Happy Birthday, AJ

By the time I went to bed last night, I was feeling a little better. I, at least, was all cried out. I started to make a list of questions to ask the doctor when I go in next week.

And I pushed aside my feelings today, for a few hours, to go to the hospital to meet my brand new great-nephew, born at 7:39am. He’s beautiful and when I was holding him, I started to feel a little sad. But I remembered that it wasn’t about me today, it was about him. It was his day and I didn’t want to ruin this first moment with him.

I wished, however, that I had told more people in my family about my plans. I thought that I was being premature in telling anyone, but now, in hindsight, I wished I had. I could use the support as I deal with the ever growing list of questions about infertility and possibly adoption.

I could have used a hug today, a tight hug, from someone who would have known how difficult it was for me to even think about heading up to the maternity ward just hours after my niece gave birth. And it wasn’t just a trip up to the hospital, it was an hour-plus drive to Syracuse. And I know I could have faked a sore throat or something, but no matter how bad I was feeling about my own situation, I would never have missed that experience of meeting Andrew Jordan on his very first birthday.

Flashes of thoughts went through my mind as I held him — would he ever have a cousin from me? How great it’ll be, they’ll only be a few years apart. When I would think about my baby, I would imagine that I would have had him or her in later 2008 or early 2009. Just a couple years between my little one and AJ, and with Ryan five years older than mine — they would have been the same number of years apart as me and my niece. That was a comforting thought.

And then the phone rang...

I had a great appointment with Carolyn this morning. She was really happy with my numbers, with my food and exercise diary, and she commented on the peace she could see in me. We decided that I only need to see her every three weeks, as long as I’m feeling good about things. And we talked about how this is no longer about learning how to eat properly, how not to be afraid of food anymore, but rally about losing weight in a very healthy (mentally as well as physically) way.

We talked about how much easier my mind games will be when I get pregnant. I don’t want to get pregnant at this weight, but if I can lose 30 pounds between now and next year, I will be much more relaxed about the pregnancy weight I gain. She agreed. So she’s on board with the plan, as well.

And then the plan went to hell.

I got back from a meeting this afternoon with a message from the OB/GYN. I called back and told them to call my cell phone. I wondered what it it could be about — I already have my consultation scheduled for next week. I thought the worst for a second; they’re going to tell me I can’t get pregnant. And then I shook that thought out of my head. It was probably something about my test results from my earlier pap or mammogram.

About a half hour later, the phone rang. “We got the blood work back, and I’m afraid I don’t have very good news.”

She said something about hormone levels, and the doctor looking at the results, and the very real possibility that I look into getting an egg donor. And she gave me numbers — levels that should have been under 50, and mine is at 123. I stammered something about cancelling the appointment for next week, and she said absolutely not. That she called to tell me so I could absorb the shock, so I could process it, so I could go into the appointment next week with questions.

My voice cracked, I heard the sympathy in hers and we said good-bye. And then I started to cry. This can’t be happening. I’m healthy. I’ve done things the right way. I don’t smoke, I hardly ever drink, I work out, I eat right. I’ve planned.

I cried hard for 10 minutes, after summoning Hope from down the hall on IM. She cried. She gave me good advise. “This is just one person’s opinion. This is not the end of the world. This is not a death sentence.”

I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, and got ready for my meeting in three minutes. It was the longest hour of my life, but I made it through. I shut my conputer down and went home. I talked to my sister-in-law, and started crying all over again. Harder this time, with the comfort of my own house around me. She said all the right things, didn’t try to sugar-coat it.

I tried to read but the words blurred. I tried to watch TV, but nothing made sense. I laid on the couch and fell asleep to back-to-back episodes of Law & Order (thank you, TNT). I felt a little better when I woke up, like it was a dream.

And even now, it seems surreal. Could this really be happening? Why can’t anything be easy, in relative terms, of course? If I was married and had to deal with infertility, I feel like it would be a little easier. I would have someone else going through the same things with me. I’m not married, I came to terms with that because I could still have a baby.

