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Tragic Love Friday: Now with visual aids

Last week, when I made note of the fact that I planned on creating an organizational flow chart of the various relationships taking place in TLF, I had no idea it would inspire one of my loyal, Mac-savvy readers to do the same. Behold the glory.

At his request, I didn't question David about the length of time it took him to create this wonderously concise, definitely-not-work-related masterpiece. Instead, I simply thanked him for his efforts and died a little inside, because I knew my own attempts to visually bring this story to life wouldn't fully capture the tragic detail that his clearly does. In fact, the project was so overwhelming for me that the only way I could wrap my head around it was to break it up into two separate diagrams, which themselves are only redeemed by off-the-cuff, slightly morbid freehand art.

 

Much love, Mary Katherine. See you at tha crossroads. David, God bless him, is probably biding his time in purgatory for the actions of his philandering penis.

In this first bit of creative expression, you'll immediately notice the absence of both Michael and Cassie, the characters who overall received the least amount of air time in part one, mainly because it was easier to focus on those who actually produced significant offspring (Lucas and Leigh are really just eye candy) than try and represent each family circle as it changed throughout the story.

Wait, it gets better:

Aren't you impressed with my ability to subtly convey the vulnerability and depravity that is prison gang rape? Not only that, but I also worked in the My So-Called Life version of Kyle! Yeah, I'm pretty proud of myself, too.

Since I stayed up until almost two o'clock in the morning working in Photoshop to make these charts happen, and since it's seven-thirty and I'm up already, just so I can have TLF posted before I dash off to work for what I already know will be a half-day because holy crap, I am so tired, let's cut to the chase and find out what's in store for our dear, underemployed, emotionally naive Kayla.

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CHAPTER FIVE - KAYLA

After a few days, my family settled into a comfortable routine. Everybody did their own thing [did their own sister] until about six, and we all ate dinner together. My job as an assembly-line worker was going well, and Cassie was a cashier at the local grocery store. The best thing, though, was that Katherine came home with Kyle almost every day after school; they also talked on the phone. I was in contact with her, and my children were great friends. I was happy. Except for one thing: I couldn't get Michael out of my mind.

I had no idea he would turn into such a good-looking man! [What else did you expect? He's Dean Cain, for cryin' out loud!] It took my breath away when I thought about it. Otherwise, he was the same person he was when we were younger. Sweet, patient... [The man who saw my water break in a prison cell...] I couldn't explain it.

He was hurting. I could make that out with our two brief encounters. This child problem with Jenna was tearing him apart, and his marriage wasn't benefitting, either.

I wanted to see him again. I needed to, for reasons that I didn't try to understand. [So I'm guessing you could've benefitted from a few more years in therapy, then.]

One day I did, quite by chance. It was on a Saturday afternoon at the grocery store, and at first he didn't see me. I was unsure if I should approach him, but I needn't have worried. Michael turned around and spotted me. His face broke into a smile and he waved. I took that as a cue and came over. "Hi, Michael," I said. "How are things with you?"

"OK, I guess," he replied. "It's good to see you, Kay."

"Same here."

We both stood awkwardly, trying to make conversation.

"How are things with your wife?" I asked. "Better, I hope." [Said with her fingers crossed behind her back.]

"A little." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'd rather not talk about it. Hey, do you have any plans for the day?"

"No. Why?"

"I feel like I have to get out today, or I'll go crazy. Are you up to it?"

"Yeah, sure," I answered, trying not to sound excited.

"I thought that tonight we could see a movie, and then just take it from there."

[So really you don't want to do anything during daytime hours. "Tonight" is not daytime, Michael! But I think we can all agree that Michael the Sequel isn't fit to shine his own part-one shoes. All ass, no class.]

"Perfect." I held back a smile, but only an idiot could miss the added sparkle that I knew could be found in my eyes. [Kayla, have you met Michael Spencer?] "Why don't you pick me up around six?"

"Great. See you then." Michael started to leave, but then turned back to me. "Thanks, Kay. I really need a friend tonight."

"Well, you've got one." I hurried away; I'd be with him in a few hours!

[This exchange is so wrong for countless reasons. First of all, Michael just made a date with another woman in a public place, in broad daylight. Second, he's taken his marital problems and used them as a platform from which to garner sympathy from a single woman, which he eventually used to FINAGLE A DATE. Third, Kayla is well aware of her own history with Jenna, a woman she eventually came to trust and respect enough to raise her first biological child; now she wants to make a fool out of her by going after her husband, "for reasons she isn't trying to understand"?

These people are despicable, and I love them for it.]

I finished my shopping and went home. Kyle was there with Katherine. She was sitting on the windowsill, smiling softly, not moving. Kyle sat on the floor in front of her with a sketchpad. She started to talk, but my son shushed her. "You'll ruin the pose if you move! Hi, Mom."

"Hi, kids. Kyle, how long has Katherine been in that pose?"

"For about an hour," he replied, gazing at her face. "I think it's really coming along."

The way he looked at her momentarily gave me a chill. [AS IT DAMN WELL SHOULD, WOMAN, PUT A STOP TO THIS INCESTUOUS TRAIN WRECK RIGHT NOW.] "Really? Let me see." I reached for the pad, but Kyle held it to his chest.

"No! It's--not finished," he cried, and wouldn't meet my eyes.

[How much you wanna bet he's got sketches of his favorite sexual positions in there?]

I bit my lip. "OK. Well, I'm going to my room for a while."

I closed my door and sat on the edge of my bed. "They're just friends; good friends," I reminded myself, and shook my head as if to clear it.

I heard a knock, and Cassie came through the door.

"Hey, Kay, I just wanted to see what you had planned for dinner.... Is anything wrong? You look funny."

I laughed nervously. " I FEEL funny. Oh, Cas!" I jumped up and grabbed her hands. "I...I have a - date!"

My friend smiled. "That's great! Who is he?"

I bit my lip and turned my back to her. "With Mi - Katherine's dad."

[Smooth cover, Kay.]

Cassie's face lost all its warmth. "Katherine's dad is married to Jenna! You're going out with Michael!"

[Gasp! Close up. Fade to commercial.]

I grew serious and sat on the bed again. "I know.... It's not REALLY a date, Cassie. He just needs someone to talk to tonight."

"Maybe." Cassie's voice turned soft. "What do you want to come out of this night?"

I sighed. "I miss men, Cas. I haven't had a date in ages, and I don't think I've been in love since I was with David. And then, after the rape...I was devastated. Too scared to let a man touch me." I gazed into Cassie's eyes earnestly. "Michael's a good man. Hasn't changed at all."

[Well, except for the married-with-children thing.]

"No, Kayla."

"Things will be fine. I'm an adult and can take care of myself."

"I don't think so. You're getting in over your head. Any fool just has to look at your face to know that you don't plan on talking the night away!"

She had hurt me. "Thank you for understanding how important tonight is for me," I retorted angerily. "Dont slam the door on your way out."

She had her hand on the knob, then turned to me. "I'm not trying to hurt you. Look at yourself! Ask yourself why you're so eager to be with a married man, who happens to be Katherine's dad & Jenna's husband? It's not normal, or OK."

When she left, I bowed my head and cried. Then I fell asleep.

[Mad props to Cassie for telling it like it is. Who knew the nutjob would go on to become the town sage?]

[Also, because I love to analyze the lives of fictional characters, I wonder if Kayla's desire to be with Michael stems from the part of her that wants to reconnect with Katherine. Maybe in her own sick way, she feels like this will bring the two of them closer together. Or maybe she's just horny as hell and enjoys a good challenge. Who's to say?]

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Hang on until next week, kiddies, because gasp! The date!

Also, as an FYI, we're currently on page 48 in the first of three part-two notebooks, which means there's another ninety-eight pages to go before...well, I don't know. The end of TLF? The start of a prequel, as Pink Herring has cleverly suggested? What do you think? Would TLF be a lost cause without the charm of lil' Frema? Would this be a unique opportunity to bring on guest writers and get new perspectives on the characters? Or should we just let them ride off into the sunset and (try to) move on with our lives?

Tell me your thoughts. I really want to know.

P.S. I created a TypePad links list to provide easy access to each diagram (it's the third item in the sidebar here), but for some reason the links are bad. Can anybody tell me what I'm doing wrong? 

P.P.S. Fixed! Thanks, KaitKait!

