What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

You're mine, '09

A few days ago, while reading through my Holiday archives, I realized that 2007 was the first year in the history of this blog that I didn't write a post in honor of the New Year. Don't believe me? See for yourself:

So Long, Farewell, 2004

The Best of 2005, The Worst of 2005

On the '06

My references in the first two posts are fairly obvious, but in hindsight, I'm hoping at least a handful of readers back then caught the Jennifer Lopez one.

This year, there's no trace of pop culture in my title. Instead, the focus is on me. Because in 2009, the focus will be on me.

Well, as much as it can be when you're a wife and a mother to two small children.

 

Here I am at the end of 2005, posing with Luke for the closest thing I have to an engagement picture. It's one of my all-time favorites, so much so that I recently framed it for viewing in our new house. The issues I was facing seemed so monumental at the time--deciding whether or not to Live in Sin, figuring out how to share myself without losing myself, dealing with the whole religion thing--but now they've been resolved for so long that it's hard to remember how stressed I was about them. However, I can still appreciate that for the first time in my adult life, I was making decisions that forced me to...not take a stand, exactly, but to separate from traditions and values I'd experienced in my family and held dear for a long time, even when they no longer fit with the woman I had become. They are decisions I stand by to this day, and there are no regrets, just a feeling of peace.

Also, can I tell you how much I loved my look here? The hair cut, the color, the oversupply of clothing from New York and Company, The Limited, and Bakers? I don't care if it sounds superficial, I loved my style, and I love that it made me feel good about myself.

 

Less hair but more attitude. I was a married woman with the world at her feet!

 

More hair, less attitude. I was a new mother with the world falling at her feet! (At the same time I was falling in love.)

 

Just...more. More, more, more. More hair, more attitude (though not always the right attitude), more weight, more babies.... Just more. (Random aside: Recovering from one pregnancy and immediately starting another meant that I couldn't fit into my wedding rings for the entirety of 2008. Way to go, Frema!) 

(Also random: I look at the gradual decline of my physical appearance and can't help but think "Going...going...gone." Though I challenge any brand-new mother and/or woman who's 33 weeks pregnant on Christmas morning to take a picture worthy of Glamour Shots.)

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Looking at these images, I feel a wide range of emotions. On one hand, I'm proud and amazed at how far I've come. I went from being a twenty-something woman with a list full of unachieved goals to being a master's-degree-level graduate, Circle City transplant, Suze Orman devotee, wife, mother, working mother, and finally, a homeowner. My secret pre-30 wish list has actually come to fruition.

On the other hand, I still have a long way to go. I'm still learning how to remain a well-rounded person outside all those titles. And it's hard--really hard. My reading is spotty and mostly confined to books I already know inside and out (see: Flowers in the Attic series), mail-subscription magazines, and Archie comics. Eager to delve into something meatier, I started rereading Atlas Shrugged sometime over the summer, but half-hour lunches meant I couldn't get through more than 15 pages per sitting, and soon I was abandoning it altogether to surf the 'Net and chat on Gmail. And my personal blogging has been sporadic for just about the entire year. I'm sadder about that last one more than words can say.

Some bloggers don't pay much attention to their archives, but I'm in mine all the time, trying to remember a detail that long ago disappeared from memory, laughing over my half-hearted obsession with Weight Loss Wednesday, reveling in Tragic Love Friday, heaving a sigh at all that baby talk. I used to rely on this blog not only as a source of entertainment but also as a way to keep me focused, to remind me of my goals and dreams and how they fit into the core of who I am. And in this last year, it took a backseat as I navigated through my first round with motherhood. Suddenly, I couldn't come home from work and hammer out a post because now there was a baby I was away from all day, a baby I loved more than my own life, and I had to make every minute count. Once she went to bed, I was balancing household chores, domestic projects, freelance work, occasional day-job work, phone calls with loved ones, and oh, yeah, time with my husband.

For a while, I thought I could manage everything by just staying up ridiculously late. As it is, I'm rarely in bed before midnight. But when I really, really push it (like right now, writing this draft at one-thirty in the morning), I totally ruin myself for the next day. I'm less productive at work and less present at home, and all the progress I made in whatever venture the night before pales in comparison to what I'm missing right in the moment.

To be fair, a lot of these balancing problems could have been solved if only I were more efficient in how I managed my day. But one big lesson I've learned this year is that being a parent isn't always as big a motivator as you'd like when it comes to correcting your flaws. Before having Kara, I thought I had it all figured out; I came back from maternity leave and arranged for a 7-3:30 work schedule, agreeing to a half an hour for lunch, so that I could put in a full day and still spend oodles of time with my family. I thought that as long as I kept my nose to the grindstone, I'd be home by four o'clock, help with dinner, and enjoy some downtime with Luke and Kara before it was time to put her to bed. I'd get a few things done after she went to sleep, I'd be in bed by ten-thirty, tops, and get up the next morning with enough energy to do the whole thing again.

I don't know what I was smoking.

In the beginning, it was OK. I stuck to my work schedule no matter what time I turned in, and I tried my hardest to stay focused. But eventually my true colors were begging to shine through, and I was catching up on the All My Children message board, reading blogs, and sometimes just sitting there like a deer in headlights when I should have been posting to the Web site, writing a newsletter, and so on and so on. Which sometimes meant I was staying late just to make up for lost time. At night, I'd sit in front of the computer to write a post for Parents and suffer from a complete and total brain fart, sometimes wasting a full hour before committing anything to the screen. By then Luke would long be asleep, I'd be bone tired, but by George, I had to publish my column. Even when it resulted in me being too tired to get to work on time. These days, my actual schedule is closer to 8-4:30. If I'm particularly on the ball, 7:30-4. And again, that's if I'm not running late, which I have been lately, since things have been so busy.

As terrified as I get sometimes over having two children less than a year and a half apart, I truly believe it's a blessing from God, because He knew if left to my own devices, I'd continue to piss away my time until the next one came along and upped the stakes a bit. If Luke and I decide that two is enough for our family (and there's a good chance we will), then come February 2009, this transitional baby-making phase of our life will be over. Then the focus will shift from adding humans to simply maintaining what we have and finding a way to make everyone happy. And after years of constant change, I can't tell you how excited I am just to simply be. No more job searching. No more house-hunting. No more new-additioning (at least for one calendar year, please, Lord have mercy). Just taking the hand we've been dealt and owning it, embracing it, and improving it every day.

For the big picture, this year I pledge to:

• Reclaim my body
• Remember my priorities--to my family, to my work, and to my own mental well-being
• Own Luke's and my parenting decisions with more confidence and drown out all the background noise/unsolicited opinions/general assvice, even when given with the best of intentions
• Sleep more. Seriously, the ability to accomplish all these other goals will be directly affected by how many zzz's I catch

On a more tangible level, I want to:

• Write a will and establish a living trust like I said I would a year ago
• Fully fund a Roth IRA for Luke
• Pay off our new (used) car (Yes, we finally upgraded Luke's dying Lumina! More on that in another post)
• Start a true emergency fund, to be used in emergencies and not when we come up short on the Visa bill
• Take a family vacation
• Take a kids-free vacation
• Establish and stick to a bedtime routine (Turns out they're not just for babies!)
• Post on my personal blog at least once a week
• Read at least one new book a month
• Incorporate exercise into my everyday life
• Find a church in our new community and attend regularly
• Be more strategic about how we spend my quarterly bonus money

How I'm going to make all of this happen, I'm not yet sure. But the desire is there, and wanting it's half the battle. Right? Oh, wait, it's knowing that's half the battle. My apologies, Joe.

This is not for you

When I first started blogging in 2004, I didn't have a set list of goals or a long-term plan. I didn't know about revenue streams or the Long Tail or Technorati. I blogged because writing has always been important to who I am, and publishing online was the best way to do that at the time.

And four years later, it still is. Though the medium is different from handwriting a journal, the result is still the same: putting my thoughts into words and making sense of what I feel. Working through complicated emotions to get to a better place. Not all of my entries are like that, of course, but each time my fingers are brave enough to verbalize the tangents in my mind, there is always a sense of clarity. And I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful to have a comfortable way to express myself. And I'm thankful to have found friends through this Web site who like to read about me and my family and want to see us succeed.

But I'm not writing this blog for you.

I got to thinking about this because of a comment thread on a blog I've been following for years. Julie from a little pregnant always talks frankly about her struggles with infertility, child-rearing, and growing her family. Not even two weeks ago she gave birth to her second son, and on Sunday she shared with the Internet her decision to stop nursing her baby. A brave move, to be sure, because as we veteran blog readers all know, just about every breastfeeding discussion turns into a heated debate filled with catch phrases like "breast is best," and "I had formula and I turned out fine," and nursing advocates post facts about the substandardness of formula, and at least one formula feeder refers to members of La Leche League as Nazis (which is definitely one of the most insulting things I've ever heard. SO inappropriate), and it's always the same argument over and over and over until the blogger closes comments and everyone takes a cold shower. You know, because they're all heated up.

