Note to Self Book Blog

HAPPY NEW YEAR -- IT'S 20 (GULP) 12

2012-01-04T10:47:00.000-08:00

WIPE THE SLEEP FROM MY EYES, STRETCH OUT THE HOLIDAY COBWEBS, TURN OFF THE IOWA CAUCUS RESULTS, AND LET'S DO THIS!!!!

LET'S MAKE THIS YEAR ONE OF:

RADICAL LOVE.
JOYFUL DAYS.
PEACEFUL NIGHTS.
AND PLENTY OF TREATS FOR EVERYONE.

MY 2012 NOTE TO SELF:

WHERE YOUR ATTENTION GOES, ENERGY FLOWS --- FOCUS ON WHAT'S GOOD.

I am Pregnant! You heard me......Pregnant!

2011-12-13T12:50:00.000-08:00

Listen up, Good People.

I've waited almost four months to share this exciting news and have almost written to you everyday.

I'm pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Couldn't be more excited and wanting to shout it from the mountaintops.

If you've followed this blog at all, you've been with me through a lot of tears, frustrations, ugly faces, and 100 percent lack of faith in God, myself and anything that has anything to do with babies and me. I've bitched and complained and also found faith again, all while writing in this blog. It's been a place where I could share the almost unexplainable pain and suffering that I've gone through trying to get pregnant and start a family with Jason. And every time I wrote that I got my period again, or IVF didn't work or an adoption fell through, I always felt a sigh of relief at the end of this little box. Somehow, just writing it all down, barfing it out, sharing it, would always make it better and knowing that good thoughts were coming my way, made the days a little easier.

I'm no expert, I'm no scientist, and I'm about as far from a theologian as one can get, but I can sit here at my desk and tell you that sharing this journey with you has been one of the most profoundly spiritual experiences of my life. You, who sits there and reads this, are a witness and many of you have prayed for me, lit candles for me, and I cannot thank you enough. I'm on my knees in gratitude and am weeping as I write this. You are my miracle. That you've cared enough to care, and ask and comment, has been my salvation. Thank you to the ends of the earth and beyond where the sweetness of miracles live.

We are Fifteen Weeks Pregnant and having a Girl. Science worked. God worked. It worked.

God willing, it will all continue working and on June 8th, or somewhere around there, I will give birth to Ruby.

And if I may be so bold, to anyone who is reading this and has been on a long road or journey of your own, without results or what you desire, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP! Take it from me, persistence is the answer to getting what you want in life, no matter what it is.

I'm here if you need me.

XO, Andrea

The miracles of AMMA and the TSA

2011-06-16T19:21:00.000-07:00

About one month ago, on my way to NYC, to attend The Joyful Heart Gala, (I'm a proud board member) and I went through TSA security at LAX. Don't you hate traveling these days? I took off my belt, my shoes, (ew) and my watch (that was a gift from Oprah you heard me, Oprah) and a ring that was made by my very dear friend, Robin Renzi the amazing artist behind the jewelry line, Me and Ro. Now, by the sound of this, you might think I have very expensive jewelry, but the truth is, these two pieces are some of the most valuable pieces I own, and both have incredible sentimental value. Oprah/Robin. Oprah/Robin. It wasn't until I was washing my hands in the lavatory that I realized that I was watch and ring-less and I let out a scream that the pilot heard. Short of losing my engagement/wedding ring, losing these two pieces of jewelry was the most devastating (and costly) I could imagine.

For the next five hours I relived the placing of the ring and watch in the plastic bin, beat myself up, couldn't believe I left them behind, tried to think of where else I could have left them. Starubcks? Nah. And then resigned myself to the fact that I will probably never see them again. The ring? I know Robin, and while she no longer makes this design, she's a dear friend and she is the kind of gal that would make me another one. The watch? Oprah. Forget it. Good bye diamond encircled black alligator band, water proof, opalescent face, Phillip Stein. I don't imagine that I'll ever receive another gift bag quiet like the one my friends and I did from Oprah that weekend we spent in Montecito. But that's another story.

Here's where I get to the point: I landed. I called Jason and begged him to drive to the airport to claim my jewels. He drove on a Sunday. Not fun considering he already drove me to drop me off. They said "sorry sir, we don't give them back to anyone else other than the person who left them behind. Your wife will have to call and file a report." It was Sunday. Did I mention that? I called on Monday. I heard from a guy named Jose on Thursday, while I was still in NYC and all they said was to call back. I called back about 15 times and never heard from anyone again. When I returned from NYC a week later, as I was walking out of the airport and asked if I could claim my jewels, the badged TSA guy laughed and said, "we don't have them. Good Luck. I thought that was the end of my story.

