Oh hello blog...

Tonight, at this meeting, my wonderful friend stood up to speak to a room full of women about priorities. Priorities, as a woman, to God. Priorities to her husband, to her children. And really, to herself because without the other stuff lining up as it should- aren't we each ultimately paying the most?

The meeting was great. I was able to pick the brains of homeschooling moms who are far more capable of educating their children than I am. I was able to challenge my own way of doing things, and even map the progress that Gen and I have made recently.

I was able to come home and have an argument with my husband. Partly because of him, and partly due to me.

Here's the truth of it: Life Sucks...

It does. There isn't anyway to sugar coat that reality. Right now I just feel like my life is sailing quickly, downstream, straight for the crapper. It's all that I can do, most days, to catch my breath and focus on that very moment. Honestly, I am scared to death. And I'm sad. And, let's be honest, a little pissed off. The thing I hate most about life today is that I'm used to, in the down times, being able to optimistically perceive a better time ahead. Right now I just don't see that.

I'm not wallowing in self pity, (though I am filling my nights with Six Feet Under marathons). And it's ironic because Genny and i are probably in THE BEST homeschooling groove we've ever had. I rearranged my office to be all feng shui, which is totally amazing... This term at the co-op is fantastic, and this class Chw and I are taking is a true Godsend. It's not all bad, at all. I guess it's just that the overwhelming parts which ARE bad, are goulish.

And I'm not blogging.

I don't know what to say. I want to be whitty and funny, clever and yet raw. I want people to read my blog and like it, and feel touched some how- in some way. I want to devote hours to writing, where quality work is produced. I want each day to be filled with steps forward.

I hate feeling stagnant.

But I don't know how. I don't know how to be more, today, than what I am. And what I am feels like nothing. I want a hug and a shoulder to cry on, but then again I won't cry so does it matter? I want a retreat with my best friend, and a vacation away from it all- even if it's just for a day or two. I want a facial and an overpriced Starbucks latte. I want the tips of my toes to sink into a high tide kissed plot of sand. I want peaceful reassurance and better days.

Apparently everything I want is pretty much out of reach right now. Except this: I want to blog. I want to write and I want to read. To love and to be loved...

I just don't remember how...

Yesterday's post auto posted... I haven't actually come to my blog since last week. I was saddled with a huge migraine, of which the effects are wearing off today. I feel exhausted. I'm thinking i was triggered by stress and allergy/sinus stuff... Anyway, I think I need to take a day or two to recover.

My photo journal is seeming neglected... I did take a point and shoot photo everyday, but I haven't uploaded them. I will. :) Thanks for checking back. your "where are you" facebook and email notes are sweet.

Bio-hazzard...

We walked into the house last night, just after ten. As soon as my feet crossed that threshold the legs attached to them wanted to give out and collapse. I was tired.
T-I-R-E-D...

Anyone who truly knows me is likely sitting in their desk chair in shock upon reading this. It is to them that I say this next sentence: I KNOW, right?

It was as awkward as an out of body experience may be. Usually three to six hours after ten, I feel ready for bed. For the first time in, well, years maybe- I was ready to go to bed and Chw wasn't.

Scary times around Chez' Wagner, I tell you...

We both heard our neglected DVR calling our names though. It's been faithfully recording our wishes, and we have pretty much ignored it since the night of the superbowl. Chw was determined to watch Heroes (I hate, loathe and detest that show) so I just curled up on the couch, layed my head on his lap and slept. When I awoke, it was well after midnight and Mr. Hates-To-Stay-Up-Late was immersed in something lame on the History channel. His defense for not going to bed once Heroes was over? "I didn't want to wake you. Besides, I don't even remember the last time I just watched t.v."

THE GOOD NEWS:
I feel completely rested, the sun is shining (though is snowed a descent amount), and I feel like I could tackle anything!

THE BAD NEWS:
Gen is sick. Tummy sick. Poor thing... Her bathroom is being fitted with HAZZARD signs as I type. Scientists may make their way to our home later, by way of E.T. like vinal tunnels and testing stations. These are serious times, ya'll. If you feel pity and ache to bring flowers, cookies or liqour, I ask that you leave them by the door and back away slowly. Really. It's for your own good...