An ideal worth fighting for, even if I sound like Mrs. McCranky Pants

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that pregnancy is a huge blog attraction. From what I can tell, the majority of blog readers are women, and one of the few experiences women can claim as their own is the ability to give birth. So, when another card-carrying member of the female population loses her gestational virginity, most ladies, they're interested. They're interested because no matter how pretty that woman is, no matter how career-oriented or sassy, there's a good chance she'll spend some quality time on her knees, holding her hair back, embracing the Porcelain Throne as if it were an abstract representation of Justin Timberlake. Pregnancy allows women to move beyond the barriers of social class, politics, and religion and celebrate those qualities that bring us together in the most basic sense. I never owned a closet full of designer suits like blogger diva Amalah, but I can totally relate to the frustration she felt getting dressed every morning in those early days of embryodom, wondering if anybody will notice that she's worn the same pair of pants three days in a row or if she can get away with wearing a fine wool turtleneck at the end of April because she's afraid to buy new clothes she may grow out of in eight seconds and she's already donned the other two acceptable work tees currently at her disposal.

(OK, that last one wasn't Amalah, but at least there was a slight breeze running through the lab today, so nobody asked me if I was out of my mind. Also, I actually have quite a few collar-shirt-and-camisole emsembles I could wear, but back in the early days of Weight Loss Wednesday I put those items "on notice" until I got down to 130 pounds because otherwise my boobs create unflattering bulges in between each button. In case you were wondering.)

What's my point? Oh, yeah. Pregnancy and its ability to create meaningful bonding moments between women. And up your blog stats. And it has. Upped my blog stats, I mean. Not to the extent that I'm quitting my day job and signing up for Google ads or anything, but enough for me to kick myself for not updating more often. However, since I assume the majority of my new visitors are or have been pregnant, I also assume they understand why I'm not running to the computer every night to document my latest vomiting frenzy.

I take that back. There is no frenzy. I'm actually not puking all that much now, though there was an unfortunate incident after devouring five chicken nuggets and a junior deluxe cheeseburger from Wendy's on Friday night, and an equally unappetizing experience this morning after trying to take the last ammoxicillin pill for my urinary tract infection. With Kool-Aid. Because that's one of the only things I can drink these days. Apparently I'm too busy clutching my stomach and feeling sorry for myself to post delightful excerpts about impending motherhood. I'm too caught up in a constant state of nausea and fatigue to feign Pregnant Joy for the World Wide Web.

So when I read this entry today on Mom's Daily Dose, it resonated with me. It's appalling to think some women raise an eyebrow at those who aren't one-hundred-percent over the moon about the pitfalls of pregnancy. I'll deal with the nausea because nausea is not the end result of this journey. In seven months there will be a baby; that's what I want, and I'm grateful to have this chance. I thank God for it. But I will not turn into Little Miss Sunshine simply because folks like to see a jolly pregnant woman. Maybe when I'm done being sick I'll enjoy pregnancy; maybe I won't. Doesn't matter. I don't need reassuring sound bites like "But it's all worth it in the end" or "Don't worry, after the first trimester you'll just love being pregnant!" Why? Why is it not OK to say that being pregnant can suck major ass?

Because right now? It does. It sucks that I just spent an entire weekend lying on the couch in my pajamas, going thirty-six hours between showers, because I had no energy to even take a walk around my apartment complex, while my husband, who just had four wisdom teeth removed, was still itching for some fresh air. It sucks that family and friends call hoping to hear happy news about the baby and I'm bitching about decreased fluid intake. This doesn't mean I'm not aware of how good I have it. It doesn't mean I need advice on how to feel better. It's just a phase. I understand it, and I will get through it. Eventually, it's going to be OK.

Since announcing my pregnancy a few weeks ago, I've received a small dose of assvice so far, both online and off, and I've been warned that it's only going to get worse, because lots of mothers have their own little basket of "helpful hints" to pull from. You have to do this. You better do that. Don't do this or you'll scar your offspring for life. Plus, there seems to be no appropriate way to defend yourself, because God forbid you take issue with someone who's "just trying to be helpful."

I don't believe in that. I've seen a number of women keep quiet about their hurt feelings because they're afraid to step on someone's toes, nevermind that that same someone had no qualms sticking a nose where it didn't belong.

In an effort to help us to stand up for ourselves, I'm asking you to share your assvice stories with me. (Note that I'm using my pre-marriage msfrema address for this so it's easier to sort through submissions.) They don't have to be about pregnancy or even motherhood, just a time where you received advice or a directive that wasn't welcome. I won't post your name if you don't want me to. I'll share these little gems on and off throughout my pregnancy, the main goal being for us to have a good laugh over the misguided intentions of others all while learning a thing or two about the value of holding our tongues. Yes, our, because I'm sure when the gestating thing is all said and done, I'll be just as tempted as everyone else to tell my sisters how to take their prenatal vitamins, but I'll need to remember that a baby or two does not an expert mother make.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to pee.

P.S. I've lost 1.2 pounds since last week. I may fit into those collar shirts before the month is out.

Edited to Add: OK, there is to be no more apologizing for any advice you think you may or may not have given. This entry was not written to make anybody feel bad or single any one person out, and chances are I wasn't even talking about you. Regarding the whole "it's all worth it" thing, I was talking more about the busy-bodies in the Mom's Daily Dose entry who shame pregnant women for not feeling all hearts and rainbows 24/7, NOT the wonderful well wishes you guys have been giving me here. This post is more like a preventative measure against future busy-bodies. Say NO to assvice! Together, we can make a difference!

Tragic Love Friday: In which I wish for a personal assistant

...because then SHE would have the tedious job of typing in chapter four, and I could just go into the draft and add lame witticisms when appropriate. Truth is, I'm feeling a bit better today--I actually scarfed down four squares' worth of pizza last night and didn't vomit once--but Luke and I had dual appointments with the dentist this morning, me for the delivery of a permanent crown to finally replace the molar I had pulled almost three years ago, and Luke for the extraction of all four wisdom teeth, so we spent all morning dealing with that. He was a total trooper and went through the surgery without any major problems, and afterwards we paid a visit to Super Target to stock up on ice cream, pudding, and yogurt. It's going to be a fun weekend, for both of us.

I thought about typing in TLF last night, but mainly all I did was pray to keep my prenatals down so I wouldn't be plagued with guilt over the fact that I'm sustaining a human life primarily on toast, lemonade, cereal, and grilled cheese. No, crackers do not help; no, ginger ale does not help, and yes, The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy was spot on when it warned against taking vitamins with citrus juice.

But enough about me. Michael and his dim-bulb-yet-very-hot self have some explaining to do.

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CHAPTER FOUR - MICHAEL

The ride home with Katherine was quiet. She sensed something was wrong, I knew it, but chose not to say anything until I pulled into the driveway.

"Dad, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just been a long day, and I'm tired."

"No," she insisted. "It's something else. You can tell me. Maybe I could help."

"I don't think so, but thanks for offering."

We went in the house, and I glanced at my daughter. The happy look that had been on her face when I'd picked her up was gone. Now she looked hurt and confused. "Since you don't need me, I'm going to bed," she mumbled. She slammed the door behind her.

[As a teenager, I never offered emotional help to my parents. Mostly I just complained about not being able to watch Melrose Place or make out with my boyfriend on our front porch past nine o'clock.]

I sighed and put on a pot of coffee. I should have been going to bed. I'd need my rest for tomorrow. Tomorrow Jenna and I were going to see her doctor, Dr. Peters, to see what was keeping her from getting pregnant. [Surely it couldn't be my Herculean twin juice!] During our last visit, he mentioned the fact that having a miscarriage, then having twins put a lot of strain on Jenna's body, and that that could play an important role.

"Dear God," I whispered, "don't make us pay for our sins of yesterday."

I wanted more children; so did Jenna. I brought up the idea of adopting another child, but she was against it immediately. She said that it would take too long, and that we still didn't even tell Katherine the truth, it would cause too much paperwork, couldn't we just stick to having another one from each other?

I didn't understand her doubts, but I left her alone. In more ways than one.

[No wonder she's not pregnant. Just saying.]

I love my wife more than anything, but something's wrong with us. Our crazy days left us a while ago. I was scared that the magic [kidnapping?] that brought us together was gone. We no longer went to romantic restaurants for candlelite dinners. No more picnics alone on Saturday afternoons. The passion in our lovemaking was discintegrating. I didn't understand when it happened, but now that it's happened, what could be done to stop it?

[Stop trying for a baby and enroll yourselves in couples therapy?]

I closed my eyes and thought about my wife. Not as an adult, but as a 17-year-old girl carrying another man's child. She'd been my best friend. She was going to marry David. She was happy. Now she's paying for it.

[In that last paragraph, a more mature lil' Frema added a big question mark in the left margin. My sentiments exactly.]

The last time we'd visited David and Mary Katherine's graves was about four years ago, when the whole family flew to Chicago to visit Jenna's parents. [Why not yours?] She'd wanted to go alone. "I need to make things right," she'd said. She said that same thing two weeks ago when she mentioned telling Katherine the truth about Kayla. One more problem to worry about.

I went to bed with a heavy heart.

***

The next day was Friday. The two of us missed work and drove to Dr. Peters' office. Jenna was nervous. "What if he didn't get the tests back? What do you think he'll tell us?"