I actually kind of forgot about the jewels. You know how that is: We lose. We Grieve. We forget. But upon further investigation, because there was a nagging voice inside me that said, "Don't give up" I found that there is a TSA lost and found office near the airport that you can physically go to and see if there's a pot at the end of the rainbow.

One month later, almost to the day, a dear friend and I were on our way to see AMMA, the hugging Saint who makes her yearly trek to LA to give out thousands and thousands of blessings/hugs. I'd never heard of her, but I'm in a big need of any blessing I can get and this sounded like a perfect way to spend a Friday morning. AND I could maybe swing by the TSA lost and found (had no idea where it was) and see if by one chance in a million they would have my jewels. We drove to the first address I had and a grumpy, yet helpful police officer said,"Go across the street and the TSA lost and found is there." Well, across the street is where AMMA was. That can't be right. How could AMMA, the hugging saint from India be close to my country's National Homeland Security Lost and Found office?

It was. In fact, I would say, without being hyperbolic that they were about 500 steps apart from each other. I walked into the lost and found at 10:00 am and by 10:15 I was pleading with the sweet woman behind the desk. Told her my sad story, as I stared at about 50 unclaimed laptops. She looked into her computer through her legal pad and then said, "Hey I was the one who got this jewelry that day." I screamed, "What?? YOU have my jewelry." Within Five minutes the sweet, helpful woman emerged with a plastic baggy and inside was the ring and watch. I did a TSA, Homeland Security Dance and hugged the lady behind the desk.

Ten minutes later, we were amidst an AMMA hugging frenzy. It was a good Friday full of blessings, lost treasures and hugs.

Note to Self: Don't give up on yourself. Your Government. And your need to get a hug.

Marrying God on the "end of the world" day.

2011-05-25T12:37:00.000-07:00

These two beautiful girls are my twin neighbors, Cindy and Sandy, who I've written about in previous posts. (Can you believe how grown up and gorgeous they are?) As a re-cap, they are from Guatemala, they always seem to ask the most profoundly astute questions at just the right and sometimes the wrong time. Such as "why don't you have babies?" after I've just come back from the fertility doctor. Or when our husky, Newman was ill and we knew our vet was going to come over and send him to doggie heaven, they came over to say good bye and asked "are you going to shoot him?" Or the time they came over and we had a Menorah and a Christmas tree in the window and they revealed they secretly wished they were Jewish, "because Jews are rich."

We first met Cindy and Sandy when they were ten years old and would come to our door dressed as little witches for Halloween, and here they are four years later, at their communion service in a very robust Saint Tomas Catholic church, just a few blocks away from our house. It's an all Latin American church and the entire service was in Spanish. My broken Spanglish got us through some of it, but truth be told, I'm embarrassed I don't speak more of the language. I grew up in Texas, live in Los Angeles and it was my minor in College. I have no excuses. I think I've been waiting for my Exchange Student experience that escaped me in college to happen as an adult. Bucket List: Live in a Spanish speaking country for a year (preferably Spain) so I can fully learn the language.

The communion for the twins was on May 21st, the day that the world was predicted to end by some English speaking radio minister who spent hundreds of thousands of dollars marketing this idea. Cindy, Sandy and the hundreds of other folks in the church, clearly didn't get the message. Maybe it was the language barrier. Their day was not about how the world was going to end and what can I sell before it happens, but more like "this is the day I'm marrying God, and I've got the white dress to prove it."

The proud woman behind them is their Aunt, you can't see their gorgeous Mom to her left. After the service we went across the street to the Catholic store and bought little religious bracelets and book marks about walking with the Lord and we gave them a little money. I had never been to a communion before. It's like a BaT Mitzvah with....wait for it.....JESUS. We went to their house, on the porch, party next door, and took pictures of the family, drank some red wine and listened to very loud Guatemalan Reggae/Rap. It felt good and we were both honored to be included in their celebration.

When I asked the girls what's the most important thing they learned during their communion studies they said, "Finally we get to try the wine and the bread." The twins never disappoint.

Whatever the case may be, while thousand of folks across the nation were preparing for the rapture, there were two young girls who live in a crowded two bedroom apartment with their Mother who doesn't speak English and cleans homes for a living, doing her best to give her gorgeous daughters a relationship with God and a leg up in this world that she didn't have. Jason and I are going to do everything we can to help them along the way.

Note to Self: Be good to your neighbor.

