trying to grok

UPDATE

The more I look at that other post, the more whiny it seems.

We have many things to be thankful for this year: the husband being home and with a regular work schedule, lots of fun trips with my blog friends, and, as Butterfly Wife said, a knit octopus...and rhinoceros, lion, and wombat.

Life could be a lot worse.

Here's a good New Year's resolution: a sunnier outlook.

My other resolution is to buy less stationery. I'm not sure which one will be harder for me!

IS IT 2010 YET?

Well, it's the end of what feels like the most emotionally draining year of my life. Way harder than deployment. Way harder.

And hey, in 2008 we have both conception and deployment to look forward to. Whoopity doo. Should be an especially fun year.

Who me, grumpy?

I WANT FRED

My husband told me this morning about the speech Fred Thompson gave on why he wants to be president. I am trying really hard not to get too emotionally invested in this man, because I'm not sure the rest of the country wants the same type of president that I do. And if I want it too badly, I will be too disappointed if it doesn't work out. But I want a president who says things like this:

I approached it from the standpoint of a deal. A kind of a marriage. If one side of a marriage really has to be talked into the marriage, it probably ain’t going to be a good deal. But if you mutually decide it’s going to be a good thing. In this case, if you think this is a good thing for the country, then we have an opportunity to do some wonderful things together.

I’m offering myself up. I’m saying that I have the background, the capability and concern to do this and do it for the right reasons. I’m not particularly interested in running for president, but I think I’d make a good president.

Nowadays, the process has become much more important than it used to be.

I don’t know that they ever asked George Washington a question like this. I don’t know that they ever asked Dwight D. Eisenhower a question like this. But nowadays, it’s all about fire in the belly. I’m not sure in the world we live in today it’s a good thing if a president has too much fire in the belly.

I mean, I just want to quote the whole danged thing, it's that good. He goes on later to say:

If what people really want in their president is a super type A personality, someone who has gotten up every morning and gone to bed every night and been thinking about, for years how they can be president of the United States… someone who can look you straight in the eye and say they’ve enjoyed every minute of campaigning… (laughter) I ain’t that guy. (more laughter) [To questioner] So I hope I’ve discussed that, or I haven’t talked you out of anything. I honestly want… I can’t imagine a worse set of circumstances than achieving the presidency under a false pretenses, especially if you feel the way I do. I’ve gone out of my way to be myself, because I don’t want anybody to think they’re getting something they’re not getting. I’m not consumed by this process, I’m not consumed with the notion of being president. I’m simply saying I’m willing to do what’s necessary to achieve it if I’m in sync with the people. And if the people want me, or somebody like me, I will do what I’ve always done with everything else in my life. I will take it on and do a good job. You’ll have the disadvantage of having someone who probably can’t jump up and click their heels three times, but will tell you the truth. And you’ll know where the president stands at all times.

(Hat tip to my husband and Instapundit.)

RELIGIOUS GARMENTS

The other day, AWTM and I did indeed start talking about Jim Gaffigan. It was a good way to break the mood when we both got riled up talking about anti-Mormon bias. I made an offhanded comment about people not voting for Romney because of his underpants, which brought us to a serious discussion of temple garments and how offensive it is that people make a mockery of this religious tradition. Is it OK to mock someone for wearing a yamulke? Our Hindu friend from college wears the sacred thread; is that fair game? Or are we really so immature as a society that we have to snicker because we're talking about underwear? I don't get it. My husband insists that people get away with anti-Mormon bigotry because Mormons are "white." He's probably right: Sikhs have special underwear too, but you never hear anyone mocking Sikhs as being religious weirdos.

Sigh. Off the soapbox again...

SCROOGE McGROK

My husband's miserly ways are notorious. AirForceWife even bought us a baby bib that says IRS Deduction. It's so true. When I asked him what he wanted for Christmas this year, he suggested I find some things around the house to sell for cash. He wants less stuff, not more; I can't remember the last time my husband has wanted to buy something for himself.

We came across these conversation cards this morning, little cards with questions to get conversations started. I flipped through them and realized I know my husband well enough to answer most of the questions for him. But I came to one that I wasn't sure of, so I asked him, "Given a choice, would you choose a mountain view, lake view, or ocean view?" He promptly answered, "Ocean view. Higher property values, I could sell it for more." My husband doesn't have a dream house, only a house he can sell.