What possible thing could I have done in my past lives to warrant this? I talked to a girlfriend tonight, and she said the one thing no one else had, the one thing that I was afraid to say out loud, but needed to hear: “This is so god-damn unfair.”

It is unfair. And wrong on so many levels. I know fertility is a big issue, but it always seems to effect the wrong people. Not the 16-year-olds in Wal-mart with their three kids. But the adult professionals who work to get to this point in their life, when they are financially and emotionally stable to make this happen.

And now the binder, the planning, the pre-natal vitamins, even the Target registry, seem like a big cruel joke. Did I jinx myself?

Nesting

Or purging, in preparation for nesting. I’ve been cleaning all weekend. And planning — because, let’s face it, I’m a planner. Obsessively so.

I pulled all my Christmas stuff out from the closet — five big Rubbermaid bins. Unwrapped every ornament or knick-knack, and managed to purge out enough stuff (things I haven’t seen in 10 years) to get rid of two bins worth. And then I went through my books, CDs, tapes and DVDs.

I planned how the second bedroom will look as the nursery. I’ll keep one wall of all my bookshelves, because those won’t fit anywhere else; rip up the carpet, put down some flooring, and paint the walls a nice sage green (and then Piglet pink accents if I’m having a girl, and Eeyore blue for a boy).

And most exciting of all (yes, I’m a big nerd!), I made up my binder. I even typed up the tab dividers — doctor visits, insurance, pregnancy, nursery/fun stuff. I read through some articles and made questions for my next appointment.

It’s all about having a plan and being organized. I started to work on a budget — the big things I will need to buy — and priced the crib, changing table, etc at Target. I even started a registry so I could keep track of the prices.

And most importantly, I thought long and hard about how to ask my parents for some help. Everything fits into the budget, except the cost of sperm and the medical costs associated with trying to get pregnant. I’m going to ask them for whatever money they would have given me for my wedding.

And really, at this point, if I do ever get married, I’m over the huge lavish fancy wedding. At my age, I feel it would be inappropriate anyway.

I really feel like I’ve made peace with that. I’ve accepted that it may not ever happen, and now I’m moving on to what I can control. I’ve slept good all weekend, and I feel good about my eating and exercise. In control of it all.

I ate when I was hungry, I didn’t beat myself up when I didn’t exercise. I’m excited to go to the nutritionist in the morning to see if the numbers reflect my positive attitude. For several months, I’ve felt in control of the eating disorder, but now I feel in control of the non-disorder, if that makes any sense. It was a non-issue the past few weeks. And I think coming to peace with my personal life, my situation, has had a lot to do with that.

The Baby Box

I know, I know. I’m not even pregnant yet. I haven’t even chosen my sperm donor yet. But I’ve started to collect things. I have a big Rubbermaid container in the closet of the second bedroom — what will someday, I hope, be the nursery.

I have a Babe Ruth night-light, and children’s sized small Yankees/Ruth shirt. A light purple teddy bear. Some onesies and cute little outfits I’ve found on sales racks. In both sexes. Some books. Some pajamas from Old Navy. There is a baby name book and a pregnancy/exercise book for dummies. Most things I have bought myself, but I have had help with things that are just too cute to pass up by my sister-in-law and niece.

And when I went to the OB last week, she gave me a new magazine. In it was a contest (also several drawings that I’ve already entered) — to win the editor’s registry. $5,000 worth of very cool baby stuff. And not silly, cute extra stuff. But really useful things — a bassinet, a nursing system, car seat and stroller, baby backpack carrier, etc.

My entry was really the start of this column (you say blog, I say column — someday I will fulfill my dream to be Carrie Bradshaw!) so I won’t bore you with the details of my entry. It’s the same stuff you’ve heard.

But here’s my question — the little thing niggling at the back of my brain. Am I jinxing myself? Am I buying stuff too early? Am I getting ahead of the game, counting my eggs before I even know if they’re viable, so to speak?

