Dear School

Dear School,

Tomorrow I give you my daughter. For three years, she has been under my care and now she will enter your halls. Since we will share her for the next 15 years, there are some things I think you should know about her.

She is my angel. My heartbeat. My life. She is grouchy in the morning, but by 8:30, she is a ball of energy. She is talkative and social, but when she gets excited, she wraps her body around my legs and buries her face. From the time she was born she has always been happy. She loves to run and jump, yet she also loves to dress-up like a princess and copy me when I put on my make-up. She knows that Jesus is in her heart, and she will probably tell other kids that Jesus is in their hearts too.

Take care of her. In your walls, she will learn how to read and write; add and subtract. But she will also learn about gossip, about cliques, about winning and losing. Take care or her and I will too. Help me teach her to love learning. Help me teach her to stand up for what is right, even when it might cause her pain. Help me teach her that each day is full of chances to be kind and helpful. Help me teach her how to be herself.

Tomorrow, my daughter will enter your halls full of smiles and confidence. In 15 years, may she leave the way she came.

No Dice

The last time I wrote seems like a life-time ago. So much has happened yet nothing has changed. Our IUI was not successful. Rich and I made a pact that this would be our last fertility treatment for awhile. I think I have subconsciously avoided writing about it because when I see it here in black and white then it is real.

I spent a day being absolutely mad. There is no other word to describe how I felt. The worst part of it was I didn't have anyone to direct my anger at. Myself? The doctors? God? In truth, it is none of our faults. I found out I wasn't pregnant on a Wednesday morning. I pulled a 7th-grade- girl move and texted Rich. Yep - I texted him to let him no that I was not pregnant. Classy, I know. I just couldn't make the words come out of my mouth. And I didn't say those words (or any variation of those words) until around noon. I had to meet with our interior decorator (no - it's really not like that - she's our builder's wife and she is the one who helps pick out all the inside stuff).

Anyway, we were finalizing paint colors that day. In my mind, the third bedroom was always going to be a nursery. After all, we started this fertility journey almost a year before we even moved out of our old house, so it was a safe bet I'd either have a baby or be pregnant by the time we moved in. I had chosen a cheery yellow color (Despite the fact that every baby website says, "If you have a yellow nursery, your baby won't sleep. Whatever.)


"The only thing we need to change is the color of the third bedroom. It can't be yellow. I don't care what color you paint it, just not yellow." I was barely holding it in at this point.

Amy (the decorator/builder's wife who knew about our treatments since I would sometimes have to excuse myself from meetings to give myself a shot) looked at me and said, "Oh honey, I am so sorry."

Now under normal circumstances, her calling me "honey" would be weird, but that day it was just what I needed.

"It didn't work. I'm not pregnant." There I said it out loud. I'm really not pregnant. No more imagining that maybe the bloating I am feeling isn't due to the hormones I am on-it's an early pregnancy symptom. No more counting weeks to guess my due date. No more listing baby names in my head (because writing it down would surely jinx it). No more hoping. Now, we knew.

Thank God for my mom who let me break down on the phone while Rich went for a run that night. He worries so much about me that I couldn't do that to him again.

Then, I got up in the morning, sat on my daughter's bed and realized I have everything I've ever wanted in life.

"Mama, can we go fwimming (the s-blends are are little tough for her...)?"

Life goes on.

"Yep, let's go. Race ya to the pool!"

Placing Bets

So we went through with the IUI. Our Doctor pretty much told us that this was the perfect set-up and that I only have a 25% chance of getting pregnant anyway. He also said that if we DO get pregnant, it's a 75% chance that it is a "singleton" - that's doctor speak for "one baby." Needless to say, we felt better after hearing those odds and decided to place a bet. And honestly, that is what it feels like right now - like we are trying to beat the odds. It boggles my mind how there is only a 25% chance of pregnancy when he shot that sperm so far into my fallopian tube, I thought the plastic tubey-thing was going to pop right out of my bellybutton!

Rich and I had a long talk about whether or not this is a "God-created" pregnancy or a "man-created" pregnancy. I guess when man has done all that he can and there is still only a 25% chance you will get pregnant; the rest is up to God...

