Hi

Okay, well. Hmmm.

I seem to have been at a loss for words the past couple of weeks. I did this after my miscarriage, too, so I guess that it's something weird that I do. I just haven't known what to say about....anything. I told a bloggy friend this morning, I'm just feeling extremely "blah". No joie de vivre, as they say.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing now. It's like I've given myself that year to do whatever I needed to do...hole myself up, scream and cry, lose 50 pounds, gain a ton back, learn to sew, plant things, scream and cry, pull my hair, scan the obits for dead babies, have a pathological fear of Target and their fucking Lullaby Club, don't return phone calls, don't return emails, bitch at my husband, cry myself to sleep, cry myself awake and then wonder why I'm so goddamned lonely all the time. It boggles my mind that it's been a year. I've been crying for a year. I must be chronically dehydrated.

I've been thinking a lot since his birthday about this time last year. When we finally did go back to our place (we'd stayed with my mom for a few days) I sat at the kitchen table for like, a week. Hours and hours upon end. I am serious. I just sat there listening to the radio and knitting lace pillowcase inserts. Or I would just lay my head down on the table and bawl and scream uncontrollably. But I stayed in the kitchen. The mental pain was so mind numbingly horrible that it even overshadowed the physical pain of my c-section. I remember thinking, "What was everyone's problem with this? It doesn't hurt that bad."

So that's my thing right now. I don't know what to do with myself. All the "firsts" are gone and now every year is just going to blur into each other. His 2nd birthday and his 32nd birthday. Now what? I've turned into a very boring person. Hey, did I tell you that I saw the guy who does the weather on tv at the grocery store this morning? Yeah, that's all I got. I know that it is stupid to say, "Okay, it's been a year. Pull up your big girl panties and get on with things." That's what clueless people say. I guess that I'm afraid that it's been a year and I'm still having trouble functioning on a halfway decent level. When do I get excited about things again?

Nate's Portrait

Here is the portrait of Nate that my sister, Jessica, drew for us.

And here's a close-up so that you can see the detail.

I should have taken it out from behind the glass before I took the picture, so there's a reflection in the way a little bit. What do you think? Isn't it great? I have it up on the mantel and just can't stop looking at it. I love it so much, and particularly thankful for it after that Dear Abby letter today. 

Morning Paper

Did anyone read Dear Abby this morning? Here is the article.

I'm not sure how to feel about this. It makes me feel a little sick, mainly because the author keeps using the word "it. 'We have to look at it.' Is this child a boy or a girl, or did the author and her bitchy co-workers even ask? I probably wouldn't display a picture like this of Nate, just because I'm very selective of pictures that I show to people. It's my way of protecting him and if anyone ever recoiled in horror upon seeing a picture of my son, I would just die.

I just feel so badly for this woman with the baby. Because I know how she feels...you feel that motherly love for your child no matter what. You're proud of that child no matter what, but in this society you're not allowed to be proud with pictures. Yet again, something else that we've been gypped of. I mean, I know that I need to be sensitive. Having a baby that has died is such a part of my reality, that seeing a picture of one doesn't even faze me. I don't see "dead", I see the beauty of the child. However, if "old" Laura, especially "old pregnant" Laura had seen a picture like that, I think that it would have really upset me. I've been thinking lately what the old me would have thought coming across a blog like the one I have now. I know that I would have never thought that it was "yucky", but it would be so out of the scope of imagination for me--something that would be impossible to happen. Never in a million years. It blows my mind that now I feel like a baby to bring home would be nearly an impossibility to happen. I hate being that negative, but I think that it's fear more than negativity, honestly. But when it's all you know, it's all you know.

I know this discussion comes up a lot, but what do you think about this article?

Thank you so much. Thank you so much for thinking about me, for saying that my baby was beautiful. It helps my heart so much.