I do worry about that. And I worry that I’m setting myself up for a colossal disappointment. But I have to remember that if it’s meant to be…. Someone wise once told me that God doesn’t make mistakes. He isn’t going to suddenly look down and say, “oh my….Ellie is still single and childless….how did I let that happen?” And so maybe the single thing is all part of the master plan. I have to believe that. And I have to believe that I’m meant to be a mom…someday…somehow.

Mixed Reactions

When I was in Baltimore (on my way to Richmond) last month, I stopped to see friends. Part of me was considering asking Tim to be the sperm donor — but was really nervous about asking. It is kind of a personal thing.

Over beers, I told him about my decision. That I was going to be looking into getting pregnant by my next birthday. I was expecting a “that’s great, Red,” or “wow, how exciting.”

Instead, I got, “why would you want to do that on your own? You just need to get your hooks into some guy — you’re just not trying hard enough.”

I was stunned and shocked. Later, after I had time to digest it, it just made me really sad. I tried to make a joke out of it. “So I’m guessing if I need you to be a sperm donor, the answer is no.”

Well, I accomplished what I needed to. I asked about him giving me some baby batter — and got a definitive answer. What was most surprising was his attitude. I know that from some people I will hear things like this. I will get the negative response, when what I really want is positive and supportive. It is something I am going to have to live with, something I will need to develop a thick skin about. And something I will need to come up with a response to. I expect this kind of response from other people — I was completely off guard to hear it from Tim.

My family — I am the youngest of a large brood. Even now, at 37, I am still treated like the baby. I completely feel like they see me as less of an adult because I am unmarried, still single, childless. My niece, with her house, husband, three-year-old and baby on the way, is much more an adult than I am – at least that is how I see their perception of me. Short of marrying the next man I see, I don’t know how to change it. I just live with it.

So, I was pleasantly surprised — more than pleasantly — when I told one of my sisters (previously mentioned niece’s mom) of my plans. I needed to. I needed to know that I would have some family support.

She was excited. Truly excited to hear my news. And she got teary-eyed, and I got teary-eyed — and we hugged, and I told her I was so glad to hear that she was happy, that I didn’t know how much support I would get. She has no idea how much is entailed with that one sentence, but she hugged me tighter. And that one moment more than made up for Tim’s reaction.

The Master Plan

For as long as I can remember, I knew that I wanted to have a baby. And even way back when it seemed foolish to have such thoughts, I always knew that by a certain age, I would do it on my own if I never got married. Did I jinx myself? Or was it merely a foreshadowing to future events?

In my early 20’s, I said if not married by 32, then pregnant by 33. As my 30’s crept closer and closer, so too did my target age move up and up. Part of it was because I wasn’t in a strong enough financial situation to do it on my own. (Since graduation, I had always worked in the non-profit world. What I didn’t understand then, was that non-profit organizations make a profit. How would they survive otherwise? No, the non-profit part refers to its employees. No profit for me. It was all about paycheck to paycheck. Even now, three years removed from a non-profit, I am still paying on it — paying off credit cards that helped supplement my income.)

Enough of that….back to my pregnancy plan. So part of the decision to hold off was financial. The other part — the romantic optimist in me thought that if I did it on my own, I would be giving up on finding love. And I believed that for a long time. Part of me still does, but the need to be a mom (and the ever closing window on that opportunity) has grown stronger and squelched most of those thoughts.

Do I hope to someday get married? Absolutely. It’s just that now the whole image of the big wedding and the fancy dress and the 10 bridesmaids….it has been replaced by something much more subtle and age appropriate.

This past year, I finally made the decision to “shit or get off the pot.” And to do that, I needed to share my plan with people. That made it real. At Christmas, I told my sister-in-law. She was the right amount of happy, excited and cautious. She asked questions, and once satisfied that I truly had thought this out, gave me her unconditional support. Unfortunately, I don’t anticipate that coming from everyone in my family. So we’re keeping them in the dark for right now.

