Ugh. Six tablets of Estrace a day. I've gone from "hey, I don't need to air dry my jeans any longer, because they kind of feel loose" to "holy cow, these jeans are feeling tight again." Sucks, along with that icky my-period-feels-like-it's-going-to-start aching, which I just hate.
No word yet on where the donor is in her cycle. Once I get the call, I'll need to come in for a lining check, and it should be about six days until transfer thereafter. That kind of works out, because the acupuncturist starts her vacation in a couple of days. She'll be back on July 7, so she should be available on transfer day. That's a bonus, because I really didn't want a referral to someone that I don't know. Acupuncture is weird enough, thankyouverymuch.
So, just filling in my time. DD "graduated" from pre-K not too long ago. It was very cute. They all had real caps, gowns, and tassels, and they did a half-hour program that they have been working on for months. It was very cute. And I didn't cry - at least during the program. Not even when my little girl stood up, with a microphone, and said "hello, my name is DD, and what I like most about pre-K is the teacher, and I'd like to be a veterinarian when I grow up. Next in program is B [the next child who was to speak]." DD was one of about three kids who had perfect poise when speaking to what was a very large group of parents, grandparents, and friends, many of whom she'd never seen before.
I have to admit, I was envious. My job has forced me into a lot of public speaking (the old career and the new one), and I just hate it. I have never gotten past the initial butterflies in my stomach. I remember my Dale Carnegie instructor saying that they can't get rid of the butterflies, but at least they can make them fly in formation. Not much of a comfort. I would prefer taking an AK-45 to those effing butterflies, KWIM?
DD also seems to get delightfully charged up when she finds herself in front of a room full of strangers. You can see it in her face - she's so happy to be there. Unlike me. When I was in elementary school, I sang a lot of solos. (Before all those years of smoking, I had a wonderful voice. I guess the daily practice didn't hurt either.) When I came out of the shadows and found myself in front of a sea of faces, it seemed to suck the air right out of my lungs. My mother used to tell me to look above their heads at the back wall, and if I had to look right at them, to imagine that they were all in their underwear. Or perhaps their long red underwear. It helped, but not much. I hope and pray that DD takes all that poise and energy that she feels and carries it with her when she grows up.
My latest time-sucking activity has moved from ancestry.com to scanning my mother's photos. It's sort of related, because when I find a link, I make sure to log it into the family tree. Mostly, though, I'm not finding links, because neither she nor my grandmother took the time to mark all the photos. They did mark a lot, and it's enough that I've learned to identify people who are long gone from this earth. But I need at least one identified photo to be able to do that. Right now, I'm missing a great uncle and my great grandmothers, even though I'll wager that I've passed over them many times trying to figure out who they are. So, I'm obsessively scanning with my wonderful new scanner, and I plan to get copies of the people I can't identify to my mother's three remaining first cousins. I hope they can help. (There were four, but my father just told me that one of the cousins has gone blind. Sad.) One of the cousins was never very friendly to my dad, and I hardly know her, but hopefully she will help with a promise that I will have photos made of whatever she wants. I planned on sending a stack of photos printed on paper with a return envelope, because everyone is so far away.
But even doing that, I will still have many photos from the generation before that I will never be able to identify. And I so want to. Sad to think that these photos will be passed down in boxes without ever having a name to match to the face. My advice of the day is to sit down with your parents and grandparents, if you're lucky enough to have them still, and make them identify the family photos. And those stories about distant relatives that you've never met that they seem to repeat over and over and over so that you no longer listen? Start listening. Write it down. I promise, you will not be sorry. (And DH, I know you're reading - you are also the keeper of your family photos, so it's time to start organizing for DD's sake. I certainly don't know who any of those people are!)
And lastly, a tadpole update. I ended up rescuing the tadpole, but I had to trap the little sh*t using my hand. Yuck. So, my father was able to use the downstairs bathroom when he stayed with us on Saturday. A good ending, I guess. And, after lots of antibacterial soap and hand sanitizer, I was as good as new. Just trying to erase the memory now.
The things we do for love, eh?