I said nothing, just squeezed her hand.

We didn't have to wait long for the doctor. "Come in," he said.

We sat down. "What's wrong with me, Dr. Peters?" Jenna asked.

"Well, at our last visit, I mentioned that the strain your body's had is an issue. Being pregnant again could be too dangerous, even fatal." Jenna nodded.

"What can be done? Anything?" she asked.

"You're not listening. You or the baby will have a 50/50 chance of death if you get pregnant again, and the chances of that are slim. Your body can't handle it."

[In other words, I don't have anything medically sound to tell you. That'll be two hundred dollars.]

"I see. Thank you for your time," Jenna said briskly. She stood to go. "Come on, Michael."

[Before you comment on lil' Frema's diagnosis, remember her age, people, and the fact that her mom popped out five children in twelve years. She was clueless about IUI, IVF, surrogates, etc., though how awesome would it have been to add a substitute incubator into the mix of Crazy?]

Once we were in the car, I tried to reassure her. "We have three children now. Some couples don't get any their whole lives. We don't need more kids, anyway. Now we can focus on each other for a change."

[That last line reminds me of that one scene in Look Who's Talking when Mikey meets his biological father for the first time, and George Segal doesn't want anything to do with him, explaining to Kirstie Alley, "I've raised my kids," and Kirstie Alley says, "Raised them? They're eleven and nine!" Because, you know, with twelve-year-old twins and a teenage daughter, Jenna and Michael can finally wipe their hands of this whole parenthood thing.]

She didn't talk, so I went on. "I've got an idea. How about we go away this weekend? We can go to a hotel. No kids, no work, just us."

"I don't think so," she replied, staring straight ahead. "I've got a lot of work to do on the Folger's account; I've only got two weeks to finish it in. In fact, why don't you drop me off at work?"

"But you've got the whole day off," I protested.

"Please, just do it, Michael."

Ten minutes later I was dropping her off in front of her work. She forced a smile. "I'll see you later."

I was hurt. She was hurt. Why couldn't we open up to each other? [How can we be lovers if we can't be friends?] I reached out my hand to her, but she was already gone.

For a while I drove around aimlessly. That got boring, so in the end I took my wife's lead and went back to work. I didn't leave until four-thirty.

I was walking to my car when I heard someone yell "Dammit!!" I looked up and saw Kay Hart five cars away, kicking her wheels and cursing. She noticed me and smiled. I walked over to her.

"Hey, there. What's the problem?" I asked. She shook her head and clenched her fists.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong, except I'm dead tired, half of my things have been lost or broken because of the move, I'm late and now my tire's flat and I don't have a spare."

[In parentheses, lil' Frema wrote, "Mention why she's there," which is an excellent point, considering Kyle is a sophomore in high school and Michael teaches seventh-grade biology, whatever the hell that is.]

"I hate it when that happens," I said, and she laughed. "I can't replace your stuff or turn back time [or even put two and two together to realize you're the same woman who tried to kill my wife fifteen years ago, even though "Kay" and "Kayla" are about as different from each other as, well, "Mike" and "Michael"], but I can give you a ride home."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I owe you my life," she said as she climbed in.

"No problem."

"Is something the matter?" she asked five minutes later.

"Does it show?"

She nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." She nodded again. "I understand. You don't know me."

"Thanks for understanding."

"You're welcome. I know what it's like to hurt and not be able to talk about it. It's like trapping yourself." Kay gazed out the window. "In a cage," she whispered."

[Random and creepy. Glenn Close vibes, anyone?]

"This is a cheery conversation," I said.

"I hate sarcasm," Kay replied. "I see it as something that shows the opposite of what you're feeling. It's unhealthy."

"Forgive me; I've been feeling unhealthy," I said in an angry tone.

"I'm a good listener. Talk to me. When you're done, I'll smile and won't say a word, unless you ask me to. Let yourself go."

"You've got nerve. I don't mean to be rude, but you're sounding too much like a therapist."

Her voice softened. "Sorry. I guess everything I picked up from therapy wasn't meant for everyone."

[She must be talking about her years in the Sanitarium, because no way could she and Cassie afford rent, private schooling for Kyle, and a shrink.]

I thought for a moment. Then I said, "My wife and I had an appointment with her doctor. She can't have any more children."

"That's tough," Kay commented. "How does that make you feel?"

[What happened to "I'll smile and won't say a word"?]

"Sad. I wanted a little boy. So did my wife."

[Because children are only valuable in matching sets.]

"She must feel horrible. I would."

"Yeah, well, she won't tell me how she feels, so I don't know."

"I'm sorry," she said, touching my arm briefly. "Try talking to her, Michael. She's probably hurting so much that she's going to block it out altogether."

[One of my biggest pet peeves is when someone tries to analyze another person's pain. So presumptious. FYI.]

I nodded. "Yeah. Jenna--my wife--has a wall built around her. I thought that I'd gotten rid of it when I married her, but now it seems like it's going up again." I smiled faintly. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. For some reason, I feel like I know you."

[First of all, Michael is dumber than my keyboard. Second of all, I hate the wall analogy, too. We've all been kicked in the teeth, so to speak. Nobody has a monopoly on pain. Everybody hurts. Now get over yourself.]

She smiled, too. "Maybe you do," she said.

[!]

I pulled into her driveway and killed the engine. "Thanks for listening. It helped a little."

"Anytime. If you need me, you know where to find me." She hopped out of the car. "Thanks for the ride."

I watched her until she went inside. Only when I saw her close the door did I start my engine and pull away.

[Your mom starts my engine and pulls away!]

***

When I walked through the door, the kids and Jenna were eating dinner. Jenna stood up when she saw me. I walked over to her and held her tight as she laid her head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, babe," she whispered, and immediately I felt guilty for talking about her to Kay. [As well you should, you bastard. Never talk smack about your spouse to a member of the opposite sex.] Even if I did feel better afterwards.

"Don't be," I said. "We'll get through this together."

"This is so sweet and romantic, even if you're old," Leigh cried teasingly.

"Get some, Dad!" shouted Lucas.

"Luke!" Jenna cried.

"Come on, guys," Katherine said. "These two want to be alone." She pretended to pull them out of the room by their ear.

Jenna wrapped her arms around my waist and fit her head under the crook of my neck, her eyes following the kids. "We did good, didn't we, Michael." It was a statement, not a question.

I thought back to when we were 17, when Jenna was engaged to David, when she was pregnant with his baby. I thought back to when I thought love was only an idea, not a feeling. Was love discintegrating back to only being an idea for me?

["What's up with all these unfinished flashbacks?" laments lil' Frema in the margin.]

Aloud I said, "things could be worse." I had the feeling that things would be.

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I'm working from home today so I can keep an eye on Luke, which means I'll probably slack off for the rest of the afternoon and rush to play catch-up on Sunday. Gotta love office jobs.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Sickness

Some lovely random facts for you all:

• I started having stomach pain and difficulty peeing on Wednesday. Oh, the joys of pregnancy, I thought. Surely this will pass.
• Persistent nausea began on Thursday.
• A couple of hours after my alumni board meeting on Saturday, I drove myself to the Jasper County ER at the recommendation of my clinic's on-call doctor, where I was diagnosed with a urinary tract infection. Man, was I pissed at myself for not just dragging my ass to the doctor during the week, but I was also kind of happy I didn't have to miss any work.
• I threw up for the first time on Sunday morning in a BP gas station in a very questionable restroom facility just minutes away from the on-ramp to I-65 South, aka my ticket home. I've barfed every day since.
• I'm wondering just how cut out I am for this whole motherhood thing, plaguing myself with questions like, "Did we get pregnant too soon?" "Will I ever want to do this again?" "Will I be any good?"
• I cry every day. Today's reason? My newfound ability to hit record-breaking levels of unattractiveness, as evidenced by the aerosol-free fro I've been sporting to the office and the right hand I've been jamming down my pants, Al Bundy-style, protecting the tiny life within from the harsh elastic waistband of my DePaul track pants.
• I've lost weight. Who knew the key to shedding those pesky unwanted pounds was the first trimester of pregnancy?

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.2
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: 1.6

In happier news, Saint Joe's English department will allow me to end the blogging class by Thanksgiving with no penalty to class credit earned. If I go into labor prematurely, they would want me to come back and teach a couple of sessions as soon as I'm able, but let's hope that doesn't happen, because right now nothing displeases me more than the thought of making a three-hour round trip to teach a two-and-a-half-hour night course with leaky boobs and (most likely) a tear-stained face.

Tragic Love Friday: Never have I been more delighted to write about incest

After two consecutive days of baby talk, I am ready to change the subject. So I won't tell you that Luke and I looked at a model of a two-bedroom apartment within our complex last night to determine if the extra space we'd gain would be worth the aggravation of moving. (Turns out? It is.) I also won't tell you that this kid doesn't even have eyeballs yet and already I've received a bill from my ob/gyn, to the tune of two thousand dollars. That doesn't even include the cost of the actual hospital stay! Is that going to be another couple of grand? And why, oh why, do they want me to begin payment next month? Don't they know I have a whole seven and a half months to meet my deductible?