Anyway, as usual, the comments started out innocent enough: women sharing their nursing stories, both positive and negative, and then commenter #120 (if you check it out, remember that author names appear below their comments) tells Julie to "suck it up" because she herself "kept at it and it got better." Of course, readers jump out of the woodwork to defend Julie, #120 comes back to explain her position, and yet another person (#173 on this entry) laments over everyone's inability to respectfully disagree with Julie's "position." She said:

I agree with the decision not to nurse, but I don't agree with the notion that nobody is allowed to disagree on a public blog on the very public internet. Isn't sharing a ideas part of why people write on the internet? If they couldn't handle disagreement, they'd just talk to their best friends. To me, it lessens the value of the blog if everyone acts like a rabid dog, needing to defend the author, every time someone states an opinion that isn't popular here.

A few more popped up like that, and it really bugged me, but I couldn't verbalize why. It IS a public forum, right? Most bloggers DO appreciate comments, right? So they should be strong enough to let presumpious remarks roll off their backs, right?

Um, no.

I don't where people got the idea that a blog entry about someone's life is just as open to criticism as a newspaper article or research paper. Not all topics are deserving of the same type of scrutiny. For example, in this case, Julie blogged about why she plans to discontinue nursing. She talked about why it wasn't working for her, how she tried to rectify the situation, and why she ultimately decided to let it go. She acknowledges that breastmilk is the nutritionally superior food source, and she doesn't try to make formula sound better than it is. She just says that bottle feeding is the choice that allows her to hold onto the most of her sanity.

She's not writing an op-ed for the American Academy of Pediatrics. She's not trying to turn the tide against nursing. She's just talking about her life. On her personal Web site, a site that's not supposed to serve as a be-all, end-all source of information. So when people disagree with her, they're not disagreeing with facts. They're disagreeing with her life. They voiced confusion over Julie's reasons for quitting and disappointment in her choice, neither of which were up for public debate.

And that's what pisses me off. Oftentimes people get so caught up in taking a stand for their cause they forget there's a human being on the other end of the computer, reading words that were no doubt meant to shame and hurt and judge, words that'll be ignored for that very reason. How many women continued breastfeeding because somebody called them a fuck-up or a terrible mother? Whatever happened to "You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar"?

But this isn't about breastfeeding.

I read enough blogs that it's not uncommon for someone to post a sentiment I don't agree with. One of my favorite reads recently talked about how she thought she might have been pregnant with a surprise third child, and how if she had been pregnant, she would have considered having an abortion. Talk about hitting close to home! I'm pregnant with a surprise baby, and abortion was never an option for me. It was sad to think about that being an option for her.

But you know what? Despite my strong feelings, I stayed out of her comments section. Not only did she not ask for my opinion, my opinion didn't matter. She was obviously in pain about possibly having to make the decision in the first place; nothing except "Take good care" would have been the slightest bit helpful. Plus, I deeply respect this woman as a writer and a mother, and if part of the reason I enjoy her blog is because of her wit, then I'm going to assume she's an educated person who can manage her own life. And if she's not? It's not my place to tell her what to do, especially since there's nothing I can do to help her. If she was pregnant and she did have the baby, it's not like I could pinch-hit for a midnight feeding or baby-sit her older kids or even bring dinner.

(Unless it was spinach dip. But I digress.)

It's been said a thousand times before, but I like to think of visiting another blog as visiting another person's home. If I wouldn't say it in someone's home--better yet, to their face!--I won't say it on their blog. That's not to say I always keep opinions to myself, but it's important to remember what it is you're commenting on. If my opinion has the potential to hurt someone's feelings, I don't say it. It's just good manners. And manners have a place on the Internet, too.

One of the best blog taglines I've seen is from Erika of Effected: "More for my benefit than yours." Mainly because it's so true. I love writing this blog, and I love the community that's been fostered here, but I don't owe anyone anything. I'm not (nor do I try to be) everything to all people. I never promised to make every "right" choice or promote a certain agenda. I'm here to have fun, document details and thought processes that might otherwise get swept away, and gain new persective as I review what I've written over the years.

I'm also here for your mom, but I'll let her explain that one.

[end rant] 

Closer to Free

Geez, where have I been? You would think I have a full-time job and a family to tend to. Hmmm.

I'm working on a post about my high school reunion, but today is Luke's and my second wedding anniversary, so it's only right that I take some time to talk about marriage after two years in the trenches.

In the weeks and months before my wedding, I was a nervous wreck. I loved Luke and wanted to be with him, but I was also afraid. Afraid of having to negotiate who I was (long-time readers will remember how conflicted I was over changing my denomination), afraid of being a selfish wife, afraid that my ambitious nature would eventually clash with Luke's tendency to go with the flow. But second-guessing is a part of who I am. I keep one foot in the moment and the other on the fence, always looking for the first sign of trouble, searching for a sign that something is not meant to be.

But on May 12, 2006, standing in front of our pastor as the wind wrapped around our gazebo like a blanket, surrounded by family and friends, I believed our love was enough. I believed our future would be more than worth any hardships that came our way.

And there have been a few, the most significant one thus far being our decision to keep me at work and Luke at home. On paper, it was the best way to achieve all the goals we had for our family, but in my heart, I struggled. The weekend before I went back, there was a lump in my throat that would not go away, a proverbial devil on my shoulder that told me to be angry with Luke for not doing everything in his power to "let me" be a stay-at-home mom, to resent him for positioning me as Breadwinner, a title I never wanted.

I knew marriage would be hard, but only in the broadest sense. For the first time, Hard was tangible.

But I swallowed my tears and bit my tongue and became the person my family needed me to be. It wasn't easy, but here we are, two and a half months later, and there is a rhythm to our life that I never thought possible. Now I am completely sure it was meant to be this way, couldn't work any other way, and both our marriage and our daughter are better for it. It was only after saying good-bye to my preconceived notions of Wife and Mother and letting the good of our family take the lead that I found a level of fulfillment that couldn't have been achieved otherwise.

In the media and in our personal lives, relationships solidify and dissolve like snowflakes that stick to the pavement until the sun melts them away. And now, just two years into marriage, it's easier to understand why. I can't count how many times I've given Luke the cold shoulder over a perceived injustice, content to bask in self-righteousness, only to hang my head in front of him the next morning--unable to meet his eyes, tears running down my face--and stumble through an apology.

It's frustrating to rank second in the interest of the whole. It's embarrassing to say "I'm sorry." It's much easier to scrap the whole thing and start over with someone new.   

At our wedding, I thought love would be the glue that held our marriage together, but now I know it's commitment. Love is easy. People break up all the time and talk about how they still love their exes. Every person has traits worth falling for. But to accept their shortcomings? Forgive when they hurt you without keeping score and STILL be in love? Nothing is more difficult.

Or more rewarding.

When I was senior in college, in a class that placed my faith-based coursework in a wider context, my professor said something that really resonated with me. He said that with each choice you make, you become more free.

On the surface, it seems contradictory--when accepting one path, you inevitably say good-bye to another--but it's through the process of decision making that we open ourselves to advancement. My life with Luke is proof of that, because prior to our wedding, we were in a constant state of flux: should we say "I love you," should we move in together, should we tie the knot. Once we did that last thing, a brand-new set of choices lay before us, more sophisticated than those we contemplated before, but not as fundamental. Suddenly we were concerned with how to manage our careers, where we wanted to live, and when to expand our family.

These days, our jobs are chosen, for now. Housing will soon sort itself out. And we have the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. Now it's time to sort through the details, like saving for college and building retirement and bringing more children into the mix. I don't have to worry about whether or not we'll make it. The alternative is no longer an option.

Happy anniversary, honey.

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Visit Parental Discretion Advised to read about Kara's upcoming foray into cereal, my new parenting mantra, and the details of a very special Walgreens trip. You won't be disappointed.

Let Freedom Ring

There is a buzz in Indiana today as Hoosiers flock to the polls; apparently the idea of actually influencing the selection of a party candidate has us all atwitter, because according to the local paper, turnout is more indicative of a general election than a little ole primary.

I hit my polling station on the way to work, and as I parked my car, I realized that for the first time in my entire life, I was truly excited to vote. In fact, it wasn't until very recently that politics meant anything to me at all.

