Lost Voice

My mother gave me a hard time for being mad at God and unable to pray anymore. She said I was putting conditions on God, as if I were a spoiled child turning my back, sticking out my tongue and saying "if you won't give me what I want I won't talk to you anymore." But that's not it at all. Shouldn't she know me better than that anyway? I was too upset at the time to discuss it further and just ended the conversation and walked away. Merry fucking Christmas.

I wish she could have talked less and listened more. The last thing that grieving people need is to be hit over the head with the Bible. I'd rather be hit with a 2x4 than a Bible. I imagine it would hurt less. I wish I could have explained it better. But at the time I was simply too upset to even try.

There's a scene in a movie that best describes what this feels like. It's a gut-wrenching scene that will rip your heart right out of your chest. It's from the movie Hope Floats with Sandra Bullock and Harry Connick, Jr. Sandra's character moves from Chicago to Texas with her daughter when she finds out that her husband is having an affair. When Sandra's mother dies, the husband comes to visit and the daughter wants to go back "home" with her dad. But her dad is too focused on his paramour to let his daughter come home with him. In the scene, when he tells her good-bye, she runs upstairs, packs a backpack and grabs a teddy bear, thinking he will take her with him. She follows her dad out of the house and down to his car begging him to let her go with him. Clutching the teddy bear, she follows him down the sidewalk saying "Daddy, take me with you." But he just keeps walking away, half-heartedly telling her that he loves her but she can't come with him. Again and again she pleads and again and again he walks further away until she is hysterically screaming on the sidewalk and he is driving away to go find his girlfriend. She ends up standing on the sidewalk alone, howling for her daddy. It is the ultimate rejection for a little girl. Finally, her mother comes out and picks her up and takes her inside.

In my heart it feels like I am the little girl and God is the dad who is too interested in his paramour - in this case, all the pregnant women of the world - to listen to me. Apparently they simply hold more appeal than I do. But there's only so long you can stand on the sidewalk and scream before you lose your voice and have to give up and go inside.

The grief that childless couples experience is unique and it is naive to expect those who have never been there to relate. But I thought surely my mother of all people would be wise enough not to try to justify what is happening. As if somehow I am the problem and I need to just get with the program. If God is really up there and is really the God that I believe him to be, then he will understand my need for silence and not judge me for it. He will even understand when I expect him to be angry with me at the injustice of the situation. How can the inner-city crack whore have a baby but not me? How can Britney Spears have a baby but not me? Isn't he a God of justice? Shouldn't he rightfully be angry when injustice occurs? Shouldn't he rightfully do something about it? Yes, I expect him to someday fix this. Somehow. I do expect things of him. I do expect him to comfort me and make the situation bearable somehow. Is that so wrong?

Quote of the Year

Seriously? I sat there, dumbfounded, wondering if I had heard him correctly. Looking around the room it was clear no one else was having the same reaction as me. By the third time he said it, I was quite confident I had not misunderstood him. And so, for your edification and amusement, is the quote of the month:

"When you turn in your individual 2009 practice plan, make sure you include at least 1 or 2 of your failures from 2008 for consideration."

Just 1 or 2, not all of them. As if to say, there are so many I won't be picky about which one you give me. Nice, huh? This is from my practice group chair. And guess what? He's also the chair of our firm's mentoring committee. Oh yeah, we got a good one ladies and gentlemen. Jealous? Right in time for year-end evaluations, too. Somebody please shoot me to take me of my misery if I am stuck in this place next year at this time.

Chip off the old block...

I'm really angry today. I've been confronted with so many pregnant women today that I swear I must be a magnet for them. It's exhausting. Can't they just leave me alone? They're so happy and so full of hope. Last night I realized something and my mind just won't let it go. So on top of seeing a pregnant lady every which way I turn I've got this thought running in an endless loop in my head. I had gone Christmas shopping and bought this hoodie-type neck warmer thing that looks like a fleece - like a hooded sweatshirt without the shirt part. My husband put it on and we were joking around and laughing when all of a sudden I could see him as a little child. He has a very youthful face and when confronted with just that face inside a big hood he didn't look like an adult anymore. All I saw was a happy, rosy face with chubby little cheeks bundled up inside a big hood to go play outside on a cold day. And that's when it hit me: I'll never see my husband's eyes in my child's face. One of the things I had been looking most forward to in motherhood was getting to know my husband as a child - watching him in miniature confront life for the first time. Re-creating the parts of his life that I missed, necessarily, having grown up in different countries. Isn't that what parents love to do? See their spouse in their child? How many times have we heard the expression - or used the expression - "he's a chip off the old block" or "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." "He gets that from you!" "She has her mother's smile..." etc., etc. Right? I don't need to belabor the point.

We've nearly decided to bag all the torturous IVF-type procedures that the doctors call our "options" in favor of adopting. It's an exciting proposition and would be so wonderful in so many ways. But it will never, ever be a substitute for having our own child. I could adopt a million children and still never see my husband in my child.

