New Year, New E

New Year’s Resolutions.  I make them just like everyone else.  And I could not tell you what my resolution was last year, or the year before, or the year before.  That’s how much effort I put into achieving my goals.  So this year, I am not calling them resolutions.  I am calling them goals.  Life goals.  2011 goals.  Whatever.  They are ways that I want to change my life for the better in 2011.

One.  BE HEALTHY.  That could mean eating better.  That could mean losing weight.  That definitely means moving my butt more.  I just want to be healthy.  To feel good most of the time.  I want to have a better mental state, and that comes from having a healthy body.  I am starting with losing the weight I gained in November and December.  When I found out I was pregnant, I kind of let myself have what I wanted.  I put the scale away.  I gained 4 pounds.  Yea for pregnancy excuses.  Then I lost the baby.  Unlike a miscarriage, the ectopic required surgery.  I literally could not move for a week.  The second week was very limited as well.  I was eating, but sleeping and sitting most of the day.  Then Christmas and New Year’s happened.  So I gained another 5 pounds.  That’s not okay.  I want to get this weight off before we try for another baby.  And even once I get pregnant again, I will not let myself “have at it” with food.  I will be controlled, I will be smart, and I will do everything it takes to ensure a healthy pregnancy.

Two.  I will watch less TV and read more books.  We watch way, way, WAY too much TV.  On weekends, there is nothing on yet we sit there for hours on end watching it.  TV off.  I will limit our Netflix to two per week.  We don’t need to sit around watching movies all weekend either.  I have over 120 books on my goodreads list to get through.  Maybe I can only watch TV if I am on the elliptical.

Three.  Make a baby.  That seems pretty obvious.

Four.  Find a method for stress relief.  My job gets the better of me most weeks.  It’s stressful and it’s hard work.  I have a 7-month-and-counting muscle spasm in my neck to show for it.  I need to find an outlet.  I guess that links back to being healthy.  Yoga classes are expensive.  If I have a home DVD, I won’t do it. 

Five.  Disconnect.  Dude.  Seriously.  Like I need to know what is going on on Facebook every 10 minutes.  I need to learn to let it go.  Both Kurt and I are way too plugged in.  Our phones are out and on all the time.  He even plays games on his phone WHILE watching TV.  Good lord.  There will be “Technology-Free” nights at our house.  I promise that.  Although this seems to contradict my next resolution, which is....

...Six.  Better blogging.  Maybe not necessarily MORE blogging, although my goal is to write at least once a week.  I also want to write better blogs.  Be more honest and tell better stories.  Especially as Kurt and I start to try for a baby again.  I want to be as open as possible about the process, setbacks, and emotions that come along with trying again after a loss.  Mostly though, I just want to entertain my readers better and give them a reason to come back.  And follow me.  Cause 4 is an awesome number of followers, but I'd like to try to increase my readership by writing more blogs that others want to read and share.

Six.  Take a class for fun.  Maybe photography, maybe a cooking or pastry class, maybe creative writing.  Our community college has some pretty good offerings, and I need to find a good hobby to really develop.  Otherwise I’ll just keep skipping from thing to thing. That's a good theme for 2011: FOCUS.  

For now, I am going to go FOCUS on the elliptical for a while.  Three weeks into January, and I haven't broken that one yet.  AWESOME JOB ME.

Disclaimer: This post is dark. And was written about 4 weeks ago.

So the story I am about to share was actually written about 4 weeks ago.  I had just ventured out into the world for my first "Post-Loss" shopping.  It did not go well.  Things got ugly.  My emotional, depressed brain went to some dark places.  I've thought about not posting this, because I don't want people to think I am about to go snatching babies from people.  I'm not.  It is very hard to explain the feelings that come with losing a pregnancy.  I guess you have to experience it to really, truly get it.  
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So far, the worst side-effect of this experience has been the “Why Me?” Syndrome.  Most of the time, when I start to wallow in the grief and sadness, I use my Thankfulness list and pull myself together by asking “Well, Why NOT Me?” and trying to focus on the fact that it could happen to me just as much as it could happen to anyone else.  This brings us to the ugly, dark side of my journey.