Growing up, the whole function of government seemed a mystery not unlike the Bermuda Triangle. Sure, I took the Constitution test in eighth grade (and passed, lest you deem me a complete moron), and it was interesting enough, but when it came time to apply those principles to the world around me, it was too overwhelming. Hell, I could barely get a handle on basic algebra--there was no way I felt smart enough to talk about the merits of those running for office. My parents are loyal Republicans, and I have memories of watching the news with them at dinnertime, my father complaining about Mayor Daley's latest crime against the Chicago Fire Department, my mother nodding her head in agreement, and I remember feeling slighted on their behalf, too young to do anything but pretend I understood. When I was eight years old, I distinctly remember asking my mom why she didn't like Michael Dukakis and her telling me he wanted to kill babies. Kill babies! I was horrified. Lil' Frema had visions of men in uniforms lined up against a concrete wall, cradling newborns in their arms, each waiting to rid the planet of their vast uselessness.

(And here I must tell you writing that last paragraph was really uncomfortable for me, and in no way do I maintain a cavalier attitude towards abortion, but I'm assuming you all can appreciate my attempt to liven up a hazy childhood memory with the humor that accompanies a child's literal interpretation of a statement way beyond her level of understanding. You got that, right? We're still friends? Good.)

That political naiveté stayed with me into early adulthood. The first time I was eligible to vote was during the 2000 presidential election, but I was attending school in Indiana, and my permanent residence was Illinois, and I didn't know enough about the issues (or care enough, if we're being honest) to request an absentee ballot at the time. I did vote in 2004, at which time I knew enough about politics to label myself a Democrat, but I was only slightly put off by the results, not emotionally invested in John Kerry by any means, and certainly not heartbroken over the outcome.

But now I am different. Now I am motivated by our current state of affairs to want better for my family--specifically, for Kara. Now I follow the news to learn more about the goings-on in my city and surf the Web to become more educated on which candidates best meet my criteria for local and national leadership. Luke and I are currently rooting for Barack Obama, so much so that we seriously considered attending one of his rallies last night, but having a four-month-old baby who wants to be fed and changed and entertained on her terms, not ours, was reason enough to stay home (read: go to Applebee's, where we didn't have to wait in line for two hours and beg for admittance). But we listened to several of his radio interviews, and we watched last month's debate, and we talk constantly about how inspired we are by his vision and his ability to stay gracious under fire.

Also, his winning smile. So dreamy!

 

I like Barack and I cannot lie.

But this post isn't about who I voted for or why (so please don't flame me for my opinion, I have a "Delete" button and I'm not afraid to use it). It's about my new appreciation for the way leaders are chosen in this country and how grateful I am to have a voice in the process. This morning, I almost teared up reflecting on how lucky we Americans are to be able to elect our commander-in-chief (however imperfect the process may be) and support our favorite without fear of repercussion.

And Kara is lucky, too, because finally, she has a mother who cares.

The names have all changed since you hung around, but those dreams have remained and they're turned around

Well. I'd like to think you guys are ready to welcome me back with open arms, but after gauging your responses to Kara's recent posts, it appears my presence on this blog is obsolete. Luckily, I'm the parent, and this is not a democracy.

(Your mom's a democracy!)

Clearly, I'm feeling much better.

Ever since I posted that last entry, I've been debating when to return. As much as I love being a part of the blogging community and using this site as a means for creative expression, the way in which I was participating needed to change. I had gotten so caught up in posting for posting's sake that I forgot it should mean something to me. Tuesday night would roll around, and I'd want to talk about my upcoming high school reunion, but instead I posted a Weight Loss Wednesday because that's what I was supposed to do. So I did, even if I didn't want to. Thursday night would come, and I'd be inspired to write about the latest Clinton/Obama debate (first forty-five minutes equalled BOGUS), but instead I poured through e-mails about the return of Tragic Love Friday because tomorrow was Friday and that's what I was supposed to do. So I hatched up a few plotlines, even if I didn't want to.

You see the pattern, yes?

I wanted to return but wasn't sure how to break that cycle. I wanted to get back to the days where I blogged because I wanted to, not out of obligation. So I filed those questions away and focused on writing for Parents, trusting that when the time was right, I would know.

This past Saturday, I knew.

It happened at a conference here in Indianapolis, where local bloggers came together to provide insight on how to enhance one's personal and professional presence on the Web. I originally signed up to learn more about blogs as they relate to smart business practices but walked away with renewed energy for my own blogging vision and met some great people who will serve as blogging resources for me in the future. (If only I'd met Doug Karr and Chris Baggott before teaching my class! Missed Opportunity, you are a son of a bitch.) Like I said earlier, this blog is not a democracy. I like that it makes people happy, and I really enjoy the conversations, but ultimately, it's an archive of my life. A place where I can assign words to my feelings and explore new territories and reflect on what kind of person I want to be. And in order to make it worth my time--something I have much less of these days--I have to do it on my terms.

So I'm making some changes.

Effective immediately, I'm discontinuing all weekly features on this site. No more Weight Loss Wednesday, Brain Fest Friday, or Tragic Love Friday. I'll still write about health and wellness, but I won't let the calendar dictate when I do so. I'll still pose funny questions for us to laugh over, but I'll let them come naturally instead of forcing inspiration when it doesn't exist. And as for Tragic Love Friday.... What can I say? The whole idea of a part three started with readers volunteering to help, but when push came to shove, nobody had the time. And I completely understand. Hell, I don't have the time, and it's my damn story. A bunch of us came up with some great ideas, and hopefully, one day, I can do something with them. But until then, we'll have to make do with lil' Frema's original masterpiece, which I still think is pretty effing awesome, and if you haven't read it yet, now you know there's one more way to kill time at the office. You're quite welcome.

The new plan is to start including blog posts about topics that are important to me but haven't received much air time here in the past. Perfect example: politics. I am not a political guru by any means--ask me to name the mascot for the Democratic party and I will probably mimic a deer in headlights--but now that Luke and I are parents, now that we're laying down roots in Indianapolis, now that I'm old enough to appreciate how politics affect my quality of life--I'm determined to take a more active interest in our local and national elections. I want to figure out who I stand for and who stands for me. I want to ask hard questions and receive thoughtful answers from you. I've been afraid to tackle issues like that in the past because I am super sensitive and HATE the idea of someone judging me just because I hold a different opinion, even though I read posts from plenty of bloggers with completely different views and always appreciate seeing issues from other angles. As Doug said at Smaller Indiana's conference on Saturday, "Afraid of conflict? Don't blog." And not blogging? Is not an option.

I want to learn more about the opportunities available through blogging and make that learning process more transparent here. I presented a Blogging 101 session at a writing conference last fall. I studied blogging issues for a whole freaking semester! Why didn't I link to that PowerPoint? Why not post my syllabus? I don't know. But I won't make those mistakes again. 

I also plan to do a better job highlighting the writing I do for Parents.com. I'm not sure why I downplayed this before--I'm proud of the work I do for them, just as if I were freelancing for a print publication. Plus, I've found that with my friends who write for other Web sites, the more they link to those gigs in their personal blogs, the more likely I am to read them. I trust that's the same for you. If not? Um, that's OK, too. (Frema says through gritted teeth because total monthly page views play a key role in renewing blogger contracts. But no pressure. Am Zen.)

After experiencng a brief, emotional bump in the road, life is sunshine and roses again. I have a wonderful husband and beautiful baby girl who both have given new meaning to my life. I work for a company that (finally) challenges me creatively and compensates me well, thanks to a new supervisor and more structured environment. Dare I say I love my job now? That I like being both mother and breadwinner? Because I think I really do. I'm no longer resentful that Luke's at home with Kara instead of me. How can I be when he's so damn good at it? It's no accident we each ended up in the roles that we did. Even though I miss them something fierce when I'm away.

Anyway, the point is I'm in the perfect place to take this blog to the next level and make it more reflective of who I am today.

So that the answer to "What're you lookin' at?" continues to be me.

Admitting defeat

All week I've been thinking about the return of Tragic Love Friday, mainly because I've been trying to find time to write it.

On Monday, I went back to work after bawling my eyes out on Sunday night, sobbing, "I hate this, I hate this," "this" being having to go to the office all day just as Kara's starting to do more than lay on a blanket and mesmerize her father and I with her adorable, fleshy gums. Samantha was still in town, so we all had dinner together, only I could barely sit still, wanting to finish up as fast as I could so I could have the baby in my arms again but also wishing I could have another cry and wondering why my heart still hurts so much when I've been doing this for a week and a half already. I put on a happy face for Luke and my sister and spent my free time wiping down countertops and picking up toys so there wouldn't be as much mess for Luke to worry about the next day. I was already leaving him with a sinkful of dirty dishes, and as we all know, the cook should never have to clean, but by the time I finished my Parents entry, it was past ten, and I had to get into bed soon or my eyeballs would explode the next day from the lack of sleep. Thus, no TLF writing on Monday.