Next I told my closest friends. And really through the spring, it was nothing more than that — just talk of the plan — until I had my annual exam, and I had the talk with my doctor, who immediately prescribed prenatal vitamins. Suddenly, it seemed very real. And very exciting. And very scary.

I started thinking of baby names. That eased a little of the fear. Jack. Mason. Oliver. Sophie. Madeleine. Olivia. Thinking of my pre-conceived peanut’s name is calming. It makes me realize why I’m going through all of this on my own. I love this baby already, before it even exists. Having a name — even if I end up hating all of those by the time I deliver — makes it a real entity.

I took the next step last week — I had a physical at the office of a new OB/GYN. One who specializes in infertility. My situation is unique in that I won’t necessarily be infertile, but will be going through the process of a woman with fertility issues in how I try to get pregnant.

I met with Jan, an RN, who was so empathetic to my situation and so understanding, I knew I was in the right hands for this process. She glossed over stats and numbers, and told me not to get preoccupied on them, which I appreciated. She sent me home with two new magazines about pregnancy and conception. I’ve stopped taking the pill, and this month during my cycle will get blood work done to measure hormone and egg levels. And next month, I go back for a consultation.

If all looks good — if they determine that medically I should have no problem getting pregnant (minus the percentages because of my age) — we will chart my ovulation for a few months, so that after the holidays I can start shopping for some “baby batter.”

By the spring, my credit cards will be mostly paid off. My savings will have been built up to a safe cushion. And I will have gone through this thought process, talking through this plan with multiple professionals, for over a year. And then, I will spring it on my family. Can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that!

A Goal without a Plan is just a wish

I’ve been wishing for a baby since I was 16. Had I been a less-responsible girl, I would have a kid in college by now. But I waited, I did things the “right” way. I finished high school, I went to college. I got a job. I got a better job. I moved away from home for my dream job. And after five years of that, I wanted to be closer to my family.

And so I’ve been back in New York for three years. In all this time — the time between graduating college and moving back to New York, I’ve been in love exactly two times. Both were unrequited. This isn’t a pity-party — just the facts, ma’am.

All in all, in the course of doing things “right” I forgot that there are some things that are out of my control. The husband thing. Making the perfect man — or even the less than perfect man – fall madly in love with me.

And so here I am, three years from 40. Seriously planning, seriously about to have a baby. Well….seriously about to try to get pregnant.

This is my quest and my journey. I know it’s the right one for me. It would be so wrong if I were never a mom. It will suck completely and totally if I’m never a wife, but I can handle that. The world will be wrong — my life will be incomplete if I’m never a mom. Even if that means doing it on my own.

And it feels so right. And when I tell friends of my plans, nine and a half times out of 10, I hear, “you’re going to be an amazing mom.” (We’ll discuss the half a time, I haven’t heard that at a later date — remind me.)

I’ve started collecting things — a Babe Ruth night light, a purple teddy bear, “Good Night Moon,” and penguin jammies. All these things in a box for my not-yet-conceived little one, my pre-conceived notion.

Welcome home, Roxie Carmichael!

I can't believe its been since October 2006 since I've last written on this blog. I've missed this place. I moved away and started over twice, never really feeling at home. I was too boxed in, too stifled. I tried too hard to stay within the very confining names that I had chosen. And in that time, I went through life-changing experiences (for the better) and finally began to accept my life -- my single life -- for what it is. And am beginning to make decisions based on that.

And so here I am -- a single girl, still in search, but in search of different things than I was years ago, even months ago. I'm content and ready to move on.

The single part of me with stay the same, but I won't be alone for long. This is a new journey, one that won't be just about me.

Happy Birthday, Fran

Today is my mom's birthday. I talked her to twice -- once when I called her this morning to wish her a happy birthday. And for some reason in my family, we always have to know who has already called -- or more importantly, who has been delinquent with the phone call. Sue (the bitch) was the first one and then Reuben -- but I take credit for his call since I left him a message last night reminding him to call his mother this morning. He would have forgotten. I was the third.