Like I said, lucky for you I won't be talking about all of that. Today is the day we get up close and personal with Kyle: Kayla's rape baby, Katherine's half-brother and love interest, and a complex figment of lil' Frema's way-out-there imagination. Pull up a seat, kiddies. This one's long.

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CHAPTER THREE - KYLE

Katherine caught up with me at my locker before homeroom.

"I just wanted to know if you still wanted me to come over after school today," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. She looked kind of nervous, which surprised me - nobody ever gets nervous talking to the boy; it's usually the other way around.

[Right. Girls never get tongue-tied around guys. Not even when one tries to grab your hand on the bus ride back from an eighth-grade field trip to Cook County Jail and everyone laughs so you push him away and bury your face into your jean jacket the rest of the way home.]

"Yeah, sure," I said, then laughed. "I'm having a little trouble already. And when we're done, you could help me unpack. There are so many boxes in my house, you have to jump hurdles over them just to get anywhere."

"Well, since you said please," she answered sarcastically. "Meet me by my locker after school."

"OK," I said,  but she didn't hear me. She was running up to her friend Shannon.

[A few TLFs ago, somebody asked if I had someone in mind to "play" Shannon, but the truth is, I don't. Maybe Jordin from this season's American Idol? She's perky enough. What do you think?]

There was still 15 minutes left before the warning bell rang, and I had nothing to do, nobody to talk to. The first couple of weeks in a new school were always the hardest for me. I stuck out like a sore thumb, being all by myself. It was embarassing. So I did what I did at the other schools. I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in a stall.

I had many moments in my life where all I wanted to do was dig a hole in the earth and bury myself. This was one of them.

I hated moving with all my heart. I don't think I've lived in the same place for more than two years since I was five years old. There was never time to make friends, for my mother always found something a little bit better, somewhere else. When I was lucky, my mom would find a place in the same state. I had never had a best friend, or a girlfriend, except for a few short flings. I was usually the kid in the back of the class whose name nobody remembers. Sure, I was a good for a laugh, and the girls loved me, but when it came to having an actual friend, I had none.

[Don't you just want to pull this kid out of Kayla's house and into foster care? An apple could have parented him better.]

I blame all my problems on my mom. Aunt Cassie mostly just follows my mother's lead when it comes to moving, so I can't be mad at her. Mom's the one who decides that.

[Oh, Kyle, "Aunt Cassie" just feels guilty because she convinced your mother to run over a pregnant woman!]

My mother. Sometimes I can't decide if I love her or hate her; I guess both. I know she sacrificed a lot to have me. [But not her virginity! Good thing she and David had at least one romp before he died. Can you imagine if the rape had been her first sexual experience? Not that Kyle knows she was raped, of course. But I digress.] Her parents cut her off from the moment she told them she was pregnant with me, and my father left her a few months later and she never saw him again. Mom doesn't like to talk about him very much, but she said he was a good man and I shouldn't think bad things about him. She said he loved her very much, and he was just too scared to be a father. My father's name was David.

[So it's not that he was too scared; he was too dead!]

RIING! The warning bell interupted my thoughts of the past, and I unlocked the stall door. "Here I go again," I mumbled and went out to face another day.

[Geez, with all that time he spent contemplating the trials and tribulations of his complicated existence, he could have just masturbated.]

* * *

I waited impatiently for Katherine by her locker at the end of the day. What if she had changed her mind? I stood against the locker and closed my eyes.

"Are you gonna move, or do I have to throw you out of the way?" My eyes opened and I saw Katherine holding her books and smiling. I stepped out of the way. "It's about time," I mumbled. "What took you so long?"

She raised an eyebrow. "If I had known you were so impatient I wouldn't have agreed to tutor you."

"Sure you would've," I said.

"How do you know?" she asked, but not in a cocky way, which made me answer her seriously.

"You can always tell by a girl's eyes if she likes you or not," I said, "and your eyes say that you like me."

She smiled. She had a really pretty smile. Not dazzling or sexy, but soft and sweet. "What if I told you that I had a head cold that made my eyes look glassy?"

"I'd say you're lying."

"You'd be right," she replied, grinning. "I don't know you, Kyle, but I'd like to if you'll let me."

[And to think lil' Frema thought this dialogue was so snappy. So clever!]

I didn't answer her. Finally I said, "you look like my mother."

"Really? In what way?" she asked.

"Your hair and eyes. If your hair was brown, you'd look almost exactly like her."

[Dun dun dun!]

Katherine smiled that sweet smile again and slammed her locker shut. "Let's go."

We didn't talk too much on the way to my house, which was pretty far from school. As I unlocked the front door, Katherine looked around the area.

"It's nice out here," she commented. "Clean and peaceful. Like a hide-away from the world." I nodded.

"That's why Mom chose this place. She never liked living in the city."

We dumped our bags by the door, and I gave her a brief tour.

"Are these your parents?" she asked, pointing to a picture on the wall. In it, my mom and dad were dressed in a dress and tux. They were gazing into each other's eyes and were holding each other close. Mom said it was taken at a dance during sophomore year. [So I take it by her choice of decor that Kayla never plans on inviting Jenna and Michael over for dinner?] I nodded.

"You're mother's a blonde,"  Katherine said softly.

"Yeah. She dyed it when I was little, so I never actually saw her with it."

"Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

She said this next part hesitantly. "What happened to your dad? Is he dead?"

I tried to appear calm, but my back involuntarily stiffened. "No. He's alive." She just nodded [lots of nodding today!], but I saw the pity in her eyes.

"That's my aunt Cassie," I said quickly, pointing to another picture. "You even look a little like her."

"Maybe I'm a distant cousin," Katherine joked.

[Did anyone hear that crash of lightening overhead? Just me? Hmmm.]

"I hope not," I replied shyly.

[Yet another reason to hate his mother.]

"We better get started," she said awkwardly, hiding her face behind her hair.

We went to the kitchen table and got to work.

"So what was your school in California like?" she asked while looking for a notebook.

"Alright. I wasn't there for too long, so I didn't really meet anyone. And nobody liked me anyway."

"I'm sure you're wrong about that."

"I'm not. I made the kids feel dumb because I skipped a grade."

"You're too hard on people." Katherine smiled. "But I'm glad you mentioned that part about skipping a grade. I thought you were too young to be a sophomore in high school."

I opened my mouth to answer her when I heard the door open and shut.

"Kyle? Are you there? Sorry we're late, sweetie, but your aunt and I stopped at the store for a few things--" She stopped short when she saw Katherine. I thought she would drop the 2 bags she held in her arms. Slowly, very slowly, she walked toward us and put down her bags. Smoothing her hair with one hand, she forced a smile.  "I didn't know you had company."

[I didn't know my long-lost daughter would be doing geometry at our kitchen table. You know how that goes, right, son?]

Katherine's face turned bright red. "I'm sorry. I was just getting ready to leave--"

"No, no, don't go," she replied hurriedly. "Stay. You can stay for dinner."

Katherine looked at her hands, and I gave my mother a questioning look. Why was she babbling like this?

"I'm sorry." Mom smiled again, this time a real smile. "I'm going on like a madman, and I haven't even introduced myself. I'm [YOUR MOMMA!] Kay."

"I'm Katherine," Katherine said, and I saw her relax.

"You kids keep workin'. I'm going to help Kyle's aunt with the rest of the groceries." Before she went back outside, she stared at the two of us and quickly wiped at her eyes.

"Don't pay attention to her," I said. "My aunt's much more sane." She laughed.

[We're laughing, too, aren't we?]

However, today she wasn't. We heard the door open and shut, and my mother and aunt Cassie, huddled together, slowly came into the room. Mom was beaming, and Aunt Cassie had a faraway look in her eyes. Then she mumbled something under her breath that I couldn't hear.

"Hi, Katherine," Aunt Cassie said. "I'm [YOUR!] Kyle's aunt, Cassie."

"Hi," she said, and then glanced at me uncertainly.

"Katherine's my tutor," I explained to them. "She's helping me catch up on what I've missed so far." Come on, guys, I added silently. Do or say something to make her think we're not crazy.

"That was a nice idea," Mom said. "We don't want you to fall behind. I am glad, though, that you've made a friend in the process." She gave Katherine another smile. "It seems like we kinda pounced on you, honey."

"We didn't mean to," Aunt Cassie added. "It's just that you're the first friend Kyle's brought home, and we got curious."

"That's OK," Katherine said. Her eyes lit up and she relaxed. "My parents act the same way." She extended her hand to my mother's and shook it. Mom seemed surprised but pleased. Then she shook my aunt's hand.