Sometimes these mental tricks just don’t work.  Sometimes I just want to SCREAM “WHY ME?” and collapse into a fit of tears and anger.  The worst case of the Why Me Syndrome came during a trip to the mall.  There were just so many pregnant women and babies out that day.  Every time I saw one, the barometer inside my head crept up a little more until we had to leave the mall because I was sobbing “Why me and not her, or her, or her.”  I was willing to trade someone else's baby to get mine back.  Now, after the fact when rational thoughts took back control, I know that I don’t know what these random women had been through to have their children.  I know that.  But when you are faced with it, in the heat of the moment, all you know is that SHE has a baby on the way and you don’t.  And it’s hard.  I am a good person--I help others, I taking care of people, and I don't lie, cheat, or steal.  So why did I deserve to go through this and not some one else?  Jealousy, resentment, dislike for these women that I do not even know.  It’s hard to control.  Work is difficult as well.  I manage a program that sends books to kids under five.  I enter registrations every day where one woman has three kids within as many years (and usually with different last names, but that's a whole other issue).  Why does she get three and I lost my one?  These thoughts are one of the lasting effects of pregnancy loss.  I do not think any woman who has gone through a loss could truthfully say that they never looked at other pregnant woman and thought “Why me and not them?”  It’s an ugly thought, but it’s the truth.

99% of the time, I can control this ugliness by remembering that I don’t know their story, I don’t know their past, and that they too may have suffered losses (although then I think they’d understand my attitude, right?  Maybe not).  I think the reality of the situation is that this is one of the biggest hurdles that someone who suffered a loss must overcome.  For me, overcoming the physical pain was easy; overcoming the grief over the loss is getting easier.  But to overcome the “Why Me” Syndrome will, I think, be a battle that I continue to fight.  Maybe a successful pregnancy will cure it; maybe just time itself will heal it.  Who knows. 

It’s taken me a while to be able to even write about this, because I hate myself for feeling this way. ***********

So there you go.  For one day at Woodfield Mall, I hated every pregnant woman in sight.  It was terrible.  I was so judging and spiteful.  As I said, this post took a while for me to be ready to post it.  It's here mostly because I've finally turned that corner where, although I still get sad sometime, I am no longer mad at the world.  And I am again thankful for all my friends and relatives who continue to share their own stories of loss with me.  No words can really take away my pain, but it is comforting to know that I am not alone in this.

Next time I promise a post about new books I am reading, why I love Nutella, and why I secretly love the new TV my husband bought.

I'm still here!

Yes, I still exist.....I've just been taking a break from it all for a week.  With recovery, Christmas, and life things have been both wonderful and not-so-wonderful, but I am taking it all day by day.  I have a few other posts written, but I am not sure about what I will ultimately share and not share.  I had some dark, dark days after the surgery, and wrote some things that reflect those feelings.  Some of it even I can't re-read, because it takes place in a such depth of despair that I'm not comfortable revisiting just yet.  So we'll see.

Physical, my recovery is going very well.  I got a very encouraging...visit from good old Aunt Flo this past weekend, which means my body is cycling back to normal again.  This is a good sign for trying again in a few months.  My scar is healing perfectly, not that anyone but Kurt will ever see it, but it's nice to know that the visible reminder will be minimal.  I just have to go back one more time next week for a post-op and then I will be free to return to my regularly scheduled life.

Mentally, I am getting there.  More good days than bad now.  Sometimes I worry that I am grieving too much, and sometimes I worry that I am not grieving enough.  Something in my soul tells me that it is okay to move on now, to laugh again, to start thinking of the next baby--one that will hopefully be healthy and happy.  Christmas is my last major hurdle, because Kurt and I were planning on sharing the baby news with his family then.  I even had a shirt to wear on Christmas Day that said "Tis the Season to be Pregnant."  Thankfully, that is one of the many items Kurt cleared out before I came home.