Tuesday wasn't any better. I had to go to the dentist because last week I bit on a raisin and felt a shooting pain in my mouth that stayed with me for a good five minutes. Only after forty-five minutes of sitting in the waiting room, flipping through the latest issue of People and staring at my cell phone, wanting to call home but not wanting the waiting room patrons to think I was one of Those Moms who couldn't even go to the damn doctor without checking in on her kid, the dentist couldn't find the source of the problem and actually asked me why I didn't bring in any raisins to demonstrate what was wrong. Another half-hour in traffic, and by then I was really charged up and barely said ten words to Luke the entire evening, in my lame-brained attempt to shield him from my bad attitude, but when I told him I wanted to pick up some more work clothes because I'm tired of trying to squeeze into tops that don't fit my belly, he asked where, and I told him, "The store," I'm pretty sure he was able to see I wasn't sunshine and roses. Was major bitch. I'm surprised I wasn't directed to the couch. No TLF.

Last night I thought about it. I'd apologized for my behavior and come home at a decent hour. I scored plenty of play time with Kara and posted a quick entry on Parents, leaving me with plenty of time to draft a chapter or two. But then Kara decided to take a nine o'clock nap before her last feeding, and she took that last nap in my arms, and all I could do was snuggle her close and sniff her head, which smelled wonderfully of Johnson's shampoo. By the time we started her bedtime routine, it was almost ten, and Luke told me I'd better get ready myself, since it appeared I'd actually have a chance to slip under the covers before eleven. I did, and I did. STILL no TLF.

This morning, before I got into the office, I set aside twenty minutes to get some writing done, with the assumption that I could continue my train of thought at lunchtime. Only it was then I remembered that I needed to find updated headshots of the actors and actresses playing each character, and it had to be done NOW because how could I post the beginning of part three without a character introduction, so I got caught up in doing that, and instead of stopping at 6:20 like I planned I stopped at 6:26, leaving me only nine minutes to pack a lunch, brush my teeth, throw on some make-up, and get out the door. I walked out the door at 6:40, just as Kara started to stir, so I hurried out as quick as I could because it's so much harder to leave when I have to say good-bye. Only when I got to my car, the windows were covered with frost. FUCK. So I let the car run and hurried back inside, where Luke was getting ready for Kara's first feed, so I changed Kara's diaper, smothering her face with kisses the whole time. Then I cursed myself out for even picking her up in the first place because of course there were tears in my eyes as I left, and then I felt bad even for that because who would pass up a chance to spend a few minutes with their baby before a long work day?

As delusional as it sounds, I contemplated doing some TLF stuff on my lunch hour, but fooling around on the computer this morning and having to let my car warm up meant I was twenty minutes late for work, and that's when I started thinking, Maybe trying to post TLF tomorrow isn't such a great idea.

Yes, it really took that long, partly because I was so excited to sink my teeth into a project that had nothing to do with work or parenting, but mostly because I've been going on about it for weeks, and I didn't want to let anyone down. I didn't want anyone to miss their TLF fix because I was "too busy" to write it, like I was this big important person with far more sophisticated ways to spend my time then work on the sequel to a story I started when I was fourteen.

But really? I am too busy to write it. To be honest, I'm barely holding it together.

I'm fully aware I put this pressure on myself. On the surface, I feel like nobody expects me to dust and vacuum every week or send baby gifts out on time, but underneath, I constantly think people are judging me, wondering why I can't shape up or get into the rhythm of things. I can't stand it when people appear to be pitying me because I have to go to work and my husband stays home. Samantha called me "noble" and I cringed, because there are so many people in harder situations, so many people with more difficult problems then going back to a job where my work is valued and well compensated. The last thing I want to do is martyr myself. On the other hand, I can't deny that my plate is too full. I'm feeling pulled in all directions. I can't keep up with the pace I've set for myself.

Something's got to give. And right now, that "thing" is this blog.

I won't be gone forever, or probably even as long as I think. I love posting and talking with all of you. This Web site has (sadly?) become a huge part of who I am. But I don't have room for it right now. My plate is too full. I want to spend time with family without scrambling to the computer every ten minutes. I want to write TLF part three without feeling like there's a gun to my head. I want to learn how to be a working mother without trying to spin every single moment into some literary masterpiece. I'm already doing that for Parents. I can't do it here.

I want to read books again. I want to comment on your blogs again. I want to join the gym and talk on the phone and refocus on my job again.

In a nutshell, I want to figure out how to enjoy my life and my new role as a working mom. I've got a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter who both amaze me every single day, and yet, somehow I've allowed the Internet to cast a shadow over both of them because I'm afraid of losing readers. I look back at Amalah's archives during her period back at work and honestly can't believe she posted as often as she did. Even during her maternity leave when she was breastfeeding all the time. I gave in to formula before we even left the hospital and I could barely manage once a week. I've re-read her entries countless times, banged my head against the proverbial wall, thinking, What the hell is my problem?!

Now I get it. My problem is not knowing when to say When. So, just for a little while, I'm finally going to say it.

See you back here soon.

Frageelay

Nice of me to post again before 2008, eh?

I wasn't lying in my last post; things are much better, but it's still overwhelming, trying to work your schedule around a tiny human being who eats and relieves herself every couple of hours and doesn't much care for being out of your arms. Plus, I don't know if it's postpartum hormones or just a natural reaction to this huge change that's happened to our lives, but I find myself weepier than ever. Kara's umbilical cord stump fell off the day after Christmas, and Luke and I were relieved to not have to manuever around it during diaper changings. Once she was cleaned up, I said to her, "That's what connected you to Mommy all those months," and the next thing you know I was crying into my hands. Suddenly it felt like things were moving too fast, she was growing up too quickly, and I was scolding myself for doing things like wiping down the toilet or attempting to update this blog when I could've been banking precious snuggle time with this little person who would one day refuse the comfort I can so easily offer her now. I had the same epiphany the following afternoon after rocking her to sleep. Luke came into her bedroom and found my eyes dripping all over my poor baby's head.

I've never felt so vulnerable or been so paranoid as I have since Kara's been born. When Ryan came to visit for Christmas, I had to be the one to transfer the baby from the bassinet to her auntie's waiting arms, even though my sister is almost twenty-two years old and perfectly capable of picking up a newborn all by herself. I forget to offer her to visitors because I'm having such a good time holding her myself. It breaks my heart to hear her cry, even if her only grievance is the too-cold touch of a diaper wipe. Hell, I'm even afraid to leave the house without her, not because I don't trust Luke wholeheartedly but because I know how much I'll miss her.

I haven't been this afraid of love for years, not since Luke and I first started dating. But this...there are no words to describe what it feels like to love your own child. You know that saying, "It's different when it's your kid"? It really, really is.

Speaking of cliches, there's a second one that's also rung true for me, and it relates specifically to my breastfeeding struggles: "You have to do what's best for your family." And for this family, the best thing has been to stop trying to breastfeed. Kara is still getting my boob juice, mind you, as I pump every two to three hours, but I haven't put her on the breast since the wee hours of Christmas Eve.

I read that last sentence and feel like I should feel like a failure. I'm well aware the initial weeks of breastfeeding are a learning period for both mom and baby, and things probably would've gotten better if I'd kept at it. Throwing in the towel after seven days doesn't seem like I gave it much of a chance, especially when I think about how passionate I was about trying to make this work.

Then I reflect on the hours I spent crying because I couldn't get Kara to latch, because she'd take my nipple just long enough to spit it back out, because her gums would bear down hard on my aerolas, and I think there were a lot of minutes in those seven days where both of us were miserable, and I'm slowly finding out that more often than not, it's the passing of each of those minutes that ends up wearing you down. Ironically, the days go by much, much faster.

Anyway, even though it's more work for me, what with having to pump and bottlefeed, this new plan overall has been much more manageable. We're still supplementing with formula because I'm only producing about an ounce and a half during each pumping session, but I feel good that she's getting all the milk I have to give. We have our two-week well-baby visit in a couple of hours, so we'll check on her weight then, but I already know we have a happy, healthy baby, and truly, that's all that matters to me now.

As we make our way into a new year, I've been struck with how content I am, despite the wild card hand of emotions I'm wrapped up in. For the first time, I have no list of improvements to work on, no major goals to accomplish. All I can think about is how lucky I am, how complete I feel, and how wrong it would be to want for anything when I've clearly been given so much already. If Luke and I never leave this apartment, if I never finish those damn photo projects, if I never get more than three hours of sleep in a row ever again, I'll still consider myself the happiest woman on Earth.

'Cuz I'm the queen of wishful thinking

FYI: Today's post is dedicated to Isabel, who's always on the ball when it comes to updating her many blogs. Isabel, you have my blessing to take the day off. I hear eating spinach dip can be a fulfilling way to pass the time.

Over the last few months, I've found myself constantly thanking God for all the good things in my life. Marrying Luke was one of the best decisions I ever made, and I'm reminded of that every day when he kneels down to tie my shoes, refills the prescription for my prenatal vitamins, flips load after load of dirty laundry, and understands when stress and fatigue wreck our weekend plans yet again. I can't remember the last time we took a walk through the park or visited an orchard or even did anything that wasn't related to preparing for this baby. Still, he refuses to complain. I think the man's incapable.

