cindy's world

I had some long conversations with the stepkidlet yesterday. She’s devastated right now; after 6 months, Beau broke up with her last week because he feels that his attraction to and desire for her is a “sin” so despite the fact that they never did more, and never intended on doing more, than hold hands and have the occasional kiss (sometimes that would cause him to have a “sinful thought” and he’d immediately pull away from her, claim he’s “fallen” and immediately get on his knees and pray), despite the fact that 90% of their activity together involves religion (going to various churches, reading and discussing the Bible together, praying, singing worship songs, writing each other loving God-centered letters), he has decided that they need to not be together because if their flesh is weak and they desire each other, they should concentrate solely on Jesus right now. Uh, hello. Jesus has brought you someone like-minded with whom you can have a Christian life and future, and you throw that away because you’re attracted to her? Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Anyway, somehow this conversation led to me talking about a friend’s mom’s faith and how this mom clings to prayer as her sole acceptable answer to anything “wrong” in life. This woman found religion fairly late in life and is an avid believer. As her health slowly fails, instead of taking her doctor’s and family’s advice to eat better, get some exercise, help herself strengthen her body, she has told her family that she will just pray on it and if Jesus sees fit to heal her, He will. So she does nothing. I think she’s taking her religion so far as to use it as an excuse for crippling inaction at this point, and I had crossly said to my friend, “How is your mom so sure that the answer to her prayers isn’t her son researching and sending her advice on what superfoods to consume to heal her body?” It didn’t matter; her response to her son giving her information on studies and nutrition is always, she won’t do anything affirmative for herself except pray, and Jesus will save her. I kinda thought Beau had this mentality; instead of working on what he feels is a weakness toward temptation, instead of acknowledging that the two of them are doing so well in this relationship despite his perceived sinful temptations, he was just going to run away, break Stepdaughter’s heart, and “work solely on his relationship with Jesus” away from her, and pray for strength. Where the “sin” comes in is that he desires someone who is not his wife. Given this mentality, the only way he could get married sinlessly is if he married someone he were completely unattracted to, or if it were an arranged marriage — good luck with the chemistry post-marriage. I told Stepdaughter briefly about my friend’s mom, and she in turn told me this story.

A man’s raft collapsed in the middle of the ocean and he was treading water, praying fervently for Jesus to rescue him. A tugboat comes by and some men yell over the side, “Do you need help? We can throw you a lifesaver and pull you in.”
The man said, “No thanks, I’m praying to Jesus to save me.” So the tugboat went on its way.
Later, a cruiseship passed by and the crew yelled over to the man, “Are you okay? We’ll lower a lifeboat for you to climb aboard.”
The man said, “That’s okay, I’m praying to Jesus to save me.” So the cruiseship left.
Next, a helicopter came over him and shone a light down, and a man says over the loudspeaker, “Sir, we will throw down a ropeladder for you to hold onto so we can airlift you to shore!”
The man said, “That won’t be necessary, I’ve been praying to Jesus and He will save me.” So the helicopter flew away.
The man soon tired and drowned. Upon his spirit’s arrival to heaven, he went to Jesus and said, “Father, I prayed and I prayed! Why did you forsake me?”
Jesus said, “Are you kidding? I sent you a tugboat, a cruiseship, AND a helicopter, and you refused them all!”

God answers prayers in ways man may not expect. Doesn’t mean you should squander the gifts around you.

Mr. W has been going around introducing people to “Allison” already. I’ve had greetings aimed at my stomach. My mom asked if he was disappointed, and without hesitation, he said “no” with a big smile. I kinda believe him. In the car coming home from the gender-revealing appointment, he had looked over with affection and patted my knee a few times, and I know he was thinking about his upcoming daughter. Back before we had decided on the method of conception, and before it was confirmed that Mr. W was still producing live sperm, we had considered alternative methods of bringing forth a child. I didn’t want to get too hopeful that Mr. W could genetically father anyone at that point, so I pretty much made myself okay with the probability that the child would come from donor sperm. I had already talked way back in the blog about how his Gamer Bro had generously agreed to donate his swimmers, which was something Mr. W had discussed with him hypothetically out of my presence. Mr. W saw it as a way to at least “keep it in the family.” But I didn’t like that idea so much because I think it would really confuse relationships and identities of too many people later on for the kid. I liked the idea of an anonymous sperm bank donor, because there are so many genetic tests and background checks done on these donors and their “product” that I would be pretty much guaranteed better DNA (or at least, more defined DNA) than if I were to haul some guy in and offer up his goods to the fertility doctor. It wouldn’t be hard to beat Mr. W’s genetics, I’d told myself, considering I can screen out people with a family history of heart disease, high cholesterol, hypertension, etc. But it’d be hard to beat Mr. W’s looks. =P Seeing how Mr. W has responded so far to this pregnancy, how he’d light up when he saw my stomach (up 8 lbs now), how he spoke of Allison, how he’d gently pat the bump when I went to bother him when he’s on the computer, and then turn to smile at me contentedly… I’m really glad I don’t have some random guy’s kid in here.

By the way, the name Allison (and Allie/Ally) appears to be quite the hit.

OH. Some people have asked how the stepkidlets are handling it. The stepson asks to see his dad’s iPad application that shows how big the baby is (life size) anytime he’s over, and had expressed his hopes that it be a boy. The stepdaughter was so excited that she called me the evening of my diagnostic ultrasound last Wednesday to ask for results. I told her it appears to be a girl, and she was SO excited she kept laughing into the phone and saying, “YES! Haha! I was telling people this is my LAST CHANCE to have a sister! Yay! Does [stepson] know? He was telling me that you guys find out the sex today.”
I said, “No, I was afraid to tell him. You can tell him so you can rub it in.”
She said, “Yay! Okay! Now I’m gonna go tell everyone I know!”
Later, the stepson texted his father.
“Grrr, I was hoping for a boy.”
Mr. W responded, “Well, it MIGHT be a boy…without a penis, scrotum, testicles, etc.”
Stepson texted back, “Well, in that case, I guess it’s better that it’s a girl.”

The home PC’s going thru some issues. Mr. W is working on fixing it. Today will be the 3rd consecutive day we’d visit his favorite computer parts store after work. He expects to basically rebuild his PC with all new upgraded parts by the end of this Memorial Day weekend. Until then, I won’t really have access to the PC to blog about the road trip. Plus, he’s got photos on his cameraphone he hasn’t sent me yet. =P (Neither of us brought our “real” cameras.) Why don’t I just post from work? Well, cuz work suck ASS right now. I was so pissed yesterday about it that I gagged. Maybe I’ll blog about it, but for now, I’m just too venomous to put it all in writing in detail. BUT…I will leave you with this, cuz it’s more positive than I can be at the moment.