And then I talked to her this afternoon, when she called to thank me for her present -- gel and lotion from BBW and a Thomas Kincaide book. I'm so thoughtful. They were quick conversations both times -- and neither time did she say something to annoy me. That must be the trick -- keep it short and sweet.

I do love my mom -- I know I bitch about her a lot. She's a good mom and she did the best she could, and really did a great job raising eight successful, happy, productive kids.

Two days in a row

I'm really going to try to keep this up. I started this to stay in the habit of creative writing -- and even though I have another writing project that occupies a lot of my spare time, I need to keep this going as well.

I hate this time of year. Where do the flies come from? Big, giant, grand-daddy flies. And aren't they supposed to be slow? Even Casey can't catch the big mother fly that's been buzzing around my head tonight. And to make it worse, I was working out on the treadmill. So I was sweaty...thus attracting Mr. Fly. It wasn't fun. I was swatting at it with my towel and almost fell off the treadmill. I never said I was graceful.

I had a board meeting tonight. It was the same go round -- complaining about how to get started on big projects, needing to recruit and then figuring out how to keep board members. We've had this same conversation at tleast five times, and I've only been on the board for two years. I think we finally got someplace, with a plan to finally move forward. And hopefully all the work won't fall on the shoulders of the fund-raising and special events committee (which I chair).

And Bob Iger comes to campus on Thursday. I have the feeling, I'm going to be making lots of lists and going over lots of things in my head tomorrow, and not sleeping a lot tomorrow night. Sigh....I wished for another event to plan, didn't I?

Okay, I didn't say I would always be interesting...just that I would try to write more.

Bad Ellie

I know, I know. I'm sorry.

I've been super busy at work, working on another writing project (some of you know what that is), and really just out of it.

So, here's a quick recap of the past month...

• the new web site launched, now we're in for another rough road of finishing all the "little" things -- but for now, let the celebrations begin
• we finally hired someone! she starts September 25th
• visit with a high school friend
• blind date -- swing and a miss
• my best friend at work got a job at Cornell :(
• Leadership Tompkins -- I'm going to be the most "leadered" person in the world
• Syracuse for my dad's heart catherization -- all is well
• I know how to throw one hell of an informal get-together at work -- the theme is Recess....jump ropes, chalk, frisbee, lemon heads, pixie sticks and The Patridge Family on the boom box
• Heather starts -- let the training begin
• drinks at Fountain Place with the President
• wedding, wine and three's company ;)
  
• sick, sick, sick -- only three days this time! whoo-hoo!
• and coming to a college near you...the CEO of the Walt Disney Company -- and I'm responsible for his speech to campus (I've already been dared to show him my Mickey Mouse tattoo)

I promise to be better....I know, I said that last month.

I'm Back

A whirlwind -- that was the last few weeks before vacation. And unfortunately, it has picked up where I left off. Before vacation, as we were getting ready to launch the new website, we were all working insane hours. Of course, the real ITS gurus were working around the clock. Literally in 36-hour stretches. Those of us who could do stuff without knowing code, did what we could. I built websites in templates and content managements systems -- for eight hours on a rainy Saturday, and until 11pm at night some nights. All the while, trying to get my other work in a state where I felt comfortable leaving for 10 days. The world at large was making sure that I was in need, and deserving of, a vacation.

I woke up before my alarm went off on Friday morning (8/25), and decided to just get up. I was excited. I was headed south. I was on the road by 5am, in Pennsylvania by 6:20, and in West Virginia by 10:30. I was excited to see gas at $2.85 a gallon just before the PA/MD border (it was $3.01 when I left Ithaca). I made it Ashland before 1pm, and surprised my niece at her office job on campus.