That man cracks me up.

BUSY AS A...LADY KNITTING FOR TOO MANY BABIES (WAIT, THAT'S NOT CATCHY)

The other night, I couldn't fall asleep because I have too much knitting stress. For pete's sake, Erin's baby gets here in a month and I haven't even started! Not to mention the other babies popping on the scene in early 2008. I have knit myself into a corner and need to get out fast.

So I got out of bed and worked from midnight to 0200 to finish the project I had so selfishly started for myself.

(It's Nakiska from Knitty, unblocked of course because blocking takes time.)

Now that that's out of the way, I'm on a strict baby knitting schedule, five or six hours a day. My husband looked at me today and said, "I think maybe you shouldn't knit so much." He means well, really he does, but I don't know what he was thinking when he said that. He says he only meant that it's a hobby and I shouldn't get so stressed out about an activity that's supposed to be fun and doesn't even bring us any income.

But Erin's baby can't knit for himself.

Back to work.

232

232 years ago this morning, George Washington and his Continental army won the Battle of Trenton, effectively turning the tide of the American Revolution and putting us on the road to independence.

From the last week of August to the last week of December, the year 1776 had been as dark a time as those devoted to the American cause had ever known -- indeed, as dark a time as any in the history of the country. And suddenly, miraculously it seemed, that had changed because of a small band of determined men and their leader.

A century later, Sir George Otto Trevelyan would write in a classic study of the American Revolution, "It may be doubted whether so small a number of men ever employed so short a space of time with greater and more lasting effects upon the history of the world."

(from pg 291 in 1776)

I couldn't be prouder to think that 232 years ago, bedraggled and freezing men were fighting to establish the wonderful country I now live in. And were paid $6 per month for the pleasure.

We owe them so much.

SELFLESS

Erin was the first person to call me this Christmas morning.
She is still making my Christmases special.

HOPE

I was able to find joy in the smallest things on Christmases past, be it not having a tree (2006), having a husband in the same room (2005), hitting a milestone during the deployment (2004), or not being able to even write because we had no computer access (2003). So let's see if I can muster that joy this year.

Admittedly, it's been a pretty crappy month in our household. On the day I planned to put up the tree, we instead went to the emergency room and had our hopes and dreams crash down on our heads. Not a great way to start the season.

But we have hope.

Shoot, we don't have anything else to show for the past year. Except a sliver of hope that by next Christmas we will have the prospect of spending future Christmases surrounded by children and grandchildren.

But we have that hope to hang on to, and that's what keeps us smiling through the Christmas season this year.

Maybe we just need to move to Utah.

NICE SCENERY, BUT...

Last night we watched Easy Rider. I sat there with a confused look on my face the whole time. Spoiler alert, but what in the holy heck was that? Someone's head gets chopped up with a machete and the hippies are like, "Man, whatever, let's go get some whores and drop acid in a cemetery"? And then get killed by rednecks for no reason whatsoever.

I do not grok that movie at all.

CUTE

A neat blog post. Teaser quote: "I love It's a Wonderful Life because it's the greatest financial services movie ever made."

1820 STITCHES TO GO

I'm a mere 13 rows away from finishing my huge knitting project so I can gift it. Thank heavens. It was meant to be 30,100 stitches made with love and appreciation, but at this point I just can't wait to put it in the mail.

And then I have to make this spider monkey, which someone is paying me to make.

And then I can concentrate on the other five projects I have sitting on my sofa...

The other day I got this ridiculous idea that I still had time before Christmas to make everyone I know a pair of these little mitten ornaments. Thank heavens I talked myself out of that before I even got started. I still want to make them, but everyone can get them next year.

SNIFF

I'm a few days late in noticing this very touching post, ironically entitled Why I Hate Christmas.
Stupid pregnancy hormones, good for nothing anymore except making me weepy.

PASS ME THE YARN AND NOBODY GETS HURT

OK, someone needs to submit me for that show Intervention. I couldn't go 24 hours without knitting. I was sitting there in the recliner all jittery and fidgety, like a crackhead in withdrawal. And I finally lost it and made my husband pass me the dpn's. Ahhh, endorphins.