Blizzard cont'd

2011-04-04T15:06:00.000-07:00

As you can tell by this photo, the master plan of giving Blizzard away, the white husky who showed up on our front door four months ago, didn't work. I want you to know that I did make the eight hour drive to my friend Cal's house North of San Francisco, to give him to her. The whole way up there, I knew he wasn't going anywhere. As I rounded the sun kissed corners of the Sonoma Coast and with the ocean crashing on my left hand side of my car, I would look back at his face and see the worry in his eyes and the trust in his heart. How could I give this creature away to anyone? Even if the anyone was one of my closest friends. I've never seen a dog so attached so fast. He literally was glued to my side and when we tried to put him in her 1/2 acre fenced yard, he FREAKED out. Started jumping to clear the six foot fence and digging a trench big enough to fit his long white body. He knew that my plan was to leave him there, and he wasn't going to let it happen. Even if she did have a view of the Pacific Ocean and vineyards surrounding her house.

So the next day, I loaded him up in my car and I drove back eight hours and thus began the fun of having three dogs. I can't explain this relationship and how it began or why it works so well. Just like I can't reasonably explain why children have eluded us, but Huskies magically appear on our doorstep. But I can tell you this, that Spring has Sprung and the possibility of life is all around us. Wiley and Blizzard are best friends. They play and kiss and lay with their paws touching. I can't look at them and not smile. I can't help but see magic in their eyes. And even though I thought by taking in another dog I was sending a message that my Love Basket was full, and there would be no room for a baby. That was fear taking over. We will have more one more dog bowl, more dog food to buy and more poop to clean up, but the love won't run out. And there's plenty more where that came from.

Note to Self: when love comes to your front door, let it in.

Blizzard

2010-12-15T08:52:00.000-08:00

This beautiful Husky came to our front gate two weeks ago and stuck his nose through the fence to say hello to our other Husky, "Wiley", who also appeared on our front door (two years ago), who we kept and who appears throughout this blog.

Here's the strange thing about this story, besides the fact that we have random, homeless, collarless, starving, Huskies come to us in the night, each time a Husky has appeared we have been close to either having a child or adopting a child. Our eldest Husky, Newman, died a year and a half ago, he was 15 and I really believed and so did all my friends, that when he passed we would immediately get pregnant. Well, that didn't happen, but Wiley appeared on our front door and now this guy. We've named him "Blizzard" and he's turned out to be a majestic and magical salve to a failed adoption and another holiday without kids in our home. He's hilarious and loves Wiley and we want to keep him so badly but we can't. I really believe our heart is open and so is our home for this child, which is why all these other "babies" are showing up.

My plan is to drive him eight hours in a car tomorrow to my friend, Cal's house. She's planning on adopting him and making him her own. She lives in the country and has a 1/2 acre fenced yard. I will miss him, but am thrilled that he will live in her love.

I don't have a reasonable or logical explanation for what this phenomenon is....why these dogs appear when they do and why they happen to be Huskies, but I do know that it feels like magic, it feels like hope, it feels like love.

Note to Self: Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.

Cost Benefit Analysis = nada!

2010-11-24T08:40:00.000-08:00

When was the last time you went on a roller coaster ride? I've always loved them. The scarier the better. When I was a kid and would ride the Shock Wave at six flags in Texas I would hold my hands in the air as the cars did loopty loops and sent me screaming upside down being held in the seat by the cyntrifical force.

Most recently, Jason and I went on our own adoption roller coaster ride and we held our hands in the air, asking the Universe to give us a child. We were in line to adopt a baby boy whose birth name is Nicholas. It happened so fast. On Tuesday we got the call, we wrote a letter to the birth mom, We saw his picture, we fell in love with him, we worked through all our fears and doubts about "one day not having a diaper in the house to the next day having a baby in our arms." We came up with some great names for a boy, we fantasized about having a baby here for Christmas, which would be so awesome, and we got ready. We spent six days working through it all, Spiritually and emotionally. And we had our army of friends who are mothers on call to bring over everything we would need if we got to bring home a baby. Diapers, formula, blankets, car seat and a bassonett, apparently you don't need much at first. Loving arms, food and diapers, which if anyone really figured that out, baby showers would become obsolete.

The birth mother, is a single mom, and got pregnant with an egg donor and sperm donor. She gave birth to fraternal twins and is unable to keep them both so she is giving up the boy. Her big thing was to make sure the kids have a relationship down the line when and if they are ready to know their sibling. We agreed. We made a photo book of our lives together (working at an African orphanage, swimming with dolphins, kayaking skiing, abundance of friends and beautiful families, jason's MBA graduation, my book party, and pictures with us and all the children in our lives) brought her flowers, and showed up with open arms and an open heart.

Turns out, she is about as different from Jason and me as apples are to oranges. She is an auditor and said the words, "I did a cost benefit analysis" to determine whether or not to give up the boy for adoption and needed to go home and do a spread sheet to determine who the parents would be. Our lives seem "too fast" for her so she went with the person she could recognize...the CPA who is a stay at home mom. We travel, and have very full lives with friends and families. Why anyone would see that as "too fast" is beyond me, but all of this is. It's out in the yonder, where miracles happen, and children are born and the right families are chosen to be parents to the children they are meant to raise. I will always have a picture of Nicholas in my mind, and wonder years from now, how he is doing. My hope and wish for him is that he gets to see the world and by doing so, he learns that we are all different for sure, but we are certainly all one. I send a prayer up to him and to the birth mom, and hope that the transition is a beautiful and peaceful one.