I walked in, she looked up non-chalantly and was about to say "can I help you?" And then the double-take, and then the "what are you doing here?!" My little Tiff, all grown up, with an office job, going to college. We went to lunch -- and she was so cute when she told the cahsier at Quizno's, "I'm paying for both of us."

After lunch, she went back to work (after a quick spin around campus and look at her soon-to-be dorm building) and I headed to my brother's for a nap. Getting up at 4:30 was starting to sink in. I left most of my stuff in the car -- just brought in the food. Eight pounds of Hoffman hot dogs, five pounds of salt potatoes (for you folks not living in Central New York, you are missing a real treat of summer!) and a case of Canadian beer. Everything else stayed in the car. I took the dogs out, turned on the TV, and snuggled on the couch for a nap.

It was so nice to relax. All weekend. I walked with my brother, took baths, went shopping with Debbie and Tiffany, took naps (at least one a day) -- it was exactly what vacation was supposed to be. We went out to lunch and dinner a few times, ate ice cream, stayed in our pajamas one day. And that was all before the big move-in day!

Next....welcome to campus, class of 2010!

I Know, I know...

....ya'll miss me. I'm sorry it's been forever. We are launching a huge project at work on Thursday, and Friday I go on vacation.

I promise I'll be better when September comes.

Enjoy the last days of summer.

JLP...now G

I just haven't had it in me to write lately. So much going on in my head, though I'm not sure how to put it on the page. Journaling at night has helped with the insomnia -- which has been worse than ever. I'll figure it all out.

On a less dramatic front, I was in Skaneateles this weekend to visit my friend from high school. And boy does she have her hands full -- a two-and-a-half-year-old and four-month twins. Even with my extra hands to feed and change, it was over-whelming. And it was wonderful. I can say that because I'm not worrying about money, or giving my kids or my marriage the attention they deserve -- but from the outside, I would welcome that chaos and worry. She's got a great husband, a beautiful house and three amazing, healthy boys.

She's probably my oldest friend that I'm still in touch with. We met in high school -- 9th grade home ec (and as I type this, I feel that deja vu feeling that I've typed it before, so I'll stop there with the background info). After dinner, her husband cleaned up the kitchen, Nolan played trains and watched TV, and Jenn and I, with one twin each, sat in the living room with glasses of wine catching up. There were tears and hugs and the kind of conversations that we used to have in our bedrooms, or late at night on the phone, or by slipping notes to each other in AP English.

And knowing that I've been stressed, she fixed me a bubble bath in giant jacuzzi tub. Candles, bath bubbles, a fresh glass of wine. She came in and sat with me for a little while after putting the twins to bed. It felt like we were in high school again, and that no matter what was wrong, or difficult, would be okay, because we have each other.

Happy Birthday, Little Jenny Wa-Wa

I was five when she was born. And who would have known how far we would have come together. Of her 31 years, we've almost always lived in the same city until I moved to Baltimore -- save my three years of college.

We watched MTV together for way too many hours -- way back in the day when they actually played videos. We played bartender at the bar in my parents' living room, pretending we were married to George Michael and Andrew Ridgley of Wham -- and not understanding how anyone could even suggest that either of them was gay. We listened to Z89 (the college radio station from SU) constantly and made mix tapes off the radio.

She would sleep over all the time, and we'd hang out in the "mini-apartment" that was the upstairs of my house -- three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room just for me. She'd sleep over Thanksgiving night and we'd start making Christmas cookies the next day, all day. Christmas break was matinee movie time, getting dropped off at the mall. Young Guns I and II, White Nights...

She had crushes on all my guy friends, in high school and college. And actually got hit on by one of my high school friends when she was 12. Whatever happened to Dan Giblin, I wonder?

I taught her how to drive and do shots -- not at the same time. We could stay on the phone for hours on end, without talking, just simply watching TV together. In commercial breaks, we'd flip, without saying where to or which direction we were going in, and say, "oh my god, did you see that?" And inevitably, we'd be on the same channel, seeing the same thing.

