51. Take a drawing class.

52.  Really get to know my siblings as adults.

53.  Watch my sister teach in Spanish.

54.   Have a picture taken with four generations of women—Grandma Teddy, my mom, me, my sister, and  my future   daughter—before it’s too late.

55.  Convert to using all “green” household cleaning products.

56.  Frame all those Ansel Adams photographs I collected from previous years’ calendars and finally hang them in the master bedroom.

57.  Re-paint the “wall of death” red.

58.   Find a pleasing arrangement for family photos on the new red wall.

59.   Buy a decent lounge chair or hammock for the deck (just do it already…yes, they are expensive, but you know you want one…).

60.   Wear a sunhat without feeling self-conscious.

61.   Camp out in the backyard with Drew and the dogs, complete with “camp” fire and S’mores.

62.   Embrace ironing.

63.   Make all cards for a year’s worth of occasions ahead of time, and file them by birthdate, anniversary, etc.

64.   Create more photo albums.

65.   Find a jewelry box that fits all my necklaces in a hanging position, so that they don’t always get tangled.

66.   Have a walk-in closet, reserved just for me and my exorbitant collection of shoes and handbags.

67.   Read the Bible from cover to cover.

68.   Sing a duet with my sister.

69.   Some day, live close enough to work to walk (like Dad) or bike there (like Tiff used to).

70.   Get together with Kate, Aubrey, Michele, and Tosha at least twice a year.

71.   Feel less guilty when I say “no” in favor of maintaining balance in my life.

72.   Get a family picture taken with Drew, me, Molly, and Sammy (if we can hold them still!).

73.   Spend a romantic weekend with Drew at the Khardomah Lodge (where we were married).

74.   Get that piano tuned.

75.   Put window boxes with pretty annuals under the two front windows.

26.   Become pregnant, carry a healthy child to term, and deliver that child naturally.

27.   Adopt a child who needs a loving home and parents.

28.   Become a mentor.

29.   Visit Grandma Bea’s final resting place in Colorado one more time.

30.    Find a way to live closer to my family.

31.    Find special ways to show my love/support to our godchild as she grows up and experiences life events.

32.   Write a children’s book.

33.   Get my teaching license and teach secondary English in the public school systems for at least one year.

34.   Study early childhood development.

35.   Learn how to pick out clothes that look good on my figure (or lack thereof).

36.   Learn how to ride a motorcycle (better…without laying the thing down on top of me).

37.   Make camping at a state park an annual family vacation.

38.   Find more ways to sneak extra vegetables into meals (a la Deceptively Delicious style).

39.   Participate in a book club.

40.   Live on the waterfront.

41.   Run a 5k with a friend.

42.   Teach Drew to cross-country ski.

43.   Get over my fear of/distaste for baking.

44.   Write down recipes I alter/invent.

45.   Create my own recipe cards on which to write down recipes I alter/invent myself.

46.   Visit Sweetwater Local Foods Market.

47.   Write another article or book chapter with my Dad.

48.   Write a book of stories about humorous events/incidents growing up in our family.

49.   Remember all of my first cousins’ names (believe me, this is not as simple as it seems).

50.   Get a handle on the grammar rules I have yet to master.

Inspired by my sister (thanks, Becky!) and others. My first 25 aren't particularly creative, but I hope that I will get more creative now that much of that requisite professional goal-type stuff is mostly out of the way.

 

1.       Publish at least one work of fiction.

2.       Publish at least one work of non-fiction.

3.       Have a feature article published in a major (non-industry-specific) magazine.

4.       Earn a second bachelor’s or master’s degree and/or Ph.D.

5.       Read the Chronicles of Narnia, Anne of Green Gables, The Secret Garden, and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler (among other early adolescent literature) to a child.

6.       Read the classics on my “to read” list.

7.       Paint a nursery yellow, like my first bedroom in Salina, KS (to this day, I still remember that room being the lightest, brightest, and most comforting place to be).

8.       Expand my teaching of writing to other companies/organizations and begin teaching writing at a college/university.

9.       Expand my writing/teaching consulting into a successful business venture (“successful” here means “could replace 9-5 job with comparable income").

10.   Travel to Italy, the South of France, Ireland, Greece, Japan, and Bali (to name a few).

11.   Plant a successful vegetable garden (“successful” here means “does not die,” as is so typical of any of my gardening adventures to date).

12.   Take a photography class and make a point of practicing more often.

13.   Re-learn to play Clair de Lune on the piano again (this means playing it up-to-tempo, with no hesitations or mistakes).