"It's so rare to see young people with manners these days," Aunt Cassie murmured as she took the bags and started putting the contents in the pantry.

[When I was your age, killing someone in cold blood landed you six years in jail. Now? Maybe a slap on the wrist. Kids get away with everything these days!]

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Mom asked warmly.

"Yes, Ms. Hart, but I'll have to check with my parents first."

"The phone's in the livingroom, and please don't call me Ms. Hart. It makes me feel like an old fart. Call me...call me [MOMMA!] Kay," she finished.

"OK, Kay. Thanks."

Katherine went to use the phone. I pulled my mom aside. "Why were you and Aunt Cassie acting so weird? I felt so dumb out there."

Mom gave me a hug. "I'm sorry. It's complicated why I acted the way I did. You'll understand later on."

I groaned. "I hate it when you say that." She didn't answer, just ruffled my hair.

"I'm glad you're my son, Kyle," she said softly. "Remember that." Then she went and got a pizza out of the freezer.

[In addition to spitting out random bits of dialogue, Kayla's also a gourmet cook! Kyle is so lucky to have her.]

Katherine returned a minute later. "I can stay. My dad'll pick me up in a couple of hours."

[Better hide that prom picture, "Kay"!]

"Well, you guys finish whatever you were doing, and I'll call you when the pizza's done."

[Um, they were studying at the table, but whatever.]

The two of us agreed not to work on anything related to school. We settled down on the couch and turned on TV. The only decent show was BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD.

"Your mom's nice," she commented.  "So's your aunt."

"They acted kinda crazy tonight, though."

"That's OK." She was quiet for a minute, and then let out a small yawn.

"You have a nice yawn," I said. She laughed. "Really? I think you're the first person who noticed."

Things were going good. By this time I knew that I liked her a lot, and that she wasn't like the other girls I've been with. She seemed innocent, unsure of the situation. "What are you thinking?" I asked her.

[Come on, guys never ask that. Especially teenagers.]

"That you're more experienced with girls than I thought."

"Is that bad?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It just makes me feel like you're in control."

"Is that bad?" I repeated, scooting closer to her.

"Only if you make it bad." Katherine let out a shaky breath. "Don't make it bad, Kyle."

"I promise to be gentle," I said lightly and grabbed her hand. She closed her eyes and I tilted my head.

"PIZZA!" Mom called from the kitchen. Katherine jumped up, and I ran my fingers through my hair. She shook her head and smiled. "Nice try, Hart," she whispered and walked past me into the kitchen.

Dinner was kinda fun, even with my aunt and mother there. I kept flirting with Katherine in little ways, and we even played footsie under the table. Once I said, "Please pass me the salt," while raising my eyebrows and rubbing my foot against her under the table. She laughed so hard, soda came flying out of her nose, and she started to cough. Mom had jumped up. "Are you OK, hon? Can you breathe?"

Katherine had just nodded, laughing the whole time.

Now her dad was on his way to pick her up, and Mom and Aunt Cassie were saying their good-byes.

"Thanks for dinner," Katherine was saying. "You have a really nice house."

"Anytime hon." Aunt Cassie smiled and slowly walked out of the room.

Mom stuck around though. "I'd like to meet your father, Katherine, so I can tell him what a fine daughter he's got. Have you got any brothers or sisters?"

[Sneaky bitch. As if her PI didn't already tell her everything.]

She nodded. "One of each. They're twelve-year-old twins, Lucas and Leigh."

"You're lucky," I said. "Over here, there's only me."

"Then you should thank your mother. The twins can be a real pain."

The doorbell rang. Mom opened it. [Opened the doorbell?] "Hi. You must be Katherine's dad. She's a lovely girl. Come on in." She gazed at him, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You can call me [ANYTHING YOU WANT, TAKE ME NOW, MICHAEL] Kay."

"Hi, Kay. I'm [TOO STUPID TO REALIZE WHO YOU ACTUALLY ARE] Michael." He smiled, but he looked tired. Tired and sad. "Katherine says you just moved here from California. How do you like it here so far?"

"I love it. We're gonna be staying here a long time."

There was a moment of silence, then Katherine put on her jacket and grabbed her bag. "Thanks again for dinner, Kay. I'll see you tomorrow, Kyle." She flashed a smile and winked at me. Then they were gone.

I stretched and yawned. "I'm goin' to bed, Mom. G'night."

"Good night, Kyle. I love you." She tried to smile, but her face crumbled, and she started to cry. Hard. Her whole body shook. I went over to her and hugged her as she buried her face into my shoulder. "Mom, what's wrong? Mom?"

She sniffled and took a breath. "Nothing. Everything. It's hard to explain. I promise, though, I'll tell you when I'm old enough to understand." [You like how lil' Frema mixed that up a bit?] She wiped her eyes and kissed my cheek, and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

For a number of reasons, I didn't fall asleep that night for a long time.

-------

This weekend I'll be staying at Saint Joe, volunteering for a few events and meeting with my professor friend, Maia, so we can talk about the fate of my blogging class this fall. There's a chance the college will let me wrap it up by Thanksgiving. Keep your fingers crossed, will you?

Edited to add: Why didn't anybody send me an e-mail pointing out the inverted words in my title? "Never I have been more delighted"? Geez Louise. See if I correct typos for YOU again.

She's Come Undone

Now that you've read two perfectly coiffed posts in a row, posts that were written, edited, and extensively proofread almost a full week ago, let me tell you how I really feel.

I'm scared. I'm tired. I'm nervous. I cry a lot. I read a lot. I try to sleep but end up running to the bathroom at least three times during the two-hour window before my alarm clock goes off, which is less about peeing and more about, well, since I'm up anyway, I might as well do something constructive with my time. I stare at pictures of my wee embryo's development online and try to imagine what it looks like. I check for blood in my underwear every time I pee and whisper hearty words of encouragement to my future spawn after zipping up my pants to STAY PUT so Momma doesn't have a heart attack in the corporate john.

The day we found out I was pregnant, I was truly shocked. I always thought I'd have some tell-tale sign from my body that it was leasing space to a new human life, like swollen breasts or waves of nausea or an insatiable appetite for peanut butter ice cream with pickles on top, but it wasn't like that at all. My inspiration to take a test in the first place came from two leftover sticks stashed in my bathroom junk drawer and pure boredom. My period wasn't due until the next day. I had no reason to be suspicious.

Now, I don't know what to do or how to act. It's too early to "sit back and enjoy the ride" because I'm battling the constant fear of doing something that will hurt the baby or worse, bring on a miscarriage. (By the way, if a pregnant woman expresses these fears to you, appropriate responses do NOT include "Well, if it's meant to be..." or "Everything happens for a reason...." I guarantee you will either scare the crap out of her even further, piss her off, or both. If you value the friendship and/or your own life, just give her a hug and tell her she'll be fine. Even if she doesn't believe you, she will definitely appreciate the gesture.) I carry this feeling with me every day, and I never know when it will surface. Luke and I watched an episode of House last week in which Hugh Laurie performed high-risk surgery on a twenty-one-week-old fetus, and by the last five minutes I was bawling louder than the baby. On Sunday night, I sat in Luke's lap and sobbed on his shoulder because of a cloudy vaginal discharge that I later learned was totally normal. Turns out those cheapie pamphlets from the doctor's office are good for something.

I don't know how women do this every day. I've only known for a week and a half and already I'm a basket case.

On a lighter note, I've received a handful of inquiries about the future of Weight Loss Wednesday, and rather then disband it altogether, I've decided to modify it to accommodate the circumstances of my current situation. Because there is a recommended weight-gain range for pregnant women (twenty-five to thirty-five pounds), and because I'm also afraid that my calmer, second-trimester self might use the baby as an excuse to eat a gallon of Breyer's every night before bed, I'm instituting Weight Watch Wednesdays so I can continue to strive for healthier eating habits and will my bloated ass off the couch. I'll still hop on the scale for you all, since "the books" recommend that, anyway, but instead of tracking the pounds to my goal weight, I'll monitor how much I've gained since the first WLW of my present cycle, which occurred on February 28th. (The first day of my last period was February 22nd.)

(Was that too much information?)

WEIGHT ON 2/28: 135.6
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.6
TOTAL PREGNANCY POUNDS GAINED: 3

I'd really like to keep my total gain under thirty pounds, but hell, I'd put on a hundred if it guaranteed a healthy baby. Maybe that Breyer's will come in handy after all.

P.S. Amalah pimped me out over on Mom's Daily Dose. Won't you please stop by and tell everyone how wonderful I am? There's only one comment so far, and that's from me. The baby is already embarrassed.