We made it through his first birthday and it was just like the "veterans" said, the leading up to the actual day was so, so much worse. I just wanted to lay down and die on January 30th--I just didn't think that I was going to make it, and I didn't want to. I was terrified to go to sleep that night and by the next morning, I knew why. Part of me actually believed that I was going to have to do it again: all of the trauma, all of the blood loss, surgery and very worst of all, the realization that my baby was unconscious in the NICU.

But I woke up.

And it was just morning. I was healthy, so much stronger than I was one year ago. No morphine, no blood, no horrible realization that my baby was sick. Just the peaceful feeling that I wanted to make this day nice for my son, for his memory. To spend the day with my husband and have a wonderful time together seemed like a perfect tribute to Nate, and I think it was.

Tom took the day off of work and I cancelled my music lessons for the day. We went to Home Depot to buy hardware for our new doors and then we bought a new orchid, something that I've decided to do every year on Nate's birthday. We cuddled together in the same recliner and watched tv. And we went to the cemetery. I had put together a little arrangement of daisies and little wooden cutouts of a train, a lion and an airplane that I had glued on dowels and stuck in among the flowers. We released some big, beautiful balloons that came with a huge flower arrangement from Tom's office. And we cried. It was so cold and snowing and the strong wind carried those balloons off fast--it was so hard to watch them disappear. But I think that we both felt good when we left.

That night I made a huge, cheesy lasagna and a chocolate and carmel cake. I opened the bottle of chianti that my mom had brought back from Florence and that I was saving for a special occasion. And it was good. Really good. The lasagna and the cake were pretty damn good, too.

And then today. Today is the day that we disconnected his life support. It was the day that I finally got it. He wasn't going to come out of this and he was already gone, really. I probably need to write about this, but I can't do it right now. Those days were so dark that I only remember them in black and white. Looking back, I have no idea how we made it through. Today, I'm going to stay busy, I think. I've got my baking class and then I'm going to pick up Nate's portrait. Maybe start painting Kaitlyn's bedroom. We've been in this house for like nine months and all of the walls are still white. I'm ready for some color in this place. I'm ready for some color in a lot of places.

One

Happy Birthday, Sweetpea. We love you so, so, so much.

Last

One year ago today...

The first day of my maternity leave.

The day that it was really sinking in that I was bringing you home and soon, too.

I finally finished your little apple hat on this day, a year ago.

How many more sleeps would it be until you were in my arms? Just one, as it would turn out.

I had that sleep and you were gone, your little body there, your sweet soul was not.

I'm so sorry, my love. I'm so sorry that my body failed you, my beautiful boy.

Every minute of every day, I think of you. I never thought that I could love anyone as much as I do you.

My sweet boy.

Maybe?

Someone's been playing with my one-year-old nephew's toys.

My sister called a few minutes ago to ask if anything weird has been happening around my house. I said, yes, a couple of things have happened that could be weird or they could be the cat. She told me that Connor's electronic toys have been going off by themselves this week. Two in particular: a toy laptop and a driving simulator. The laptop is operated by touching the "mouse" and a picture comes up on the screen. The child then has to touch the matching picture on the keyboard and if it's correct, it makes a sound. She said that a picture of a train came up on the screen and a few seconds later, she heard the sound of a train coming from the toy. The little driving toy has been honking. Both of these toys don't make any noise when they are turned on or off. If that was the case, then the batteries just might be dying. Certain buttons have to be pushed for them to make noise--especially the laptop. Not only were buttons pushed, the correct button was pushed in order for the train to sound. I don't know. But it is interesting that this is happening during his birthday week.

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Speaking of birthdays...what did you do or what do you plan on doing for your child's first birthday? I'm going to make an floral arrangement for the cemetery and I'd like to release some balloons, but I would love to know some ways that others have celebrated their children.

