"It's a beautiful day for...

an invasive, vaginal procedure!"

I kid, I kid.  I just kept saying that to Dan today right before my HSG today, and we kept laughing until we were almost sick.  Maybe it was the Valium I took, though? I was a little loopy.  Anyway, the sun was shining, it was a spring-like 60 degrees, and I was stuck inside having that fertility test I've put off for months, you know, the one that I made the mistake of Googling and then spent the next hour crossing my legs in sympathy pains.  Remember how I read comments like this on blogs all over the interweb??

Yesterday, I was further freaked out by a very well-meaning colleague who cornered me and whispered, "I heard from another teacher that you are having trouble conceiving.  If you ever need to talk, I've been through a similar experience."

Touched, I teared up and gave her a hug.  What perfect timing to have some encouragement right before my test!

But then she heard I was having the HSG done and continued, "Oh, yeah, mine was horrible!  I was allergic to the dye they used and broke out in hives, turned bright orange, and had to spend two nights in the hospital!"

Aghast, all I could think was: "I never even worried about the dye."  Damn, another thing to add to the worry list!

I laughingly told Dan about this later, and he said, "I know she meant well, but that's kind of the equivalent of trying to take over a crashing plane from a drunk pilot... but then drinking a fifth of bourbon yourself and directing the steering wheel straight at the ground!"

My husband has very weird analogies- ha ha!

His basic message:  She meant well, but only served to further terrify me.

Luckily, I had 800 mg of Ibuprofin and a Valium (which is enough to almost knock this girl out)... and  the sweetest family and friends, who texted and called.  Missy wrote to me from her hubby's phone, detailing the ultimate relaxation plan:

Bottom line: The procedure was crampy and awkward and downright painful at the end, but over in less than five minutes.  It was not horrific, thanks to the medicine.  The nurse and doctor were very sweet and patient.  Dan held my hand the entire time, which we laughed about later because the doctor and nurse must have been thinking, "If she's this much of a wuss with this, then she would be a nightmare with actually having a baby!" 

The best part?  Everything looks good!  I saw an X-ray of what's going on in there (which looked crazy different than the pages from the Health books in middle school, but whatever.  I guess nature is not as symmetrical.)  No blockages.

I came home, ate my favorite Thai dish, and watched In Her Shoes, which is one of my favorite fluffy movies.

It's weird to say I'm thankful for today, but I am. 

Thanks for anyone who wrote a comment about this previously!

January's Score

There's a free local newspaper that has a column called "The Score".  It ranks happenings in Richmond and awards and subtracts points, such as -3 pts. for a great restaurant closing or giving +2 pts. for a Richmond musician making it on American Idol.  Then, they tally up the score for the week.

  It's completely arbitrary, but I thought I'd borrow it for my January since the infamous party.  It has had its ups and downs:

* Wistfulness at friend's baby shower (only non-mother there again)         - 3 pts.

* Getting to hug my friend, eat cake (no Stiffler to ruin it this time),

 and being excited about her baby coming          + 2 pts.

* Winning the "guess the exact amount of string 

it would take to wrap around the mother's waist" game        +1 pt.

* The prize for the game:  A tube of body glitter (?)   + 1 pt. because it was random and funny.  

I can't think of a time I would wear body glitter- ha ha!

* Dealing with insurance about fertility testing  - 2 pts.

Finally scheduling my HSG for next week      -10 pts.

I believe I already talked about why that score would be low here.

* My doctor prescribing a Valium for said HSG!    + 5 pts.

* Grading 163 papers in two weeks AND college class started - 8 pts.

* SNOW DAY LAST FRIDAY WITH DAN!  + 10 pts.  

* Fun game night with a new couple  + 10 pts.

* The Bachelor started/ Dan and I ridiculing it endlessly  +2 pts.

* Addicted to a new book: Wild by Cheryl Strayed  + 2 pts.

* We actually tried a new date for January a la our half ass resolution! + 10 pts.

The score so far:  20

Hmmm... not bad, actually!

Yes, that's a random thing to say.  Who can say what a good score is?

I thought I'd share the last item on "the score".  Dan and I decided to do a tapas and art museum date (we had a Christmas gift card burning a hole in our pocket), just to mix things up.  I think it counts as a new date idea for 2013.

Me with some kind of overly sweet, pear drink... it was delicious!