I was soooo crampy after this IUI. Thank God for my mom who had Annessa all day. I went to her house, crawled in her bed, and slept for 3 hours. But, let me make something clear: I am not a wuss when it comes to pain. I mean no one that goes through fertility treatments is: you have daily shots that make your overaries blow up, vaginal ultrasounds 2-3 times a month, a shot in the ass, and it ends with a guy sticking a catheter as far as he can up each fallopian tube. So as far as me complaining about pain - I generally don't. BUT this time it hurt. The procedure literally took my breath away. Then, it didn't help that my wonderful husband was trying to lighten the mood by busting out terrible jokes. It actually hurt to laugh. Plus, I think the real reason I needed a nap was that I was just emotionally drained. I actually cried after it was over - not because of the pain, but because of the emotional let-down.

So now we wait. 14 LLOOONNNGGG days. I am making a promise to this damn blog not to test sooner than next week Friday. I will not. I have been there, done that. No need for anymore false hope.

So in the meantime, I get to enjoy my daughter (who is impressing us with her soccer skills and wakes up every morning asking, "Are we going to Disney World today? Mama, I NEED to see Cinderella. I NEED to give her a hug.") and my husband (who is impressing me with.....umm....his jokes?) who has more character and determination than I will ever have.

Goldilocks

When it rains it pours. Last month when we went through all of the fertility "stuff" we were told I had no lining, and no mature eggs. Now this month, my lining is great and I have up to five (yes 5!!!!) mature eggs. It sounds great in theory, but in reality I DO NOT want to me the next Octo-mom. On second thought, maybe I could call up TLC and get us on a reality show...So now we are faced with a decision - do we go through with this month, knowing that the risk of multiples is high, or do we wait. And wait. And wait.

The doctor tells me that the chances of all five implanting are very slim. Even four would be a long-shot. But still, he had to talk to me about "selective reduction." So of course I did what any smart woman would do: I Googled it. Basically, in selective reduction, they insert a long needle into your tummy, find an embryo, and inject it with a solution that makes it go lifeless. Lifeless. Women that chose this option often felt guilt and shame; however, the rest of their babies had a better chance of life.

This conflicts with everything I believe. I sit here at such a loss - do we go through with it and hope we get one (or two) babies? I mean this is the best chance we've had for a sibling for Annessa in over a year. Or, do we pass. I feel like Goldilocks- too hot, too cold, just right. Will We ever find our "just right?" Is this it?

McDonald's, French Fries, and God

"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19:14

The other day Annessa and I were at McDonald's (I know, not the most healthy choice, but what am I supposed to do with an almost-3-year-old after 3 straight days of rain? Oh, and did I mention we live an an APARTMENT so there is no basement to send her to so she can run off her energy...)

ANYWAY, back to McDonald's. Annessa had just finished her chicken nuggets and fries so I told her she could go play in the playland (hey, I least I insist that she eats the junk BEFORE she plays...). ANYWAY, back to my story.

I'm sitting at a table, talking to a friend when I hear Annessa talking to a little boy. "Do you go to church?" She asks as they trade happymeal toys (side note: nice sharing Ness!)

"No," says the boy.

"I go to church. I learn about Jesus. You can learn about Jesus too."

Are you kidding me??? Did my little almost-3-year-old just MINISTER to a little boy at McDonald's??! Amazing. Maybe if we could all be like kids, life on earth would be sweeter.

Oh, and God, if you could help me make the switch from fries to apple slices, that would be great....

You and Me

Dear Annessa,

We just had one of the best days! I am so mad that I didn't take pictures of it (I was afraid my camera would get ruined by the sand) so I decided to document it by writing it down.

I took you to Winneconne - but not just to Mummie's house. I showed you the Winneconne I knew as a girl. We went to Marble park and had a picnic while we waited for the beach to open. You had no interest in the hot dog, yogurt, and grapes I packed. you were just so happy to play on the play ground toys (I think you are missing your swing set while we're at the apartment).

Then, we went into the beach, and to my surprise, NOTHING has changed. They still rotate the lifeguards the same way, the workers still color a name tag for their baskets in the break room, and they still hand-write out the numbers and the names for the pass list. But ANYWAY, about us....We spent the afternoon crawling in the water on our tummies, building a little city in the sand (you built a church and I built a school), jumping off the dock, me swinging you around in the water, and eating Popsicles on our towel while we watched kids swim. It was absolutely perfect.

Then, to top it all off, we ended the day with ice cream at The Well (my very first place of employment...). We sat at the picnic table closest to the road and watched the cars drive by.

In all my years sitting at the life guard stand, I always watched the moms and their kids. Today, I was one of those moms, and you, my precious you, were my kid.

I love you,
Mom

Joy

(An oldie but goodie)

Little things that gave me joy today....