A tale of time travel and how much it sucks...

When I had my first miscarriage, life was the darkest and most empty that it had ever been. I remember it with a dark cloud branded upon every corner and tiny fragment of my life. I felt alone and unsupported, like a seventeen year old girl playing house and so terrifyingly in over her head.

The entire thing consumed sixteen nightmare days of my life. I wouldn't "pass the fetus" and so every time I produced a blood clot bigger than a crab apple I was to head into the emergency room. The thing about the emergency room though, was that they never shed any light on my heartache or the situation at hand. As it should have been, (though as a naive child I didn't understand it) they were so clinical.

Chw... He wasn't ready to be a man. He was 19 going on young and scared out of his mind. How does he react to vulnerability and fear? He gets mean. He got mean and hateful. After 9 trips to the ER and three follow up ultrasounds with my ob-gyn, he held a party on the night that I actually lost the baby. I thought I wouldn't forgive him.

I married him anyway. I compartmentalized my resentment well. When I got pregnant the second time, I was this bundled up nerve of fear and excitement. Would I lose this baby? Would he/she live? Would my husband stand beside me?

The day I started spotting, I felt like everything I'd known was coming- had arrived. I called Chw and he stopped by a consignment shop to purchase this vintage storage set I'd been eyeing, for the baby's room. He came home a bundle of nerves, but so optimistic. A man, providing for his wife and child.

Regardless of the ridiculous (law suit worthy) events over the following two hours, the point of this post came after that. In our bathroom, where I ran in (him trailing behind) to find my sixteen week fetus resting oddly in the crotch of my underwear. As long as I live, I will never forget the feeling just before it. The feeling of somthing, like a suffocating pressure, falling upon my head and causing a rush of water to drop, like an opening floodgate, to my toes. The true horror though, was not my baby in my lap. It was not that severed connection from mother and child. The truly horrific part of this frozen moment, forever etched in my heart and mind, was my husband. There screaming, tears practically shooting from his eyes, as he lay broken at my feet. He thrashed about, in broken hearted agony, slamming his head against our porcalain bath tub. The pain he felt, and displayed, destroyed me more than anything else ever could. I forgave his absense the first time around. In it's place, I established my own self loathing form of resentment. One that shouted about how I'd failed my basic duty as a woman to birth a baby. One that repetatively reminded me I'd cost my husband fatherhood.

Eight years ago I had a complete hysterectomy. I was never right up in my girly regions. No babies for me. By the day the doctor yanked out my woman-ness, I was anything but upset. Seven baby losses, horrendous menstral cycles and cramps that make the idea of a gut stabbing seam like a trip to candy mountain- I was ready (at 24) to be done.

I went to counseling. I worked through it. I have a beautiful little girl via God's handy work and so much maternal love for others that I have no baby hole. (ok. A little baby hole. Somedays it's a huge, achingly abyssimal baby hole) But I've done good.

Until today.

I'm no stranger to severe illnesses and complications stemming from my vagina. As crude as that may sound- it's been hell and I've earned the right to be as frank about it as I want. Today we came home from spending time with some really cool people we are so fortunate to know (you know who you are!) and I felt really crampy. Assuming it was gas or something else, I go into the bathroom to find that I'm bleeding. It's light. I was terrified. Chw was at the store (he'd dropped me off because of the cramping, you see) I called his cell: "No need to panic, I don't think," I said, "But I'm bleeding. A lot."

He, also being no stranger to this area of hell, didn't question the possibility of any other injury. He knew exactly what "I'm bleeding" meant. He came home.

And then, in his wonderfully innoscent and comical way he said it. IT.

"Maybe it's our miracle. Maybe it's a second chance uterus and we get to have a baby."

He was joking. And even reading it, I realize how utterly stupid it sounds. And he doesn't hold anything against me, (he is far cooler than I am, at this) BUT- that moment in the bathroom came flooding back, from 14 years ago. That feeling that I'd robbed his heart from him and left everything else shattered and broken.

I know i haven't... But thanks for letting me blog this fragment of my sadness anyway.

And I'm pretty sure I'm ok. I'd bet it's just my 32 year old, post-menopausal body going on 70 having it's fun...

Daddy Daughter Valentines Dance...