We went fancy with a cheese plate.  I'd never actually had one before.  Ours came with fruit, homemade chips, cheese, and lavender honey.

 There was a new exhibit by artist Dale Chihuly, who is famous for his amazing glass works.  We'd breezed through it during winter break, but this time we could linger throughout:

I mean... can we talk?  How incredible was this?

Dan loved the glass ceiling, that made you feel underwater:

I'll just share the last two pieces (not by Chihuly) that we checked out.  This tongue-in-cheek modern portrait:

Lastly, there was one photographer who spent three years growing his hair, changing his look repeatedly, and taking pictures.  See the names of a few of the photos below:

Now, look at his photos.  It's the SAME man in each.  My favorite one is the Beehive, the second one, because it looks exactly like a 60's yearbook photo for a chick.

If you keep looking, you'll see he grew facial hair, dyed his hair, tried cornrows... basically transformed himself repeatedly in the name of art.

Same dude!  I just can't get over it!

So that was date #1.  I don't think we'll do too many new ones, but I will post any that we do try!

The Anti-Resolution

It’s the middle of January. Do you know where your resolution is?

I just found mine.

Not really on top of things, but I don't really care.  Even though I love a list, winter never feels like the time for making a serious resolution.

Because I’ve always been either a teacher or student, the beginning of the year to me is always in September. That’s the time when I vow to do more crunches or go to sleep earlier or keep our laundry folded, and inevitably cave by November. Because of the never-ending lists to better myself in the fall, I’ve always let myself off the hook in January. Anyone who has kept up with my blog knows that January is my time for slacker resolutions that are fun.

Like in 2010, I resolved to take more photos. My blog suddenly became much more colorful.

In 2011, it was to try twelve new restaurants. Spoiler alert: We nailed it!

In 2012, we resolved to try twelve new things, which was too vague and I promptly forgot it come March. Looking back now, I guess we did try twelve new things by accident, but really if we hadn’t that would be kind of sad. Try twelve new things in an entire year?? Not much of a challenge.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, we tried a new…

* Activity: Trivia night

* Language: dirty French

* Valentine gift: language of love

* Food: escargot

* Country: France

* Paint color: Toasted Almond

* Double date idea: kayaking

* Anniversary trip: Southern hotel and caves

* Concert: Avett Brothers concert

* Richmond event: Folk Festival

* Food craze: Tried the “Tako” truck

* New Year’s Tradition: black-eyed peas

The latter one is too funny not to share. After NYE’s dinner and fireworks with friends in NOVA, Dan and I did our normal traditions: ate a big breakfast, bought a lottery ticket, and started registering for the dream home on HGTV. I heard about the southern tradition of eating a spoonful of black-eyed peas for luck and goaded Dan into it. We could use all the luck we can get.

Dan: Please don’t make me eat this. I’m going to barf.

Me: C’mon… one spoonful! Then, you can eat the enormous Reese’s peanut butter cup my sister bought you for Christmas.  Just eat one spoonful for luck!

Dan: Ughhh…. So gross!

Me: Actually, it says on my iPhone that we are supposed to eat 365 beans to represent the entire year.

Dan: Hell. No.

This is a terrible picture of him eating his, but so funny.

Dan’s caught on to the idea of having a fun resolution each year, and he and I were brainstorming the other day.

He suggested, “How about ‘visit a new American city’?” I'm all about this one. I've got three TripAdvisor windows open as I type right now.

Then, he said, “How about twelve new date ideas? We could do anything from a museum to volunteering to rappelling?” This one made me pause.  "Rappelling"?  Are we suddenly on The Bachelor now? Still, even though I don’t think we’ll actually make it to twelve, mixing up “date night” is not a bad idea. Any excuse for romance, right?  I'll share if we do try any new ones.

Honestly, though, my personal one for this year is an anti-resolution: none at all.  Just be. Be relaxed. Plan that trip to a new city and be excited. Be sad, rather than trying to gloss over that.

And be braver on my blog. When I do write, I want to try to air the good and the bad and whatever else comes up this year.  I tried to start that with my last post, and I'm going to try to continue throughout the year.

Even though it's an "anti-resolution", I feel like writing this down will give me the kick in the ass to keep it up, inspire me to open up a bit more.

What's your resolution for this year?

Debbie Downer

(NOTE:  Somehow this post was deleted, so I had to re-submit and copy and paste in everyone's comments.  Blogger is so weird sometimes...)