Random Stuff

In my Quest to Stay Busy, I'm taking a class at the local technical college called Professional Baking. It's every Saturday for four weeks, four hours a day. This past Saturday was yeast breads and the one before that was quick breads--biscuits, muffins, scones, etc. I have never been able to make a decent biscuit--they always turn out like hockey pucks. I'm pleased to announce that it only took me 2 tries to make the Most Awesome Biscuits Ever. Tall and flakey and everything. I'm excited to beat out my frustrations on some yeast dough this week. This coming class will feature cookies and pies--I am very excited about this. If I don't smoke all those old ladies at the pie contest this summer after all of these classes, well, then I'm just going to have to hang up my apron. The point of this paragraph is--I think that I'm going to go to culinary school for real. Not just adult continuing ed. classes. This may involve me giving up teaching music. You heard it here first.

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Who wants to hear more about my period? Nobody?......okay skip to the next paragraph then. I've been on my period for over 30 days now. This is very depressing to me and is also putting a bit of strain on the relationship with my husband if you know what I mean. Right now I think that I'm on my period for real, because it changed from just spotting at about 28 days after it started, so I'm hoping that it's actually going to stop this time. And this point of this paragraph is....even though my doctor told me that it was stress that was causing this menstrual bullshit, something that a very good friend told me actually put my mind at ease. She was in the Army and until very recently, did counterintelligence in Iraq. She told me that many women would have their periods the entire time that they were in Iraq or not have one at all. This implies that the impending first birthday of my dead child and the realization that my due date with Chip is quickly approaching might just be as stressful as facing roadside bombs and mortar attacks. I believe it.

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My little sister is doing a portrait of Nate and I'm so excited. She is an extremely talented artist and I could brag about her all day. She's also wicked smart--she's a pre-med student with plans on becoming an OB/GYN, mostly because of what happened with me and Nate. I haven't been able to put up any pictures in my house, other than one of his feet, and I think that I might be able to actually look at a drawn portrait of my son and not feel sadness. I never thought, though, that I'd ever give anyone a picture of my child to draw with the instructions, "Can you just make him look 'not dead'?" ~sigh~ I know that it will be beautiful, though.

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I think that the cold in my house killed most of my plants. However, my orchid was safe at my MIL's the whole time. I think that I'd just be like, "Oh well. Go buy new plants." But these were plants that were given to us after Tom's dad and Nate died. Peace lillies and stuff. I always feel extra guilty when funeral plants die. I'm never going to give anyone a plant for a funeral again. They're kind of a sad reminder and then you feel an extra obligation to keep them alive. You know?

It Sucks

Yesterday I didn't spend the day on the verge of tears or sobbing uncontrollably in the shower, like I did on Saturday, but I was just mean. I wanted to kick-bite-punch everyone in my sight. I decided that I needed a nap, but I didn't sleep. I just went to my bedroom, rolled up like a burrito in my comforter with only my nose and eyes showing and watched an hour and a half of stand up comedy.

Eventually I drug my only slightly-less-bitchy self out of the bedroom and joined the living in the family room.

Kaitlyn said, "Can I have a snack?"
I grumped back at her, "How can you possibly be hungry? We had a ginormous lunch."
"Well, I am."
"Okay, go for it."
She walks in to the kitchen, puts some Goldfish crackers on a saucer, comes back, hesitates in the doorway, stumbles and flings crackers all over the floor.
"Kaitlyn! You need to be more careful!"
"Oops. Can you get the vacuum for me?"
"No! Those are too big for the vacuum! Pick them up yourself!"
She moves her foot and crushes several crackers with her boot and Tom laughs and says,
"Ha, ha! She's crushing them with her shoe!"
Again, Kaitlyn asks me, "Can you get the vacuum for me?"
The top of my head is about to pop off.
"It's in the hall closet!!!!!!"

Kaitlyn goes to get the vacuum and comes around the corner with a brand new one!! One of those badass Dyson ones that don't lose suction and look like a racecar or a rocket ship or something. And yes, I'm such a dork that I get excited about vacuums, especially this one--I've wanted one forever. So, they had planned the whole thing and snuck off to Home Depot while I was being cranky in my bedroom. I think that Kaitlyn is quite the little actress. I played with it right away and was facinated and also disgusted to see that even though I had just vacuumed that afternoon with the old one, the Dyson picked up a dust/dirt/hairball the size of my head. I am serious. I love my new vacuum.