Thank heavens I never channeled this compulsive behavior into cigarettes or slot machines.

METAMESSAGE

I think the secret to a good marriage is meta-knowledge.

During a class on cross-cultural communication, we read the book That's Not What I Meant! How Conversational Style Makes or Breaks Relationships. That book was probably the most useful thing I ever read in college; it changed my life. (And people say that all the time, that books changed their life, but usually they're being hyperbolic. I am super serial here.) What this book teaches you is how your metamessage -- the tone of your voice, the way you're standing -- conveys a stronger message than your words, and how men and women typically employ different metamessage strategies. Once you're able as a couple to talk about your metamessages and not just the words you've said, it opens up a whole different level of communication.

This meta-knowledge -- for example, that men listen to complaining to find solutions, while women complain to create a social bond -- is a crucial part of getting along. My husband and I hardly ever argue anymore after reading this book because we are able to step back and actually say nerdy things like, "Right now I am acting like a stupid woman. I know what I am saying is unreasonable, and that you want to try to fix the problem for me, but I don't need you to fix it, I just need you to listen and nod along with me as if you understand what in the hell I'm upset about. It's OK if you just pretend you understand, that works too." Understanding that your emotional systems work differently is a blessing for a relationship.

I am so glad I had to read this book.

Anyway, I thought about this today when I read SarahJ's description of dropping the bookcase on her foot. Now there's a couple with meta-knowledge! If you can fight with this sort of self-awareness, you have a great relationship, in my opinion. You still have a busted toe because you were being a damned woman, but at least you don't have a busted toe and a divorce, right?

Heh.

(Todays links, as usual, found via Conservative Grapevine, the coolest round-up on the internet.)

TEH REAL MONEY

AWTM, this link's for you. It has a teh in it! I'm still giggling.
You Might Be a Fredhead If...

I had a friend in high school (Hi, T!) who used to make a hilarious distinction between "money" and "real money": Money was what his mom gave him; real money was the stuff he had to go out and earn.

I would pay Real Money to see Fred Thompson beat up teh bin Laden.

And how bad do I want one of these shirts?

MSN HITS A NEW LOW

MSN published their most influential men and women of 2007. The list of men was predictable, the women laughable. I was heartened to read comments about the list, specifically

Appalled in St. Louis:

Your criteria or the people evaluating your criteria must be very warped. It is amazing to me that so many of your most influential women are from the entertainment industry. The real world is not populated by entertainers and they have much less influence with real people than you think. Why didn't you look to the world of business, education, law, charitable foundations and science where real changes are made that impact all of our lives? Quit being so incredibly shallow.

JaninaB

Stop for a minute and compare the list of influential men and women. Most of the men were politicians, businessmen, or social activists. Most of the women were in the entertainment industry. Some of them had done nothing more than be successful entertainers and attract gossip. Couldn't you recognize people who actually make a difference in the world??? Two thumbs down, MSN!!!

I couldn't have said it any better. Putting Benazir Bhutto on the same list as Hannah Montana is just insulting. I'm glad other MSN readers agreed. MSN could've come up with this list by polling people at a mall; shouldn't they instead use their resouces and reach to educate their readers about influential people they might not have heard of before, people in science or politics who are making a difference?

This comment said it all:

Hannah Montana? Really? There was a woman who came to the high school where I live and spoke to the students of her life. She works for the U.S. Embassy in Iraq and she has survived two car bombings. She has survived attempted assassinations and has finally been able to flee to the U.S. Her brother and sister haven't gone to school in months because there were terrorist threats upon their lives. Members of her family have been killed off. She recounted her tale of her frightening trip here, and proceeded to write words in Arabic that were projected onto a screen "hope, faith, save us". I think people like this that come to save their country and help our own are much more influential that "the Obama Girl"

What I also found amusing was MSN's article on how they picked their influential people.

When the editors of MSN Lifestyle gathered for their annual assessment of the year's most influential people, a few names—mostly from the world of politics—immediately bubbled to the surface. But as we discussed the election cycle omnipresence of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, the prescient environmentalism of Al Gore, and the continuing emergence of Hugo Chavez, the conversation changed.