All in all, life is moving on and I am going with it.  I am cashing in all my prayers, goodwills, and karmic positives in 2011 in hopes that we end next year with the birth of our first child.  Hopefully.

Thankfulness

This morning was a bad morning.  I was just consumed with sadness and tears.  That’s the hard part of recovering from something like this—some days you think you are really through it and doing fine, then all of a sudden that sadness just washes over you.  Most of the time I am doing good, but every now and then I just get that feeling where all I want is to just be pregnant again and just be progressing along like I was supposed to.  And those are the moments that are the hardest.

So this morning was one of those times.  I just about let myself go completely over into the sadness.  Then I decided that I wanted to try and make a list of all the things we have to be thankful about, both during this ordeal and for life in general.  I am so lucky for all the blessing that God HAS given me, and this list reminds me to be joyful for what I DO have, and not to focus on what I lost.

1. My husband, who never left my side and took care of everything while I was going through the surgery and recovery.  He even came home before I did and took all the books, clothes, and other things we had started to buy and put them in a box and put the box away.  He has been the rock through all this.  I know he is suffering and hurting too, but he has never put any of his worries on me.  He just takes all my pain and sadness on himself and lets me be free.
2. My family.  My dad drove out just to help both Kurt and I with my recovery, making dinner and cleaning the house.  My mom made tons of meals to send with him, so we have stuff to make this week when I don’t feel like cooking.  They both also gave me the comfort and support throughout the whole ordeal.  My sister was ready to jump in the car and drive 6 hours to just visit me.  She would call just to chat about other things, to help get my mind off everything else. 
3. Kurt’s family:  My sister-in-law came to the hospital to sit with Kurt when I got out of surgery and was groggy.  She helped Kurt help me in the beginning when I could not walk or go to the bathroom by myself.  She ran errands with him, and brought me fun treats to help get through the recovery.  I also got some lovely lilies that are still blooming a week later!  She was great throughout this whole thing, not just helping me but helping Kurt as well.  My father-in-law was great as well, coming over to visit and have dinner when my dad came into town, and calling just to make sure I was doing okay. 
4. My friends—Kurt and I are blessed with a great network of friends who came to visit, brought treats, and just sat with me for awhile.  It was hard to get out of the house in the first week, so we were lucky to have people willing to come over and just hang out.   I was also very touched by many friends of mine who opened up about similar experiences with losing a pregnancy.  Knowing their stories, and seeing how strong they were and how everything worked out for them in the end has been a great help in allowing myself to think about the future and to lift some of the fears I face about trying again.
5. We are also both blessed to have very caring co-workers.  Kurt’s job gave him a place to go and talk to people about his own feelings.  After having so many people just asking about me, it was comforting to me to know that he had a place where people were concerned about him and how he was doing.  Plus they were very understanding with his time off so that he could be home with me.  My job was also very caring—I was told multiple times not to worry about work, and that I did not need to feel bad about being gone.  They’ve also been great about letting me take half days this first week back, to kind of help me ease back into the routines of work.  We are also lucky to have the sick leave available so that we are not losing a paycheck to this ordeal.
6. My health—the doctor believes that I will have no problems trying again and having a successful pregnancy in the future.  I just need to overcome the fear of a second miscarriage to be ready to try again.  This could have easily lead to other serious problems, but I am healthy and young and should not suffer any lasting physical effects from this.  Other than a bitchin scar on my abdomen.  That last thought has also makes me thankful for my mental health as well.  Although this has been difficult, I am lucky to have escaped a deep depression or other emotional trauma.  I still want to laugh and be funny and just enjoy my life going forward, even with bouts of sadness.  These too shall pass.
7. I am thankful that I was even able to get pregnant.  At least know we know that I can.  I know a lot of people try for years without success, and I was able to get pregnant after just 2 months of really trying.  I know that this event may change things a little, but I am reassured in knowing that I was able to get pregnant in the first place, taking that weight off my shoulders.
8. Finally, I am thankful that throughout all this, from the words of friends and family, I have not lost my faith in God.  It was hard at the beginning not to blame Him and be angry for what I was going through.  But what I found was that I really do believe that His plan for my life is perfect, and that whatever happens is part of the plan.  I believe that when He means for it to happen, we will get pregnant and have a baby.  It was hard to get to this point, but what I found was that I did not have to work at it.  I recall having peace during the hospital ordeal, like I knew that I was being looked after even though emotionally and physically I was in turmoil.  It is a hard feeling to explain.  