This Thanksgiving, I am grateful for the love and support of our friends and family and for getting closer to having a baby than ever before. It's real. It's happening. Just not on our timetable. STILL. And I'm grateful for the roller coaster ride and that Jason is willing to hold up his hands with me even when it is really really scary!

Note to Self: Love is not a spread sheet. Love is God.

The Peepers

2010-10-12T19:48:00.001-07:00

The day after I turned in my book, Jason and I went on a cleanse, called the Master Cleanse. God help me. Both of us went ten days without food, not a morsel of food. Only maple syrup lemon water and herbal tea. It was by far the hardest thing I've ever done. Going through ten days of not eating in spite of what's going on in my life was challenging, impossible, but it happened. And I truly feel like I could do anything after finishing it. Three days after that huge accomplishment, we boarded a plane for NYC to meet my folks, Buck and Sue 80 and 83 years old and my sister, Allyson and her husband, Bob to show them Manhattan and then on to Vermont where we hooked up with my in-laws, Beverly and Neal. I will never look at Maple Syrup again after ten days of drinking tablespoons of the sweet dark liquid. Vermont is amazing and the colors of the trees have been nothing short of stupendous. I have more family stories to share, but that will have to wait either for my memoir or if I'm so compelled this blog. They are doozies.
Fall is spectacular. I h0pe you get to see it. If you do you too can call yourself a Peeper.

I'm back.

2010-09-17T15:13:00.001-07:00

Sorry I've been out of it lately, but thinking about you just the same. I am at the very tail end of finishing the book. The title is : "Live and Let Love" and it's 28 women on the layers, the laughter and the litter of love. While all the heavy lifting is over, I still have some loose ends that need to be tied up. I plan to tie them over the weekend. Hopefully into beautiful satin purple bows. I'm very excited about this new collection. The women are brave, hilarious and inspirational. There are New York Times best selling authors, screenwriters, activists and actresses and music teachers. Can't wait for you to read it.

I don't know what to make of it. This feeling of finishing. It's a mixture of elation and sadness. This process has been so fun at times and I'm not gonna lie, pure hell at others. No different than my first book. It's just like birth. From what I hear you forget how horrible it is and keep doing it. Only I'm birthing books, not babies. Not yet at least.

Speaking of projects that mean something, Jason and I are still moving our two balls down the court. Egg donor and Adoption. I have so much to tell you on the subject of both. I've learned so much about what's out there and how to go about this. And still there are people all around me who are getting pregnant. From my youngest nephew's wife to a friend of mine who tried for her second child for some time, to just about everyone, it seems, but me. It's hard not to cry and be depressed. Very hard. But I try to find joy in the smallest of things. Growing my own tomatoes, Running with my Dogs. Hugging my husband. And going to the movies without paying for a babysitter. And publishing a book which doesn't fall under the list of small things, by any stretch, but certainly an accomplishment. One day we will be parents and that day couldn't come soon enough.

I'm glad to be back.

Note to self: Laugh when you cry. It makes a really funny noise.

Small steps in a slippery world.

2010-06-10T22:52:00.000-07:00

Hi. Lots has been going on over here since I last wrote. I hope you (those who happen to read this) are all well and know that I think about you often.

I am certain everyone of us is watching the news. The oily sick birds, those weird bright orange floatie things in the ocean that are supposed to stop the oil assault given to us courtesy of BP, the High Def oil flow picture that is spilling gazillions of gallons into the water a day. I for one, a self admitted news junkie, can barely watch the news anymore. I have to admit, my focus has been on what's happening to the ocean, the livelihoods of those who live in the gulf, the animals who are either suffocating or burning from the inside from the oil that's coating them on the outside....but today I got the wake up call. Eleven men died. I knew that, I've thought about them, I watched 60 minutes. But, today the father of one of the men who appeared on the news crying for the loss of his son brought it home for me like no other. They were sons, brothers, fathers and friends
The world seems upside down, inside out, and everyone who is supposed to make us feel better all seem slippery. Where do we go from here?

I cry. For lots of reasons. Today I cry for those lost men.
I am so sorry for the families' loss and I hope they find peace. I hope they know this country grieves with them and that they are in our thoughts and prayers.

Just a little step: This coming Sunday the Social Services person with the Adoption agency we are working with comes to our home for our final House visit before they give us the go ahead that we will be put on a list for a baby...to adopt. Small steps are happening and we are getting closer.

