us: in fact, I might go so far as to say NC is like the abusive poet ex-boyfriend I've got in my closet. He's all sweetness and light on the surface, full of promise and pretty words, but when pushed, he packs one hell of a wollop.

To recount, month by month, our time here so far includes: recovery from a birth, poverty, amazing friends, astonishing charity, hard work, death, loss, more hard work, violence, joy, pain, sickness, growth, and remarkable love. Enjoy the ride.

June 2009 - we arrive. We spend 24 hours making a trip that is supposed to take 16. I am 1 month post-partum and have a prolapsed bladder and a raging case of panic at the prospect of what we are about to take on. I'm eager to get started in my new lab and hopeful that the people there won't hate me. Andy is nervous, eager to get to NC and find a job so we can re-group. We figure it willl only take a month or two for him to find something. Aidan is three. He's just had his very.first.haircut.ever - a mohawk. We flew J out to help us move and my baby sister, Ariel came, too. We'd spent the days before the move drinking and eating pizza with friends, packing, cleaning the house, sleeping on the floor, saying our goodbyes. It's hot. It's beautiful. Thinking of our old house makes me want to cry, now. I LOVED that neighborhood. It was ramshackle, but it had the tallest trees and the greenest grass and the reddest brick houses you ever saw. That month was the last time I'd feel comfortable for a very long time.

Ariel on the way across the country.

The old house.

Our last night in Arkansas.

July 2009 - We unpack and try to settle in. Andy still can't find a job. We get into what would become a ridiculously difficult pattern of me working while he stays home with the kids. I love my new lab...the people in it are wonderful. Ariel leaves. Archer is growing. FAST. Aidan cries almost every night. We struggle to find the $$ for groceries. Coupon clipping and credit card maxing becomes a favorite hobby. We run out of money. We spend lots of time at the park and museum. It storms every day.

The view from our new apartment, which is beautiful. But no yard.

The boys in July.

August 2009 - Andy gets sick. With mono. He won't be able to get out of bed until September. Work starts coming hard and heavy. Archer is sitting up and I find I cannot get enough milk out of me under such stressful conditions. We begin supplementing breastfeeding with the bottle. I feel guilty for being gone so much. Andy still can't find a job. We are now living with an extra $4 after paying bills each paycheck. So we quit paying on our credit cards in an effort to have enough money for ramen noodles and sphagetti. It is UNBEARABLY hot. We go to the cabin.

From the lookout before Andy's Father's cabin...where we go to escape the NC summer.

September 2009 - I fly home and defend my dissertation. I get my PhD. Andy gets worse then better. J and Vicki and Robin and Diana, (who have turned out to be the most amazing people you'll ever meet)steal our children and give us FIVE WHOLE HOURS OF NOTHING TO DO. I was about to crack. It is amazing. Andy has STILL not been able to find a job. We are getting scared and have programmed "MONEYWANTERS" into our phones for all the creditor calls we don't want to answer. Mine has 46 numbers under that name. North Carolina is hotter than any place I've ever been. EVER. My Rachie visits.
I did it!

October 2009 - We begin feeling a little better, in direct proportion to the falling temperatures. Aidan is Thomas for Halloween. The J/V/R/D take Aidan trick-or-treating and we go to a party. We are home by 9 p.m. Andy still cannot find a job.
Thomas (AKA Aidan)

November 2009 - I begin to realize that I hate what I'm doing in the lab. HATE IT. But I cannot figure out what else I might do. At family dinner each Sunday, J and I try and figure out how to save the world. Andy applies for a job that seems promising at Florida Tile. The Manager says he would hire him on the spot if not for HR. Andy says we can wait. Oh, we'll wait, all right. Archer is crawling. Aidan is almost 4. Still cries when he talks about our old house. The creditor phone calls are coming hard and heavy - but we're paying the essentials. We have insurance. We've mastered advanced couponing and are frequently getting 150 dollars worth of weird-ass grocery combinations for 20 or 30 dollars...so we're eating. I'm considering getting onto WIC because we are still trying to feed Archer and I'm afraid the weird food is bad for the kids. We go to the beach with the friendlies to celebrate my 28th birthday. Andy's Grandmother (who I adore) dies. We grieve.
Last photo of Archer and Aidan with GG Ruth.

Aidan on the beach at Anna Maria Island.

December 2009 - Christmas comes. Makes us sad. We miss our family. We save and scrimp and buy/make presents and cards. We enjoy ourselves. I get some extra work with a patent analysis company. Andy is still waiting for word from Florida Tile. Andy's Mom and brother come to visit. It is wonderful. I get TOTALLY blindsided by homesickness and Andy surprises me with creative accounting that allows us to make a bottom basement budget trip home to Arkansas.
Andy and I on Christmas night.