I found Casey in the parking lot of her apartment complex, and she convinced me to give that little stray kitty a home. Now I can't even imagine life without the constant meowing.

And now she's in her 30s -- not just 30. And a mommy and a wife. When did we get old? When did we become grown-ups? We may, technically, be of different generations -- her mother is my sister, after all. But I couldn't be closer to her if she were my sister. In fact, I am definitely closer to her than any of my sisters.

So from me and the mouse in my pocket, you'll always be Little Jenny Wa-Wa to me. Happy birthday, ya big scrap book doing, flip flop wearing, 4th grade teaching, Sacajawea looking....

Small World Story #114

I've taken a bit of a (an?) hiatus -- I've been busy at work as the semester is just around the corner and a big web initiative is in its final weeks, we've begun interviewing (again) for Swee's position. Phone interviews last week that were promising, one more tomorrow. My boss is hoping to make an offer by the end of the month, optimistically speaking, of course.

So there's the quick update, here's the small world story:

When I was in my senior year of high school and my first year of college, I worked in the County Comptroller's Office during the summer. Answered the phone, ran errands, did some filing, etc. Your basic summer job in an office. Worked with really nice people.

So I'm at my friend Erica's wedding yesterday and I see this older woman who looks very familiar. I can't place it. And she's introduced as the grandmother of the bride, and before they say "Marilyn...", I'm thinking "Marilyn." And then I figure it out. She was the executive secretary to the comptroller! I asked Erica if that's what her grandmother did, and explained the coincidence and then went over to Marilyn and introduced myself.

She said, "I've been staring at you since the ceremony trying to place you. I'm glad you figured it out!"

And now 18 years after I worked summers with this woman, I am good friends with her granddaughter. Small world, indeed.

The Princess of Aruba

When my friend Sidney was knighted -- like really knighted, by a real queen -- I asked him what I would be called if we ever got married. He would be Sir Sidney...and his wife would be a Lady.

Hmmm...I didn't like that. First, I've never been accused of being a lady -- I'm too much of a tomboy. I told him I wanted to be a princess. He said I couldn't. I gave him a look and said, "are we ever really going to get married?"

"Probably not."

"Then humor me....let me be a princess."

And so I became HRH Ellie, the princess of Aruba. Even some of the people in the front office at the Orioles called me that (when they weren't calling me Mrs. Jeter).

Tonight, after having lots of problems in Baltimore, after starting strong and then stinking strong in St. Louis, Sidney is pitching for the Yankees. At Yankee Stadium. Wearing Tino's number 24.

I wonder what song they'll play for him when he heads in from the bullpen before the game. In Baltimore, it was "Enter Sandman" by Metallica. Anyone who knows anything about the Yankees knows that that is Mariano's song (and it really does mean so much more when it's Mariano coming out of the bullpen, not Sidney).

Hopefully Sidney can start the second half of the season the way he started the first half -- 4-0 with a respectable 4-something ERA. I hope so, not just for my teams' sake, but for my friend's career and getting himself back on track. So that he can finally live up to the potential that always seemed to be within reach...

"Don't think....just throw."

Almost

Things are progressing. I can report soon.

The weekend in review, part 1

Friday...out of work at 3:00pm (I love higher ed), drove to Syracuse for a family picnic at my great-uncle's rtirement community. It was fun -- hot -- but fun. When I got there, I was about three minutes ahead of my brother, sister-in-law and nephew. They yelled to me from the parking lot. As we were walking in, my sister-in-law said, "I don't even know why we're here. Uncle Henry doesn't want to go to the picnic. This is all about Fran."

I found that very strange. Maybe my uncle didn't want to be outside, under the tent, listening to the live music -- but I find it hard to believe that he would give up the chance to have his family, all at once, in one place. So Bob, Sally and Zak only stayed about 20 minutes. Good riddance if they were going to be downers.