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting Anything

The Sunday before Easter started out like any other Sunday, except that Luke and I didn't make it to church. We rolled out of bed around 8:30, lounging around our apartment in tee shirts and underwear, devouring three blueberry muffins a piece in an effort to liven up a free breakfast at home. I continued my DVD player's love affair with the third season of Sex and the City, initiated the day before while Luke was in Michigan for work, while he surfed the Internet for potential city parks to visit later that afternoon. We talked about Easter and how nice it would be to relax in Indianapolis in lieu of a six-hour round trip to vist family and friends scattered throughout the Chicagoland area. We debated over the dinner menu for our cozy little holiday, lazily wondering if we were in the mood for turkey or ham.

Since it was the first of the month, Luke updated his "Walking America: A Year on Wilderness Trails" calendar that hangs above the computer station in our bedroom, and it reminded me that my own Peter Rabbit masterpiece needed flipping as well. As I tacked the new page to the wall, I noticed I was on day thirty-nine of my cycle. There was nothing particularly alarming about this, seeing as the last few months have followed this same pattern, so I figured I was due the next day. However, after studying all my not-at-all-inconspicuous date circles indicating Luke's and my...er...special marital time, I thought, hey, I've still got two First Responses left. Why not pee on a stick?

So I did. And two minutes later, I almost peed again, this time all over myself, out of pure, unadulterated shock. For the first time in my twenty-seven years on this planet, I saw a second pink line. It was faint, but it was there.

"LUKE!" I yelled, arms shaking as I held onto the bathroom sink, my lower lip already beginning to quiver. "THERE ARE TWO LINES ON THIS TEST OH MY GOD OH MY GOD."

"What?"

"JUST GET IN HERE AND LOOK AT THE TEST. IT SAYS I'M PREGNANT, RIGHT? YOU WOULD CALL THAT A SECOND LINE, RIGHT?" And I kept talking just like that, in all caps, while pestering my husband for his non-medical opinion regarding the actual existence of the life-changing second pink line.

"I think so, honey."

"SO THAT MEANS I'M PREGNANT, RIGHT?"

"I think so, honey!"

For the next thirty seconds we kind of just stood there, dazed and confused with this unexpected piece of information, and then he sauntered over to the kitchen table and started flipping through yesterday's mail while I exploded all over our bathroom.

OK, so that didn't really happen, but by that point I was a dry-heaving mess. It's probably safe to assume I lost all concept of rational thinking at the same time I lost my urine.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THIS? DO YOU THINK I'M PREGNANT OR NOT?"

"I would say so, honey," Luke said for the third time in five minutes, poor guy, totally wanting to reassure me before I lost my already-fragile grip on reality and totally not knowing how. Luckily, I had the perfect solution.

"GO TO WALGREENS AND BUY MORE TESTS. RIGHT NOW. WHY AREN'T YOU PUTTING ON YOUR COAT." (Nope, no question mark there. NO TIME FOR QUESTION MARKS!)

He was gone in eight seconds. Meanwhile, I decided to occupy myself by making the bed and taking the second test. Thank the Lord for bonus packs.

And there it was again. A second pink line, only this one was dark enough that I started to think maybe, just maybe, the universe wasn't filming a special April Fool's edition of Candid Camera.

Now that I had two sticks confirming my future presence on the Mother ship, all I could do was sit and sob and pray to God not to take away my baby before Luke returned from the pharmacy and I could pee on two more.

He returned. I peed on two more. Positive, each one. (You don't say, Frema!) And that's when we both cried and Luke kissed the second of my two gut rolls as a "hello" to the newest member of our family. Before the day was out, we had celebrated with pizza and a trip to the bookstore, where I purchased The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy and The Real Book of Birth, because I am already terrified about pushing this miracle out of my special place. Last Monday I only made it through a half-day of work because I came in to discover an army of ants crawling all over my desk and the facilities manager decided to spray my office and I skidaddled the hell out of there as fast as my legs could carry me because OH MY GOD I WILL NOT ALLOW MALICIOUS INSECTS OR THEIR DEATH JUICE TO KILL MY BABY.

(Get used to the caps-lock voice. It's probably going to stay with us until my November 29th due date, as estimated by my ob nurse, who also informed me that I needed to adjust the lower seat belt strap when riding in the car so it doesn't tighten around my belly in the event of an accident. "Just like Kyra Sedgwick in Singles," Luke offered helpfully. Thanks, dear, for easing my troubled mind.)

(Also, I'm pretty sure she was recommending this for when I'm actually showing, but that hasn't prevented me from hooking a thumb through said lower strap and pushing it away from my stomach, you know, so the baby can breathe. I am such a good mother already.)

To this day we've taken six tests, bought three books (and two magazines to boot), purchased Baby's First Onesie, and started an official list of names; I've also taken it upon myself to start combing through Amalah's pregnancy entries in between projects at work. We waited an agonizing five days before telling our families so we could deliver the news in person, which involved presenting each set of grandparents with an Easter basket and a commercially manufactured Hallmark greeting introducing the future tiny object of their affection. My mother's reaction was straight out of a sitcom, pulling the card out of the envelope and waving it around dramatically for three minutes before finally reading out loud "You're going to be..." and then stopping mid-sentence, dropping her jaw, and turning to the kitchen table for emotional support. (Like mother, like daughter.) As for my father, well, he had to lie down. At six-thirty. For the rest of the night.

And now, in the middle of my sixth week of gestation, finally I have permission to tell the Internet.

Internet, we're having a baby.

Those EPT readings were both positive, I swear.

Frumpelstiltskin

As a child growing up fifteen minutes from downtown Chicago, I had a certain image of what I would look like when it was time to tackle the corporate world. For the last two summers of high school, while riding the 65 State Street bus from my el train stop to Navy Pier, home to the now-deceased Pretzelmaker, I was fascinated by the women sporting crisp, white shirts, pencil skirts with hems ending just above the knee, professionally blown-out hair, and carefully applied eyeliner on their powdered lids. They always carried some sort of savvy bag that held their hundred-dollar heels so they could pound the pavement with the Nikes usually reserved for their Crunch gym membership, allowing them to manuever through the crowds without breaking a leg. I imagined they all had cornerstone offices overlooking the skyline and assistants who brought them coffee and petty cash funds they could draw from for lunch, just like Christina Applegate's character in Don't Tell Mom the Baby-sitter's Dead. It was a lifestyle I couldn't wait to be a part of.

And then I graduated from college.

The circumstances surrounding how I landed my three-year stint as publications and media relations director for my undergraduate alma mater really just kind of fell into place. I'd been interning for the office for the duration of my senior year, writing feature stories and press releases under the supervision of my professor (and now good friend) Maia, who was rationing her time between the English department and college's PR division; eventually she needed to commit to teaching full-time and her boss needed to find a replacement, thus seamlessly opening the door for me without so much as an interview. I jumped into the swing of things two days after my commencement ceremony and smack-dab in the middle of the production schedule for the alumni magazine's summer edition.

To say I was absolutely terrified of fucking up is a gross understatement; I was a recent graduate with no money to burn, no time to catch my breath, no knowledge on the concept of "business casual." I was hired for a job, and I did my job, period, which means I did nothing for my appearance. (In that last link, you're looking for the photo of me in a Relay for Life tee shirt and gray sweatpants. BOTH OF WHICH I WORE TO WORK. Yes, you are allowed to gasp at the horror of it all.)

It wasn't until late fall of that year that I discovered the sassy affordability of my beloved New York and Company, whose very name screams sophistication but whose display racks boast work-appropriate blouses for twenty bucks a pop. Jack pot, baby! I salivated over khaki pants and collar shirts and kicky red skirts with little conch shells on them, and soon I was averaging two hundred bucks a visit every couple of months. I had to go in that often because for every five pieces I brought home, at least one ended up in my sisters' closets during my next visit home, since in my haste to own the perfect wardrobe, I had set unrealistic expectations for just how well I could pull off a horizontal-striped sweater with 36B breasts. (How well? you ask. Not at all well, thank you very much.)

By the time I had tendered my resignation and accepted my next job offer (also obtained without a formal interview, I am such a lucky duckie), I was making slightly smarter choices and holding on to pieces longer than eight seconds. I'd chopped off most of my hair, visited a Clinique counter for the first time thanks to my co-worker Kendra (hi, Kendra!), and become intimately familiar with the inside of a Baker's. My shopping preferences weren't as fancy as Bloomingdale's or Sephora, but just like Mary Tyler Moore, I was making it after all.

For the first year of my new job, I pulled off looks like the one above about three days a week, the rest of the time pairing Payless Sherpa flip-flops with capris and cotton tees announcing my alumni status with various post-secondary institutions. (OK, just two, but "various" flowed better.) Then, somehow, after gaining a bit of weight, I started feeling less confident, and the cute ensembles whittled down to twice every five days. Now, I've been reduced to this.