This is by no means an exhaustive list of what I have to be thankful for, but these are the most important ones that came to mind this morning.  I appreciate everyone who reads this blog and send thoughts/prayers my way.  They are much needed, and I believe they are working to help me recover.

What happens when you think you are in control of your life......

This is just the raw story of what’s been happening with Kurt and I this past week. We appreciate the thoughts and prayers of those who know, and I wanted to share the story with others so everyone knows what happened and that I am doing okay.  I also wanted people to know that it is okay to talk about it.  I know some people keep things like this private, but I wanted to share my story so that anyone else who may have gone through or goes through in the future will know that it happened to me, and I am okay talking about it and giving support to others who might need it.

On Sunday, November 28^th, at about 9pm, I lost my baby.   I guess some would argue that it was not yet a baby, since at just 5 weeks it had not even had time to develop a heart yet.  But from the moments those two lines appeared on the stick, it was my baby.  No matter what stage, it was more than just a ball of cells.  That was my baby, my dream of becoming a mother, the happiest experience of my life.  In two weeks I went from the happiest I’ve ever been to the absolute saddest.

Let me back up.  Exactly two weeks earlier, on Sunday November 14^th, I woke up and just decided to take a pregnancy test.  I was not having symptoms, mind you, just a feeling like I should do it.  So I did.  And when those two lines appeared, my world changed forever.  I was in such disbelief that I took a different brand test just to be sure.  Both test confirmed that we were going to be parents.  I called Kurt in and told him.  I’ve never seen him light up more.  We could not have known that our baby was already nestling itself into my left fallopian tube, not my uterus where it was supposed to be.  We had no idea that already, this pregnancy would not last.  All we knew was that we were going to be parents.

We spend the next week trying not to explode with the news.  It was hard.  Very, very hard.  We wanted to shout it from the rooftops.  I peed on a stick every day after that, just to be sure, to be absolutely sure that this was real.  It was.  We bought book upon book, started signing up for e-newsletters, and evaluating my eating habits to make sure we were getting the baby everything it needed. 

Finally, we told our families.  We told Kurt’s dad on a Monday night.  He was thrilled beyond belief to become a grandpa.  We planned on telling his siblings at Christmas.  We told my family on Thanksgiving.  Thrilled, thrilled, thrilled.  Everyone was so excited for this baby.  My sister was giddy at becoming an aunt.  She bought me my first maternity top at the mall the next day.  It said “Tis the Season to be Pregnant.”  I was going to wear it to Kurt’s family’s Christmas as my way of telling them.

We came home from Thanksgiving in Minneapolis on Sunday.  I had been having some very small cramps, but all the books said that it was normal as long as they were not severe and there was no blood.  There wasn’t, so I was not worried.  Sunday night, we were just settling down to watch TV and plan our Monday—we had both taken it off to do some Christmas shopping—when the first cramp struck.  This was unlike anything I had ever felt.  I went to the bathroom, hoping, PRAYING it was just gas.  It wasn’t.  The cramp got worse.  I called for Kurt.  I was terrified that something was wrong.  Neither one of us knew what to do.  Kurt made the call that he was taking me to the ER.  He got me to the car, somehow, as the lightening in my belly was not allowing me to move very fast.  He got us there, got me checked in, then we had to wait.  A lot of waiting.  Which is not good when your belly is screaming and your intuition is telling you that things are not okay.  A lot of that night is a blur to me now.  I remember the ER doc, blood being drawn, and my first ultrasound.  I remember the tech told me going in that she could not give out any information.  But I could tell by her face, by the length of time she was looking in me, that something was wrong.  Something was very wrong.  Kurt was not allowed to accompany us to the ultrasound room, so I was all alone when I realized for the first time that my baby was gone. 