Rebecca posted this, and at first I thought, “What a spoiled little kitten, with its very own leopard print blankie.” And then, it just got better. And better.

Best minute you’ve spent all week? Me, too.

Yesterday was an eventful day. Mr. W and I went to the beach and had a nice private visit with Rebecca. She focused mainly on the baby stuff. She said she definitely sees a baby out of this so not to worry and keep holding back any expectations or excitement, I don’t have to have my emotions so “in check” or be so paranoid. She sees the anxiety going away the most around 7 or 8 months, because that’s when the baby is viable enough that it will survive outside of me and that’s when I can relax. I guess I am being super-careful. When I walk by a smoker I hold my breath so as to not let any evil molecules pass to the baby; if I’m in doubt about a fish, I don’t eat it; I read about some correlation between eating peanuts during pregnancy and the baby’s future peanut allergy, so I’ve decided to cut out all forms of peanuts from my diet; I’ve been flitting around the nutrition requirements of pregnancy and panicking because my collection of supplements doesn’t have enough of this vitamin or that mineral, wanting to increase my daily intake of pills (it really is ridiculous how many supplements I take a day now). Rebecca told me to not worry about so much detail.
I asked her at what point a person’s soul comes into the fetus, because sometimes I feel connected to him and other times I feel very strongly he’s around, but on the Other Side, not in me. She said it was a great question and she’d never thought of asking that, so she closed her eyes and “asked.” Turns out, the soul typically flits in and out at will until about 2-3 months, then it may decide to settle in and stay. She says as borne humans, what keeps our soul attached to our physical bodies is our breath. Fetuses at that point don’t breathe, so it takes more to stay inside that body; it takes their actual will to stay in. This is why miscarriages are common in the first trimester; a soul flits in and out and then decides something (timing and situation, maybe) isn’t just quite right for them so they’re going to abandon this attempt and come back later. So the fetus/embryo, for whatever reason, just stops developing, and then the mother’s body gets rid of it. She says because I’m intuitive, the times when I feel like, “Welp, me and Riley are gonna go over there and watch TV,” vs. times when I feel like Riley’s doing something for us from the Other Side but isn’t with me and I can hardly believe I’m pregnant, could very well be when I’m aware of his presence in vs. outside of me.
I asked whether Riley and I had any past history (lives) together. That was my court reporter’s suggested question. At first Rebecca said that we definitely knew each other, but that she wasn’t getting any specific info. We talked about that a few minutes and she tried again. She got pictures this time; I was his mother once before, and he was very much about “I’m going to take care of you, mom.” I said, “Aww, how Asian!” She said well, no, it’s not Asian the way I’m Asian now; he looked darker-complected with narrow features, she thought he looked middle eastern or Indian. She was confused what my nationality was, because my rotund and nurturing body was quite dark, with wavy hair, and she couldn’t decide whether I looked Indian or African. I may have been a mixture of both. We were definitely alone, there was no dad/husband in the picture. It is also very much in the Indian culture that a child will be nurturing to their parent when the child is capable of taking care of the previous generation. She said that in this incarnation, Riley has very much the same attitude; he wants to come to take care of me. That was always my mom’s purpose for wanting me to have children — so that I wouldn’t be alone and abandoned in my ripe old age. My argument to my mom was that I would have friends who treat me like family, but she said that’s different, they’re still not family so I’ll learn that she’s right. Mr. W’s take on this was, “What, nobody expects ME to be around to take care of you?” Ha.
Rebecca also said that my hacking sneezing unhygienic courtroom assistant is not going to get me sick, which is something I was hugely worried about, as the courtroom assistant is oblivious and walks around coughing and sneezing into the air, and refuses to take time off for being sick. She is chronically coughing, sneezing, sniffling. Rebecca said the current hacking and stuff is allergies to dust around her in the courtroom, and that obviously, when the courtroom assistant turns on her desk fan (first thing she does EVERY DAY), it unsettles more dust and blows them at her, so she’s constantly having reactions.
At a point, we sent Mr. W out so I could ask a hard question about him. I wanted to know what’s going on with his poor memory and inability to focus and find the right words. She said he’s had a lot more time than I had to be exposed to bad toxic things, like chlorine in the water, poor diet, etc. His brain’s performance is suffering from a lack of proper minerals, which minerals are greatly depleted from our earth (I’d read something about this some time ago) and is therefore missing from our food supply. She recommended some mineral supplements and said it won’t interfere with his other medication. So I’m definitely going to look into that. Mr. W asked later why we sent him out, and I did tell him all this. I said I didn’t want him in there in case she said it was beginning Alzheimer’s or something, because I feel I can handle it alone and don’t want to freak him out. But luckily, it’s just a lack of nutrition interfering with brain function. He said it sure would be nice to be able to focus and think of what he wants to say again. I’m just relieved that 10 years from now, I won’t wake up next to a horrified Mr. W demanding I tell him who the hell I was and where was his wife?