From the frozen tundra she emerges....

Hi! Here I am!

I'm okay--relatively unfrozen. Thanks for checking on me, guys :) We got power back a few days ago and I've been a complete turd and not updating my blog or catching up with everyone. I've just been running around saying, "Wheee!" and "Hooray!" and baking and cooking and using my dishwasher, washer/dryer and vacuum with reckless abandon. (Which coincidently, I was just talking my husband into buying me a new vacuum. I just ran it and the whole house smells like ass over dog now. I changed the bag and everything.)

Speaking of dogs, all mine are fine. Henry is absolutely over the moon to be home, Shirley was probably less than pleased to leave Camp Weenie Dog, but she seems to have warmed up to us again, and the cat is pissed that we're all home period.

So, I promise to write a decent entry tomorrow. I had a really hard time yesterday...a Nate milestone...but today's a little better. I'm just trying to stay really busy.

Still no power, still no power, still no power. Shit. All of the newer neighborhoods with their cute, little trees and underground utilites have power. I just had to have the old house with the big trees. Goddammit. My animals are spread out all over town: Shirley is at a neighbor's with a generator and three other weenie dogs having weenie dog fun. Henry (my beagle) is at my mom's--also with no power, but warmer than our house is currently. I dressed him in a doggie hooded velour jacket that is too small. He is a fatso and looks like a before picture for diet pills. Beverly the cat is still at the cold house, running around all batshitty and becoming feral. We're still at the MIL's and I'm so thankful for her and her hospitality and the fact that she's awesome and not one of those MIL's, but I really, really miss my house and tomorrow it's going to be a week since we lost power and they're saying that it might be another 10 effing days! ~sigh~ Anyway...that's my craptastic update. I am cranky.

This was in our newspaper yesterday. It's not my street, but it looks identical to it--I had to really look carefully to see that it wasn't.

We are refugees at my mother-in-law's house, one of the few (very few) homes where I live that have power. The governor has declared our city and the surrounding towns in a state of emergency and the National Guard had been deployed. (You really dodged a bullet with this one, huh, Michelle?)

We lost power on Friday night. We hardly slept at all listening to the huge trees up and down our street moan from the weight of the ice, crack like a gunshot and then with the sound of a pane of glass, shatter on the ground. Every one sounded like it landed right on our house, so every 15 minutes we'd sit straight up in bed and look through the blinds of the windows right behind our headboard to see that it was actually across the street. When one fell close enough hit the gutters, we knew it. Oh man. By the second night we realized that it was kind of stupid to sleep with our heads pointed at a window which was directly in line with a gigantic oak tree, and we slept in another bedroom. Oh, my poor trees. I love our trees so much, the two huge oak trees where the first thing that I noticed when we looked at the house. Now they are trashed.

My town looks like a tornado ripped through it. Whole trees and limbs everywhere, utility poles snapped like twigs, electric lines down across streets and yards. There is a eerie feeling to the city--everything so covered in ice and silent except for the constant crack, shatter of the trees. Without the sun shining, everything looks like it's in black and white. Traffic signals and street lights are out and when night comes, it's pitch black. Gas stations have run out of gas and of course, all of the crooks have come to town in their 18-wheelers, selling generators and camping equipment out of the back for two and three times the price. My neighbor actually bought one of their $900 generators. The utility people say that we may not have power until the end of the week, and with sub-zero temps, there are practically riots when Lo.we's or Hom.e De.pot get in a shipment of generators.

After two nights in our frigid house and a nasty bout of stomach flu on my part (Great timing. Thank goodness we had water to flush the toilet) ,we decided that it wasn't an adventure anymore and gave up. So, we packed up some stuff for a few days, grabbed Nate's box and came here. I'm so thankful that we had some place to go--the shelters in town are filled to capacity. We are really, really lucky. Tom is checking on the house right now. So far, we've just had some gutter damage but I'm so terrified that our big tree is going to come down on our little house. I've seen it happen to others this weekend--this place is a demilitarize zone. Unbelievable. I have some pictures of our street and house, but they'll have to wait until we've got power again. It's going to take a long, long time to recover from this, but the important thing right now is that we're safe and warm and I've stopped barfing. Thank goodness.