The rest of the night consisted of waiting for doctors to get to the hospital.  It was about midnight when the OB-GYN came in.  For some reason, my regular OB could not come to the hospital we were at—I still don’t understand the story, but something about not have privileges at the hospital we were at. We went to the closest hospital, not the one that my doctor was at.  We were panicked and just went to the closest one. But they called in their OB, and he became my guardian angel.  He was honest but positive with us.  He gave us the diagnosis.  Ectopic Pregnancy.  That meant that the baby had implanted in my tube, not my uterus.  I knew that this meant the pregnancy would not be viable.  On top of that, it turns out that the pregnancy had ruptured (likely that first cramp I felt at home) and I was bleeding internally.  I had to have surgery immediately. 

I did not really have time to process all this information.  The only thing I knew for certain was my baby was no more.  My dream was not to be.  Everything turned surreal.  Kurt called my parents at 12:30AM Monday morning to tell them.  He then called his dad.  They prepped me for surgery and wheeled me in at about 1:30AM.  It took a while because they had to gather the surgical team from home.  It also meant that rather than an easier laparoscopic surgery (tiny incisions and going in through the belly button) they had to do old style, with a cut across my belly.   Kurt was there the whole time—he went home for a few things right when they wheeled me in—so he was there when I went under and there when I woke up. He slept in the most uncomfortable chair every made to stay by my side.  I think we both learned the true meaning of those marriage vows that night.  Despite his own hurt and pain, he never left me and focused all his attention on me and my recovery. 

The OB came in and explained everything to me.  There was too much damage, so he had to take the left tube completely out.  My prognosis is good, though—he said everything else about me was perfectly healthy, and he was sure we’d go on to have as many kids as we want in the future.  I am sure that will be comforting in the future, but for now, I am still mourning this pregnancy.  I can’t begin to think about the future just yet.

So that is the basic story.  Right now, the physical recovery is my main goal.  It physically hurts too much to cry, so I think that I have not fully begun to deal with the emotional side yet.  We are both devastated by this loss.  I know that I will be okay one day, but right now, I am a mess.  I know millions of women suffer losses like this each year, but that is not comforting right now.  I think that any woman who has gone through this would agree that at that moment, you are the only one in the world suffering like this.  This was my loss.  This was Kurt and I’s baby.

I will write more about the healing process later.  Writing is cathartic for me.  It allows me to put the feelings down into words, which helps me to clear my head.  I am still trying to get my head around a lot of emotions—anger, sadness, despair, pain, guilt, and fear.  I will deal with these as honestly as I can.  I know that this type of this is not often talked about—we tend to suffer in silence, but celebrate in public.  I’m not much for silence, those of you who know me can attest, so hopefully this blog can become my journal of loss, healing, and hopefully one day, celebration of a new life.