After our session was my coworker’s session. Mr. W and I wandered around the beach town, walked the pier, and came back to meet up with everyone after they were finished. While we were out, Stepdaughter texted Mr. W and said she needs to pay $700 to her church to reserve her plane ticket for a week-long missionary trip she wants to take with her church women’s group (not the “cult-group“) to Haiti. She had brought this up to us before and asked what we thought; Mr. W didn’t say much but I thought this was the perfect time in her life to do this, and it would be so educational for her to leave the cushy OC environment she’d grown up in. She said she would fundraise to come up with the thousands it would cost, so this sudden request for $700 came unexpectedly. Mr. W right away said he wasn’t expecting to pay for her and we’d be gone all day, so maybe this year isn’t her year. (Stepdaughter had suggested the same thing in her text, that she knew how difficult it’d be with our baby expenses and her mom’s moving expense for either parent to help her out, so maybe this year isn’t her year to go. She was asking each parent to pay half, $350.) Everything in me told me Stepdaughter NEEDED this trip, and I started on Mr. W. I said I would give her the $350, I wouldn’t miss it, and I really feel that this IS the best timing for her. I argued that she doesn’t go, she will lose the motivation to do something for herself such as getting a job and fundraising, and she’ll just dick around all summer with the ridiculous cult-group and be the perpetually spoiled OC girl. He finally agreed, and said it’ll just be between me and her that we do this and he’s not going to stand in our way or have anything to do with it. I agreed and texted her right away. She was so grateful and relieved, and said that now her mom would pay. “And the process begins! I know the rest will be provided! And this is such a blessing and an incredible opportunity that I’m NEVER going to forget! Thank you thank you thank you :)”
I wrote back “I have a gut feeling this is something really good for you & the timing is ideal. No school, husband, kids, job. & I feel you will learn, it will open your eyes, & it gives you a goal for fundraising.”
She responded, “Thanks Cindy. Yeah I feel the same way! And I’m so determined to work for this too…not just fundraise but also get a job within the next 2 weeks to help pay and stuff…thanks for the support too!!!”
Since we were now back at Rebecca’s office with our coworkers, I told Rebecca about Stepdaughter and her desire to go to Haiti on a missionary trip this summer. Rebecca immediately closed her eyes to “ask” and then said, “Yes, she can go to Haiti. This is going to be a LIFE-CHANGING trip for her. They’ll be focused on, ‘Let’s preach this and that to them,’ and SHE’ll be more like, ‘How can you talk about that now? THEY HAVE NO WATER! What can we do? We need to get them clean water!’ She will grow tremendously from this trip and her life will take a turn. Maybe something with Peace Corps.” I had that same feeling! Rebecca said, “Well, you know! You’re intuitive.” (To skip ahead, after we got home that night, I handed Daughter the check. She was on her way to her mother’s for dinner and to get her mom’s half, and she told me her mom was “upset.” I asked why. Turns out her mom had hinged her contribution on Mr. W, saying she’d only pay half if Mr. W pays half, and she was “shocked” when she learned that Ana got her half from us. Appparently mom’s plan was to put it all on Mr. W, expecting him to say no, so that he would be the bad guy and not her, but since she set it up as “I’ll pay half only if he pays half,” she was now obligated and called on her bluff. I asked Daughter not to tell her mom that the money came from me. She said of course. She also told us briefly about the “Haiti Training” she got from church, how hot and difficult it was, how dirty, and they drank from simulated dirty water which was water with dark food coloring. She was VERY disconcerted about the dirty water.) I also brought up a concern about Daughter’s involvement with the “cult-like” religious group. Rebecca said the group sounded weird, but that it didn’t matter; they were just a part of Daughter’s journey and had no direct influence on Daughter’s fate. Her life and her learning was her own, independent of them. WHEW!

Around that time, my coworker returned from the restroom and joined us. She looked so much better, and just seemed lighter after her session. One of her close friends, another coworker (we’ll call her Coworker 2), went halfers on the hour-session with me and had gone in with Coworker 1 for moral support and to take notes. The four of us went for a nice seafood lunch nearby, and the Coworker 1 treated us all, insisting that this would be a celebration of her recently deceased mom’s life, and a celebration for the new life starting in me. Afterwards I thanked her for feeding my kid, and we parted ways.

Mr. W and I walked to the coffeehouse to meet up with Rebecca again for her open session workshop. Soon, my jubilation was increased as Idlehouse came by (I’d told her the next time she was in town, to let me know so I could tell her if Rebecca would also be in town for the free coffeehouse workshop; Idlehouse had a phone reading with Rebecca about a year ago), followed by my court reporter, my stepson (!!! by himself, too!), and Maggie and her hubby. It was great seeing everyone, and meeting Idlehouse in person. Everyone asked a couple of questions, including the Stepson. Afterwards, I walked Idlehouse to her husband’s car, where I waved at him, and smiled at her sleeping toddler in the backseat. What a lovely family. Then I rejoined Mr. W and his son. I asked what Son thought of his first dealing with a clairvoyant, and he said it was really cool. (I was afraid he’d been bored.) He want to come again for the next time. Yay! Son’s been growing up a lot in the past months, and I like the person he’s becoming now. He’s less contrary, seems at peace, and much more open. He’s been working out nearly daily, and Mr. W joins him at the gym whenever possible. The two of them bonding is probably what made Son come on his own to meet us at the coffeehouse that day. He also said he has outgrown the ghetto boys he used to drive down to hang out and do less-than-legal things with all the time. AND, he’s now coming into the realization that the universe is bigger and more inclusive than he’d previously thought, and that’s brought him some comfort.

After leaving the beach, Mr. W and I drove to my parents’ and dropped off the giant earthquake survival kit we’d made for them. They were shocked, saying they expected a little first-aid kit (which was also part of our giant survival rolling duffelbag). I said no, we’re making sure they survive for weeks given a huge disaster, but that if nothing happens in a year, to remember to break open all the food in there and eat it all. They said they’d have an emergency food party.

Well, just one friend: Ann. She’s had her ups and downs, and I’m banned from gymming, so she came over after work yesterday with a delicious Papa John’s pizza while Mr. W was pumping iron at the gym without me. She introduced me to amazing dipping sauces, which made me eat all my pizza crust. I’m drooling right now thinking of it. Anyway, we talked, laughed, and traded stories. I finally found out what she FIRST thought of me, given the odd way we met. She was afraid I’d be offended, but I didn’t find her opinion offensive, especially when “intelligent” and “compelling” were two of the words she used to describe me back in ’06. I’d practically excuse anything after that, haha. (There’s a joke in here somewhere about how she TRIED to stay away, and couldn’t, and found herself sucked into Cindy’s World. Can you blame her, with posts back then like this? We stumbled upon this post and I laughed out loud.) Also, we found out just how small the world is, not that we didn’t already know given how she and I met. It’s interesting to hear her side of a couple in which I know the different side, as we’d just discovered yesterday that one of her friends is married to someone I’ve known since high school. Interesting the images each side of a couple gives their friends, and how the picture looks put together. Life’s pretty cool sometimes. So are friendships, in which you can be goofy, introspective, philosophical, and open over pizza and garlic butter dipping sauces.

Mr. W and I compiled an earthquake survival kit over the weekend. I’d first checked with my parents and asked if they had one, and if not, if they’d like me to make one for them. My dad responded for me to go ahead, so Mr. W and I doubled everything we bought. Unfortunately, as Mr. W is a huge Costco fan, our earthquake kits came out to about $200 each. But that includes first aid kids, lots of food, and two new rolling duffels. We could probably feed the entire neighborhood from our survival kit, or survive a zombie apocolypse, provided we had a big stick to beat off scavenging neighbors in the second scenario. My mom called on Sunday and told me to skip the weekend visit as she was really sick. I protested I had to bring them their earthquake survival kit. She said if earthquakes happen, they will likely be at work, and our giant home-supply kit isn’t going to help anyway. Good point. She said ideally, we should have more portable survival kits in our cars because that’s something we’ll always have with us, no matter where we are. Also good point. Oh well.