I'm thankful for a day job that allows me the option to work from home so I don't have to spend ten minutes rummaging through my closet for an ensemble that doesn't expose my belly. I have generous benefits and paid time off. And while I won't see a dime from my boss during my maternity leave, he's been completely supportive of me taking the maximum FMLA time in order to spend a few months focusing solely on motherhood. I'm thankful I earn enough to support my family so that Luke can be with our daughter full time.

I've been lucky to find additional work freelancing for Parents and adjunct teaching for my alma mater, which has allowed us to enjoy one last pre-baby vacation (a vacation that took place a lifetime ago, it seems), upgrade our living room furniture (my sister Samantha and her husband, Dan, can personally attest to the quality of our sleeper sofa), move into a two-bedroom apartment, pay off my car, and purchase hundreds of dollars worth of "must haves" for little Freka, all without running up our Visa bill.

I feel blessed to have such a supportive network of family and friends. I say prayers of gratitude for being able to conceive so quickly, sustain a healthy pregnancy, and receive quality medical care. I praise my daughter's insightfulness at arranging her birth to take place before the end of the year. Hello, tax credit!

It would be pretty hard for my life to get any better. I know this.

Yet, I see Samantha bask in the glory that comes along with thriving in a new work environment and I'm jealous. I watch my sister Ryan prepare to move to Germany with her new husband, imagine the adventures they'll have exploring a new country, and I foam at the mouth. I see my good friend delight in the comforts of her new home and succumb to violent bouts of house fever.

Luke and I are about to experience the biggest change of our lives. So why am I craving even more?

Maybe because it feels like I've been pregnant and anchored to this apartment for thirty-seven years. Maybe because the changes that accompany new jobs, new continents, and new houses seem easier to handle than those associated with a new baby. Maybe because all those things would have less of an affect on my identity than becoming a mom. I don't know.

Please tell me I'm not the only one to feel this way sometimes.

Desperately Seeking Gender

The waiting game is almost over, folks. Come this time tomorrow, Luke and I should know (hopefully) (God willing) (please, baby, don't be shy) whether our little Freke will have a penis or a vagina. Never have I been so excited to feast my eyes upon another person's reproductive parts.

As a young girl, whenever I imagined being a mother, I always envisioned having girls. Makes sense, right? After all, I was a girl and fairly certain I knew what to expect. Girls liked to wear frilly nightgowns and draw pictures of princesses and orchestrate steamy make-out sessions between Barbie and Ken in the back of her pink convertible. Girls tried to emulate Nancy Drew and the members of the Baby-sitters Club and watched My Little Pony cartoons before getting ready for school. They never pulled down their pants to pee on the sidewalk, and they weren't big on Transformers, though they didn't mind playing G.I. Joe. So long as they got to be Jinx.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I secretly hoped for a girl, using pretty much the same line of reasoning, albeit on a slightly more sophisticated level. In my twenty-seven years on Earth, I've gained a wealth of life experience that'll be handy for a daughter but not so much for a son. A boy of mine will never hear the story of my first period or my thoughts on tampons (um, ick). He won't care that I once hated bras and put off wearing one for as long as I could. My shaving tips will fall on deaf ears, because he'll be getting that lesson from his father. And how can any of my botched dating experiences bring some sort of meaning to his life? Does a son really want to know about his mother's run-in with STD testing, or should I lock up that gem in the TMI vault?

I picture having a daughter and I think of late-night talks over hot cups of cocoa, frenzied trips to the mall to pick out her prom dress, and bonding over matching mani-pedis on Mother's Day. Meanwhile, it's hard not to wonder if I'll be anything more than a spectator in my son's manly little life, pestering him to wash his hands, comb his hair, keep his hands off his crotch, thanklessly grooming him for some woman who's destined to turn him against me, because as we all know, a daughter's a daughter for all of her life, a son is a son 'til he takes a wife. Which isn't true all of the time, but let's face it. Don't most of you ladies take charge of family holidays, schedule your weekend plans, and generally hold final veto power when it comes to deciding whether or not the kids can spend the night with your mother-in-law?

I suppose there's hope if he turns out to be gay, but that seems an odd thing to pray for.

With time, I've grown comfortable with the idea of having a boy. As the oldest of five, I sometimes wished for an older sibling, and it was always a brother. I liked the idea of having someone around who wanted to watch over me but had zero interest in borrowing my shoes. Plus, my friends with boys seem to have such a good time with their planes and trains and automobiles. I can do that. I want to do that. I want to take whichever path holds the most excitement, the most adventure, the most promise for my child, and if that happens to be laden with snips and snails, then by George, I'll snip and snail with the best of them.

As we get ready for the big day, I'm less concerned about what this baby's gender is and more excited about just plain knowing what kind of person I'm carrying in my uterus. To begin putting a face to one of the names we've chosen, to stop using generic pronouns like "it," to buy clothing completely devoid of green and yellow undertones will be a welcome joy and help us prepare for the long journey ahead.

Still, though, just in case, would it really be so wrong for a boy to own a few Nancy Drews?

Trading Spaces

Last night, for the first time since it was put on hold for us a month and a half ago, Luke and I walked through the two-bedroom unit we're scheduled to move into this weekend.

When we first discussed the possibility of upgrading our apartment, we were given the keys to the model unit behind the clubhouse and oohed and ahhed at the thought of gaining an extra few hundred square feet. Our bedroom would be smaller, but we'd have a separate dwelling place for the baby. Our living room would shrink, but we'd gain a dining room. There'd be less overall closet space but an extra bathroom. For the extra ninety-five dollars a month, the trade-offs seemed worth it.

I don't know what I was expecting when we entered the premises yesterday evening, but for some reason I was taken aback at how small everything seemed. Either the model falsely advertises a more spacious unit or my imagination's spent the last forty-five days restructuring the entire floor plan to its liking. Both are possible, but either way, we'll have just enough space for the impending third member of our family. Nothing less, and definitely nothing more.

My heart sank a little as I viewed what would soon be our home. I love the unit that Luke and I currently live in, and I hate the idea of moving into a place I'm not as crazy about. On the other hand, I'm so glad we can afford to make this move, and I know it's necessary. It really is the best thing for us.

When I was younger, I always thought that your "next step up" was bound to be better than the one you took before. As in, the next job I get will be more fulfilling than the one I have now. The next place we move to will be more exciting. This moving experience is the best example I have to show me each life upgrade won't be one-hundred-percent satisfactory. In any situation, you'll always find flaws.

Luckily, though, it can still bring you a whole lot of joy.

I've never lived in a two-bedroom apartment before, and I'm excited that Luke and I are doing this to make room for a child we created out of love for each other and the family we want to build. That's a pretty awesome upgrade, if you ask me.

Although I think we've changed our minds on the changing table. Ain't nothin' wrong with the crib or the floor.

(Luke also suggested the couch--the beautiful queen-sized sleeper sofa we ordered in beige to better match our decor--and if looks could kill, I'd be welcoming Freke into the world as a single mother.)

In which I ponder moving to Canada. I hear mothers get one year of PAID leave there.

This morning I finally gathered the courage to speak to my human resources manager about an issue that's been troubling me for weeks.

Maternity leave.

First, some backstory.

It's no secret to anyone who reads this blog that the idea of being a stay-at-home mom has always appealed me. I grew up the oldest of five children with a mother worked maybe six months the entire time I lived at home, and I appreciate that she was there when we came home from school, there to see us perform in assemblies, there to put a hot dinner on the table for us every night. I loved having that mom, and I feel passionately about providing a similar environment for my own family.

When I first proposed the idea to Luke, he was supportive of the concept but worried about the money. When he first moved to Indianapolis and was searching for work, we were able to live on what I made with little problem, but we'd never had to do the reverse. Once we crunched the numbers and reviewed the data, I was shocked, because even though he has a great position that requires a college degree and years of professional experience, he works for a non-profit group and thus earns a wage that's not enough for a family of three to live on and still afford insurance. Hell, it'd be hard for even two.

And yet I was still determined to make it work. I was heartbroken over the thought of having my motherhood dream taken away from me. "Besides, it's not like you'd be willing to quit your job and stay home in my place," I said accusingly.

Only, as luck would have it, he was, which threw my desired family plan into a complete tailspin.

For as long as I'd been sniffing baby heads, I'd never really considered working after my first child was born, for a lot of reasons, but mainly because I never thought I'd have to. I always assumed that by the time we were ready to have kids, my husband's income would be enough to financially support us. I never imagined a scenario where we'd need two incomes to survive. I also never imagined marrying a man who'd eagerly "switch roles" and take on the role of primary caregiver while I took the corporate world by storm. But there it was, right in front of us, this new solution I'd never believed to be available, this new solution that looks like it's going to be the best fit for us.