In all fairness, I've SEEN classier women pull off the always-tricky red, blue, and brown combination, but they probably included at least one form-fitting piece to tie the whole look together. Making matters worse is the fact that I've decided to grow out my hair, which is now in that awful in-between phase where the locks lose their shape four minutes after stepping out of my stylist's chair, and my refusal to wear make-up unless I'm sporting particularly high self-esteem. That last part is really a shame, since my break-outs have only gotten worse and my cheeks could really benefit from the neutral coverage of a pressed powder.

But hey, this picture was taken when I was five weeks' pregnant. That cuts me some slack, right?

Tragic Love Friday: This One's for Jesus

It never entired my mind that the next installment of Tragic Love Friday also coincided with the day Jesus died on the Cross. Now, I didn't really forget, obviously, since I've been working so hard on my Lenten commitments, but when Rachel asked via Gmail chat if I'd be rescheduling the post for Monday, you know, in honor of the "holiday," I laughed off her poignant question, because really, as long as we keep away from the blogs at 3:00 p.m., our spiritual karma will be just fine.

When I worked at Saint Joe I had Good Friday AND Easter Monday off. Now that I'm part of the for-profit grind? Nothing. Luke is kicking back, though, so I'm taking a half-day so we can drive to Chicago before dinnertime. We'll hop over to Merrillville on Saturday afternoon and return to our humble, rented abode before Easter nightfall. Just in case you care, which you probably don't, you're just wondering whether today is the day that Katherine and Kyle do it, that is, if they DO do it, which I am so not telling you. (Today is not that day.)

I'm feeling a little kooky this morning. Buck up and bear with me.

-------

CHAPTER TWO - JENNA

I was at my desk finishing up some paper work when my boss, Mr. Crawford called me to his office.

"Have a seat, Jenna," he said. "I've got some news to discuss with you."

"Is it good?" I asked, smiling. [You saucy minx, you!]

"Oh, very good. I think Charleston Advertising is on its way to landing its first major account!"

That certainly was good news. Charleston Advertising was a fairly new company, only five years old, and wasn't really recognized as trustworthy and worthwhile. [So you work for them why, exactly?] Landing a major account could put us on the map.

"That's great!" I cried. "Who's checking us out?"

[C'mon, do I even have to say it?]

"Folger's Coffee has been looking around for some fresh advertising, and right now, they've got their eye on us." Mr. Crawford could hardly stay still, he was so excited. I understood why. After two years of being his personal assistant, I knew that his supervisors were constantly after him to land a worthwhile account, and for the past few months, they were hinting that if Crawford couldn't do the job, someone else would be found. Even though my boss could be extremely unbearable, he was basically a good man with a family to support.

[OK, in my line of work, I've seen managers fired after five MONTHS of non-performance, but what can I say? Lil' Frema hates to put people out of work. Killing off innocent babies is fine, but contributing to America's poverty population is not an option. For now.]

"Three representatives will be coming from Chicago in two weeks to hear a presentation from us," he continued. "From that presentation alone, they will decide if they'll allow us to advertise their coffee."

"Only two weeks? We'll need more time!" I protested.

"Well, a lot of time is something we don't have, Jenna. That's why I need you." He saw the nervous expression on my face and added, "It wont all rest on your shoulders. Agatha Hardy will help you." Agatha was the secretary, who basically did all the things that I couldn't do or finish. We didn't get along very well--she wanted my job, and I didn't like anyone who posed as a threat to my position. Agatha definitely did.

"I'll be writing down all kinds of facts and figures about Charleston Advertising, and you'll be transferring all of it into the form of graphs and charts. We also need to come up with how we can present Folgers as the best brand of coffee." [So in Cedar Springs, Iowa, entry-level employees can perform the duties of a copywriter, graphic designer, and marketing consultant. No pesky edumacation required!] His voice was firm as he added, "I cannot afford to not land this account. If I don't, I'll be waiting in the unemployment line. If that happens, I wont be waiting alone. I don't think I need to stress that, do I Jenna?"

"No, sir," I replied. I knew what he meant. If he gets fired, I get fired.

"Well, I guess that's it. Agatha knows all this; I filled her in earlier. She says she's happy to help."

[Why would you give the 411 to a secretary before your own right-hand (wo)man?]

I'll bet she is, I thought, but I didn't say anything. With a fake smile, I said good-bye to my boss and went to collect my things.

As I was waiting for my bus 10 minutes later, I thought about the Folgers account. I couldn't screw this up. Michael worked as a teacher at the local elementary school; not exactly a great-paying job. Our incomes combined were enough to let our family live comfortably, but if one of us lost our job, money would be very tight. I grimaced, remembering a time last year when the teachers at Michael's school went on strike for a month. The kids had had to walk to school because we couldn't afford bus fare. [For shame! The cancellation of basic cable service can't be far behind.]

A half-hour later, I was home.

I kicked off my heels and went to my room to change into an old sweat outfit. I rid face of make-up, then took out my contact lenses and put on my wire-rimmed glasses. Only then did I feel more comfortable. [On a completely unrelated note, the great Jerry Seinfeld once said that wearing sweats is a sign that one has given up on life. FYI.] I put on a pot of coffee and started flipping through the paper, bored and tired as hell. I hated coming home to an empty house.

It wasn't until 5:00 that someone walked through the door. No, not walked, floated through the door. Katherine threw her school bag on the floor and twirled her way to me. "Hello, Mother," she sang and kissed my cheek. She started to hum as she kicked her bag across the floor until she reached her room. Then she slammed her door, and I heard her stereo through the walls.

[If I kicked my backpack across any surface at all, I'd have gotten popped in the mouth. But whatever. ]

"Somebody's in a good mood," I mumbled, smiling. At that moment, the front door opened again, and the twins walked in. Lucas went for the fridge, and Leigh headed straight to her room. "How was school, Luke?" I asked.

"OK. We started sex ed today." He grinned. "I'm learning a lot so far."

I laughed and smacked his butt. [Hello, Inappropriate!] "You're a pervert, just like your father was."

"What was I?" Michael asked. I stood up to greet my husband. "A pervert at Luke's age," I told him, giving him a hug.

"Every Spencer boy is," he said, laughing, and his eyes twinkled. [You must be so proud!] Sometimes, when I looked at him, I forgot that he was a grown man, and only saw the boy I'd fallen in love with when I was 17. He was still muscular, with broad shoulders that showed he worked out. His black hair was wavy and fell over his eyes. Michael hadn't changed much, but the faint wrinkles around his eyes gave away his age.

"How was work?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair.

"Not the best. I gave a test today, and I've graded half of them. Nobody got above a C yet." He laughed, but he looked sad. "I guess Biology isn't a popular subject among my students." [Oh, I think it is, just not in the way you'd like. Here in Indianapolis, two sixth graders were caught doing the nasty during shop class RIGHT UNDER THEIR TEACHER'S NOSE. There was a partition blocking a section of the classroom from the teacher's view when he was seated at his desk. Because creating private spaces where horny adolescents can pro-create is an excellent idea!]

"They'll come around. No subject is a fun subject when you're a teenager." [Except that Michael teaches in an elementary school. Way to pay attention to attention to your husband's career.]

"I guess. How was your day?"

I told him about the new account. "Michael, if my company gets this account, I'll get a really nice raise. It could help us send the kids to college when they're out of high school."

"And if you don't?" he asked.

I smiled weakly. "Then we qualify for food stamps."

"We'll be OK, honey. I know you'll knock 'em dead."

Suddenly, the happy expression left Michael's face, and, taking me by the hand, he led me into our bedroom. I sat on the bed as he closed our door. Then he started to pace.

"Stop it, Mike, and tell me what's on your mind."

He stood still. Then he asked, "Did you call Dr. Peters today?"

I bit my lip. "I didn't have time at the office. I'll do it before dinner."

"Damn." Michael looked like he was about to say something else, but when he saw my face, thought better of it.

"I'm nervous, too, you know. I want to know what's wrong with me. Why didn't you call on your lunch hour?"

"Because he's not MY doctor!" My husband sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. [Enough with the fingers through the hair!] "Look, I don't mean to sound like it's all up to you. And nothing's wrong with you. Don't say that. It's our problem."

"Yes. Ours," I whispered. Michael sat beside me and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Are you OK?" he asked. I nodded, not looking at him. "Jenna?"

"I'm fine. Really, I'm just tired," I lied.

"Alright." He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press the issue, and for that I was grateful.

"Why don't you start dinner?" I asked. "I'm in the mood for some ribs, and nobody makes 'em like you, baby." I smiled and pushed him off the bed.

"I'll get you for that later," he said in a mock threatening tone. My husband kissed the top of my head affectionately and closed the door on his way out. I spread out on the bed and closed my eyes, thinking about the problem Michael and I had been having.