On Saturday, we had our first official “event” with Daughter’s new beau. We’d only met him once before, rather recently, and rather briefly. This time, we invited him over so we could all go to sushi at a local favorite all-you-can-eat place. Turned out, despite his telling Daughter that he LOVES sushi, he’d really meant rolls and didn’t realize there’s a whole other world of nigiri. Son came over for lunch, too. So the 5 of us sat at the sushi bar and some of us had a ball. “Some” = Mr. W and Beau; Mr. W’s two kids, Son & Daughter, refused to eat anything out of their comfort zones so they just ordered a bunch of rolls, nothing raw for Daughter. She claims to “hate seafood.” Son did try spicy tuna and seemed to enjoy it. As for me, I was going to just avoid the high-mercury fish, but as soon as the sushi chef learned I was pregnant, he convinced me that I shouldn’t eat most of this stuff raw. He proudly announced that he has an 8-month-old at home, and that he had taken 5 parenting classes, one of which included nutrition for pregnancies. He had all the current info on how sushi should be prepared and limited for expectant mothers. I just deferred to him and let him serve me omakase style. He avoided all fish in the tuna family (ahi, yellowtail, albacore, etc) and did serve me several pieces of salmon, but he’d lightly seared the outer surface of the fish to kill off any surface bacteria, leaving the inside thankfully rare. He also made me special rolls with optimal nutrition in mind. I saw that a bunch had asparagus spears inside. Beau enjoyed everything, and kept trying to get Daughter to try his favorites — salmon and yellowtail. She refused. Hours later, when everyone was hanging out with us at our house and Mr. W took a nap in the La-Z-Boy as everyone else watched March Madness on TV and I played the piano, every few hours the silence would be broken with Beau sighing, “Ooooh, that yellowtail belly sushi!”
Soon Son and Mr. W left for a father-son gymming session, and Beau engaged me in a long conversation about religion. Not just about HIS religion, but about other religions, Calvinism, my beliefs, thoughts on predestination vs. free will, what personal experiences we’ve had in our lives that brought us to our specific beliefs. I respected much of his opinion. Although he is die-hard Christian (newly for a year, so he’s got that born-again conviction), he wasn’t pushy or preachy, and had an open enough mind to accept questions or suppositions I put up. For example, he brought up that the Bible says no woman should be a leader among men, and I said I had a hard time thinking everyone would be okay with that in this age. He said he has no problem with others not accepting this belief of his, and if he sees a woman leader leading men, he wouldn’t condemn her or say anything; if he decided it wasn’t for him, he just simply wouldn’t go to that service. But he doesn’t judge others who believe differently. I asked whether it was possible, in his opinion, that back when that passage was written, it was at a time when women were not allowed to participate in political events, talks, or even allowed to be educated. Clearly if they decided to incite a rebellion, these women would have a disadvantage in being informed, so maybe it was safer to tell people to just not allow women to lead. But that is not true today when women have the same access to information, education, and just about anything else. Beau acknowledged that this is possible, but because he doesn’t feel that he is qualified to start defining Christian rules as “cultural” vs. permanent, he feels it’s safer for him to not redefine anything personally. Because, he reasoned, what would keep someone from redefining all rules, and saying, “Oh, that no-premarital-sex thing? That’s old-fashioned cultural stuff that no longer applies to today’s culture. I don’t have to follow that. Oh, that love-they-neighbor thing? That was back then. Today’s world is different.” I get that. I can respect his logic. I also respect that throughout our discussions, he remained able to intellectualize his reasoning, he never blindly regurgitated Bible quotes or declared a defensive war with me on theology. We both just shared, and asked questions, and really thought about our answers before giving them. If there were something he wasn’t sure about, he’d either think and hypothesize, or say he simply didn’t know. At the end he gave me a hug and said he enjoyed our conversation. We also both seem to dislike the pushy “preachy” Christians who end up being more hypocritical than truly living the spirit of Christianity, as they judge negatively all the non-Christians around them and condemn everyone else’s behavior. Beau said that goes against the heart of Christianity; he believes in living in a way one believes is right according to Jesus, loving and praying for one’s neighbors through the neighbors’ decisions to do things contrary to Christian “law.” He says you don’t spout hellfire at them because you are not “above” everyone else simply because you are saved, and you are not “better” or “more deserving” in Jesus’ eyes. He says we’re all the same sinners, some have just found Jesus already. Again, I can respect that. The only thing that kinda bugged me was that he said he would have to ask someone like Rebecca who her Lord is, and if she gives ANY word response except “Jesus,” he couldn’t participate with her. I asked, what about “God” as a response? He thought and decided no, because “God” is generic and could mean any god, and he didn’t trust himself know whether he was following the “right” God and his intention is to stay on a specifically Christian path. So he wouldn’t take the risk of following non-Christian doctrine without realizing it. I understand that, it’s rather conservative and humble, but at least he’s open-minded enough to converse and learn about other religious views. Daughter, on the other hand, has a harsher more closed-perspective about her religion. She didn’t think she’d return to Rebecca because Rebecca had made a past-life reference in reading someone else, and Daughter said she’d discussed this with other pastors and they didn’t agree with reincarnation, so Rebecca must be — well, she didn’t use the word, but it’s implicit — “wrong” or “bad.” She says she believes in Rebecca’s accuracy, but was unsure of the source from which the information came, despite all of the references to the “universe,” “greater good,” “God,” “prayer.” But because Rebecca didn’t specifically say “Jesus,” that was the problem — she didn’t say the key word for the Christian community. Beau actually gently corrected Daughter, saying if Daughter didn’t know if Rebecca was Christian, she should ask Rebecca before deciding she must not be, and mused that the Bible doesn’t specifically condemn or deny reincarnation, although it addresses mainly specifically one’s current lifetime and one’s afterlife, and he mentioned some story about a woman at the well to whom Jesus said something about her having lived 5 lives. He said he simply didn’t “know” about reincarnation, but that he will once this life ends and he greets his Maker.