What does all of this have to do with my maternity leave?

A lot. Once we decided to follow through with our new family plan, I realized the FMLA time I take after Freke's birth may be the only time I get to be a stay-at-home mother, so when Luke and I discussed the length of my leave, I was adamant about wanting the full twelve weeks. Even though not one cent of it will be paid.

I don't know any woman who's taken twelve weeks of maternity leave. In my experience, most take six weeks off and go back to work. When my mother's youngest sister had her daughter in the late nineties, she took three. THREE! But never twelve. I remember following Amalah's pregnancy and feeling a sense of awe that her employer "let her" stay away from the office for three months. That's like a whole season! Can people really DO that?

Turns out they can. Like I said waaaay back at the beginning of this entry, I spoke with HR this morning, and I outlined my situation, and the manager was totally supportive. It wasn't until then that it hit me how scared I was that work would be ticked off at me for requesting "so much time off," like I was a little girl who wanted a candy bar but was afraid of having my hand slapped and being told "No." Imagine my delight upon learning that if I want the leave, I have the leave, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it. I was so happy, I almost shed a tear in her office.

Luke and I will have to pad our savings account well before December 10th to make this happen, but we have enough time and dispensable income (right now, anyway) that money won't be a problem. We've even started discussing how long Luke might want to join the baby and me at home, so we can prepare for that, too.

During my meeting, I learned a surprising fact: it just so happens that I am the first person at my company to request the entire amount of available FMLA time. For an organization that's been around for almost twenty years, I'm once again in awe, only this feeling is tinged with sadness, because how many mothers would choose to spend more time recuperating from childbirth and adjusting to life with a new baby if they could? How many women have to go back to work because they can't afford not to?

I have a lot of thoughts swirling around in my head about this topic that'll probably inspire a series of posts in the near future. For now, though, I want to hear YOUR stories. Mothers and fathers out there, how long did you take off work to care for a new baby? Did you find yourself wanting more time, or were you ready to go back earlier? For those without children, what's it like when a co-worker takes maternity/paternity leave? Are people resentful? Supportive? Or just happy about extra vacancies in the company parking lot?

Testing 1-2-3 Wednesday

Yesterday I had a follow-up doctor's appointment to check on my recent weight loss. Turns out another three pounds have gone by the wayside since I was in last, but since my appetite is slowly starting to return, the physician I met with saw no reason to take any further action. I heard the heartbeat again, whooshing away at about a hundred and sixty beats per minute, and we talked about the ultrasound I'll be having in roughly eight to ten weeks.

She also brought up the idea of prenatal testing. Hmmm.

I know that testing can be important for many types of women. Those of certain ethnicities, for example, or who are over 35, or whose family histories include physical or mental disabilities. I know that testing can determine whether or not your baby is predispositioned to genetic defects and provide couples with an opportunity to make critical, sometimes heartbreaking, decisions prior to delivery. I know it and appreciate having the choice. But I don't want it.

My reasoning? Neither Luke's nor my cultural backgrounds are prone to anything out of the ordinary. Experiencing my first pregnancy at 27 years old is far enough from 35 to categorize this gestation as low-risk. I'm healthy. Our families are healthy. Everything should be fine. But if for some reason it isn't? Well, I don't know that we'd do anything about it, anyway. After all our talk of wanting a baby, we've been given a baby--a miracle, a gift we've done nothing to deserve. We will take this gift and care for this child the best way we can, for as long as we can, whether it's eighty-three years or twelve days or six minutes or just nine months in utero. Even the best testing can't guarantee anything, even the best testing can be wrong, and I would hate to play God based on the number of dots or squiggles printed on a piece of paper, then wonder for the rest of my life if I should've left things alone. I'd much rather take each day as it comes and prepare for the worst when there is a legitimate reason to do so.

Tell me, parents out there, what's your take on or experience with prenatal testing?

Edited to add: In reading through your comments, I realized my post reads as if I believe the only reason to move forward with testing would be to determine if termination is "necessary," which isn't true at all. There are many afflictions that can plague babies but don't prevent them from living long and happy lives, and many parents want to have that information. Again, though, for me, it wouldn't help. How does one mentally prepare for something like that? As far as medical arrangements are concerned, Luke and I have chosen a hospital that's well-equipped to handle any complications with my labor and/or the baby's arrival, and if specialists are required, we can receive recommendations at that time.

I briefly considered going through with the first-trimester screening, a non-invasive way to detect chromosomal abnormalities, but to have a test done simply because it was non-invasive didn't sit well with me. Since ultrasounds between eighteen and twenty-two weeks are routine and have the capability to provide physical evidence of a problem, that's enough 411 for this mother-to-be. Finding out the gender? Will be icing on the cake.

Tragic Love Friday: The Idiot's Guide (and Some Random Jack Handy-Type Deep Thoughts)

When I unveiled Tragic Love Friday during NaBloPoMo, I had no expectations for the outcome. Mainly I wanted to hop on the "I have a weekly feature" bandwagon without putting in a lot of extra effort and poke fun of my adolescent persona at the same time, a little person with a flair for the dramatic and a passionate yearning for love, specifically the love acts she read about in her V.C. Andrews novels.

My biggest fear? That people wouldn't like it. That people would dismiss even the idea of the story as childish and amateur and not worth the four minutes it would take to read each post. I paid special attention to the comments section, looking for specific names and wondering if their absences equalled a lack of interest. As the conclusion to part one drew near, I played around with writing a comprehensive synopsis outlining the characters and major plot points, hoping to entice my non-TLF-reading buddies to at least give the sequel a shot. (Then I got smart and finagled you people into doing my dirty work for me. Thanks again, Internet!)

Whenever a person does anything creative, it's hard not to become attached to it and want others to do the same. That piece of work reflects blood and sweat and tears and effort, makes a statement about what you value. When somebody rejects it--for whatever reason--it's hard not to take it personally. Because it is personal. Even if it's silly, it's part of who you are.

It wasn't until today, though, while combing through three uniquely fabulous TLF reviews, that I realized getting caught up in who's not paying attention does a serious disservice to the ones who've joined you for the ride.

Make no mistake, I'd love to get more readers for Tragic Love Friday. I harbor wild delusions about book agents and script writers stumbling across this small-town Web site and pestering me for full-time work so I can quit my day job and become important and famous. But until then, I'll be focusing on how happy I am that anyone reads this blog, period. If you love TLF, that's wonderful. If you don't, that's OK, too. (Not wonderful, but OK.) It's nobody's job to fawn over every damn word I post. (Well, except maybe Luke's, and even he's stopped following TLF.) Just the fact that you guys keep coming back here leaves me humbled and eternally grateful.

Hmmm. That was pretty deep for a Friday, huh? I'm going to shut up and my reviewers do their thang.

-------

SYNOPSIS NUMBER ONE
by David McNelis

(Which I inwardly refer to as "No He Did Not Just Write A Freakin' HAIKU About TLF")

David was stupid
and he slept with two best friends
Consequences felt

His sister was nuts
and plotted to kill Jenna
by running her down

Kayla was to help
since she got knocked up as well
David was fertile!

Mike stood by the side
A real invisible man
in love with Jenna

Jenna wasn't sure
what the hell she was thinking
when she stole Katherine

But she was distraught
from being made to go "POP!"
by her friend Kayla

And since her David
was struck outside the DQ
by Kayla and Cass

She took the biggest
butcher knife in the hiz-ouse
to snatch a baby

Frema had crafted
A super-max with babies
That let Jen in

Pick up the kiddie
and stash it inside her shirt
Blind security

Let's go to Iowa
And dumb Mike comes along, too
Map reading be damned

Wisconsin it is
With sunglasses and kissing
Police do close in

After being on
the hood of Whitesnake's (Mike's) car
Confessions too late

Prisoner transport
across state lines just to see
a baby is safe

A year has gone by
and the baby starts talking
A one-year-old talks!

But now it must leave
To Jenna's arms it will go
and Michael's arms, too

They had a wedding
and a Paris honeymoon
Do not go to jail

Five years down the road
Twins, a teacher, and Jenna
Living in Iowa

Tragic Love Friday
takes a hiatus for now
See you here next time!

-------

SYNOPSIS NUMBER TWO
by Silly Hily aka The Hilarazzi

(Before she wrote this, Hilary printed out every page of TLF because she didn't want to "leave something important and vital out." I am in Internet love with her.)