Note to Self: Very small steps sometimes feel really good!

Uncle Kenneth Lively 1925-2009

2010-04-21T22:06:00.000-07:00

My Dear Uncle Ken passed away a few months ago. He was a faithful husband, a father, a loving brother to my wonderful mother, a grandfather, a friend to many, hilarious beyond words and one of the smartest people I've ever known. He was also a World War II gunner...his memory was a steel trap and his life as a journalist was his tool to eloquently recall every detail of his life in Europe sixty years ago.

His wife, Jan and daughter, Phyllis organized a tree planting ceremony in his honor last month on a bright, chilly spring day in Austin. As we listened to the young man in charge of such things on the campus, talk about the Live Oak that was about to be put into the ground, my father stood up to tell the crowd of about fifty people, a story. As life and luck would have it, the hill where the tree was planted was the exact hill that my Dad used to play as a kid. His grandfather's house was on this grand hill under the shadow of Memorial Stadium, home of the Texas Longhorns, and where the LBJ library now stands. It was a big beautiful colonial with bluebonnets in the front yard. The hill where my Uncle's ashes now rest, and a new tree was planted to join its hundred year old ancestors, was the same hill my father ran on, rolled down and loved as a young boy. Sometimes life is just too much! My friends and I call moments like these Quarks. Those moments when coincidence isn't an explanation, and luck isn't an answer and life just happens in a beautiful series of moments that make you gasp.

I regret that I didn't spend more time with my Uncle. That I didn't know him better. But, I am grateful that in the last few years of his life we found a common bond. He was a great writer, and I learned a lot from him, even if he didn't know it. He supported me in huge ways. He came to my book party in Dallas last March when he didn't feel well, when the brain tumor that would ultimately take his life was growing silently. He walked to the Barnes and Noble near his home to buy copies of my book the day it came out. He would say to me, "kid, so many people want to be published, and you did it. You got published."

We bonded over Obama, chocolate cake and God.

He was a treasure. He will be very missed.

Note to Self: Don't let a lifetime go by before you realize the hidden treasures of family.

Cory Booker is Awesome!

2010-03-18T21:00:00.000-07:00

I am in Newark, New Jersey....working on a Mayor Booker commercial. He's the real deal. Nothing about him is false. He helps the people in ways we only dream of...he shovels snow for people stuck in their driveways. He helps guys coming out of prison get jobs. He keeps his streets safe. He is a true inspiration. If you don't know about him...please check out his website.

http://www.corybooker.com/ We captured real Newarkers talking about why they believe in Newark. I got a sunburn in NEW JERSEY and one of my best friends, Leelee Groome, her brother Harry and his best friend Walter kicked some butt. I believe in people who want to help other people grow and be better.

I believe in Newark because I believe In Cory Booker.

Note to Self: Believe in something...your spirit will soar!

Out of Office reply: maternity leave

2010-03-01T18:24:00.001-08:00

I spent most of my day emailing folks, reaching out to people, gathering names and writing to do lists regarding my book. I sent emails to four people who I have been in a business relationship with over the course of the last year. All three came back with an out of the office reply: I'm on maternity leave email. This pretty much stopped me dead in my tracks. No wonder I haven't been getting any speaking gigs. My speaking agent is out on maternity leave. No wonder I haven't heard from that editor at that magazine, she's out on maternity leave. NO WONDER the person who I spoke to three months ago and who is interested in submitting a story for my book hasn't called me back SHE'S having a baby. I am happy for all you fertile people out there, but sometimes the absurdity of it all is almost too much to take. It seems like everyone is able to pro-create but me, and never is that more obvious than when so many women get to take time off to go have a baby. I want to have a baby and have some time off. I want to be pregnant. I want complete strangers to smile at me when I'm walking through the Gap shopping for that shirt that I can wear in my 8th month. I want for men to hold the doors open for me, and give up their seats for me. I want to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon and know that I am doing it for the baby and feel absolutely NO GUILT about it. I want an out of office reply I'm leaving to give birth of my own. I want to be pregnant!!!!!God, are you out there?? Can you hear me?? I want to be pregnant.

If you had asked me six months ago whether or not I would try IVF again with an egg donor, I would have said emphatically, NO. And six months later, well what do you know, I've changed my mind. We are going for the egg donor. And adoption at the same time. But I really want to be pregnant. In case you didn't hear me the first three thousand times.

Note to Self: Never say never.

Writing a second book

2010-02-25T22:44:00.000-08:00

Hi lovely people!
It's official. I am writing my second book. I want and need your input.
The working title is Note to Self: Love. If you feel so moved, please can send me stories about your dating life, married life, divorced life and everything in between. You can email me at Andrea@notetoselfbook.com
I want to include you in this process since so many folks have asked me how I was able to write a book in the first place.
I plan to blog about this journey along with continuing to keep you up to date as best I can about
fertility and when we are going to have a baby.
We are thinking about egg donors now. (more on that later) Shit. It's all so weird.
Also still working towards adoption.