It started when the addition of George W. Bush to the list was proposed. The president, by any objective estimation, has had a rough year. Yet the difficulties of his presidency have emboldened the more liberal end of America's political spectrum to such a degree that an African-American and a woman are currently the frontrunners to become the next president of the United States. In this way, President Bush is more influential than either Obama or Clinton by themselves. Call it “influence through anti-influence.”

Let me get this straight. Bush is so bad that we have to resort to a black guy or a woman? Am I reading that right? We hate Bush so much that we're even willing to hand the reins over to minorities? And I thought Republicans were supposed to be the prejudiced ones. Sheesh.

KNITTING ACHES, PART II

So since I'm not knitting, I'm writing about knitting. And thinking about knitting. And scouring the internet for knitting (holy cow, a Super Mario bag!) The Girl suggested that I take a nice, hot bath to rest my muscles and relax, but when I got there I remembered I hate water, and all I could think about was what I could be knitting.

It seems I'm not the only one with knitting on the brain: AirForceWife has taught herself to knit. Sweet. The husband and I are planning a trip to visit the AirForceFamily in January, so I can't wait to knit together. Hang on, AirForceWife, I'll teach you to knit socks soon!

I made a knitting joke the other day over at AWTM's place. Commenters told me that I should stop forcing my oppressive knitting agenda down AWTM's throat (I'm wildly exaggerating for humor here.) I don't care that AWTM doesn't want to knit; it was just a joke because Emma Peel was knitting. Actually, I have decided I am thrilled that people now have to pay me to learn my hobby. If they're forking over cash, they must really want to learn it. I've taught enough people in my life who didn't end up becoming Knitters™; I like to teach enthusiastic learners.

And AirForceWife seems enthusiastic. Heck, even her husband is enthusiastic about her knitting; after seven years together, I still don't think my husband quite groks my interest in the pointy sticks.

KNITTING ACHES

I have a knitting project that I have been working on for a seriously long time. It's a big project, and it's a boring project. I have become desperate to get it finished, so desperate that I have been knitting on it for about six hours a day all week long. And I've developed a horrible crick in my neck. I have put myself on the disabled list for a day or so to see if the pain goes away.

So what's a girl to do when she can't knit? Shop for yarn, of course. My husband is gonna kill me...

Speaking of knitting, I read an article yesterday that blew my mind. It was about Althea Merback, a knitter who makes clothes in miniature. Her stuff is incredible. 80 stitches to the inch! Stop and think about that for a second. She uses medical wire for knitting needles. I am just floored. She has a website, but I'm sure photos don't do the work justice. I read that some of her work is in a museum in Kansas City, so the next time we head home to the Midwest, I definitely want to check it out.

SUCH A SERIOUS VOICE

My husband was taking a turn around the internet in the computer room last night while I was already snuggled into a warm bed. Normally he has this nickname that he calls me around the house, so when I heard him call out "Sarah...," I felt something was funny. It seemed serious. Apparently it was serious enough that he used my real name to call out to me. What could he have found on the internet to make his voice sound like that?

Jamie Lynn Spears Says She's Pregnant

Yeah, you really don't want to know what I have to say about that.

IT'S GOOFY, BUT IT'S OURS

An ode to my Christmas tree at SpouseBUZZ...

PARALLELS

Did you know that on July 9, 1776, the newly-written Declaration of Independence was read to a crowd in New York City? Page 137 of the excellent book 1776 (which I bought on recommendation from Neal Boortz) says:

The formal readings concluded, a great mob of cheering, shouting soldiers and townspeople stormed down Broadway to Bowling Green, where, with ropes and bars, they pulled down the gilded lead statue of George III on his colossal horse. In their fury the crowd hacked off the sovereign's head, severed the nose, clipped the laurels that wreathed the head, and mounted what remained of the head on a spike outside a tavern.

Now that sounds wonderfully familiar. I got such a kick out of the parallel with Baghdad. However, the Saddam statue was melted down and made into a memorial for the 4th Infantry Division. That's a lovely end to a brutal dictator's ode to himself. But the warmonger in me likes what happened to the George III statue:

Much of the lead from the rest of the statue would later be, as reported, melted down for bullets "to assimilate with the brains of our infatuated adversaries."