Two days ago, Dan and I went to a football party at a former frat brother's house.  It was supposed to be a football play-off party meets Belgian beer tasting for twenty-some adults.

We walked into a damn daycare.

That's right. Every one of his friends had brought their adorable toddlers and babies, sixteen in all, each of them teetering around in tiny jerseys. Coohing, wailing, giggling chaos everywhere. Twice, Dan stepped on plastic toys, only to be screeched at by an enraged little one. The girls were all trading mom war stories. "Then, she got cheerios stuck in her ear!" "My car looks like an episode of Hoarders with all the Dora the Explorer paraphanalia and baby books everywhere!" "I couldn't help but sob when I walked Connor into kindergarten this past September! Did you cry cry too when you walked Madison in??"

I was the only woman there who was not a mother.

I'm the one in yellow who isn't smiling with her eyes.
Play "count the kids" if you don't believe me.

At one point, Dan's friend Trey smiled at me and said pointedly, "I hoped I would see you drinking water tonight!" I was able to smile back and respond with one of my standard lines, "Hmm... not yet, but we'll keep you posted!"

I know what you're thinking.

You: Good for you, Christen! I bet you stayed that classy all night, didn't you?

Me: Errr...

You: Are you saying that you indulged in some of the aforementioned Belgian beers?

Me: Um, that and spiked ciders.

You: Wow, you? But you hardly ever drink much! I bet you were quite the life of the party, weren't you?

Me: Sure, if by "life of the party" you mean that I scared off a stranger by blurting out my baby-making history and then cried on the cab ride home.

You see, Jenna, a distant friend's wife, sauntered up to me after beer number 4. She is my age with three kids under five, so she has no concept about waiting for a baby. She probably got pregnant with a set of triplets an hour after the party ended. Anyway, she started her conversation with me, "Hi, I'm Jenna. You're Christy, right? No? Oh, well, I was close. So when are you and Dan going to have kids? "

Me: "Hmm... nothing yet, but we'll keep you posted!"

J: "Oh." (I-must-figure-out-the-mystery-of-this-weird-girl-hanging-around-all-these-kids-is-she-a-stranger-danger??) "Are you guys trying?"

Me: ...

J: "How long have you been trying?... Oh, that's a while... Miscarriage, huh? ... Well, that's pretty common from what I've heard. Not that I've gone through it. My womb is made of titanium... are you doing stuff to fix whatever is going on?...You might want to do more than see a doctor...What's an HSG?... Blue dye through your cervix?...yuck... (aghast silence)... I think I hear my son calling for me...GottaGo!"

Life of the party, that's me. I'm also available for bar mitzvahs.

I try not to get into the "Why others and not us too?" that much with all of this because I know I haven't had to go through the hell that some other couples have. But tonight was the first time I did wonder, "Why?"

You see, I went to grab some carbs to sober up after scaring away that party guest and realizing that I didn't even care because she was kinda bitchy anyway. When I got to the counter, I reached for a dessert that was placed on a plate on top of the microwave. Dan slapped my hand away and hissed, "You don't want that!" When I asked, "Why not?", he simply pointed at a former frat brother who I'll refer to as Stiffler for this post, since he is remarkably similar to that jackass from the American Pie movies. Think a major drinker and all-around-sketchball. Dan and I don't really care for him, but we occasionally bump into him at huge frat reunions. Anyway, Dan pointing to Stiffler was enough to dissuade me because that dude is not someone you would trust with your baked goods, but I found out later that night, those brownies were filled with an extra ingredient.

This loser had baked pot brownies and brought them to an event with responsible adults and kids running around.

That's fifteen kids that would love some sugary brownies, I'm sure, but thank goodness the tainted treats were put up high enough where they couldn't reach them. Not to mention that unsuspecting adults might have not heard about the illegal ingredient and had a very different night than they set out to. Thank goodness Dan have been there. Eventually, Stiffler's wife had the sense to put them away completely.

After making a mental note to never, ever invite him to a party at our house, I couldn't help but think, "Stiffler has a two-year-old daughter of his own."

Why others and not us too?

This night set me back, guys. I thought I was in a good place, feeling hopeful about the new year, and now I'm needing to rally again. I go to a baby shower for one of my dearest friends next weekend and I'm praying that I can do a round of how-much-toilet-paper-will-wrap-around-the-mother-to-be's waist and eat some cake and hug my friend who I love so much and not be asked any insensitive baby questions.