My Rules For Flying

• Pack all make-up and hair products in your suitcase.  No one cares what you look like on the plane.  As long as you smell relatively clean and are not a walking SARS poster child, NO ONE CARES if your eyeliner is a little smudged.   Plus it prevents me from getting stuck behind you while you wail and beg the security guard to let you keep the $40 can of hairspray that you just couldn’t bear to pack in your luggage. 
• Bring an EMPTY water bottle.  They won’t let you bring water from outside the airport, but there is no rule on empty bottles.  I just bring whatever one is in my car and fill it up at the FREE water fountains.  Suck it, $10 bottle of water on the plane.
• Bring lots of snacks.  That’s allowed, because apparently the terrorists have not yet developed the technology to put explosives in granola bars or foot-long Subway sandwiches, but LORD HELP YOU if you forget about the 4oz contact lenses solution in your purse.  Besides, everyone else bring their own snacks, so there are always trade options.  It’s like an airborne prison where snacks are the currency of choice:  “You got fruit snacks?  I’ll give you a pack of Oreo Cakesters, plus protection from Timmy the Bull up in row 14.  He rules the forward cabin with an iron fist.  Don’t forget to put your tray table in the upright and locked position for landing.”
• Wear socks.  I don’t care if you are wearing flip flops—BRING socks to put on for the inevitable March of the Foot Fungus through the metal detectors.  Think about how many people have barefooted it across that threshold.  Think about how many of them actually SHOWERED today.  Bring socks.
• For the LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD, do not find the absolute largest carry on legally allowed and haul it on board.  First, that makes everyone else hate you.  Second, you end up taking up more than your fair share of overhead bin space.  Third, you are a douche.  Fourth, suck it up and pay the $25 bag fee if you are going away long enough to necessitate a lot of stuff.  Fifth, seriously, I hate you.
• Lastly, give yourself plenty of time to get through security.  There is nothing worse than sprinting from one end of LAX to the other in brand new sandals.  I lost a lot of good skin cells that day.  So get there early, and bring a book just in case you get through quickly and have a lot of time to waste.  On my Vegas trip, I violated both parts of this rule.  I got there a little late and had to hustle to my gate.  Of course, the plane was then delayed for 6 hours.  So I got to spend about $40 for a new books and some magazines to keep myself from becoming a security threat.

Internet Trumps Nature Everytime

So it’s really not a huge secret that K and I both want kids.  Like right now.  So we’re doing what you need to do to have a baby.  [Sidebar: A few friends apparently think we are already pregnant and just hiding it—we aren’t].  As we’ve been doing this for a few months, I’ve noticed that each month the process is really divided into two phases: Booze and No Booze. 

Phase One: Booze

The first part of the month is getting ready for the apparently ONE day I can actually get knocked up.  Seriously, those high school girls on 16 and Pregnant make it look so easy.  But NO.  There are charts and graphs and monitoring that needs to be done to determine the right day for IT.  So I take my temperature every morning, track other symptoms, and generally just wish the weeks would fly by till our next Green Light. 

Let me back up.  Being the OCD Superfreak that I am, I am using a website to track my, um, data.  It’s called fertilityfriend.com, and it purports to help women know the best time to get pregnant.  I think it is just to let control freaks like myself have something to fret about ALL MONTH LONG.  Along with cutting edge science-y things, there is a little stoplight on the page that tells you when to hold em and when to GO.

NO BABY FOR YOU!

It’s like the little stop light at the beginning of Mario Kart.  You just check every day to see when the light turns GREEN OMG GREEN GO GO GO!  K says we should just let Nature take its course.  I say that I am perfectly fine letting Nature take its course, as long as Nature is following my map and please don’t take that ‘shortcut’ you heard about and, oh hell, just let me drive.

This phase is also peppered with my indulging in things like wine a sushi, which I can’t have once we actually starting cooking a kid.  Why do I keep saying “we” like K is gonna be a huge help in the pregnancy department.  It’s “I.”  Once I am pregs, K will be reduced to the role of go-fer when I really need Taco Bell at 3 AM.  I’ve tried to get him to practice this skill, but so far he has not been very helpful.  Apparently he is totally willing to get his pregnant wife food at any time, but the non-pregnant wife can’t even get a milkshake on a Sunday afternoon. 

The second phase (No Booze) is me freaking out every day that I might be pregnant and using aforementioned website to enter ever single ‘symptom’ that I think I am having and seeing how many points those symptoms earn me.  Like once I reach a certain number, I WIN and the prize is a baby.  There are approximately 25 different symptoms listed, and I can convince myself of almost all of them on any given day.  Although K says that I cannot count irritability because I am always irritable.  Then I punch him in the face and click YES.