• smelling the star-gazer lilies that Rich got me when I walked in the door after a long day
  
• big purses that I can stick everything in from my chap-stick to a 160z bottle of Dew
• my black hat that hides the fact that I didn't wash my hair today so that I could sleep an extra 15 minutes
  
• Annessa stopping in the middle of the stairs to tell me she loves me
• reconnecting with a friend
• a compliment from a co-worker
• a soft serve ice cream cone
• being bare foot
• the seasonal gas-station-coffee flavor: s'mores!
• seeing Annessa jump up and down when I pulled into her sitter's driveway
• watching Annessa make two new friends
  
• learning something new that will make me a better teacher and reading specialist
• being able to help someone "get it"
• listening to Annessa read
• a back rub from Rich
• manicotti that tastes even better the second day
• taking a walk with Rich and Annessa to see the geese
• talking on the phone to my mom
  

Ex's

I've come to the conclusion that moving is a bit like breaking up with a boyfriend. Let me explain. When you break up with a boyfriend, it is always bitter sweet. There is a part of you that knows it's time to move on - the are more fish in the sea and all that. Yet, there is a part of you that is afraid to let go of the comfortable - the KNOWN.

That is how I felt moving out of our house on Cumberland Drive. I knew it was time to move on. We were bursting at the seams - either Rich was going to have to get rid of some fishing gear, or I was going to have to sell some purses (and we both knew that was Not Happening). Or maybe I could have issued ban on new toys (yeah, right. Have you met my mother?) Yes, our new house will have more closet space. And a toy room.

But, on the other hand, what if we look back at Cumberland and realize that life was so much simpler there? What if our neighbors don't laugh at Rich's dumb jokes like Jack and Gretchyn did? What if I can't find a new grocery store I like? What if the new house never feels like home?

When I was cleaning the house, erasing any evidence that our family had lived there for close to seven years, I noticed a little hand print on the wall. Normally, I would be annoyed. But not that day. Tears welled up in my eyes. I hesitated.... Annessa won't be making hand prints here anymore....

I dipped my rag into the bucket and erased the hand print so that the new family could start fresh.

The Itsy Bitsy Fider

She's been wearing this over her clothes for the past week. Rich is convinced that this is strange - "She can't go to the grocery store dressed like that!" My response: "When else in your life can you go to the grocery store in your mom's old dance costume??" The joys of being little!

I am so blessed to have family watching Annessa while I am at school. My mom and my aunt give her experiences that are uniquely special. Experiences that would never even cross my mind. Case In Point: The "Fider."

I came home from work the other day (to my favorite part of the whole entire day - the part where Annessa screams, "Mama! Mama!" Then she always asks - and this is so adorable- "Mama, how was school?") to find find Ness and Linda in the bathroom. Since we are potty training, I thought nothing of it.

"Mama," Ness says as she points to the ceiling. "Look - there's a fider!"

"Oh no - I'll get it!" I said reaching for a tissue.

"Mama - NOOOOO! That's my fider. Her name is Charlotte." Annessa explained with a very serious look on her face.

See what I mean about unique experiences? Now I've had a "fider" living in my bathroom for the last week....

Wildflowers

Last week I received some bad news - My lining is still too thin (thanks to prescription errors that my old doctor made) and Rich and I were not able to have the IUI procedure done. Our options are to wait 6 months to a year so that my lining can regenerate, or to take some really fancy, expensive fertility drugs (did I mention that there is a 30% chance of multiples?) (Oh, and that the drugs are shots I would have to give myself in the stomach??). I completely fell apart in the parking lot.



On the way home, Rich and I saw some people doing a controlled burn in the field near our house. I asked Rich why they did that - "to get rid of the weeds?"



"No, they set fire to the field so the wildflowers keep coming back."



Hmmm - Now there's a metaphor for life that hit me smack dab in the face.... It got me thinking. God allows the fires in our lives in order to make the flowers bloom. He wants me to walk through the flames in order to grow stronger, more heat resistant. Walking through the heat will test my maturity, my patience, my faith. And in the end, I know His plan will be fulfilled.



It reminds me of the lyrics in one of my favorite songs, "If all of these trails bring me closer to you, I will walk through the fire if you want me to." And I will - I will keep walking. Keep looking ahead. Because I know that my Father has planted the most gorgeous field of wildflowers just for me.

Simple Things

Because this is a sappy post that I cried my way through, I am including a happy, silly, lovely picture of Ness and our godson Cooper.

Our life is changing. Tuesday night we got a call from the realtor - "There's an offer on your house!" Rich grabbed me immediately and spun me around. We went through the motions (and I have to say, growing up with a realtor sure makes this a whole lot more understandable).