Part I

Chapter 1

We are introduced to most of the gang on their last day of school. Only the summer separates them from their senior year of high school. They have all the knowledge and wisdom in the world. They are adults. (Come on, isn't that what we all thought at that point in our lives.) Jenna and David were maybe forced to grow up before the others. They are expecting a child together. Cassie, David's sister, was excited to be an aunt. Kayla on the other hand was a bitter bitch. She had been David's girlfriend for a year and a half. Kayla asked Jenna to talk to David since they were having problems. They broke up though and in the process of Jenna consoling David, they fell in love. Fast forward three months and Jenna was knocked up...by David. You'd be a bitter bitch, too. Oh, and did I mention that Kayla and Jenna were, and I stress "were," best friends? Kayla's family was like a second (or first) family to Jenna, since her parents were often away. Jenna had another best friend to rely on though. His name is Michael. He's that guy friend that every girl wants. The guy friend that you can talk to and will always be there giving you great advice and a healing, strong hug. They are a Will & Grace pairing, only Michael is straight.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets):  "After a while, though, the sparks that left Kayla's and David's romance came into our friendship." [Obviously that's not the only thing that "came."]  [Ba dum bum ching!]

Chapter 2

Cassie and David have an adult conversation at the kitchen table while drinking coffee. Didn't you do that with your siblings at 17? We learn that their mom is a slut and is also never home (these poor kids). We also learn that Cassie is very protective of David. She doesn't want him to marry Jenna because he feels he has to. David swears that he's marrying Jenna because he loves her, but Cassie knows better. Cassie doesn't like Jenna because of what she did to her best friend, Kayla. She's the bitter-best-friend bitch. David is a smart young man. His only problem is keeping it in his pants.  He works at McDonald's as a cashier and is looking forward to making a lot of money during the summer. Money he can put away for him and Jenna to start their life together and raise their baby (what a responsible baby daddy). The baby that they find out is a girl. The two sort through names like Candy (David, are you wanting her to make a living as a stripper?), Michelle, Mary, Mary Ellen, and Mary Anne before finally deciding on Mary Katherine.

Mama Slut goes out of town leaving David and Cassie some money. David is stressed about work, the baby, etc. etc. so he snatches $50 of the $200 (thanks Mama Slut) and calls Michael to go hang out and drink some beer. After having one too many, David opens up about all the problems him and Jenna are having.  Michael ever so slyly implies that maybe David is still in love with Kayla. All of a sudden, she is all he can think about. He wonders why he ever broke up with her. Which brings me to...

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): [Nothing says "I love you" like breaking up with your soul mate and boinking her BFF.]

Chapter 3

Still drunk, David ended up at Kayla's house. She wasn't able to sleep and was just fixing her some warm milk (how does anyone drink warm milk?), something David observed she only does when she's bothered or worried. Kayla's parents are home (finally, someone who has visible parents) but they could obviously sleep through a tornado, or their own doorbell ringing, or their own daughter doing the nasty. Yes, that's right, David and Kayla got it on for the first time. (Cause that's how Kayla rolls. She waits to have sex for the first time after David has become her ex and knocked up her best friend.) David even told Kayla that he loved her. They fell asleep in each other's arms only to have David be gone by sunrise. Cassie notices the next day that Kayla is a complete wreck about something and continues to be on Kayla's side. David ends things with Kayla (again) for good. (He just wanted to pop that cherry first.) Kayla vows to save David from Jenna. To SAVE HIM!

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "You didn't hurt me on purpose. You're in love." [That's the way...it should be...] (In which we all carried on the cheesy Wilson Phillips song in the comments section. It was great.)

Chapter 4

David gets a promotion at McDonald's. Yippppeeee. David has super sperm...Kayla finds out she's pregnant. Good thing you got that promotion, you baby daddy times two you.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): There are sooo many good ones from this post (Dec. 22, 2006, go back and read if you can) but if I had to pick one it would be: "When are you two getting hitched?" "A week or two after the baby's born." [This seemed so logical to me at the time, but now I'm all, "What's the rush? The kid's already a bastard."]

Chapter 5

Kayla tells David she's pregnant. David tells Jenna. Jenna punches David. Jenna calls Michael for comfort and support. 

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "Jenna, wait! Let me explain!" [I think you covered just about everything but positioning, buddy. She gets it.]

Chapter 6 & 7

Cassie turns into a complete psycho and suggests that Kayla "get rid of" Jenna. Cassie devised a plan to to hit Jenna with a car. It would simply be an "accident." David reconciles with Jenna. In the middle of the Dairy Queen parking lot, Kayla drives the car into Jenna while Cassie sits in the passenger seat. (What, she's not going to jail for murder. She only came up with the plan. Kayla has to do the dirty work.)

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "You need to get rid of her....then David can give you everything you and your baby deserve." [Um, I was just going to suggest getting a lawyer and suing his ass, but murder works, too.]

Chapter 8

Whoops. Wrong person killed. David pushed Jenna out of the way. HE was the one killed, not Jenna. However, Jenna landed on her belly and Mary Katherine didn't survive. Kayla and Cassie were arrested two days after the "accident" (read MURDER). We learn that Cassie is in a state of shock over her brother being killed (duh, it was HER idea to do this in the first place) and that's about the last we hear of her. Kayla is a wreck as well (duh, way to kill your baby daddy). Jenna is full of hurt, sorrow, pain, and anger (duh, baby daddy dead? Check. Baby dead? Check check). I'll never understand how Jenna says that she can forgive Cassie because she was just trying to "save her brother...to protect him by trying to kill me." Tha hell?

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): Jenna after finding out she had lost the baby The bulge I had loved to touch so much was gone. [There is a double entendre here somewhere, itching to break the surface, but I'll refrain out of respect for the dead.]

Chapter 9

Cassie is sentenced to three years in prison with possible parole after a year and a half. Kayla gets six years. We fast forward seven months. Michael goes to visit Kayla and ends up going off on her for hurting Jenna so much. As he's leaving, Kayla asks Michael to tell Jenna that she's sorry and would like to see her face to face. Kayla delivers a baby girl and decides to name her Katherine Marie (after her dead half-sister. She honestly thought that would be a good idea. Yeah, she's a dumbass. Kayla that is, not either baby.) Jenna calls Kayla for the first time and Kayla gushes about her baby (again, she really has no clue).

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): I felt guilty as I talked about Katherine. "Yeah, A little girl. She's adorable." [Motherhood is so rewarding and fulfilling and I've never experienced such unselfish love in all of my life! Not that you would know anything about that. My bad.]

Chapter 10

Michael gushes and gushes over Jenna. He loves her, has for years, and always will. Jenna calls him for a ride to the prison to see Kayla. 

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): As I went home a few hours later, I thought about everything that had happened in the last 7 months. David had died, and so had Jenna's baby. Two of my friends were sent to prison for their murders. It was a lot to handle. What a summer this turned out to be.  [I could've had a V-8!]

Chapter 11

Jenna visits Kayla in prison. She sees the baby and learns that her name is Katherine. At this point she becomes outraged and feels that she could give Katherine a better life than Kayla ever could. Frema put it best by saying "Poor Jenna. Girl done lost her mind." Yes, but really, she's been through a lot and totally has every right to lose her mind. And lose it she does. Learning from Kayla's mistake of no disguise, she cuts and colors her hair and steals Katherine right from underneath the nose of prison security (or clearly, lack thereof). She hits the road, planning on making one last stop before she leaves the state (with NO carseat).

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): The deskman looked surprised as I walked slowly, my arms wrapped around my belly [a baby's limb poking through the sleeve of her coat...]. "I have to go," I gasped. "My period is really heavy this month." He reddened. "Go on," he said, waving me away. [Ah, the old menstrual card. Well played, Jenna!]

Chapter 12

Thank God Jenna stops by Michael's house to say good-bye because she was as prepared as Anna Nicole's will (read: not prepared at all) for taking Katherine away for good. Michael stole some money from his parents and hit the road with her. We also learn that when Michael gets fed up, he hits. Other than that, he's Jenn's hero.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): "Michael? Michael, what's going on?" I heard my mother call from upstairs. "Nothing, Ma," I called back. "It's just the T.V." [Nothing, Ma. Just smacking around the woman of my dreams!]

Chapter 13

Kayla is informed that her baby is gone. She's interrogated by the cops. It doesn't take her long to realize that Jenna is the kidnapper.

Frema's best commentary: [Also, Lifetime? Feel free to approach me about a movie script at any time.]

Chapter 14

Michael and Jenna take turns driving through Wisconsin to get to Iowa. (Shut up. Frema was a damn good writer at the tender age of 14, you can't expect her to be good at geography, too.) Jenna has time to do a lot of thinking and realizes that she misses Kayla and their friendship and knows that by taking Katherine from her, she's hurting her. The two turn around and head back home. Jenna can't cross that state border yet though. She wants just one more day with Katherine before giving her back to Kayla.

Frema's best commentary: [This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky.]

Chapter 15

Kayla is informed that a witness has spotted Jenna and Michael in Wisconsin. Kayla persuades the cops to take her with them to retrieve her daughter.

Frema's best commentary: "Maybe. But I have to be there when you find my baby. Please! You can cuff me, gag me [hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me], whatever!"