INANE CHIT-CHAT

At night in bed when I'm trying to fall asleep, I think about knitting. It's a soothing exercise for an insomniac; it keeps me from obsessing about what some jerk said at work and other things that my womanly mind fixates on when silence abounds. Knitting keeps my mind from wandering and focuses my brain on something peaceful. I think about finishing the projects I have started, starting the exciting new ones, or designing the next preemie hat.

And I swear, for a moment last night, my brain started mapping out that intarsia Abraham Lincoln. Bad, bad Sarah. A google search this morning turns up evidence of a pattern for a knitted Lincoln doll. No photo, but you can see the knitted Borat and Amy Winehouse. Heh.

Scolded away from intarsia Lincoln, my thoughts turned to my hair. To quote the Mad Hatter, my hair wants cutting. Last time I had to go quite short in order to donate the full 18 inches to Locks of Love, but this time I have grown weary of my hair faster. In fact, I never really planned on donating again; it just happened. It's because I have no idea how to maintain a haircut. I've never done it before. My life has been a series of chopping it to my chin and then letting it grow for years. I don't have any idea how to pick a hairstyle and stay at it. I haven't been to a barber in at least two years, not even for a trim. (Man, that sounds bad when I actually type it; I promise I don't have four inches of split ends.) But I think I might be ready to try an actual hairstyle. Maybe. I do know for sure that I can't wait to get rid of 10 inches.

OK, enough of my inane chit-chat nonsense. Please switch your brains back on and go read this monster tome: Mormons, Muslims, and Multiculturalism

NOW THAT'S A MAN

A cool post from everyone's favorite post-once-every-leap-year blogger: I didn't marry a girly-man
I'm considering paying someone to break into our home so I can see something that hot.

NOPE

Mark Steyn:

At the recent climate jamboree in Bali, the Rev. Al Gore told the assembled faithful: "My own country, the United States, is principally responsible for obstructing progress here." Really? The American Thinker's Web site ran the numbers. In the seven years between the signing of Kyoto in 1997 and 2004, here's what happened:

•Emissions worldwide increased 18.0 percent;

•Emissions from countries that signed the treaty increased 21.1 percent;

•Emissions from nonsigners increased 10.0 percent; and

•Emissions from the United States increased 6.6 percent.

HMMM

Peggy Noonan:

I wonder if our old friend Ronald Reagan could rise in this party, this environment. Not a regular churchgoer, said he experienced God riding his horse at the ranch, divorced, relaxed about the faiths of his friends and aides, or about its absence. He was a believing Christian, but he spent his adulthood in relativist Hollywood, and had a father who belonged to what some saw, and even see, as the Catholic cult. I'm just not sure he'd be pure enough to make it in this party. I'm not sure he'd be considered good enough.

Ain't that sad.

MY DRUTHERS

I will support the Republican nominee for president. I could be fully satisfied with any of the men in the field right now, and I would embrace any one of them as my president. But it's time to say who I'd prefer to see in office, and it's time to get out the checkbook.

I'm with Fred.

And I'm with Fred because of things like this:

But in the last month or so Thompson has acted like a man who has been liberated from something. And that is what voters saw on stage Wednesday: a presidential candidate who has declared himself fully free of the stupid stuff one has to do to become president of the United States.

If you’re going to ask Fred Thompson to participate in a grade-school show of hands, or demand that he sign a pledge, or insist that he speak emotionally and at length about how much his religious faith means to him, well, you can just forget it. He’s not gonna do it.

And that's why we love him.

OFF TO THE RANGE

This tongue-lashing (via AWTM) is long and angry and personal. It's also entirely worth reading.

Mass Murder and the Metrosexual reaction to the Westroads Mall massacre

The part that got to me was this:

I'll tell you what you will want because I have heard it over and over from people that have been lucky enough to live through violence. You will want a gun. You will cry for a gun. You will pray for a gun. You would offer up your soul for a gun to save your wife/husband and kids.

You'll be running like a scared little sheep trying to herd your family out of danger all the while praying "Oh how I wished I had a gun, oh please let us be spared, oh I feel so helpless, how I wish I could do something to save my wife/husband and kids, please someone with a gun stop this madness."