As Rich and I were getting ready for bed, his eyes met mine in the bathroom mirror. "You don't seem very excited," he commented. I tried to explain to him that I AM excited. I can't wait to for Annessa to be able to step out of our back door and into the woods. I can't wait to sit by the creek and teach her how to skip stones (well, technically Rich would have to teach ME first, but that's besides the point).





But there is a part of me that is really, really sad. This is our first home. This is were I made my first batch of banana bread, this is where we brought Annessa home, and now the next baby (if there ever is one, and God please let there be one) will come home to a different house. This is where Rich and Craig built Annessa's tree house. Where Rich first learned how to shoot a bow in our basement, Where I first learned how NOT to make meatloaf. Where we had our first Steif family dance party. Where we took Annessa trick-or-treating for the first time, where we had her "Welcome to the World Party."

Where I learned how to be a wife. Where I learned how to be a mom. Where I learned how to be myself. This is the place where I fell in love with my life.





It's bittersweet - the turning of a page, the start of a new chapter. However you want to phrase it, it comes down to this: change is bittersweet.

Tough Questions

One of my closest friends had to put the family dog to sleep recently. We were going to go visit them and I didn't want Annessa to ask about Dutch, the dog, so I told her that Dutch was in Heaven (even though I'm not entirely sure that dogs go to Heaven - this has been a on-going conversation in my marriage. Rich firmly believes Heaven wouldn't be the same without Gus...). Anyway, after explaining that Dutch wouldn't be at Kathy's house, he would be in Heaven, I got my first tough question as a mom:

Annessa: Mom? Where is Heaven?

I thought back to 6th grade when we were studying outer space. I had asked my mom that same question. Her answer? "That's a great question for your teacher!" Since the only teacher Annessa has right now is an imaginary one Mrs. Puff (who I think is actually SpongeBob's teacher), I decided to take a stab at it...

Me: Ummm... Heaven is in the sky.

Annessa looked at me (satisfied with the answer). I, however, was not satisfied. Should I have said Heaven is in your heart? Heaven is.....I'm not sure how you explain the place that God created for us to a two-year-old?

Annessa: Mama? Is Jesus in Heaven with Dutch?

Me: Yes! Yes he is!

Annessa: (looking out the window) Mama, Jesus made the moon.

Me: Yes! Yes he did!

Where did she get that? Church? I volunteer in her room at church and I am pretty sure that concept has not come up. Could it be that my two-year-old can see God in a more pure, more simple way than I?

I love my life

There are moments in life that you just know are special. Moments that you soak up and want to store in your mind's video vault.

I had one of those moments Friday night.

Annessa was in her princess dress (a marketing scheme for girls I swore I wouldn't get pulled in to) and Rich and I were deep in conversation (okay - I was doing laundry and he was messing with his ipod). Hall and Oats's "Rich Girl" poured out of the speakers while Annessa twirled in circles. "Mama - dance" she said. I don't know what came over me, but I went into my closet, grabbed a sundress I got in NYC with the girls, and slipped it on over my RVMS red sweatshirt. Rich gave me a "what-the-heck-are-you-doing" look as I walked into the family room.

Annessa's eyes lit up and her dimples flashed. "Mama - you have a dress on too!" We twirled to the music that Rich played.

I laughed. She laughed.

I kicked my feet. She kicked her feet.

I clapped my hands. She clapped her hands.

Rich played some Bone Thugs and Harmony (I haven't heard them since high school!) and I wondered if life gets any better than this? I used to think that high school was the best time of my life. Then came college and I knew this had to be it. But dancing in the living room with my daughter while my husband d.j.s? Now surely life doesn't get any sweeter.

The Naked Truth

Annessa has a bad, bad, habit of taking off her clothes when she's in bed (she's 2 people - get your mind out of the gutter!). Last night I came upstairs from doing the laundry and I hear her tiny voice coming from her room. I looked at the clock. 9:30. Not Good. I saw a sliver of light sneaking out from underneath the door. Really Not Good.

"Annessa - what are you doing?" I said to my child who, did I mention is completely naked (including her diaper, which, of course, sent me into a panic attack).

"Mama," she said with a scowl on her face, acting like this whole situation was completely normal, "Elmo's SLEEPING. SHHHH."

Sure enough - there was Elmo tucked into her bed. His head on the pillow and his red fur peaking out from under the covers.

"A - Where are your jammas? and B - YOU are the one that is supposed to be sleeping."

"But mama - I not tired. Elmo is tired."

This IS a phase, right??