Well, Thanksgiving is officially over and I've got the scars to prove it! I nearly cut off my thumb while chopping onions and singed my wrist while maneuvering the turkey around in the oven. But, the turkey wasn't dry this year (probably more thanks to my sister purchasing a brined turkey than to my efforts at stuffing it with citrus and herbs like Giada de Laurentiis does) and my husband's only request was for a non-dry turkey. So I guess you could call it a success! Wish I had pictures for you, but he lost our camera while on business travel in South America, so I have no way of taking pictures. Perhaps if Santa brings me that little pink camera I asked him for, my hubby dearest will be less willing to take it on travel and lose it! (That little trick has worked so far with my umbrella, which is purple and far too "girly." I've had it for a whole year and a half - a true family record!)

Even though Thanksgiving was late this year, I'm still not ready for Christmas. I've even got half my shopping done, which is another family record, but that doesn't help either. I have no desire to get out the tree or decorate or anything. We broke down and bought a fake tree last year because all our fresh ones would fall over and we could never find one small enough to avoid taking up half the room. I thought buying Christmas-tree scented candles and burning them in the room would help, but it still doesn't cover up the plastic smell! I think it's toxic, too. Which probably fits my mood this year, which is nothing but blue. I have no desire to call my friends or go to Christmas parties. Even seeing the family at Thanksgiving felt like a chore this year. Weird, because I'm usually the family-gathering cheerleader.

I think it's because last year at this time I was so hopeful. So hopeful that 2008 would be the year of change. A new baby. A new job. Or not - I've always wanted to be Susie Homemaker, even just for a little bit. But here I am in the same old place doing the same old stuff I was doing last year at this time. With the same old feelings of exasperation. And with the economy now "officially" in recession (seriously - didn't we all know that already?) who knows when that perfect new job will come along and sweep me into a better mood. I feel like I've got to put hope on the shelf until the holidays are over and the economy picks up. Head down, trudging into the wind with nothing but determination to simply get by, let alone live long and prosper. Who wants to go to a Christmas party with a person like that? As I sit here on a cold evening nursing my cold (which I only thought had gone away), it occurs to me that maybe some more hot, steamy, spiced cider and a little retail therapy will help. At least Vera Bradley doesn't ask me what size I am. And maybe that java blue large duffel bag I've been wanting will help make Christmas travel more palatable. At least I'll be doing my part for the economy...

Cran-Apple Delight

Looks like I'm hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year. In going through the menu and my old recipes I found a favorite and thought I would share it with you. An attorney I used to work with gave it to me, and as soon as I tried it once it became a favorite at holiday time. It's called Cran-apple delight, but last year I made it with pears instead of apples and it was much better. Wasn't quite as tart as the apples and cranberries can sometimes be. You may want to use sweeter apples also. Play with the amount of sugar until you get it to just the right sweet/tart combination to suit your family's taste.

Fruit:
3-4 tart apples or pears
2 cups raw cranberries
3/4 to 1 cup sugar
3 to 4 tablespoons water

Topping:
3/4 cup uncooked oatmeal
1/4 cup flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 1/2 cup chopped pecans
1/4 pound butter, melted

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Peel, core and slice apples or pears. Rinse and pick over cranberries. Mix fruit with sugar and water and place in 2 quart casserole. Set aside. For the topping, mix dry ingredients, then add melted butter. Spread topping over fruit. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

Back in the saddle...

Today I am finally kicking the cold that has had me down-and-out for two weeks. It was really bad - I lost my voice completely - and I don't usually get sick. It must have been a really nasty bug going around the office.

This afternoon I am off to a horseback riding lesson. I had always promised myself that someday, probably after having babies, I would take up lessons. When all of our trouble started and we realized that would probably never happen, it just made sense to go ahead and do it. Why wait? So I put on my old jeans and cowboy boots and drive through the country for an hour to meet K, my trainer. She's great and sometimes it's hard not to just stand there talking instead of riding. For a "girly-girl" like me it's so much fun to get out into nature and get dirty! When I come home my boots, jeans and hands are all dirty and dusty. I'm exhausted, but happy to have gotten some fresh air and exercise. Some day I'll get the full English-riding get-up with the black knee-high boots and tight pants and everything. But for now I just love wearing cowboy boots!

The first time I began cantering (faster than a trot and slower than a gallop) K said I was grinning from ear to ear! It was a bit like being on a runaway train, but so, so, so much fun. I've been taking lessons since August and look forward to it every week. But today I'm a little nervous and my husband doesn't want me to go. On tv this morning we saw a story about a woman who was gravely injured on a horse. The horse got spooked while she was taking a blanket off of him and kicked her in the face. Broke her forehead, eye socket and even her jaw! Could have killed her, but she got to the hospital fast and had reconstructive surgery and pulled through ok. The story this morning profiled her second surgery to make her look even better. She looks almost normal now, so I'm glad she pulled through. It's a big reality check. The horses are huge animals and I must admit to being a bit afraid of them. I don't really like being in the stalls around them and am much more comfortable being in the saddle and in charge. But stories like the one this morning just make you think reeaally hard before getting back in the saddle. I suppose life is all about taking calculated risks. I am told that my barn's most serious accidents have been from the horses stepping on people's feet! Hopefully that's all I'll ever experience...

So - back from my riding lesson and it went so well! So glad I went! We practiced with trot poles today. K put jumping posts on the floor and I had to pratice walking, then trotting over them. You should have seen it! I was guiding the horse and riding just like I've always dreamed of doing! Cinnamon took direction just perfectly and I got to ride around the outer ring, then inside across the poles and back outside again just like I was supposed to. I felt like a real horsewoman. It was bliss!

I suppose I should begin by introducing myself. It is hard to know where to begin. I guess I'll start by stating the obvious. First, I am a 30-something girl. (Although as I write, perhaps having crossed the big 3-0 makes me a woman? I don't feel like a woman yet. I still cringe every time a teenager calls me "ma'am," which was most recently at the Marine Corp Marathon when I asked a strapping young marine for directions. Although I am pleased at his effort at being polite, I'd still rather be a "miss.")

But I digress. I am a 30-something, married attorney with no children. I practice real estate and commercial lending law in a regional, mid-size firm. I work and commute for about 12-13 hours per day on average, which leaves little time for anything else because by the time I get home I am so exhausted I barely know my name. Actually, as far as working in a firm goes those hours are not bad. However, I never went to law school intending to practice forever, so really I'm just biding my time until I can figure out something better to do with my JD. Turns out, that's tougher than I thought because there's little time for anything else! It's a viscious cycle. Especially with student loans to repay...

My real name is not Honey Lebowitz, as you probably have guessed. I don't like honey and I am not even Jewish! The name comes from a rather distressing experience at the office - well, at a client function for the office - in which my boss called me "honey" in front of a client. That wasn't even the worst part. He said it in the context of telling me I'd have to go sit by myself at a basketball game because there were five of us and he only had tickets in sets of four. Naturally, in his mind, since I was the only girl and could have been the daughter of every one else in our party it only made sense that I be the "odd man out." Now, to give you a picture of how upsetting that was (and I won't even discuss how inappropriate it was to call me "honey") that was the first basketball game I had been to since high school when I was on the pom squad and had to perform at half time. To say that I am not a huge sports fan is putting it mildly. If I had had to actually sit by myself I truly don't know what I would have done. The arena was not even situated where I could have told my partner where to shove it and taken a taxi home. Thankfully, one of the others in our group had a little more social grace and was able to make the problem go away. I've never been to a sporting event with that partner again. Once I stopped fuming, my office friend and I got to laughing about it and decided we should turn the experience into something positive - lemonade, if you will - so the name is a way to pay hommage to that terrible - now funny - experience. And just to clarify - "Lebowitz" is not the partner's name - it was the name of a high school friend and I've always thought it sounded neat.

Now, to get back to introductions, I am either on the brink of great disaster or great adventure. See, we just found out we can't have children. Between the two of us - my wonderful husband and myself - it's genetically impossible. Thankfully, we are both otherwise perfectly healthy, so there are no other, related problems to deal with. I suppose "can't" is relative, because doctors now-a-days will tell you just about anything is possible. And it probably is. But just because something is a medical possibility doesn't mean it's a good idea. So we are trying to figure out our course of action while sorting through the roller coaster of emotions we are currently feeling. It sucks. Most days I'd rather just curl up in a ball and throw the covers over my head than get out of bed. That would be a disaster. But even if I get out of bed sometimes I'm just a walking disaster, so I can't figure out which is better.

As mentioned before, practicing law is not a forever-career for me, so having a baby was going to be a very safe and socially acceptable way to make a smooth exit and buy myself some time away from the daily grind to figure out what else to do. Now, that's not going to happen. So I have to come up with Plan B. I have no idea what that is. In law school the thing I enjoyed most was a seminar class comparing the lifestyle and culture of firms with government and public interest work. I interned for the government and we had to write journals each week regarding our experience. Turns out I enjoyed the writing more than I thought I would. Which was surprising because I've never, ever been a journaler. My parents got me a diary in elementary school and I wrote off and on through junior high but still only filled the book a third of the way up. It must have only occurred to me to write when I was upset about something, because when I found the diary while I was cleaning out my room for college all the entries were unhappy ones. I burned the diary and have had negative associations with journaling ever since. But the law school class awakened my interest in writing - creative writing, that is. A friend at work recently suggested I start writing again and then suggested I consider blogging. After perusing some of the other blogs (namely "My Messy, Thrilling Life") I decided to give it a try. We'll see how it goes. Hopefully this won't bore you to death and we can become friends. One can never overestimate the importance of a good friend...or a great adventure...

Welcome!

Good morning and welcome to my new adventure! This is a brand new, very uncharactistic endeavor for me, so please bear with me as I get started. As I'm not at all tech savvy and have no idea what I'm doing, there are sure to be hiccups along the way.

So I'm sure you're familiar with that old saying "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Well, I've recently had to begin making lemonade. Right now it doesn't taste very good unless you enjoy biting into a juicy, bitter, and very sour lemon. I'm only now in the process of adding water and will have to find a way to add sugar later. Maybe you, as my new friend, can help me find the sugar as I hope to do for you as well. There's nothing quite like a good glass of lemonade...