At Apex, for the Christmas tree lighting.

Aidan and Grandma Sherry reading.

Me back with the Murphy girls - who make everything feel better...often with booze.
January 2010 - Aidan's fourth birthday, which I feel guilty about only doing some little things for. I am now working with a virologist upstairs. I have applied at a little nursing school for a third job. ECPI. I get the job. With the financial stress taken away a little bit, we start to relax. But then we realize that we still can't afford for the kids to go into any daycare we think is acceptable. Life continues being difficult. We are eating. We can eat out again. We are surviving. Andy gets a call that he should take the online assessment for Florida Tile. We are confused.
Aidan's birthday breakfast of forbidden donuts.

February 2010 - Andy gets word he's going to be hired! We make cards for Valentine's day. I begin a marathon of days (that is still ongoing) working at both State and ECPI. Tissue culture is a beast of science and requires I work every day. EVERY DAY. ECPI requires I teach for 13 hours a day twice per week. Our marriage begins to get a little strained. I am never home. I miss the kids and Andy. Florida Tile still hasn't called.
Science never lets up.

March 2010 - Andy is 27 - I cannot get him anything fabulous. I miss Arkansas. Creditors are still calling. We are still behind and cannot seem to dig out. We pay off a few small things. Andy gets a call - he's going to start work in April!!! Things are looking up! I get more Neopatents work. We go on dates. The kids seem to sense the end of DaddyDays are coming to a close. Archer is cruising and eating solids. Aidan has discovered insolence is his FAVORITE>THING>EVER. I find out I’m pregnant.
Sunset over Jordan Lake.

The Easter Egg hunt. The day before we found out I was pregnant.

April 2010 - I have a miscarriage. It is ugly. With some creative accounting, we get the kids into an AMAZING daycare. It costs 2000 dollars a month. TWO THOUSAND. Jeez. Andy will be evaluated for a raise in July. He's being groomed for Assistant Store Manager. The company seems AMAZING. He's talking to grownups again. He's laughing again. We're having FUN again. We're still TOTALLY broke. We begin thinking about a plan for paying back all the massive piles of debt we've amassed. We decide we aren't sorry.
The boys playing at the sand park in the beautiful Spring weather.

May 2010 - We go to Target on Memorial Day and are privy to a teller getting shot. We bolt. We are safe. I don't FEEL safe. Hypervigilance won't go away. Andy and I are jumpy in public places. Aidan decides he will leave the gun he built out of Legos (we don't allow guns in the house, toy or otherwise) on his toybox in case a bad man shows up. My heart is permanently lodged in my throat. Archer is almost walking. Andy still loves work. We've paid off two credit cards.
Aidan and Andy - handsome!

My legs post-Target shooter.

The boys on Mother's Day.

June 2010 - We are making it. We are surviving. Digging out from under a two story tower of debt is no fun, but we've done it before. We made bad choices in Arkansas, probably, not saving more money. But we did, as everyone does, our best. Andy's mother, my Gran, J, Vicki, Robin and D, Gary and Teresa, our amazing babysitter Tria, my lovely co-workers, and now Andy's: You've gotten us through this. It's been so difficult. So trying for us. But even now, even still, even after all the pain and fear and doubt - our marriage and our family (both born and chosen) are such a blessing.
The boys this month - June - we made it through the first year!

In all, we've made some mistakes. But we've snuggled in closer to one another...and I consider that a victory.

Here's hoping 2010/2011 brings the yin to 2009/2010s yang.