But then it wouldn't do you any good would it? Because of your irrational fear of an inanimate object you wouldn't have practiced the skills to function with it and you'd probably end up dead anyway. That is what his is really all about isn't it. You lack the gumption to do what is necessary to protect yourself and your family so you harbor an unhealthy jealousy for those that do.

I could use another trip to the range.

HMMM

I am always fascinated when I come across something that a vaunted past president did, something that would never be considered heroic or courageous if the current president did it.

Right before the move to Dorchester Heights during the Revolutionary War, George Washington issued the following order to his continental army (as quoted in David McCullough's 1776):

But it may not be amiss for the troops to know that if any man in action shall presume to skulk, hide himself, or retreat from the enemy, without the orders of his commanding officer, he will be instantly shot down, as an example of cowardice. [emphasis in original]

Just imagine, if you will, our current George putting forth such an order...

SEPATOWN

We watched Live Free or Die Hard the other night, with Lileks' review up on the laptop while we watched. One thing I did like about the movie was John McClain telling the Mac guy to shut the f*#k up. That summed up perfectly the difference between the old man and the new. Can we get more movies like that? Maybe John Wayne could teach Ashton Kutcher to be a man? Or pair up Steve McQueen with Stiffler? These new leading actors could learn a thing or two.

After it was over, somehow the movie Redacted came up. My husband chuckled and said that Pootie Tang made more money than Redacted. We looked at each other, grabbed the computer, and had a good laugh. Pootie Tang whooped Redacted in box office take. Niiiice.

HATE, AND GETTING PAST IT

A couple days ago, I started to hate.
I hated everyone I know who is pregnant. I hated everyone who already has kids.

People keep telling me that there's a lesson to be learned here, that God has a plan for my life. But I'm not so sure I like the changes that have come over me. In the past year, I have felt more bitterness, more jealousy, and more hatred than I have ever felt in my life. I have grown so angry throughout this process. Having a baby is supposed to be a wonderful experience, and instead I am full of rage. I can't help but think that this is making me a worse person, that I would never have felt these feelings if I'd just gotten pregnant and had a baby the easy way.

I don't like what I've become.

And then the doorbell rang, and the UPS man left me a package. Ginger sent me a blanket from Sew Much Comfort. And her son made me some fudge.

I started thinking, and I started crying. I don't deserve a Sew Much Comfort blanket. I haven't lost nearly as much as the people who normally get those blankets, and I sure haven't done it with much dignity. Here I am, being hateful and feeling sorry for myself, and I get the most selfless gift imaginable from the most selfless family on the planet.

I'm working on being a better person, I promise. I have to earn the right to have that blanket.

I'VE GOT THREE YEARS TO BECOME GREAT

Wanna hear something humbling? Thomas Jefferson was 33 years old when he wrote the Declaration of Independence.

HO HO HO

I've got my holiday preemie caps to donate this week.

I had all these grandiose plans to make Hannukah caps and all sorts of goodies, but last week kinda took the wind out of my sails. I made these over the weekend and that will have to do for this year.

And now I'm looking forward to the lack of upcoming holidays so I can just make hats from whatever colors I want. I'm free until 4th of July! OK, maybe a few hearts for Valentine's Day. But I swear I will not attempt an intarsia Abraham Lincoln in February.

UGLY

These are the times when I'm ashamed for the blog community.

Yes, Jim Henley made a mistake. Yes, someone should've pointed it out to him, and he should correct it. But Jesus on rollerskates, does it really take 629 comments to accomplish this?

The third commenter pointed out the attribution error. A few comments after that are perhaps rude, but a little funny. And then it just gets sad. The section gets uglier and uglier. And more personal. And then comment 20 points out the error again. Do people even read comments or do they just assume they're the first to realize the error? Or the first to come up with some witty way of pointing out what an awful and stupid person the blogger is?

Comment 90 finally starts to admit that they've given Jim a hard enough time. But still the comments continue.

I've been on the receiving end of this form of ugly. It's not fun. It's not fun to have your parents' home address posted just because someone doesn't like your opinion or thinks you're dumb. Frankly, I think it's disgusting behavior, no matter who it's pointed at. And right now, it's "my people" being the rude ones, and I don't like it. I disagree with Jim Henley's viewpoint, but dang, leave the man alone.