And so with my sister and brother-in-law, niece and the baby, and my parents, my sweet almost 92-year-old uncle thanked us all for coming and told us that he loved us. He's so sweet and easy to please. I hate to see him getting older and frailer -- because his mind is still sharp, he has so much spirit, even if it tends to tire easily. When it was just my parents and me there, we were talking baseball. And Uncle Henry asked me who that pitcher was for Boston that the Yankees never liked to face. "Curt Schilling?"

"No."

"Give me a decade, Uncle Henry." I'm wracking my brain trying to think of any pitcher for the Red Sox. "Roger Clemens."

"No."

"Who would have been hitting for the Yankees?" He could have have said Babe Ruth or Mickey Mantle, given his age.

"Oh, it was like in '96."

"Pedro?"

"Yea, I don't like him."

"I don't like him, either." And that's one of the reasons Uncle Henry rocks.

After leaving him, Jenny and I went over to my mom's to illegally scan in Ryan's 2-year-old pictures. Now, I'm not a big fan of AC -- but I also close up my house so that when it's 95 degrees out, it stays kind of cool. Not my father. Windows, shades, blinds -- wide open. It was literally cooler outside than in their apartment.

Even Ryan -- at 2 -- looked at my niece. "Hot. Hot."

We stayed long enough to scan and then left, stopping at the Byrne Dairy for some ice cream on the way home. Ryan summed it up best..."yummy, yummy."

Saturday morning...we went to Ryan's kid's gym and then to visit my niece's college roommate, who is expecting triplets this fall. She looked great and happy -- and just a few pangs of jealousy as the whole world has kids and I don't.

We had left my car at the mall and decided to go in after our visit with Cory. We just walked around. A trip to BBW (I did have a coupon, afterall) for me, and some curtains for Jenny -- and we were on our way. Her north, me south.

I listened to the end of the game in the car, not really paying attention to the driving. The route from Syracuse to Homer to Ithaca has become -- after two years -- as familiar as the thruway between Rochester and Syracuse used to be. I have specific trees or houses that flag how far along my journey I am.

The highlight of the trip, by far, was Ryan saying my name more clearly, wanting me to help him do things, play with him and read to him before bed. :)

To be continued...the rest of the weekend, including playing hooky on Monday.

Fat-head

My relationship with food, and my subsequent relationship with my body, is a difficult one to define. I've always thought of myself as fat. Even when I wasn't. Even when I was nothing more than a stocky, solid 10-year-old. I look back at pictures and see a normal, healthy girl -- with long, strong legs. No pudge, no chubbiness. Solid -- yes. Fat -- not even close. But what I felt, what I saw when I looked in the mirror, was anything but normal and healthy.

When I was 10, I was on a diet. I had probably been on several even before then. I read The Scarsdale Diet, went to Weight Watches meetings, worked out at Kelly Lyn, watched Richard Simmons, did Jane Fonda workouts (before Beta and VHS, the work-out was on a record with diagrams to collow along with) -- all before the age of 13. I remember getting incentives from well-meaning siblings. "For every pound you lose, I'll give you a quarter." And when my sister moved away from Syracuse with her boyfriend, and she would call home, one of the first questions she always asked was, "how's your diet?"

I can only imagine the effects all of that had on me. In fact, I can do more than imagine, because for the past 25 years, I have struggled with my own body image. I have tortured myself with diet after diet -- sometimes to fail from the start, sometimes to succeed and then fail. Even with success, I only see the failures, the not-quite-reaching goal.

At this point in my life, it bothers me the most. Even though, I am the healthiest I've ever been. I guess because I always thought of my weight as the hindurance in relationships, the reason I was alone was because I was unattractive. To put it more bluntly -- I was fat. if I was no longer fat, I would have a boyfriend. I would be attractive to other people. Logically, I know that that couldn't be farther from the truth. Logic isn't always my strong-suit, especially when it comes to me.


As for this weekend, I'm off to the 'Cuse to see my great-uncle, and spend the night at my niece's and play with the little guy. I'm excited. If nothing else, there is nothing like life's perspective from the mind of a two-year-old.