That, or maybe I'll drink too much punch and bum out a guest there.

Cue trumpet: Womp, wah, waaah.

525,600 minutes

It's that time again. Another year is almost over, and it's time to thoroughly reminisce.

  As the Rent song goes, "how do you, how do you measure a year?"

I guess I could measure mine by numbers:

18- number of people at murder mysery party

0- number of people who figured out who the murderer was

5- number of cities we visited in France

1,000's- number of words I wrote about France- I really milked that topic!

4,000,000-   age in centuries of the caverns we toured on our anniversary

10- number of cave puns our tour guide, the Will Ferrell of rock jokes, told.

3- posts I wrote about feeling sad about not getting pregnant (but I only published one.)  Just gotta keep it real.  This year was not all croissants and roses.

15- times I practiced my wedding toast before nailing it on the big day 

350- pounds of gingerbread we saw on our annual tradition: see bottom of post here

18- years my brother in law kept his secret (see "Received a tattoo")

5- minutes we cracked up once we learned said secret

*

But I'd prefer to just do a breakdown by month:

In January, I:

• Spoke dirty French: here

In February, I:

• Attended a murder mystery party: here
*

• Learned the languages of love: here

In March, I:

• Was “Tom Cruise” Running: here

In April, I:

• Traveled to France!: here

*

•     Wrote incessantly about France trip:

More Frenching: here

Pardon My French: here

Dan's Day: here

Show me the Monet: here

Can you tell what the highlight of my year was? 

Thanks for putting up with so many fromage filled posts!

In May, I:

• Mastered the art of public speaking: here

*

• Had misadventures in double dating: here

In June, I:

• Enjoyed our "caves and kicking it" anniversary: here
*

• Ate with the pie bride: here

*

• Revealed why we still sneak into our old apartment pool: here

In July, I:

• Made homemade icecream: here

*

•  Painted the living room: here

In August, I:

• Thanked a teacher: here

*

• Counted my stairs: here

In September, I:

• Redid my office: here

*

• Jumped on board of the food truck craze: here

Side note: does it look like I'm inadvertently flipping the bird in this pic??  Because I just noticed that my finger is placed sort of oddly... yikes!  That is one salty Mrs. Peanut.

In October, I:

• Discovered we were too old for clubbing: here

*

• Admitted to feeling wistful and sad in "A little bit pregnant": here

In November, I:

• Gave thanks: here

*

• Was in a flash mob to this song

In December, I:

• Received a tattoo: here

• Dreaming of a weird Christmas: here

So there's my year in review!  Now, I'm thinking about my resolutions.  Anyone else making any?

Want to read about the year I did a mud run and Dan and I rocked a costume contest? Check out 2011: here

Want to read about the year of my embarrassing sleep walking injury and my day as a juror on a murder trial?  Check out 2010: here

I'm dreaming of a weird Christmas

Yesterday, I told you about the tattoo I received for Christmas.  I also received one from our dead dog.

 It's way less creepy than it sounds.  Promise.

 It's just when Bethany first picked up the bright red package and saw that it was "signed" from Sadie, our sassy Scottish terrier that passed away last year, she and I exchanged mock horrified looks with one another and were trying to piece together the puzzle.  What could our precious pooch possibly want to give us beyond the grave?

After some weird looks at my parents, who were rolling their eyes at our dramatics, we tore open the package to find ultimate cozy gift: the softest, warmest, matching pj's with scottie dogs printed all over!

Is there nothing more Christmassy than new pajamas?  Oh wait, there is!  Pajamas with adorable scottie terriers wearing red bows!  Is there anything more Christmassy that pajamas with scotties on them?  Yep, when said pajamas are matching with other family members!

My sister working it in hers

 Can you tell we liked them??

This gift catered to two of the major commonalities my parents, sister, and I share: our love of comfort and our mutual love of Scottie dogs. We've owned two, and there's something about those pig-headed, infuriating, snappy dogs that we just love.  They look like ToTo and growl for treats and attack dirty socks lying on the ground.  In short, they're loveable and weird, just like us.

Further evidence of our family's strange sense of humor?  My sister gave me a vendetta gift, and my dad settled our debate on whether Dollar Store gifts are ever appropriate.