So anyway, Sunday was rainy, which was nice for staying indoors. Daughter disappeared early morning to church and didn’t return until about 10:30p (with Beau in tow). Mr. W and I spent the day being lazy. I watched a “House” marathon, read my baby book during commercials, and did a ton of laundry; he played a new game on his computer the entire day, stopping every so often when I would appear to tell him something funny I saw on “House,” something funny Dodo did, or needed a hug in between stupid loads of laundry. And he stopped at 8pm of course (after I yelled and yelled at him from the stair landing, because he played the game with headphones tightly plugged into his ears) to give me my Progesterone shot and massage the offended butt muscle. (Heating pads afterwards work WONDERS!) I also had a nice phone chat with my expecting cousin Jennifer. Her due date is the end of September, so she’s a bit ahead of me and shared some of her first trimester complaints of nausea and how “eating has now totally become a chore.” I shared with her what I’ve learned recently about epigenetics and proper pregnancy nutrition. (You’re eating for 1.1 in the first trimester, not for 2, so doubling food quantity is totally excessive AND bad for the baby.) She made a passing suggestion for going maternity shopping together. I’m still (secretly) hoping to get away with buying little to no maternity clothing. Why invest tons of money for a condition that only lasts a few months of my life? Besides, plenty of today’s fashion is empire-waisted and look like maternity clothes anyway. Much cheaper (and cuter) than ACTUAL specialty maternitywear.

I thought I was entering into the morning sickness stage of pregnancy this morning when I felt a little sick after drinking water this morning, and thought, “Oh no! I have dinner plans with Ann tonight to catch up over Japanese BBQ” But it passed, so I’m hoping it stays away a bit longer.

This is an update to the last post.

When I got home yesterday and had my key in the door, I knew my emotions could not take it if the house were in the exact mess it was when we left for work in the morning. I hoped so badly that the stepkidlet took the note of demands posted by her dad on her bedroom door (like Martin Luther, except with things like “cleanliness is next to godliness” and “you are not representing your religion in a very good light if you don’t respect the public areas of the house and come home at a decent hour,” paraphrasing). I hoped that this would spark Daughter’s own religious “reformation.” If the house was still a mess and she was just going to resist anything said by non-church members, I would be at a complete loss. I NEEDED things to be okay in the house again. (Damn synthetic hormones.)

So I peered around the door pensively at the living room. SPOTLESS except for her purse on the table. YES! I entered and went around the hall to her bedroom. Her carpet was mostly visible again, about half the clothes were no longer piled around, and there was a pile of comforters and sheets in one corner that she expects to launder or do something with, and a large pile of clothes on her bed. She was sitting on the floor, sorting through small items, throwing lots of them away. I was so relieved! We chit-chatted awhile, and she explained her piles and said she’s on spring break now so it should be taken care of pretty soon, and I said, “This is pretty good, if you just do like 3 loads a day, you’d be done in less than a week.” Hoping that puts a plan into her head that doesn’t seem overwhelming. She agreed.
When her dad came in, I prepped him, saying, “HALF her stuff is gone in her room! She did good!” He was so happy he went in there and joked with her a bit, then suggested we all go out for dinner to “give her a break” from all the laundry and cleaning she’d apparently been doing. I popped my head in to her room and suggested it, asking if she had plans that night. She said she had her “small group” for church (a young women’s workshop that’s a spinoff from the main church — the reputable large church, not the little side group that’s been meeting every night into the wee hours; this large church is the church that the smaller side group accuses of “sugar-coating Jesus”) at 7:30p and is free for dinner. Soon, when Daughter decided she had reached a good breaking point in The Great Room Cleanup of 2011, we went to a local family-owned Greek restaurant.

Conversations went well; Daughter disclosed that she was out until 3:30am the night before because after the smaller religious group had broke for the evening, she hung out with one of the guys in the group that she’s now dating, and fell asleep at his house watching TV. She said she’d intended to leave at 1am. Mr. W told her that I’m having a hard time falling back to sleep, possibly due to the hormone injections, when she comes back late. I explained that I haven’t slept well in the past month that she’s been coming home this late (she explained it was because she and this boy find it hard to leave each other after the religious group’s events, so they hang out and talk until 2am or later, although they had previously decided they should stop doing that on weeknights and have a cut-off of midnight; they’d just been unable to stick to this decision). I said I used to just hear her and roll over and go back to sleep, but I’ve not been able to lately. I asked her if she could please, as a favor to me, come home earlier on weeknights because I’m up till close to 5am with insomnia when I hear her come in. She said of course, and said sheepishly that the boy and her just have such a hard time leaving each other. I suggested that since this boy had really wanted to meet and “hang out with” Mr. W and I, and really wants make a good impression, that she explain my little insomnia problem to him, and that way he’d personally feel obligated to get her to come home earlier so as not to make himself look bad. She said he’s totally like that, and that would work. (Apparently she’d told him she wanted to leave earlier the night she fell asleep there, but he convinced her to go in for a movie and she fell asleep there in the midst of it.) She also said that her church Small Group (the women’s group) is planning a weeklong trip in the summer to help “swamp kids” or something in a village in Haiti. I’m not sure if this is strictly missionary work or actual hard labor. It would cost $1800 and she wanted to know what we thought of the trip, if we thought we’d be okay with her leaving, and if we could help her find donors and sponsors for her trip. I personally think it’s a great idea for a privileged OC California girl to see what life is like in a non-cushy environment, and this is the best time to do it, when she’s got no husband or children or jobs to worry about. Also, apparently the boy she’s been dating is being scouted quite madly by local private universities for a basketball scholarship, and each school keeps trying to top the last school’s offer, and the most recent school offered to bring him onboard AND his friend (another basketball talent) onboard, and then asked if he’s seeing anyone. He said he was, and the scout asked about Daughter. Then the scout said that their school has a great music program and offered Daughter an interview, buttering up to the boy. Of course I’m excited at the prospect that a university may pick Daughter up as a transfer student and give her at least a partial scholarship under a program pointed toward her dream career. Hubby brought up some of his concerns about random things, too, including the costs of private universities and her choice of careers, and presented them in a very casual conversational manner. Daughter was open to everything, involved in the conversations, responsive. Daughter also had an ulterior motive — she wants us to meet the boy. He does sound like a good kid, and we weren’t doing anything this weekend, and she bribed us with a promise of a sushi dinner (which I’m sure we’ll be paying for) saying he LOVES sushi, so we agreed.

After we got home, I poked my head in Daughter’s room and said, “Hey, when you talk to him about sushi this weekend, make sure you talk to him about my insomnia so that *I* don’t have to talk to him about it.” She caught the humor in my tone on the threat, and laughed, and promised she would.

Last night, she was home well before 10:30pm.

A bunch of little things (and some not-so-little) are bugging me right now. Like this morning when I saw that some idiot had dumped a 3-volume divorce case on me to process that shouldn’t even be my problem. Or when the courtroom assistant came in at 8:40a and said, “Sorry for being late,” when she’s always in at that time, so did her apology extend to cover every day for the past 2 years? (I didn’t say anything in response cuz I was rather baffled before I was annoyed.) Mr. W said my cloud of negativity started when I read the entire information enclosure that came with the Progesterone vial as he was giving me the shot yesterday (“insomnia OR sleepiness.” “excessive hair growth OR hair loss.” What? Make up your mind!), but I think it’s cumulative.