Also, I have an article in Women's Health --- March. ON stands now. It's about not being afraid to Ask and getting the things you want in life.
I hope you are all doing great. I wish we were all in my living room watching the Olympics.
Okay gotta go, the ladies figure skaters are coming on to skate for the Gold.

I am pro-choice!

2010-02-05T12:55:00.000-08:00

I hope that doesn't offend anyone in this community and if you need not follow me anymore because of it, that's cool. I figure I best come clean here and now. I made a movie in 2004 called "A Voice for Choice" that chronicled the march on Washington and talked about Reproductive Rights in this country. It was an amazing film to be a part of and activated a side of me politically that I didn't know existed. I have spent the last few years very politically active and definitely lean to the left on most issues.

I was asked to write a piece on Tim Tebow Super Bowl commercial that is going to air on CBS for Vanity Fair. As a person who has read pretty much every Vanity Fair that's ever been published, getting asked by their editor to do an Op-Ed for their website was a joyous if not triumphant moment for me.

Here's the link to the piece. http://www.vanityfair.com/online/politics/2010/02/tim-tebow-is-the-new-trojan-horse.html I am sharing with you, my blogging community, mostly because you all know my own journey to become a mother and how I don't take pregnancy, motherhood and the choice to have children lightly at all. We Are all miracles!! in the eyes of God (whatever your God may be) I do believe, however, that when a major network brings the VERY controversial abortion debate into national television on Sports biggest viewing audience day, and then they don't show the other side, it's irresponsible. I am not happy about it as is evidenced in the article I wrote, and I also stand by what I wrote.

Many of the comments from readers about the article have talked about me lumping Christians in with the murderer of Dr. Tiller. My words do not suggest that. I have nothing against Christians. I love Christians. I also love Jews, Buddhists, Atheists, Muslims, Pagans and people who worship turnips. I don't think Christians get to own any side of this debate. We are people first. Christians (or whatever religion) second.

If a major Anti-Choice group is going to suggest to women in an ad, "don't have an abortion, you just might end up with Tim Tebow as your kid", it sends a dangerous if not crude message to the thousands of women who are facing that decision in their life right now. I send a prayer out to the universe for all of us. That one day we will come together on this issue, and that it won't cause such vitriolic hatred from either side. I respect women and men on this issue and any feelings they have whether they be for choice or not. Of course, in the end, it's a woman's choice, not a man's, not God's and certainly not CBS'

GO SAINTS!!!

Mother Mary are you there?

2010-01-12T22:34:00.001-08:00

The doorbell rang at 10:00 a.m. I was on the phone speaking to the fertility doctors' office to make a follow up appointment. I said hello to Adrianna and Ana as I asked them to wait one moment while I finished my call. They are two women who come into our home once every two weeks and clean it like nobody's business. They weren't coming to clean today, however, they were coming over to take me to see their "friend" who does Mayan/Mexican massage to help women get pregnant.

I drove them about 30 miles East of los angeles to a very poor part of El Monte, to meet Maria, the mexican massage doctor. We made awkward conversation at first. All the while I had Haiti on my mind. Wanting nothing more than to fly there and help those kids. Adopt those babies. Help those people. But in my desire to have a child I have decided to try anything and flying to Haiti apparently is not on the list today. So I am driving through hellish traffic, with my housekeepers to try the witch doctor approach. Which, by the way, I'm in full support of.

I walked into Maria's apartment with Adrianna (who speaks no English) and Ana who is 19 and is Adrianna's niece and is sweet enough to come along and translate the whole experience. We were greeted by Maria her bright green eyes, hunched back, arthritic leg and sparkly smile was a welcome relief from the congested freeways of Los Angeles. Walking through her very small apartment (probably government housing) with the gigantic flat screen TV blaring Mexican soap operas, two small children crusty, dirty, beautiful and running around with a chihuahua and her daughter cooking pork on the stove, I made my way into a dingy bedroom with two full beds.

As I lay down on the bed, I'm not going to lie, I was freaked out by the dirt on the bedspread. I hesitated but didn't want to be rude, so I put my Gap scarf on the bedspread, took my jeans off, left my shirt on and underwear. Maria massaged my belly. Deep into my belly. Her crowned front teeth glimmered off the dusty sunshine through the dirty drapes. I looked up at the Mother Mary statue hanging on the wall, garfield stuffed animals (30 plus) arranged neatly on the bed. She rubbed arnica on my belly, thighs and told me my feet were too cold to get pregnant. I need to wear socks. She slapped my bum, rubbed my Uterus (apparently it's crooked) and said go home and have sex with your husband. You will get pregnant tonight. Okay. Easy enough. Problem is he's not home tonight. He's flying home from San Francisco. Drats.