Living in the Superlative

I spend a lot of time lately trying to figure out how my life might have been different if I hadn't been raised by wolves as my friend Vicki likes to say. She was also brought up a different sort of way than most kids and so she and I have some similarities in our world views. She is also what I could call a wise person. A sage where all things psychological and sociological are concerned. She and her partner, my best friend, J, told me recently that I live in the superlative.
su·per·la·tive (s-pûrl-tv)
adj.
1. Of the highest order, quality, or degree; surpassing or superior to all others.
2. Excessive or exaggerated.
3. Grammar Of, relating to, or being the extreme degree of comparison of an adjective or adverb, as in best or brightest.
n.
1. Something of the highest possible excellence.
2. The highest degree; the acme.
3. Grammar
a. The superlative degree.
b. An adjective or adverb expressing the superlative degree, as in brightest, the superlative of the adjective bright, or most brightly, the superlative of the adverb brightly.
[Middle English superlatif, from Old French, from Late Latin superltvus, from Latin superltus, past participle of superferre, to carry over a person or thing, exaggerate : super-, super- + ltus, past participle of ferre, to carry; see tel- in Indo-European roots.]
su·perla·tive·ly adv.
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
Let's take these one by one, shall we?
1. Of the highest order, quality, or degree; surpassing or superior to all others.
Well, thank you! I have spent my life trying to achieve some sort of intangible level of perfection or achievement that will mean I've done "it". Whatever "it" is. Growing up, I was raised around a few cousins...really quality folks. Matt, Brad, Casey, and Jodi. We played together at family dinner every Sunday, climbed trees, jumped on the trampoline, whatever. Every Sunday, my family would come for dinner out to my Great-Grandmother's house where I lived too. She and I would get up early in the day and cook for hours and hours. Then, we'd eat. I sat in the same seat for years and years, at the periphery. At the end of the table. Everyone else would talk and laugh and I would sit, eating, wondering why it was that I didn't feel a part of this. I was family, after all. If I had people in the world, it was them. So why was I so nervous? So...isolated? In my mind, those relatives, coming in from town were so cosmopolitan. Even the ones who lived right next door. They had a big television, a wall of movies. They went to the local town of 30,000 people 20 minutes away to see movies. They had new clothes, new cars, friends, soda. I had a doll. Dirt. Chicken eggs. I had books and my imagination and the grass outside the back porch. Looking back, I was so lucky to have someone who loved me as much as my great grandmother - but what does a 60 year old woman know of the desires of a 7 year old girl? I tell you all that to say that I was formed, in those years, into a girl, a woman, who is constantly in need of proof. From the world and to the world. I want proof from the world that it is what I think it is and I will give the world proof, over and over again, that I mean something. That I'm worth something. And so that drives me toward #2:
2. Excessive or exaggerated.
I suspect that THIS is what J and Vicki are talking about when they say "superlative". And it's true, I speak, live, think, exist in the superlative. Nothing is every just okay, it's always HORRIFIC or FANTASTIC!!! Nothing is every red, it's CRIMSON WITH FUCHSIA! I am big, obtrusive, loud, obnoxious. It's a flaw. I don't know when I got this way. I haven't always been so loud...so...extreme. In point of fact, I once stuttered and cringed into corners. I think at some point in my life, somewhere about the time I was taking left hooks from a particularly nasty boyfriend, I decided that I wasn't going to do that shrinking violet thing any more. I was going to make my opinions known. I was going to change the world. I was going to do WHATEVER I WANTED TO DO. Period. And I have, for years now. But as I get older, I keep realizing that I'm much more satisfied at the end of the day if I listen more than I talk...and so #3:
3. Grammar Of, relating to, or being the extreme degree of comparison of an adjective or adverb, as in best or brightest.
My biggest and most pronounced fear is leaving behind my children and husband and friends and family and not having changed someone's life. Not having made the world a better place. I want to be the best and brightest. It has become a pathological need at this point. I want my children to know that I did EVERY SINGLE THING I could do to make their lives worthwhile and joyful. I want my husband to know that I did EVERY SINGLE THING I could do to make his life wonderful. To cook him meals and kiss him and talk with him about our future and past. I want the world to know that every day I burned and buzzed with the desire to help people feel better. To explain WHY some people get sick and some people don't. That I burned to help other people understand and love this world as much as I do.

Vicki would say that I should just try and make each day as good as it can be and quit striving for the superlative. But it's too late for me. I AM superlative. I'm trying to get better at being the quieter ones. We'll see.

My husband...master of my world.

Andy and I are celebrating our 3rd anniversary tonight...because I worked on the 19th, which is the actual anniversary. I work too much. It's a problem. I digress.

My gift, one of them any way, from him this year was a status. A single status every day for a year telling me one of the reasons he loves me. Now, this might sound like something small...and for some people it would be. But for me, queen of self-involvement, with my broken self-esteem and my lack of a role model for marriage? For me, it's the best and most amazing gift. Ever. You see, his recounting the reasons he loves me tells me what I should keep doing. Tells me how to be a good wife to him. I am the luckiest woman on this PLANET. To have found someone who works? Who knows me and loves me ANYWAY?!? Have we met? This is not an easy feat. I am so blessed and so undeserving of a man of such high quality. And so, because he's singing my praises...I thought I'd sing his too. The top twenty reasons Andrew Smith is the most amazing husband. Ever.