Though we'd been trying for months, Michael had yet to get me pregnant. We had both decided that we wanted one more child; very badly in fact. I longed for another baby to hold in my arms, to cuddle with and love; I knew Michael was hoping to have a son named after him. [Because the first one--you know, the male twin he created with his super sperm--wasn't good enough to be a Junior?] We were both frustrated, and more than a little disappointed. Hopefully, Dr. Peters had an answer for us, an answer that my husband and I wanted to hear.

[So, you're practically on the verge of losing your job and your lines of marital communication are a wee bit spotty. You should definitely have more children!]

-------

I feel like the plot is moving along a tad slow for my taste, but rest assured there is plenty of drama in store. Just to keep you panting for more, I will say that the sequel features two pregnancies, neither of which make it full-term, and neither of which belong to Jenna. Will that tide you over until next week?

On that note, Happy Easter!

What? It's Technically Still Wednesday

Geez, with only sixteen minutes left to Weight Loss Wednesday, you'd think there was bad news to report. But actually, I did myself proud.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.2
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12.2

Not bad, right? I'm not sure how it happened, really, since not only did I move forward with my plans to indulge in a big, heaping bowl of spinach dip this weekend while my beloved was out of town, I did it TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. Once on Saturday night while enjoying my long-awaited Sex and the City marathon, and once the night before at a quaint little pub with Jessi, a blog reader who works and attends law school in Indianapolis. I was so nervous about meeting someone whose sole perception of me was based on meticulously crafted entries and goofy pictures that almost always involve Photoshopping some of the acne off my cheeks, so afraid I'd look like an asshole when referencing something from my blog, as if I assumed people had nothing better to do then commit my archives to memory, but the minute I laid eyes on her happy smile outside the Aristocrat in Broadripple, I immediately relaxed and let myself be carried away by good conversation. Which lasted two hours. It was that awesome.

Plus, I felt a little like a rock star when we would delve into a new topic and she knew exactly what I was talking about, like when we were swapping stories about old boyfriends and I'd said only a few words about my second one before Jessi was like, "Oh, when you were Trophy Frema?" And I was like, "Oh, yeah!"

(How many of you have met other bloggers/blog readers? Did you have a similarly awesome experience?)

In other news, I can't deny my feelings any longer. I miss All My Children.

The Bible reading is becoming harder to keep up with, despite my intentionally leaving the Good Book in plain sight on the nightstand instead of tucked away on a shelf halfway across the room, but I still manage to get my time in more often than not. And I still enjoy it and feel like I've learned a lot. However, the absence of AMC from my daily routine is almost impossible to bear. No, I haven't cheated, thanks so much for your faith in me, that is, unless you count desperately flipping through soap mags in the check-out aisle at Target as cheating, which I don't, because I totally didn't learn anything about whether or not Krystal's had her illegitimate baby, Tad knows his own son is (unknowingly) (of course) playing daddy to the long-lost daughter he once thought died in utero, Babe's fake death has been brought to light, or Kendall is still carrying hottie Zach's child. Easter Sunday will indeed be a glorious day, because in addition to celebrating the resurrection of our Lord and Savior, I'll also be reprogramming my VCR to record channel six every week day at one o'clock eastern standard time. Let us rejoice and be glad.

On a related note, Carrisa asked me last week why I decided on AMC as my Lenten sacrifice, which was a perfectly valid question; after all, boycotting daytime television doesn't eliminate disease or help the poor or even make a difference to anyone but me. I really wanted to pick something, though, that hit me where it hurt, and if you had any idea how much time I spent catching up on episodes, lurking on message boards, and combing through character bios, you'd know that by the time Lent rolled around this year I was on the verge of obsessed. For my own peace of mind, I wanted to know that I wasn't as dependent on such a shallow form of entertainment as I thought, and when times got tough, I tried to remember how insignificant my sacrifice was when compared to what Jesus did for us, even though it was an insanely important part of my life. I love the history and the characters and the laughable plots and the inappropriate wardrobe choices made for Susan Lucci (how many times did she wear strapless dresses in November, girlfriends? How many?) and the guilty-pleasure escapism provided by the great and wonderful land of Pine Valley, but I had to prove to myself I could take a step back when that love got out of control.

How about the rest of you fellow Lenten observers? Are you happy with the choices you made regarding your own Easter sacrifice? (If in fact you gave anything up in the first place; I know not every Christian denomination does this.) How did you do? What did you learn?

P.S. Both Bethiclaus and David have decided to take the WLW plunge. Let's show 'em some love, shall we?

Our school is so cool

One of the features I like best about Gmail is its ability to capture all related e-mails in a single thread. It is this capability that has encouraged me to keep conversations in my Inbox for months after they've ended, including the following one I had with Isabel last April that started with one simple comment about strip club etiquette and turned into the most detailed Sweet Valley High dialogue the blogosphere has ever seen.

Frema's stellar comment:

Pat's wife is shoving dollar bills down another woman's panties and he's complaining about her technique?

Just proof that nothing is EVER good enough for men.

Hola, Isabel wrote:

No, she leaves them on the stage in front of her. Which also bugs him. But I didn't know how to work that into the post. I was dying when The King was telling me about this last night. Because seriously, how can you complain about anything when your wife will go with you to a strip club!?

I finished Deceived last night. And it's going to be so hard to save the last 2 books for the hospital!!

Isabel

Frema to Hola:

Well, imperfect wife though she may be, she still goes to strip clubs. Pat has a reason to praise God every day of his life.

I kept checking your site this morning, wondering if there would be an Amalah-style "we're off to the hospital!" e-mail! You will let us know before you leave, won't you? :)

I'm reading Out of Control right now, which focuses on Aaron Dallas's rage problem due to his parents' divorce. I love how they'll drop hints of the next book's topic in the last 10 pages of the previous one. For example, in Too Much in Love, we see Aaron yell at someone for stepping on his foot at a party on the second to last page. By page six of the next book, Aaron is already described as unlikable and (wait for it) out of control. Fabulous.

Hola to Frema:

I know EXACTLY what you mean. Because in Deceived, Steven's sick girlfriend, Tricia, ends up in the hospital in the last few pages and we wonder if she'll live. Oh my gosh...will she live? I can't wait to read about it. Actually, I can wait. Because I don't have that book.

Frema to Hola:

Tricia does die. But by number 24, Steven tucks her away in a special part of his heart and goes after Cara Walker, one of Jessica's friends. I like Cara better. Tricia (what little we saw of her) was too much of a goodie-goodie.

Also, I have ALL of my SVH books from childhood still stashed in my parents' basement. So I'm sure that ninety percent of the books I bought at Half-Price Books are ones I already own. But who cares? Also also, Luke would kill me if I brought any more Sweet Valley stuff into our apartment. Since our wedding shower, we've been bursting at the seams. A happy problem, to be sure. :)

Hola to Frema:

Oh the goodness that is SHOWERS!! I'm glad you've received tons of stuff. You totally deserve it!!  Hooray for weddings!

Steven and Cara? I had no idea. I thought Cara was sort of a skank, like Jessica?!

Didn't they make a SVH TV show?  I never saw it (because it came out when I was too old for that stuff). Did you see it? (Have we talked about this?!)

Frema to Hola:

She starts out skanky but undergoes a personal transformation after her parents' divorce. She ends up being a pretty good mix of fun but friendly.

Yes, they did make a show, but I was kind of old for it, too, and I thought the actors they chose to portray the characters were terrible. However, I continued to read the books well into college, just because I was that addicted to the storyline. I remember the supersized number 100, A Night to Remember, when Jessica and Elizabeth were both running for prom queen, and Jessica spiked Liz's punch to make her lose face. Turns out that Liz and Sam, Jessica's first and last long-term boyfriend (that I know of), got into a car together, with Liz behind the wheel. There was a horrible crash, and Sam was killed. It took Jessica a few books before she would confess to spiking the punch. In the meantime, Elizabeth was facing murder charges and Jessica dated Todd.

I know WAY more about Sweet Valley than any human should. But I am not ashamed!

Hola to Frema:

Yes you do.

I never got past maybe number 18.  And I didn't know Jessica had a real boyfriend.

Okay...so did they EVER talk about SEX?

-------

I don't know why I never answered Isabel's urgent question. Probably because she went and had herself a baby. However, now I will say that yes, dear friend, they did talk about sex. In Steven's Bride, number 83, Cara's mother takes a job in London and she and Steven decide to get engaged. Jessica throws Cara a bridal shower and gives her tons of trashy lingerie, and Cara blushes at the thought of doing the horizontal tango with the boyfriend who's never so much as unbuttoned her blouse. And FYI, they do not get married. Cara moves to London with her mom, and Steven mourns the loss of another girlfriend. Don't worry about him, though: he eventually goes with his female college roommate. I'm sure Ned and Alice loved that.

Tell us we're not the only dorks who love the Wakefield twins and the matching lavalier necklaces they received from their white-bread, stylishly middle-class parents. Also, there were people besides my sister and me who played the board game, right? RIGHT?