Chapter 16

Michael FINALLY gets the balls to tell Jenna how he feels. She doesn't believe him and simply thinks he's lonely. Before she has a chance to realize that the feeling is mutual, the cops have their car surrounded.

Frema's best commentary (in brackets): I grabbed her shoulders. "You have to know!! I need to know!" [OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!]

Chapter 17

It's all over. Jenna and Michael are caught. Katherine is returned to Kayla and the security (yeah right) of the prison. She decides to not press charges against the two, claiming to understand why Jenna did what she did. Jenna finally realizes that she's in love with Michael.

Frema's best commentary: "If you don't have any plans for the rest of your life, I thought that maybe we could get together..." [Oh my gosh, I'm cringing, you guys. CRINGING. Forgive 'lil Frema for the cheesiness.]

Chapter 18

One year later, Michael and Jenna are married. Kayla's year with Katherine is up though and her parents won't take her (shitty ass grandparents). She asks Jenna and Michael to take her.

Frema's best commentary: There was a small reception, then we flew to Paris, where we stayed 2 weeks. Her parents paid for the expensive trip. Out of guilt, I guess. [Geez, wasn't the counseling enough?]

Chapter 19

Katherine is taken from Kayla. Yes, I totally cried. Shut up.

Frema's best commentary: "Ma-ma! Ma-ma! No-no-no-Ma-ma!" Her face was blotchy, and her arms reached out to me. Her little body shook with sobs. [Mothers in the house, are you still with me?  Hang on, it's almost over.]

Chapter 20

Five years later Jenna and Michael have spit out twins of their own, making them a family of 5. They are living in Jenna's dream place. Florida? New York? No, Iowa. Michael is training to be a teacher and Jenna stays home with the kids. I'm wondering how this is financially possible and want in on the action so I can stay home so easily with my kids. All seems perfect. However, Kayla will be released from prison this year. Hell-oooooo sequel!

Frema's best commentary: [Ah, Jenna's mothering skills haven't changed one bit. Have fun dangling over cement and wood chips, foul-mouthed toddlers! Also, TWINS. Did you expect anything less from Michael's sperm and Jenna's uterus?]

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SYNOPSIS NUMBER THREE
by Molly

(Mad props to Molly for slipping in her very own "your mom" joke!)

The Tragic Love Friday series began to unfold back in November, when Frema decided to share the soap-like multi-triangular fictional work of epic proportions, written by none other than her young, romance-craving teenage self. The story involves main characters David, the double-duty burger-flippin' baby daddy; Kayla, the first love then dumped then knocked up then turned vengeful murderer baby mama number two; Jenna, the once friend of Kayla and fiance of David, baby mama number one who ends up not only with dead baby but dead boyfriend all in the same day, eventual wig-wearing prison baby kidnapper of baby mama number two's baby and then in the end happily married to her good baby stealing buddy, Michael; Michael is the bitch-slappin' best bud to Jenna, who hangs around and baby naps while he bides his time waiting for the piece of ass that turns out to be his eventual wife; and last but not least, Cassie, who is much like seaweed to the story--she's David's sister and gets wayyyy too involved with his girlfriends, eventually plotting with baby mama two to kill baby mama one.

The plot of the story is thick and juicy, just like your mom, and full of unexpected awesomely dramatic twists and turns. And as a bonus, it's loaded with Adult Frema's hysterical commentary on the writings of 'Lil Frema. So without further adeiu, I present to you a different sort of summary, in the quips of Adult Frema:

"Obviously that's not the only thing that came!" "The condom, David. The condom is what went wrong." "Yes, Kayla. He love you long time. For about eight minutes."

"Um, I was just going to suggest getting a lawyer and suing his ass, but murder works, too." "But you're still pregnant, so you win!" "I suppose when you kill your ex-best friend's unborn baby and soon-to-be husband you can afford to be generous with forgiveness. Also, is anyone else flashing to mental images of Glenn Close and dead bunnies?"

"I see you've dropped a quarter down your panties. Let me get that for you!" "Ah, the old menstrual card. Well played, Jenna!" "Clever strategy, Jenna. The police would never think to search for a missing baby one state over!"

"Sweetie, if Katherine hasn't eaten since she left the prison, she's probably dead. No need to rush."

"OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!" "Hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me"

"This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky." "Bitch is gonna make ME cry!" "Ah, Jenna's mothering skills haven't changed one bit. Have fun dangling over cement and wood chips, foul-mouthed toddlers! Also, TWIINS. Did you expect anything less from Michael's sperm and Jenna's uterus?"

Can't wait for the dramatic sequel!

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Clearly these are excellent write-ups that make it impossible for you to keep dry underpants. Clearly it is a monumental task to select a winner.

Therefore, once again, you're doing the hard part for me. Tell me--either in the comments or via e-mail--which reviewer should receive the first season of 90210. All three rockin' authors have earned their very own Love, Betrayal and a Baby Original Mixed Compact Disc Soundtrack, featuring songs to be determined by Silly Hily and me. And yes, David, "Invisible Man" will totally be on there as Michael and Jenna's theme song.

We are going to have big fun with the sequel, friends. BIG FUN.

Double-Duty Wednesday

I was pretty sneaky last week, huh? Going on about my teenage years and former flames, parental trials and tribulations, basking in the afterglow of the Internet's sympathy, all the while ignoring the white elephant that was Weight Loss Wednesday.

I didn't skip out completely--I did submit myself to the unforgiving nature of the scale, and I was neither pleased nor surprised with the one-point-two extra pounds of insulation I seemed to have accumulated watching all those DVDs from Blockbuster Online.

Things aren't much better this week:

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12.8

Apparently skipping out on my after-dinner ice cream indulgence last night was just enough to register a loss this morning. Go me.

After work yesterday I abandoned the business-casual khakis I wore to the office and slipped into a pair of my favorite NY&C jeans, and I was horrified to realize how tight they felt in the thigh. I could still button them without cutting off circulation to my brain and legs, but it wasn't a comfortable fit, and I didn't make it further than watching Monday's episode of Heroes before I was rummaging through my dresser drawers, searching for my favorite draw-string pajama pants, pants that probably deserve an Honorable Mention in my hypothetical top five, so often are we together.

As I mull over another week of missed opportunities to become a stronger, healthier person, I also remember that today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, the first of forty days (forty-six, actually, thanks Wikipedia!) spent in preparation for Jesus's death on the Cross and subsequent resurrection. I can remember going to church after school with my mother as a kid to receive my yearly thumbing of ashes, contemplating a suitable sacrifice to show my thanks, which usually turned out to be something like cookies or chocolate (Chips Ahoy products being the ultimate tester, Mom loved to keep a package in the freezer) and I never made it past week two. Since stumbling blindly into adulthood, I can't remember making any Lenten offerings, but this year, in light of all that's taken place in my spiritual journey and how truly blessed I feel to enjoy this stage of my life with such a wonderful person, I think I have a special responsibiltiy to do something outside of myself, something to show God how appreciative I am for everything He's given me, which includes the body I spend so much time picking apart.

I complain and complain and complain about my rolly-polly belly, my alarmingly round face, my flabby back fat, and yet I continue to gorge myself on cookies and candy and handfuls of shredded cheese when I'm supposed to be washing pots and pans. I'm not thirteen pounds overweight because of a slow metabolism or gestating baby, but rather a lack of self control, and I've been so angry with myself for caring more about snacks than the importance of maintaining a healthy weight. It's not right, especially when I have an actual condition to control. In addition to wanting to be around for my husband and our future children for decades of years to come, I have an obligation to God to make smarter choices with this body He created specifically for me.

So, during this season of reflection, every time I reach for that bag of Keebler Fudge Stripes, every time I think of diving into a mountain of berry rainbow sherbet, I will remember what God has done for me and and treat my body with more respect. I will think before I open the pantry door. And I will remember that my spinach-dip recipe doesn't really need a full cup of Parmesan cheese. (Ah, cheese, both friend and foe!)

I am also giving up All My Children. What, you didn't think I'd take the easy way out, did you?

Since I've been dragging my feet over the weight-loss thing for such a long time, and since it's actually a personal benefit to slim down and eat better, it didn't seem right to offer my harmful caloric intake to God. I thought it would be more of a sacrifice to cut out a vice, something I genuinely love and encounter on a regular basis but doesn't add to my quality of life. Luke suggested spinach dip, but since I only pig out on a batch once or twice a month, that didn't work, either. Then he suggested my blog, and I laughed hysterically. AMC it is.

I also wanted to make a positive commitment during this time and settled on reading some part of the Bible every day. I like hearing scripture readings during church services, and though I studied scripture in high school and college, I don't remember a lot of what I learned, so I'm looking forward to reaquainting myself with the Good Book.

There's still one week to go before March, but already I'm experiencing a new beginning.