20. He is the only person in the whole world who can stop one of my panic attacks in its tracks.
19. He can make a bottle and does. Frequently.
18. He vowed to love our kids no matter what. Successful and rich, poor and artsy, gay, strait, whatever. In fact, when pressed about how he'd react if Aidan turned out gay, he said to me "Well, he'd still be my son...so...I don't understand the question."
17. He laughs with me.
16. He never laughs at me.
15. He answers questions honestly, even when the honest part is hard.
14. He's protective of all my siblings.
13. He has never, not once complained that I'm only friends with gay/trans/some other letter people. I don't have many straight friends. It's a character flaw, maybe. He just goes with it.
12. He puts his hand on the small of my back when we enter rooms.
11. He pulls me to him on the couch just to snuggle and make out...even when the kids are awake.
10. He's the kind of man I want my sons to grow up and be.
9. He frequently makes me dinner, complete with plating and a glass of wine.
8. He seldom complains that my dreams run our life.
7. He's always willing to listen, to discuss, to explore.
6. He thinks I'm beautiful and tells me. Often.
5. He is smart...but he doesn't flaunt it. He's got this quiet grace that blindsides you sometimes.
4. He LOVES inspirational sports movies. LOVES THEM. I mean..I've seen "Remember the Titans" a BUNCH...and I love them too. And I love watching HIM love them.
3. He puts his socks in the laundry basket most of the time.
2. He washes my hair and takes a shower with me just to talk.
1. He wants to grow old with me. He knew when we got married that I didn't want a wedding. I wanted a life partner. Someone to DO life with. Someone with whom I could explore the world. Feel at home with no matter where we are. And he's doing it. He's my home. He's all I could ever need.

So, I'm the luckiest woman alive. And all my bad days, all my complaints...they don't mean anything when I get home and get into his arms.

The inevitable

There are some moments in life that just can't be absorbed. Moments that require reflection, with distance. I am certain that this is one of those moments.

The events of the past 5 days have left me sort of hollow. To recap:

I started bleeding on the 9th - nothing all that serious. I went about my day as usual. Went to a talk at NIEHS with my friend, J. Got home, started feeling worse, cramping some, went to the ER. At the ER, they did 2 ultrasounds, one internal one external. Met a Pentecostal lady who told us she "couldn't wait for Jesus to come back." Had some blood work done. Got an hCG quantity of 1260. That's pretty low. Got some antibiotics for an infection. Went home. Sent an email to my supervisors at the school where I teach. No response.

Saturday, the 10th - bleeding lightened up. Played with the guys. Good times. No big deal. Still no response from my supervisors.

Sunday - feeling worse, bleeding back and more severe. Still no response from supervisors. Send semi-angry email that I'm annoyed no one checks their email over the weekend.

Monday morning - arrive to teach my class, talk to supervisor when she arrives late. She informs me she has a hurt back and she just can't find anyone to teach for me. I teach for 5 hours, while totally distracted and bleeding much more severely. Pissed, now.

Monday afternoon - have another blood test. Meet the man who would have been my OB. He's not hopeful.

Monday night - Miss the call from the OB while I'm teaching. Again, with the teaching. Apparently, there ARE no substitutes or policies for sick instructors. Damn.

Tuesday morning - Get the call. hCG falling to 300s. Go in next Monday for a follow-up blood test.

So this is miscarriage, right? Seems like I should have known this. I wanted the kid. I really did. And it feels like that was my last chance. Maybe it's some sort of karmic atonement for lying about the abortion I had. Whatever it is, I can't find the right words.

Someday, with some perspective and some time, I'll write more. Today, there is only absence. And some pain.

Spicy noodles or Baby3Blog1

The day before THE TEST

April 1st, 2010

On March 28th, a Sunday night, I took two pregnancy tests. They, of course, came back positive. A glaring "what-did-you-think-was-going-to-happen, stupid?" sort of response. It was as if the test was yelling at me. I did not respond well. In fact, I sat on the side of the bathtub and contemplated the conversation I'd had with Andy three days earlier. It went a little something like this:

Andy: "I think I should get a vasectomy."
Me: "Really? I mean, what if we want more kids...I kind of want a big family but I guess you're right, I mean, it's totally irresponsible to keep having children. So I don't think I'm totally on board with this. Maybe we could get it reversed someday, right? I think they're reversible. I wonder if it'll hurt, I don't want them to make you hurt. Yeah, I think you're right. Two kids is the responsible thing to do. We should be done. Okay, let's get you a vasectomy.!"
Andy: "Okay, then."

See, I'm sort of a verbal vomiter. I have to talk things out or write them out. But we'd made this decision, right? The responsible one. And then, three days later, I'm sitting on the tub, wondering how I'm ever going to tell him about this. He knocked on the door and asked if there was a reason I was hiding from him. I responded with a "yes."

And now, here we are. Pregnant with our third child. And we're happy...if apprehensive. Aren't parents always apprehensive? It's scary. Three kids under the age of 5. Three kids to clothe and feed and put into some sort of credible child care. It's actually sort of terrifying. But joyful. I have always wanted a big family (and if we were rich, I think Andy would too)...and others have done this. So here we go. Maybe it's for a reason. I don't know. But I'm grateful for a third baby. I'm grateful for another companion for Archer and Aidan. Another precious child. Another joy. Another year of sleepless nights.

And then I'm going to be grateful for Andy's vasectomy. Because, oh yeah, he's getting one now. Trust me!

The Story, with Dick Gordon

The Story

If you don't listen to Dick Gordon's "The Story", on NPR, you really should. It'll change your life.

So, I'm submitting my story to "The Story". Being raised by wolves and by the sweetest little old ladies in the world might be a good springboard for a conversation centering around why it is that so many people are having their aged parents care for their children. I'm not judging: there were real positives and real negatives for me, being raised by a woman in her 60s, but no one is talking about this and I think we need to.

Here's my submission:

The New Geriatric Generation of Babies

As I drove to work this morning, I was thinking of my great-grandmother, who raised me on a farm in rural Oklahoma. I have long thought that the impact of growing up in a world of women who are on their way out of this life has been detrimental and beneficial to me. I spent my youth raising my own food, pumping water from a well, wearing dresses straight out of "Little House on the Prairie". I didn't know that there was a modern world beyond the one I lived in. We spent lots of time in church, there were unspoken rules about how much more important to the world men were than women. I went to funerals, but never parties, quilting bees, never playdates. I was alone all the time, except for my older male cousins who had little time for me. I was surrounded by medical issues pertinent to women in their late sixties: mammograms, colonoscopies, high blood pressure medicine. I spent my youth in worry and isolation, but I always dreamed of a different world. I spent my days exploring biology (though I didn't know that's what it was called). I eventually educated myself off the farm and now I'm in Cary, doing research at NC State, living with my gorgeous husband and my two delicious squishy children. I see, more and more, grandparents raising babies and I wonder if anyone thinks about the way those children will see the world. The rapid pace at which they age...or maybe it's just me. I don't know. But it's worth a conversation.

Reformed theatre kid seeks a life less dramatic

A poem from 2000- ihateyou by: Candi Timmerman

You can reach inside of me and pull out the pain.
You can grab my rage and pull it in to you
But
Push me away
Pull me back and
Look past the me you see
I hate the way you see me
I see the way you hate me
I hate the way you love me
I love the way I hate you
I need the love you give me
But I want it all to end
I need it all to end
I can’t see myself for you.




I met this girl last week. I don't remember her name. She was sitting outside the coffee shop down the way from my lab. I'd gone with one of my best friends to have a cup of joe and talk. Now, don't be shocked, but we often have a cigarette or two on these pretty rare occasions, and so we were sitting outside to get some sunshine and talking and smoking and drinking coffee.

Girl-in-question plops down in the chair beside us and asks if she can have a cigarette...then launches into a 10 minute ramble about how she's "really quitting but you know one won't hurt and I'm an engineering student who does photography and did you meet my friend with the camera? I'm from North Carolina it sucks here how are you? I wish that the weather would stay so pretty...do you have a light too?" You see my point.

She was me. Only 10 years ago and a little less angry. And I told her so.

Ten years ago was 2000 - ten years ago, I left high school and struck out on my own to begin life in the late teens, early twenties. A time I have always called the wasteland. I had blonde hair, a flat stomach, a negative balance in my checkbook, a car full of books. I didn't own a plate or a purse or pearls or a toaster. I was working at Applebee's to pay the bills and drinking breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I began the first adult romance of my life late that year, with an abusive alcoholic who turned out to be the first person who ever called me on my bullshit and forced me to start growing up. I spent those years furious at him, at myself, at the world. I poured out that fury into journal after journal of mostly mediocre writing.

I spent an awful lot of time, those first years, at a coffee shop on the UA campus. I had to sit outside, smoker and all that, and I did for HOURS in between classes, before classes, after classes. I met boyfriends there, girlfriends there, friends there whose friendships endure long after I stopped being a fixture of the place. I wrote while I sat there...hours and hours of poetry and prose. Most of it was bad, but a few choice words came out just right. I learned the art of SEEING people. The art of eavesdropping and stealing phrases out of context. It's a good skill to have.

So I told you that, to tell you this: I explained most of this to the girl I met the other day. She looked just bewildered at the idea of becoming me. But it's okay, I told her. Life doesn't turn out the way you think it will and that's okay. You'll be okay.