I have decided that Ana and Adrianna are the sweetest women I know. They want so badly for me to get pregnant. They put socks on my feet. Told me twenty times if they told me once to take it easy tonight. I was told to drink two cups of Arnica tea and stay warm. Maria, the green eyed witch doctor has said she is going to put a candle at the feet of the Mother Mary which is large and decorated just to the left of her front door. She is going to pray to Mary for me. In my sheepish appreciation I asked that she also pray for the people of Haiti. For it is times like these that our own wants and desires become glaringly small in comparison.

I believe in all forms of healing, medicine, and absolutely believe in prayer. In front of a statue deep in El Monte tonight is a candle lit by Maria to help the children of Haiti and to assist me, this privileged American, who wants nothing more than to be a mother. I would absolutely without a doubt, be the mother to any baby who needs it tonight from that hellish nightmare in Port Au Prince. Wish I could figure that one out.

Note to self: Angels are everywhere, hidden, hovering, helping where they can.

Happy 20zen!!!!

2010-01-12T22:15:00.000-08:00

Before I go into this blog....as I'm watching CNN.....I want to send prayers to the people of Haiti, their family and friends. My heart goes out to them and I will give whatever I'm able to the Red Cross to assist in the recovery. Earthquakes Suck!

Hi. Happy New Year! Happy 20ZEN. Get it? instead of 2010...It's 20ZEN. The year of letting go. But not taking your eye off the ball. No Fear. All Love. Fierce Love.

I have been in slow motion since the holidays ended. That weird malaise that happens when the family leaves, the excuse to eat sugar cookies are over and spending hours in the kitchen (happily) cooking for twenty are no longer, has happened to me. I would like to say my holidays were restful, but that would be a lie. They were happily full and I loved every minute of it. We threw two Christmas parties, made cookies for our police officers, made cookies for Santa to give to all the kids in the neighborhood, had a book club gathering, sang carols, and then my family came in from Texas with their three dogs, and my in laws. It was chaotic and amazing. I love making meals, pouring drinks and wrapping gifts, but when it's done, I crash. And so crash I have. Don't get me wrong, I've been calling people, emailing folks, started a writing group, am working out again, but my brain has been in data collection mode rather than output mode. AND drum roll, please We FINISHED THE ADOPTION PAPERS.

And the Crowd roars.

Just came back from an evening with Marianne Williamson. She is speaking in Los Angeles every Tuesday in 2010. She is a masterful inspiration. I am eager to get this year going but refuse to do it with my eyes closed.

Note to Self: May we all keep our eyes open, but not be paralyzed by what we see.

Hannukah v. Christmas: Cindy and Sandy

2009-12-19T08:00:00.000-08:00

I was outside the other day when Cindy and Sandy came walking home from School. They are getting so tall, If I squint my eyes, I can see them growing. We started talking about the holiday and I asked them if they were excited about Christmas. Cindy told me that she likes Christmas but she REALLY likes Hanukkah. I thought that was an interesting response so I pressed further and asked why? Was she Jewish? (knowing full well that this Guatemalan family who goes to Mass every Sunday was indeed not Jewish). "No. I am not Jewish" she said. "But I like the idea of sitting around with your family. Lighting candles. And loving your family without presents." She went on to say, "And I like the thingy that the candles go in."

I was so shocked by her observation that I could barely contain myself. Well, Cindy do I have a surprise for you. We happen to have a thingy that the candles go in. You want to see it? So I brought Cindy and Sandy inside our house. And there in the window sill is the thingy or better known as the Menorah right next to the well decorated and finely lit Nine foot Douglas fir.

Wide eyed and mouths open they just stood there in silence. They had never seen a menorah live and in technicolor. Put that next to a Christmas tree and well, it just didn't make sense to them. We talked about the significance of lighting candles. They asked me how I get to light a menorah if I'm not Jewish. I said you marry a Jew who celebrates Christmas. They barely acknowledged the tree and asked so many questions about faith, religion and what it all means. They said they would rather light candles than get presents. I need to tell their parents, I could save them hundreds of dollars.

I find the whole thing fascinating. And I sit in amazement by these eleven year old girls who teach me something every time they walk by. I don't know if they truly comprehend it all. I don't think I truly comprehend it all.....and I'm pretty sure that their parents will never let me, the crazy liberal pagan Jewish Christan Buddhist animal lover who doesn't have children, talk to their twin girls again. Or maybe they will.

We are getting through the adoption papers. Under the question what religion are you I've discovered there is no box for Jewish by association, Buddhist when I meditate, Christan because I was baptized when I was 13, Pagan, Spiritual being who loves God. Conundrum.