For example, although my opinions on things haven’t changed, I now FEEL stuff about them. They’re not just intellectual, emotionally-detached opinions anymore. Tears seem to always be in abundance and available JUST underneath the surface. I’ll be channel-surfing and come across some actress crying, and without even knowing the context, I suck up her (fake) emotions and *I* start crying. I get a touching text from someone. I start crying. I was frustrated this morning that I couldn’t just send water and food to the quake/tsunami survivors in Japan and right now charities are just setting up “general funds” for which I can’t even tell where my money would go, I can’t tell if it’d even go to Japan. Tears. Feelings of being personally wronged somehow in this helplessness to change the world.

So yes, I think it’s collective from a month’s worth of injected hormones, and about a month’s worth of sleeplessness. It could be the hormones that keep me wide awake in the middle of the night, but it could also be the fact that the stepkidlet has leapt, no, swan-dived, head-first into a small (approx 30 members) religious group that plans activities EVERY SINGLE DAY and she has not returned home before 1:30am for a month. Last night she came home at 3:30am. She says it’s always a religious or church activity, but if they’re planning events (Bible studies, group sessions, etc) to run into the wee hours of the morning every single evening, they have GOT to know how unrealistic this is to keep up and irresponsible of their participants to attend daily. The group is essentially requiring their members to never have dinners or evening plans with their family or with friends that is separate from that church group. Although she lives with us, we see Daughter maybe twice a week on her way out to another church event after we get home from work, and we hear her come home at 2, 2:30 in the morning, and now I’m totally wide awake and can’t get back to sleep. Mr. W has addressed this with her and told her she needs to cut this church thing because she’s dropped a class saying it was too hard, not cleaned her room for months, or been around, so when does she get time to study? It was a big fight as all she heard was that he was persecuting her for her religion and she yelled that her heart is with Jesus and she will never abandon Him. I can understand her incredulousness that her father would ask her to give up GOD, of all people and things, but that was so not his point. His point was lost somewhere in the screaming and tears that followed. Yesterday, she confided in me that her mom and cousins have also approached her saying she has not had time for her family since she’s giving all her time to her church activities, and she was instantly offended, texting back attacks that her mom abandoned her family for her work, her cousin abandoned his family to his recreational drugs, her brother abandoned his family to his social life and girls, so why don’t they look at themselves before accusing her of something she’s doing that she sees as positive? She again declared that she would never turn her back to Jesus. I gently told her that I don’t think this was her mom’s point, she didn’t attack Daughter’s religion or Jesus, she criticized Daughter’s time management skills. We discussed this a bit, and I also told her that the way Daughter drags in other people as collateral casualties of her fight wasn’t right; it’s something I’ve seen her mom do (I was personally attacked and called “ugly” by her mom in a text argument with Mr. W about money that I was completely not involved in) and that I know her mom’s sister does, because it had recently made a small tiff between two teens bigger and bigger until cousins, mothers, aunts, everyone weren’t talking to each other anymore because they were all dragged in and bad-mouthed in someone else’s argument, and it nearly canceled Christmas dinner for them. I reminded Daughter of this fight and I think she got my point. Nevertheless, she was already engaged in a getting-nastier-by-the-minute text fight with her mom because Daughter refused to have dinner there at a “reasonable” hour, refusing to take time from a church activity in order to attend said dinner earlier than 8pm. I doubt she went to that dinner at all last night, because like I’d already said, she got home at 3:30a so she must’ve been with the insomniac church group.

My supervisor had once had a stern talk with me regarding the time I arrived to work in the mornings. (This was years ago; I’m usually at least 15-30 mins early now, which means I’m 1 hr 15 or 1 hr 30 mins earlier than others with my position.) Later, a co-supervisor approached me and said that he’d had a talk with the first supervisor, saying he disagreed with the first supervisor’s criticism of my arrival time. The second supervisor said that plenty of other employees in my position arrived approximately when I did, but left 1 hr to 1.5 hrs early without permission, and this is well-known. I am not one of the early-leavers and was in fact often one of the late-leavers who didn’t claim overtime. So if the first supervisor was going to criticize me over my arrival time, the second supervisor figured, he should have a talk with all those other employees over their leaving time. I told him earnestly that I was aware of this discrepancy in “work hours” among our building’s work force, and that I agree with him that in a perfect world, everyone would be criticized equally for the same misdeeds. HOWEVER, the fact that others don’t respect their work hours does not take away from the fact that I WAS coming in later than the “supposed” work hours, and so Supervisor #1 was correct and I should make efforts to change my arrival time. The other people are separate issues from my issue, even if the issue is the same issue. I have no sympathy for people who get called out about something they’re doing wrong and their entire defense is, “Well what about so-and-so? Why don’t you talk to HIM? What about how so-and-so do THEIR things? How come they can do that if I can’t do this?” BECAUSE WHAT YOU’RE DOING IS WRONG, REGARDLESS OF WHAT EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING! ALL those people who threw rocks at Jesus were wrong; saying “That guy did it first” doesn’t change the fact that you did something you knew was wrong. (Okay, arguably, some of them didn’t know or feel it was wrong.) Just because fires broke out and you saw someone loot a convenience store doesn’t mean that if YOU loot the next convenience store, you aren’t going to get charged with theft just because you say “I saw someone else do it before I did it!” Don’t get me wrong; I was in younger days guilty of using this type of weasel argument when my mom criticized or punished me; the disparity of justice hits me hard. It still does. But now I just believe that although justice should exist, it is a SEPARATE issue from your personal actions, it doesn’t excuse you from your personal wrongdoing. I realize this is a societal flaw that I can’t do much about, but IT BUGS ME. Own up to your errors, people, and learn from them. Stop being weasels. (No offense to the actual weasel species.)

So, also bugging me: Just because everybody else you hang with stay out till 2-3am praising Jesus doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to do it if you can’t find time around these activities to have your room not look like an episode of “Hoarders: Buried Alive.” She has been sleeping in the living room (after swiping bedding from the spare room upstairs) for the past 3 nights because there is too much clothes and crap in her room covering every surface for her to walk into and sleep. Mr. W tried to go in to remove some bowls and dishes to clean, and found discolored furry things growing from now unrecognizable former-food items. He wrote her a very specific note to clean up her bedroom mess and to clean up the living room after herself, and since she’s officially on spring break, she should have no excuse why this can’t be done, right? Oh, except that she’s asleep all day since she doesn’t get home until practically the next morning, and by the time she gets up, it’s late and she needs to get ready and run out for another church-related activity from which she will not return until 2am that night, and when she does, I will hear it at 2am and be unable to fall back to sleep until 5:30 am, when I have to get up at 6:15 am to get to work.

Normally, I’d have the same opinion about all this stuff — Japan donations, people blaming others instead of owning up to their own flaws, people neglecting personal responsibilities to dowhat they want , but I wouldn’t feel personally offended by people doing this stuff. Now I stay up feeling offended, arguments circling in my head that I wish I could throw at them to make them understand where I’m coming from.

Zen! I need zen!

A coworker recently lost her elderly mother after the mom broke her hip in a fall, then suffered a heart attack after her surgery in the hospital. I wasn’t aware that her mother’s funeral was yesterday after work because I had taken Monday off for bedrest, so it was a surprise to discover we had after-work plans of such a nature. On the drive to the church funeral, Mr. W and I called his mother for her birthday. They (mom- and dad-in-law) were on speaker, and we were on speaker, so it was a 4-way conversation. We exchanged pleasantries, they asked about my shots and pregnancy, we joked around, and they said they were on the way to a steak dinner to celebrate MIL’s birthday. They asked where we were going; we told them to a funeral. =( I said they were the bright spot to the day before we went into something more solemn. In the church, the way the children, grandchildren, a neighbor and friend spoke about the coworker’s mom made me wish I’d known her. Even without ever knowing her, I aspired to be like her, but I’m a long shot off. I thought about how my kid(s) would see me as a person and a mother when I passed, how I wanted them to be able to say honestly, like this woman’s daughter did, “she always tried to do the right thing.” How they trusted her heart and her advice, her nurturing and open arms, and how this was the way she treated everyone from family to friends to strangers. And I thought about being irritated at my mom over an email she’d written me earlier last week, how I’d resolved to not respond because I was so offended, and then having Flip Flop Girl invest solid time over IM in the middle of the day to talk some sense into me. Everything Flip Flop Girl said made sense but I was too mad to budge, until her most effective line: “…but our parents are the only parents we have, and they mean well, you KNOW they do.” It suddenly struck me how hard it had been (somewhat recently) for Flip Flop Girl when she lost her own mother. And I finally took her advice and wrote my mom back a very detailed, patient, explanatory email about what’s going on. She still wrote me back something I found condescending, but maybe she thought the words in Chinese and it just didn’t translate well or something. Like Flip Flop Girl was trying to tell me, take into account the intent and not the delivery.
Toward the end of the coworker’s mother’s service, I had an odd sense of an elderly white-haired woman, face creased with the lines of over eight decades of smiles, coming to each person where we were sitting facing the pulpit. She walked down each aisle, back to the preacher and paying him very little attention, but focusing instead on the friends, family, and strangers, leaning down just a little (because she was small) to be almost level with our faces, her hands over ours, acknowledging each of us, welcoming all of us with complete joy and acceptance. As if she were hosting her own funeral and greeting guests. And then it struck me… “Mabell,” I asked her in my mind, “Would you like to connect with your daughter again?” Her daughter, my coworker, had made an attempt a couple of months ago to set up a private reading with Rebecca, but unexpected expenses came up and she had to defer to a later time. I think it would be a wonderful thing to buy her an hour with Rebecca when Rebecca’s next in town at the end of this month. My coworker was having a very hard time with the thought that her mother, her roommate, her best friend, was no longer physically in the next room. “Would you like that?” I asked the busy image of the older woman in a light-colored cotton nightgown-looking garment. But she had moved on to other guests. I think this will be just for my coworker.

I’m pretty lucky. I told college roommie Diana the other day that I lead a pretty charmed life, and I think I do. After gymming on Monday, Mr. W came home with an armful of two dozen yellow-orange roses (the petals were yellow, my fave, but had swirls and touches of orange, very pretty). “For my future baby’s mama,” he explained. Diana and I had chatted before about her seeing a far-along pregnant woman in a bikini, and how her then-boyfriend had seen nothing wrong with it, and she asked me for Mr. W’s opinion. He saw nothing wrong with it, either, although Diana and I couldn’t imagine ourselves pregnant and strutting in a bikini in public. Mr. W had been talking for months about taking artistic silhouette-y pregnancy photos of me, which I’d always stuck my tongue out about, but he was always starry-eyed about the whole deal, saying how “cute” it would be when my belly got that big and my belly button got pushed out (ew?). I get the sense that Diana’s Eric is of the same mind. I know a lot of women who have been weight-conscious most of their lives don’t see the body changes that come with pregnancy as beautiful; it’s a cliche that women feel “fat” and “ugly” and many are fearful that their husbands would wander toward a, um, less curvy idea of beauty when we are at our “largest.” But I have none of those fears with Mr. W; is he quite irrationally excited about what’s to come. I, of course, am not sure what to expect, and am considering getting a baby book so I can stay on top of doing the right exercises, eating the right things, looking for the right signs of baby’s health.

So far, pregnancy feels similar to any other time of PMS. I’m not overly bloated (I finally weighed myself, 121 lbs, so my maximum weight will be 145, which is still below my lifetime heaviest by a pound) and I’m not as cranky nor do I crave chocolate, but my breasts are tender and I have a few mild cramps a day. Mr. W says this may be the hormone drugs and not pregnancy at all. That’s true… last night’s Progesterone injection didn’t go so well. After he put the shot in, he drew back on the syringe a little to check for blood, as he’d done before. It’s to make sure he didn’t poke into a vein cuz the med is supposed to sit in my muscle, not my bloodstream. I heard him say, “Uh-oh, there’s blood!” I told him matter-of-factly the next steps that the nurse had explained and that I’d read multiple times on the injection instructions.
“Okay, pull it out, and we’ll just find a different spot. Change out the injection needle and screw on a new one. Put a cotton ball on the spot you just came out of, and you’re gonna have to re-swipe the area with alcohol before you inject again.” He couldn’t get a cotton ball on the site before blood was running down, exactly as it had the first day with the Pregnyl shot. The bleeding didn’t stop for awhile, which made me concerned that the first Pregnyl shot, when he’d forgotten to draw back on the plunger to check for blood return, had indeed been an intravenous injection. I hope nothing was affected from that. 🙁
Mr. W removed the needle, but asked what he ought to do with the blood filling up the top of the syringe. “It’s my own blood, just leave it, it’s fine,” I figured.
“But how will I know if I hit blood again? When I pull back I won’t be able to tell if it’s old blood or new blood.” Oh. Good point. While I was still pondering this quandary and trying to call a nurse friend while watching people injure themselves on “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” Mr. W said, “Okay, I got it.” I guess he’d managed to squeeze out most of the blood. He found a new spot and this spot hurt worse than the former spot and I jerked involuntarily. But he reported, “Okay, no blood,” and completed the shot. The first hole was still bleeding, but the second was fine. And today, I feel like there’s a golf ball buried in my right butt muscle. But that was the worst thing that happened in my personal life all day, so yeah, I’m still pretty charmed.