14.   Learn how to play the guitar.

15.   Join a singing group or choir.

16.   Act in another theatre production.

17.   Take dance lessons.

18.   Become as (or more) physically fit as I was while playing sports in high school.

19.   Save a life.

20.   Bake with my Mom to learn Grandma Bea’s sweet roll recipe.

21.   Go sailing.

22.   Become a stronger swimmer.

23.   Buy new, hardwood bookshelves and re-arrange all books I own by topic and alphabetically.

24.   Tweak homemade frozen yogurt recipe for optimum nutrition and sweetness.

25.   Take a relaxing beach vacation (one where absolutely nothing is planned and there’s no pressure of somewhere to go).

-Em

Kate and I have been discussing infertility a lot lately. Shocker, I know...  Of course we would be, right? It is something that is at the forefront of both of our minds right now--as we each struggle to conceive a child of our own. It is so comforting to talk to someone who's done the same research, gotten similar information from doctors, and basically just understands the ins and outs of infertility more than the average person.

In addition to information sharing, story-swapping, and sanity-checking, we've also discussed "reasons" why we think we might be going through this struggle. I think, as humans, we always try to make sense of things like this. Maybe there is no real reason, I don't know, but I guess I'm not really willing to believe that (at this point in my life, anyway). I need to believe there's more to it than that. I need to feel like I was chosen to endure this for some sort of reason--not because I'm being punished, or merely because I'm the "lucky" random person who got picked out of the hat.

Today, Kate brought a post written on a message board by another infertile to my attention:

---

"What God meant when he gave me infertility..

Couples experiencing infertility often receive well-meaning but extremely insensitive advice. We can list all the most popular ones: Just relax and you'll get pregnant, or adopt and you'll get pregnant, of the most painful from those who think they've got the goods on God's plan; maybe God never meant for you to have children. The sheer audacity of making a statement like that never fails to amaze me.

These same people would never walk up to someone seeking treatment for cancer and say "Maybe God never meant for you to live." However, because I am infertile, I'm supposed to get on with my life? It's hard to understand that people cannot see infertility for what it is; a disease for which I have to seek treatment. What if Jonas Salk had said to the parents of polio victims, "Maybe God meant for thousands of our children to be cripples, live in an iron lung, or die." What if he'd never tried to find a cure? Who could think for one minute that was God's plan?

What do I think God meant when he gave me infertility?

I think he meant for my husband and I to grow closer, become stronger, love deeper. I think God meant for us to find the fortitude within ourselves to get up every time infertility knocks us down. I think God meant for our medical community to discover medicines, invent medical equipment, create procedures and protocols. I think God meant for us to find a cure for infertility.

No, God never meant for me not to have children. That's not my destiny; that's just a fork in the road I'm on. I've been placed on the road less traveled. I've gained more compassion, deeper courage, greater inner strength on this journey to resolution and I haven't let him down.

Frankly, if the truth be known, I think God has singled me out for a special treatment. I think God meant for me to build a thirst for a child so strong and so deep that when that baby is finally placed in my arms, it will be the longest, coolest, most refreshing drink I've ever known.

While I would never have chosen infertility, I cannot deny that a fertile woman could never know the joy that awaits me. Yes, one way or another, I will have a baby of my own. And the next time someone wants to offer me unsolicited advice; I'll say "Don't tell me what God meant when he handed me infertility. I already know."

Take hold, ladies, that God has a greater plan for us as women and as mothers. We are in for the longest, coolest, most refreshing drink we've ever known! Take hold ladies...God will not forsake us!"

---

Besides this woman's thoughts being, well, extremely relatable to someone like me, I also want to believe that the "singling out" she mentioned is true. I want to believe that I was chosen to go through this because, perhaps, I'm unafraid (not always, though, I must admit!) to share this experience with others. Kate and I have both discussed these yearnings (for meaning) and agree that along with this struggle comes a responsibility: to help remove the "stigma" and/or misconceptions that accompany this "disease," to educate people, to help people learn to be more empathetic and understanding to those who suffer. 

If we can help just one other person feel less "abnormal" or "broken"--that alone will be enough to have made this all worth it. Like the woman above said, I never would've chosen infertility. Not by a longshot. It often doesn't seem fair that it took us so long to get pregnant with our first child, then, once we did, to lose that child. It doesn't seem fair that the miscarriage was so long, drawn out, and painful. It doesn't seem fair that it's taken nearly a year to even return to the point where we can begin to start trying for a child again. It is a long, slow, and heart-breakingly excrutiating process.

That's why there has to be more to it. I refuse to accept that there is no reason.

-Em

I was perusing one of my motorcycle web sites today and ran across this article:

http://thekneeslider.com/archives/2008/04/10/ducati-monster-terra-mostro-in-production/

This has got to be one of the sweetest things I've seen in a while...time to start auctioning everything I own so I can buy one...

***Update:  Here's a link to the makers of the bike:  http://www.terramostro.com/
I'm curious to know if they make kits to convert a monster that you already own....

- Drew