Yes I'm Serious. And Don't Call Me Shirley.

Meet Shirley!

She's the new member of our family. Shirley is a mini doxie and very tiny--about 7.5 pounds.

This is where Beverly hangs out now that Shirley has joined us: on top of the cabinets in my pie basket.

This is where Shirley hangs out. She loves her Dad.

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Natey's orchid bloomed again. I can't believe that I've kept this orchid alive for almost a year! I was getting pretty discouraged, but I hung in there, watering and feeding a stick in a pot on my kitchen windowsill for most of the summer and all of the fall. But what a reward!

Oh, I love orchids.

Catherine's Tarot Test

Yikes...Well, I did just put up new curtains in the family room.

You are The Empress

Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.

The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents,
beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home
decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.

The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Dreaming and Other Thoughts

Thank you so much for all of your encouragement in the last post. For the millionth time, I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have all of you awesome people telling me that I'm not nuts.

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I rarely remember my dreams. I'm not sure why--I've never been able to. I guess that I just sleep too soundly. I don't sleep as well as I used to, but when I do, I'm knocked out pretty thoroughly.

You know those dreams that are so vivid that when you wake it takes a few moments for you to realize that you had dreamt it? I had one in high school that I was a varsity cheerleader (which, um, I was band president so that wasn't true, obviously.) It was so vivid that when I woke up the next morning, I went to the closet to get my uniform. In my dream, it was game day and we had to wear our uniforms to school. Needless to say, there wasn't a cheerleader uniform in my closet. Recently, I've had a couple of very vivid childbirth dreams. It wasn't Nate's birth, because in my dream I knew that Nate had died and this was a new baby. It was so real and I'm hoping that it may have been a sign of good things to come.

And then there are the dreams that make you wonder if someone is trying to say "hey" or "I'm alright!" Right after my grandma died I dreamt that she called me on the phone. In the dream I knew that she had passed away, so obviously I was pretty surprised when on the other end I hear, "Helloooo! This is your Nana!" She always said it just like that. "I'm in Kentucky and I'm having a wonderful time. We're on our way to Florida. Let me talk to your Mama." And that was the dream. And then there was this one that I had a few months after Nate died.

Last night, I dreamt about a boy who was just a little bigger this time. Still wearing overalls, too--I bet that I'll always picture Nate in overalls. We were in a different house, which makes sense because we never would have bought this current house had he lived. We moved because we just couldn't stand to be in that house any longer. There really wasn't much to the dream--just me being a mom. I remember saying "Hey, come back here!" and "Yuck, get that out of your mouth!" That was it.

I wish that I would dream about him more often. I've only had a couple that I'm aware of. Maybe I just dreamt about him and that's all it was--a dream. Maybe he was dropping by to let me know that everything was alright with him and that it was going to be alright with me, too. I'm not sure if I were still pregnant if I'd be handling this better or not. I just don't know. Is there a "good" way to handle this? I've been dreading the month of January. I'm even scared of the word. January. I'm scared of the expiration dates on food, what if they say January 31st? Last night at Ho.me Dep.ot, there was a sale that ended on January 31st and it was proclaimed on huge signs all over the store. The way the air smells. The way the trees look. My purple coat that I wore to the hospital. Everything just feels haunted to me.

Please, please someone tell me that this gets easier. Please.

Those days where you want to just lay down and die, do those stop? Please tell me they do. Will it be easier after his birthday? I can't go on this way. I can't. I won't.

Maybe it's because I've been on my period for 12 days. Now I'm terrified that something is wrong with me.

I hate this.