This is where babies come from

At least it gives me a hobby and keeps me off the streets and out of gangs.

The Plight of the Delta

So it just occurred to me that I neglected to share the story of why there is a special circle in hell for Delta Airlines.  So I’ll do that now.  Because I was violated in their friendly skies.

SO.  Tal’s Vegas Bachelorette Party began for me at 7:00 AM at O’Hare Airport in Chicago.  I have flown in and out of here many times, and never had an issue.  SO.  I get through security pretty easily, following my cardinal rule of not taking anything even REMOTELY suspicious in my carry on, since for some reason security LOVES to detain me for the special wand-love and pat-down session.  I am through security by 7:20 for my 9:00 flight.  No problem, I have a trashy magazine, plus the airport has CINNABON, which is God’s gift to travelers.  As I am walking calmly towards my cinnamon destination—definitely not flat out sprinting—I notice the departure board lists my flight as delayed till 10 AM.  No prob.  Cinnabon, Starbucks, OK! Magazine and I will be just fine for a few hours.  By the time I get my breakfast on, the board has changed till 11 AM.  Yikes.  By the time I have finished reading every word of the magazine, including the whole page of editorial staff names, my flight is delayed till Noon.  ARE YOU EFFING ME.  I have to make a connecting flight in Minneapolis at 2:15.  So I get in the growing line of disgruntled passengers to figure out what I am going to do. 

Now it is just past 11:30, and I get to the counter.  The only competent employee of Delta tells me that not only is my flight now delayed till 12:30 PM, but that I will likely miss my connection in MLPS.  I turn on the waterworks, MAYBE tell a TEENSY lie about my reasons for going to Vegas (My baby sister is getting married in Vegas tonight), and the next thing I know I am ticketed on a flight leaving O’Hare at 1:45 PM non-stop to Vegas.  So 6 hours and 45 minutes after arriving at the airport, I am on a flight to VEGAS.  On a different airline, mind you.  The Delta lady was helpful enough to find me a seat on my beloved American Airlines.  They’ve never done me wrong. 

Then VEGAS happens.  I’ve already covered that one.

Going home, I am on another Delta flight.  This time the flight is not delayed, and I get to MLPS with my sister just before 5 PM for my 6 PM connection.  I get off the plane, check my gate, and EFFING MOTHER BARF DELTA DELAYS ME TILL 7.  I hate Delta at this point.  But it gets worse.

So Will (Tal’s Fiancé) picks both of us up, takes us to get some dinner, the drops me back at the airport.  I get to my new gate ready for my 7 PM flight.  Guess what time we actually get on the plane.  Go ahead, guess.  8:10. I want to burn Delta to the ground.

I spent a collective 8 hours in the airport for a weekend trip to Vegas, flying through some of the biggest airports in the country, not Podunk towns where delays and confusion is to be expected.  Oh, and then I got home and found that my luggage had been rifled through and my camera stolen.  It was wrapped and buried inside a bag inside my suitcase.  So congrats to the baggage handlers who really did a great job of digging through my stuff.  You earned my camera with all the pictures of my honeymoon and my sister’s bachelorette party.

Moral of the Story: Delta stole 8 hours of my life and my digital camera.  Fly American Airlines.

How I Write......

I don’t edit, I don’t fix, I don’t re-write.  When I write, it just type as it comes to me.  My posts may jump around from time to time, but that’s because I jump around from time to time.  Anyone who has ever had a conversation with me knows that I go here, there, then back around.  I do not think or write perfectly linear.  This is my voice, and this is how I choose to use it!  So what you read here is just that—word vomit that has not been cleaned, planned, or prettied up in any way.  It may not always make sense, but hey, haaaaaaaave you MET me?  My goal is to tell my stories, maybe make you laugh, and not censor or edit myself.  And that is just what I plan on doing!  

Why is Republican such a dirty word?

I have a confession to make.  I remember the first time I voted: The 2004 Presidential Elections.  I did not vote at my first opportunity, the 2000 Elections, because I was still an apathetic teen who didn’t think it mattered.  In 2004, though, I took to the polls.  And based on what I knew at the time, I voted for George W. Bush.

Now, most people would automatically assume that I am a Democrat because of my job (non-profit/social services), my attitudes (I support Gay Marriage Rights and the Right to Choose), and my support for democratic candidates in the past.  I still think that I am an Independent--I vote on the issues and candidates, not the party lines--but according to the State of Illinois, I am Republican.  I favor more liberal social policies, but still believe in fiscal conservatism and small government.  Some would argue that you cannot be both, but I that is why there is such a phrase as “Moderate.”  Since marrying a very conservative Republican, I will admit that my views have started to lean a little more to the right, but I think I am just more confident now in my long-held views because I have become more educated on the issues, and have a better grasp of politics and policies now.  I still refuse to wear a label, though; I do not want to be pinned into a corner or have others judge me because of an “R” or a “D” on my voter registration card.  Which I am sure some people who read this blog are doing right now.  OMG, she is a nasty REPUBLICAN now……….

Elections seem to bring out the worst in people.  I’ve seen several Facebook comments today that say things like “**** Republicans” or “Democrats are stupid and wrong” or other combinations like that.  I dislike these attitudes, because those who make them are assuming that they are absolutely 100% correct on how to fix the country.  And I don’t believe it is as simple as that.  I don’t think one party or the other has the right versions of “Fixing America for Dummies.” 

What I believe is this:  I believe that that some government programs for the poor and indigent are good, but that welfare has created an over-dependency on government programs.  I believe that if everyone who could afford to donate to a social service agency or cause would, then many programs would not have to rely on government funding that is contingent on the whims of the current power-party.  I believe we are taxed enough, and that somewhere along the way the government lost control of itself and lost the ability to be financially responsible stewards of our money.  I believe spending is absolutely out of control, and that all of Congress needs to take a Budgeting 101 course.  I have some reservations about pension systems, because I think they have been improperly managed and their debt is only going to cause worse problems in the future--and a tax increase is not going to suddenly fix the education problem. And I am not 100% sure on the health care issue; from what I have heard, it makes me uneasy and seems like another program that is going to be costing future generations even MORE in taxes.

I also believe that anyone has the right to marriage—no matter what, end of story.  I mean, just think of all the extra fees the government could collect from the marriage license applications!  I also believe in a woman’s right to choose.  I do not personally support abortion, except in cases of rape, incest, or threat to the mother’s life, but I believe in the right to that choice.  I also believe that there are a lot of parents out there, my parents-in-law included, who are waiting to adopt any child whose mother cannot take care of them.  And I believe that illegal immigration is a huge problem, but that there is a way to secure our borders without vilifying and attacking those trying to make a better life for themselves. 

So there you have it.  I rarely agree with one candidate on all their issue positions, but I work hard to find candidates whose views most closely resemble my own.  It’s the best I can do.  And I vote because it is the only chance I have to make my views count.  They may not be the same as my friends and neighbors, but they are my views.  They may not even be right or fully informed, but they are my views.  I think that everyone has a right to their own voices.  I am also a little afraid to post this, because political clashes in this country are at an all time high, and I do not want to start a commenting war where people go back and forth, accusing this side of that and that side of this.  I do not want to invite the ugly side of politics into my blog.  You won’t likely see overtly political statements from me again—although I do have some topics in mind on politics in general—but to commemorate today, I thought I’d lay these things out there.  So go ahead and label me "Republican", if it makes you feel better.  I know where I stand, and that's better than not knowing where to sit.  I don’t know everything, and I do not have all the answers, but this is how I feel, and that is why I vote.