I am so happy to be a part of the blogosphere. But today it makes me feel ugly.
It's days like this when I remember why Tim left us.

SHEESH

Well, if we're not going to see the Freedom Watch ads on the networks, then we need to go over to Powerline and watch them. They're touching.

And at least this way I'll see them; we fast-forward through commercials anyway in this household.

MILITARY MBA

My husband is about to start his last semester of his MBA program. Yay for him! He has busted his tail to work full time and make it through an entire MBA, and I'm so proud of him for his perseverance.

When he started the program, we were still living in Germany. He had to look far and wide for an online degree program from a respectable school that didn't require him to fly across the Atlantic once a semester. It took a lot of research before he found the right program, and I think he could've saved a lot of time if we had known about the website Military MBA. So when Military MBA contacted me about hosting an ad on my blog, I thought that was a program I could get behind.

If you're in my husband's boat, trying to find an MBA program that will fit with the hectic military lifestyle, give Military MBA a look.

HALF AN INCH OF WATER

Life is conspiring to make me a stronger person today.

We got to the hospital this morning and had to wait in the waiting room for a while. At one point, a nurse came in and decided to turn on the TV. After the commerical break, we returned to Dr. Phil, who said -- I am not kidding -- "Today we're talking with women who are desperate to get pregnant."

Of all the things to watch on TV when you're waiting for a D&C. My husband and I just burst out laughing.

Then I got into the pre-operating room, and the assisting doctor came to get me settled. The very pregnant assisting doctor.

I mean, at this point it's like someone is just trying to make things awkward, right?

But everything went well, and, um, now we don't have a baby anymore.

I've been thinking a lot about the John Prine lyrics I posted the other day. In the grand scheme of things, this really is only half an inch of water. And I did feel like I was going to drown earlier this week, but unfortunately I've gotten way too good at The Perspective Game for my own good.

The women on Dr. Phil had major problems. They only ovulated three times a year. They had tried numerous in-vitros. My husband and I look lucky in comparison to that.

The friend I wrote about a while back who had the miscarriage, her baby was further along than ours was. Hers looked like a real baby instead of the tadpole striking a Rosie the Riveter pose like ours was. It would've been a lot harder for me if our baby had looked more like a baby.

When I woke up from the surgery, I hurt. I am a big wimp, and I was in pain. And I lay there thinking about GBear's son, a 13-year-old boy whose body was ravaged by cancer and who has to repeatedly endure painful limb lengthening surgeries. If he can deal with massive metal pins pulling his femur apart, I can surely deal with some cramping.

I've taken a deep breath this week and realized that things could be a lot worse than they really are. This half an inch of water will not drown me; it will make me a better swimmer.

So this chapter of my life is over, and now we're on to the next.

And I now return this blog to the regularly scheduled programming of attempts at grokking.

STILL INSIDE OF ME

Saturday night the SpouseBUZZ authors surprised me with an unexpected baby shower. We oohed and ahhed over onesies and baby lotion and cute little socks. I was touched that they had conspired behind my back to throw me a shower, and it was so fun to imagine my little baby in sleepers covered in ducks and snails.

But today my husband and I spent six hours in the emergency room finding out that our 12-week pregnancy stopped somewhere around week 5. Our baby is no longer a baby. It never even had a heartbeat.

That's the way that the world goes 'round.
You're up one day and the next you're down.
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.
That's the way that the world goes 'round.

We got sad. Then we wanted to puke. Then we got angry and frustrated. Then we made crass jokes. And then it was back to sad. We've been through every emotion that exists today, and there's nothing else left to feel.

But what I feel most of all, what is weighing most heavily on me tonight, is time. We don't have time for a blighted ovum, as this condition apparently is called. We were racing against the deployment clock as it was, and now all I can think about is how we have to start over. Back to basal temperatures and the rollercoaster months. Only there aren't that many months left.

And this baby, this baby is still inside of me.

****************

I think I had more perspective when I wrote my SpouseBUZZ post.

ENDED TOO SOON

I dropped my last friend off at the airport this evening, and the ride home was so quiet. I was sad not to have tons of people to talk to and AirForceWife's kids to chase the dog around the house. I miss everyone already.

But I'm exhausted.