**Updated to say**
The nurse finally called me just now. Doc said it's stress that's causing me to have an everlasting period. Also, it can take quite a few months to regulate after a D & C. Don't worry about it, he said. Okie doke. I'm feeling better now, by the way. It's like drunk dialing, don't blog when you're having a major meltdown. I'm going now to get my haircut fixed. I look like Molly Ringwald--Sixteen Candles Molly Ringwald. I should just put on some camel-toe mom jeans, then I'll look great. Cheers.

Christmas Wrap Up (a few days late)

So that was Christmas. That was the Christmas that I held so much anticipation and hope for in my heart as I packed up the decorations last year. It, of course, wasn't the holiday that I had imagined last year, but it wasn't completely terrible. And I think that it was because I had absolutely no expectations for it. I didn't try to make it anything that I didn't feel like making it, and I know that is because I had a "heads up" from all of you. I just wanted to smile, get through a couple of days and then take down the damn decorations, putting them back in the boxes with just the simple hope that next year is better.

The big morning at my house was nice. My family came over for breakfast and my sister stopped by without my nephew. As much as it hurts me to think it, I'm glad that I didn't see him that morning. I'm not sure that I could have held it together. That afternoon, we went to Tom's family Christmas and it wasn't baby-free, much to my chagrin. I'm not exactly sure who this girl would be to me...step-cousin-in-law? She and I were pregnant at the same time last year, and she had a little girl in March, I think. Anyway, she was there and she kept giving me these scared sideways looks, like I was completely mental and she didn't know what I was going to do next. Maybe steal her baby and run out the door or something. Oh I'm being dramatic. She probably was feeling the same way I would feel if I was seeing someone who had a dead baby while I held my live one...really fucking bad and uncomfortable. Also maybe a little guilty. The last time that I had seen her was at my mom's house after Nate's burial and I'm still pissed at her for being pregnant at my son's funeral. I wish that she had just sent a card. That sounds nuts and I don't care. I was a total bitch to her after the funeral and I don't care about that either. I was nice to her at Christmas and that's what's important. I even held her kid. How's that? (Actually, if it was a boy I probably would have had to leave. I have a terrible time around baby boys. Duh.) Other than that, the day was absolutely great. As long as I put myself on auto-pilot, didn't think too hard about anything and put lots of Bailey's in my coffee.

Do you know what would have been nice? For people to acknowledge that we had a son and that possibly this Christmas was going to be really difficult. No one wanted to upset me, I guess. I'm so tired of people tiptoeing around me. Like I'm a timebomb. Oooh, don't make her cry. But really, if the last time you saw me I was greatly withchild, don't fucking act like it never happened. Just say...something. Like "I'm so sorry." It 's not like I want to be coddled and I don't want a lot of attention drawn to it, but say something. I don't have much, and the acknowledgement from someone that he exisited means a lot. Because sometimes I think that I made up the whole thing.

As of yesterday, I’m a card carrying member of Catherine’s "Fake it ‘till ya make it" campaign! And it wasn’t so bad!

My sister dragged me out of the house, practically kicking and screaming, and made me go shopping with her. I had yet to do any Christmas shopping. Honestly. The most I had done was to sneak off to the fabric store and come home and sew a few things for people. That’s it. I just could not bring myself to actually shop. Really, I couldn’t bring myself to shower and put on decent clothes before 3 in the afternoon.

We went down to Branson to the outlet malls then had some really good barbeque for lunch. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed to just go do girl stuff and laugh. I’ve been walking around like a zombie and really being quite a bitch to everyone. It was really nice.