Mr. W and I took advantage of Orange County Restaurant Week this year. The first day of this promotional week on Sunday, we hit up one of our favorite healthy eating spots, True Food Kitchen and ordered off their prix fixe menu for half the cost. Heavenly, indulgent flavors for no guilt. Tuesday, the day after my eggs retrieval, we took the day off so I could rest, but did skip off for a lunch treat to Andrei’s Conscious Cuisine. I’d never been there but did hear about it from Ann, who’d gone there soon after it had opened last year. The place was SO chic. We also ordered off their 3-course prix fixe menu and Mr W had a spicy blood orange vodka martini (this place makes their own vodka) since he’s now able to drink after his swimmers were extracted.

The food is WONDERFUL. Like True Food Kitchen, Andrei’s takes its ingredients from wholesome, locally-grown sources, organic when possible, but it’s a notch or two fancier than True Food. Mr. W read some reviews online before we left so he ordered a popular, often-raved-about item: boneless beef spare ribs. I had trout, which was also excellent and certainly better than other trout I’ve had, but I was jealous about his savory, melt-apart beef.

I felt bloated and swollen after that meal and was uncomfortable walking, like I had gas trapped in my stomach cavity all the way up to my diaphragm. (Turned out that it’s not uncommon for gas bubbles to get trapped in your body post-surgery and your body works the bubbles out, or absorbs and diffuses it, which is what happened as the week wore on.)
Wednesday after work, Mr. W arbitrarily drove us to The Counter, a customize-it-yourself burger joint with quality ingredients, again organic is available, and their meat is humanely treated, hormone- and antibiotic-free. I also learned about this place from Ann. Hubby got the Wednesday slider special where they pre-selected the toppings for four distinct flavors of burgers, and it came with a beer pairing. I think his flavors were something like Greek (with feta, olives, cucumbers, tzatziki sauce), Asian (carrot strings, scallions, ginger soy glaze), Italian fresco (fresh mozzarella, cilantro, basil, basil pesto sauce), and Buffalo (blue cheese, fried shoestring onions, some spicy peppers, celery, hot wing sauce). He said all the flavor blends were incredible and delicious.

I just custom-picked a burger on whole-grain bun, with Gruyere cheese, grilled onions, black olives, organic mixed greens, sprouts, and basil pesto sauce. OMG, it was SO GOOD. If I were to ever give a burger a standing ovation, it would be at this place. (We went back today with Daughter for lunch, actually.)
Thursday at lunchtime, Mr. W and I looked for a restaurant commutable for lunch that was participating in OC Restaurant Week with a lunch menu. (Some restaurants only participate for dinner.) We went with Cedar Creek Inn, which is near an old residence of mine and I’d driven past it before but never stopped in. I’d always been curious. It’s not a “healthy” restaurant like the first two, but it seemed to have good quality food so I was sure we could find something healthy. The place looked SO cool inside, like a classy lodge with river rocks, high wood ceilings, giant fireplaces. “This is exactly what I’d expect from a place called ‘Cedar Creek Inn,’ ” Mr. W remarked. We had a little snafu going in; we were seated immediately despite not having reservations (the place was crowded with dressed-up business people on their lunchbreaks as well as some older geriatric-age patrons), but as the menus were placed in front of us, we realized we were not given the OC Restaurant Week Prix Fixe menu. Mr. W watched the same older hostess seat another couple and said that they got some long cards that appeared to be the prix fixe menus. He got up and inquired at the hostess table, and returned with the cards. Apparently she rather snappishly told Mr. W he should’ve asked for those special menus when we checked in at the hostess table. What?! Since when did we have to BEG for featured menus? But everything was great after that. The wait staff was attentive and efficient and food came very quickly, each course following the last as quickly as we were done. They obviously were used to people having limited lunchtimes. Mr. W had cedar plank salmon in a misoyake sauce that was VERY good; I had the beef shortribs. HA! Also amazing, melt-apart. We were unfortunately still a little late back to work. I’d totally forgotten I had a meeting and walked in 5 mins late. I was embarrassed, but others walked in later than I did, so I felt better.
Friday, we wanted something special knowing I’d be on bedrest after Saturday late morning for the next 2 days. He also wanted this to be a place to celebrate our last step in the in vitro process. We chose Splashes Restaurant in the Surf & Sand Resort in Laguna Beach. Grace was supposed to be married at that resort, and her reception was to be catered by the restaurant on-site, so I’m pretty sure it’s Splashes Restaurant. I remember it being shockingly expensive when Grace told me about some of her wedding planning details back in ’03. I had no idea that, just because the reservation had the word “wedding” in it, a restaurant would charge PER PIECE of stuffed mushroom appetizer. She did say the food was amazing, though. “Wait till you try it!” she’d said excitedly about their wedding selections. Of course, I never did eat there for her wedding; a year later when she passed, we (her family and closest friends, us bridesmaids) stopped by the resort and scattered some of her ashes off-shore around a little secluded rocky cliff area. Her wishes. So it means something to eat there now. We got there before the normal dinner crowd (the restaurant was booked solid on reservations already between 5:45p and 8:15p, so I reserved for 5:45) and we selected patio seating under two cozy heat lamps. We were right up against the glass overlooking the beach, and were alone on that patio section our entire dinner. Other diners all chose to eat inside or on the lower level patios.

It was so romantic, watching the sun slowly deepen from golden to rose as it set into its liquid bed.

For almost a full hour as we enjoyed our fancy dinner, a family of dolphins played, jumped, torpedoed right in front of us. I think there must’ve been 7 or 8 of them. In our private enjoyment and conversations, Mr. W called this the perfect date, and kept talking appreciatively about how great his life is, has been. About time he realized it! haha
I told him it feels to me like this perfect evening before my embryo transplant the next day had a little tag underneath it that reads, “Love, Riley.” Just a little gift, a greeting while he can still pull strings as energy from the Other Side. And the dolphin show? Could be Grace saying hello, thanks for thinking of her, and she’s with me. I feel like she kinda knows Riley. That’d be cool.