Note to Self: Religion is a label. Spirituality is your heart.

New Beginnings with a Purple Heart

2009-11-16T07:11:00.000-08:00

I am writing this from a very old American Airlines airplane, on my way to NYC. Sorry I've been absent. I was traveling all last week and now on the road again this week. I'm so happy to be writing this blog while snuggled up in my purple wrap, sitting next to this nice Hassidic Jewish man, fighting for elbow room, as we both attempt to work on our computers in our obscenely small seats in coach.

Many of you have asked me what's going on with adoption papers, "Have you filled them out yet?" We are getting there. Because Jason is so much more efficient than I at just about everything, he took over by having the forms put into a digital format. And he began the process of filling them out on his last business trip. Which is a great thing, considering that Wiley, our husky chewed up half the stack that was sitting on the dining room table. I guess he's opposed to being pushed aside by a baby. I could spend the next 500 words diving into the psychological reasons for resisting the task of filling out adoption papers in the pursuit of parenthood, but I have something else to say. Something more important to me on this day than that. I will save the bizarre place I find myself in the adoption conundrum for another post.

As you may recall, I went to Texas to sit on a panel at the Texas Women's Conference in Houston. There were about 5,000 women in attendance and The first lady of Texas, Katy Perry, was the host very similar to Maria Shriver's California Conference...only different. Nothing like a convention center full of Texas pride and energy to remind me that everything is bigger, louder and brighter in Texas.

The panel I sat on was about Second Chances and New Beginnings. The audience was large, about 800 women, and they seemed engaged. I found myself speaking from personal experiences about what it means to start over, to have a second chance, to create a new beginning. We all have to encounter this moment in life and face it head on, whether it be out of design, necessity or survival. Most of the women there were interested in career second chances....."What if I want to leave my desk job, what would you suggest I do? What if I'm afraid to start my own business, what advice can you give? How did you know you were on the right path?" were all questions they asked. I loved speaking on this subject matter, and I felt like what I had to say resonated with the women in the audience....at least I hope it did.

And then, later that evening, I met a U.S. Marine and everything I believed about new beginnings and second chances changed. My soulful optimism was sliced in half by this young man and I am grateful for it. I have been walking around, somewhat blind, and he switched on the light for me even though what I see is enough to make me want to turn it off again.

Corporal Chad Owens is a 27 year old Marine who fought in the Iraq war. His lifelong dream was have a career in the military and to fight for his country. When he was 19 years old, he saw the twin towers come down and he knew his dream HAD to become a reality. So he enlisted.

On his first tour of duty, he fell asleep on an airplane and woke up in Baghdad amidst the toppling of Saddam's regime. His battalion was the first to arrive in Baghdad Square when the streets were filled with rioters and he saw the infamous statue topple to the ground. At 22 years old he was storming Saddam's castle, bursting through the opulent marble filled rooms, gun drawn prepared to fire against the enemy. He told me that the bizarrely decorated kid's rooms had Britney Spears, J-Lo and Harry Potter posters on the walls....A detail I couldn't quite comprehend considering the vehement hatred by Islamic extremists of our gluttonous celebrity filled culture who practice witchcraft, love yo-yo dieting and regular trips to the tanning salon. He also remembers the cavernous marble rooms filled with nothing but designer suits, or rooms designated solely for perfume and cologne bottles, and a smell that wafted throughout the castle that was part perfume and part cooking spice. An odor that indicated life was just lived in this opulent place.

Chad is a friend, of one of my closest friend's Resa Wing. She and her husband, John Wing an Army fighter pilot who served in Vietnam, founded Operation Grateful Nation, a nonprofit dedicated to matching up disabled veterans with mentors who can help them pursue careers, complete their education or get the services they need to become successful. Through their wonderful work they met Chad and they have become family.

We met up with Chad on November 12th, the day after Veteran's day. He had just come from the VA hospital in Houston trying to track down a doctor who could help him with his PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) symptoms. When I first laid eyes on this good looking guy I was struck by his bright blue eyes and his big smile. He walked up to our table at the outdoor Cantina where Resa and I were sipping Coronas. And then I noticed his bionic legs. He lost both of them when a road side bomb exploded turning his Humvee into a bowl of spaghetti on his second tour of duty. He remembers nothing, thank God, until he woke up in a German hospital a month later with collapsed lungs, a broken jaw, 200 pieces of Schrapnel, some of which you can still see on his face, and a piece of the carberator imbedded in his neck. He flat lined twice on the operating table, and his mother was called to Germany for his last rites. But Chad was meant to be here. His second chance and third chance given to him in that hospital five years ago.

The mariachi music was playing as I squeezed my lime into my beer and listened to Chad talk about the VA. