I am not writing my blog right now because I want to spend time with the twins before they leave for their summer plans. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty, using a random date generator (from random.org) to choose the posts. Having the kids go is still really, really hard. I’ll be back soon.

We sat on a stone bench and watched other groups come into the cemetery and discuss its inhabitants. These ghosts were someone’s children. They may have been someone’s mother or father or sibling. Someone may have sat on this very bench consumed with grief after the person was gone and thought about them as they looked at their gravestone.

It’s sobering to sit in a graveyard, but it may be the only cure to feeling anxious about growing old. Disquiet loves company and sitting in the graveyard plugged me into a continuum of people who have considered their mortality—faced their mortality—and yet still the world turns.

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I am not writing my blog right now because I want to spend time with the twins before they leave for their summer plans. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty, using a random date generator (from random.org) to choose the posts. Having the kids go is still really, really hard. I’ll be back soon.

I am knee-deep in writing the blurbs for the Creme de la Creme. In fact, I am at that point that happens every year where my fancy rationing system has failed and I am woefully behind and slightly panicked that I will not have it ready for January 1st and wondering why I didn’t ask for help and absolutely positive that I will have the whole list complete by Wednesday morning regardless because Josh is not going to stand for me working on the list on New Years Eve.

You may be wondering then why I am using precious minutes to write a blog post rather than work on a blurb and the reason is density.

Read the whole post here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I want to spend time with the twins before they leave for their summer plans. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty, using a random date generator (from random.org) to choose the posts. Having the kids go is still really, really hard. I’ll be back soon.

I think the other thing is that I have had emotional hypothermia. I guess that is the only way to describe it. At first I had told Josh that I was cocooning, but after watching a Wonder Pets episode (Save the Caterpillar!) where an inchworm’s friend emerges from her pupa as a butterfly, I realized that I was not really cocooning at all. Cocooning is like going into sleep mode to emerge better and bigger. I am not going to emerge any different from how I entered. Hence the wrong analogy.

Read the whole post here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I want to spend time with the twins before they leave for their summer plans. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty, using a random date generator (from random.org) to choose the posts. Having the kids go is still really, really hard. I’ll be back soon.

A month or two ago, Calliope wrote about seeing a stork on the way to her beta and how we look for signs. There was a moment many years ago, on the Rosh Hashanah that came a few months before we conceived the twins were I begged for a sign while doing Tashlich at the river and on the walk back to the car, saw the elusive Jamocha, a bird of some fame in the D.C. area who goes by a plethora of names.

Read the whole post here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I want to spend time with the twins before they leave for their summer plans. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty, using a random date generator (from random.org) to choose the posts. Having the kids go is still really, really hard. I’ll be back soon.

On a side note before I continue the story, before she called, I was reading about Agnes Rossi’s idea of feminisma–the female equivalent to machismo. And how we view ourselves as woman. Stacie and I have been having an interesting discussion about how breastfeeding gave her back that missing bit of feminisma and I didn’t get to have that. I couldn’t get pregnant without assistance, I couldn’t stay pregnant without assistance, I couldn’t carry to term (though fine, fine, fine, I delivered well), and then, to top it off, I didn’t produce prolactin so I couldn’t breastfeed. I am still trying to find my womanhood in all of this. You would think it would be simple. You would think that I would have felt like a woman having a child grow inside my body. But it didn’t work that way. I didn’t gather back my vision of myself as a woman from that. I’m still looking for it.

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