As sisters tend to do, Bethany and I started a weird debate over who made a wonky candy cane ornament in elementary school.  My mom kept all of the ugly ornaments that we crafted over the years, and in high school, Bethany and I noticed that there were two candy cane ornaments: one with beautifully spaced sparkly beads and one that was really ugly in comparison.  It became a litmus test for who was the more awesome of us two kids.  Whoever made the sparkly pretty candy cane (ahem- me) was the better of the two, like the yearbook superlative "most likely to succeed".  Whoever made the cracked out looking one (Bethany) was Mom's second favorite and clearly several IQ points lower.  We always tried to get Mom to reveal who made which one, but she just clucked her tongue and refused to get involved. 

I realize this is the dumbest inside joke ever, but it's like "church laugh" when you begin hysterically cracking up at the most inappropriate thing and can't stop.  

Anyway, I hadn't even thought of this stupid sibling rivalry until I looked at my tree on Christmas Eve and saw it covered with homemade candy cane ornaments my sister had secretly stuck everywhere!

And what gag gift would be complete without the occasional hazing note:

Last stop on the weird gift train, my family and I love to ridicule my dad's love of Dollar Tree.  Anytime we received a card from him, we would turn it over to see if it "Tender Thoughts" was printed on the back, signifying that he had splurged an entire dollar.  Suck it, Hallmark. 

Anyway, he had joked that he could find bad ass gifts for all at the Dollar Tree, and this year he made good on his promise.  He was struggling valiantly to find something, anything he could stick in our stockings that would prove that the Dollar Tree was a jackpot of amazing, frugal gift ideas.

Randomly remembering that he had called us "his princesses" and built many a sandcastle at the beach for us when we were in our diva stages, here is what he found:

Yep, that is how my twenty-seven year old sister and I received a Cinderella puzzle and princess bubbles, while my Dad crowed, "Can you guess which one is from me??  See?  The Dollar Tree does have great stuff!"

I'm going to have to up my "gift game" for next Christmas.

Tattoo for Christmas

My brother-in-law Jacob harbored a secret for eighteen years.  That's eighteen of years of avoiding a certain conversation subject, of keeping his secret carefully covered up. 

On Thanksgiving, his fiancée gleefully exposed his secret to to all of the family. 

On Christmas, she gave us a gift to memorialize her betrayal forever.

After Dan almost wet himself from laughing, he pronounced it,
"Best. Christmas. Gift. Ever."

Here's how the exposé went down.

Dan's family was sitting around the Thanksgiving table, and somehow the subject of tattoos popped up.  While we knew that Jacob had a Chinese symbol on his upper back, suddenly Julia Meade smirked and trilled, "That's not the only one he has!"

Immediate interest and questions!  "What other one do you have, Jacob??"  "Where is it??"  "When did you get it?"

Jacob blushed and told us all to shut up, pleading with his eyes at Julia Meade, all I-will-never-live-this-down-and-I-love-you-so-please-please-don't-tell-my-brother-about-that-tattoo.

She just grinned and gave us the dirty deets.  He had been nineteen and just been dumped by a girl who looked so bitchin' with her denim jacket paired with jeans (cough* Canadian tuxedo*cough*).  He was understandably devastated from the end of this three month love affair, deciding right then and there that he would get inked, have a lifelong reminder of his heartache.  More than that, this tattoo would be a reminder to protect himself, keep his heart protected from being smashed again.

In short, Julia Meade chortled, "He got a heart with a string of barbed wire through the middle!!  It's so eighties!  Even though it wasn't the 80's!"

Eruption of laughter and pleads to see the tattoo.  Jacob was still blushing and shaking his head and smiling in disbelief at his little spitfire of a fiancée. 

No one was allowed to see it. 

We still don't know where it was located.

Then, Christmas morning rolled around.  Julia Meade handed each of us a tiny package, with instructions to open it at the same time.  Jacob was looking very wary when he realized he did not have one.

We counted off:

1...

2...

3!

 

It might not look like much, but there it is!  Jacob's protected heart tattoo exposed for all!

Yes, she secretly snapped a photo of it and turned the copies into tiny refrigerator magnets for all of us!

Jacob couldn't help but laugh too as we howled for five solid minutes.

The wedding is still on.  Jacob just can't get enough of Julia Meade.  Case in point, Mr. Guy's Guy even agreed to go on a Christmas card with her this year:

She let him pick the saying, and here's what he chose:

 

"Holiday hugs"?  "Winter Kisses"? 

 

Guess there's no barbed wire around that heart anymore.