Three weeks ago, my mom and the same sister put my Christmas tree up with me. I knew that I’d never do it by myself (Tom was in Chicago), and I had kind of decided that I didn’t care if one was up or not. So, we assembled the big, fake, ugly tree that is definitely on its last leg and decorated it with lights and ribbon. It was then up to me to put the ornaments on. Fast forward to three weeks later—still no ornaments. Hmmm. What a Scrooge I am. I did have ornaments on the little, bitty tree that I had bought on a whim for Nate, except most of them had fallen off and it was all smooshed because the damn cat kept knocking the tree off the table. Anyway, yesterday my sister finally got me off my ass and I dragged out the ornament boxes. We finally decorated the tree, and okay, I admit it looks much better now. I don’t know. I’ve gotten so weird about things—I’m always thinking when I run across stuff: I bought this tea when I was pregnant, I’m not going to drink it; last time I was here, I was pregnant, I don’t want to go in there; the last time I wore these socks, I was pregnant, not going to wear them; when I packed up all of these Christmas decorations, I was pregnant and excited and never so happy in my life—these decorations are staying in their fucking boxes. But now my halls are all decked and stuff and it really looks pretty damn nice. When my husband came home from work he said, "Yay! We have a real tree!"

I was feeling so good, I even went and had my hair chopped off and highlighted! Nothing like a new hairdo to lift your spirits, I say. My hair was truly awful—really mousey and dull and flat. I had lost a ton of hair after I had Nate and it was growing back, giving me these weird little punk rock bangs in my formerly all one length hairdo. And then when I would get sweaty, the inch and a half long bangs would curl. Not the cutest thing in the world. So there was that, and then my eyebrows were growing together. Picture me slumping around my house with ugly ass flat hair, curly bangs and a unibrow, wearing jacked up yoga pants and a holey t-shirt. What a sad sack. (I’m also going clothes shopping, by the way.) Now my hair is chin length and I’ve got real bangs and two eyebrows. I like it!

And for today—more shopping and some Christmas baking with my mom where I’m going to attempt Kristin’s mom’s ribbon cookies!! Faking it ‘till you make it works! Thanks Catherine!

ps--I also went to Walmart this morning at 4:30 to buy stocking stuffers. I'm on a roll now!

Cracked Nuts

So, at about 5:30 Thursday night I was making sweet and sour chicken (which turned out kinda yuck, I think) and the phone rings. It was the personnel manager from our city's big symphony. She said, "Laura! Hi! Symphony! Can you play tonight? We're doing the Nutcracker and the Governor is going to be there." Like a big idiot I say, "Sure", threw on my black clothes and ran out the door.

There is never an opening in this symphony, so I auditioned for on-call a couple of years ago. I got it, but hadn't gotten a call until Thursday. My audition was also the last time that I really played piccolo. My picc had half an inch of dust on it (I'm serious) that I brushed off before tossing in my bag, praying that there wouldn't be many piccolo parts. I have never, ever played the Nutcracker before and I was going to be sight reading it at the performance. I am such an idiot. (And it's all piccolo, as it turns out.)

Anyway, I've played at the theater where they were doing it a million times for musicals. It's over one hundred years old and the orchestra pit is really, really small. They had shoved I don't know how many people in the pit for this show. It was the stupidest thing that I had ever seen, not to mention the most uncomfortable I'd ever been (well, playing anyway). I was practically under the director's stand so I could never see his beats, resulting in me getting lost--a lot. I had a viola scroll in my ear and I can't believe that I didn't lose an eye on her bow. I am not kidding. So there was that, coupled with the sheer intimidation of playing with my teacher from grad school and being so close to the director that he could hear every single mistake which made for an evening of magic for me. And then I did it again last night.

I think, for the most part, I did okay. As it turns out, I was much less nervous the night that I was sight reading than the night that I had actually practiced. I think that was because I was putting more pressure on myself last night. But I realized something about myself, I'm afraid. I'm not back to normal and I'm not able to take the pressure that I used to. I didn't fall apart and I only really screwed up one part last night (which in a two hour show isn't bad, I guess), but I wasn't able to focus very well and I was extremely nervous and wasn't able to shake it like I used to. I don't know. It's frustrating, but I'm not sure how much I can do about it right now. So, that's my Nutcracker story. Not that interesting. I do have something more interesting to talk about (I'm not pregnant, that I know of)--I just need to sit down and write it. We have had some major developments here at the K. house and I'm quickly trying to adjust the best I can to the new changes. Which isn't super easy seeing that I'm completely wacka-doo right now, but I'm doing my best. So...more later.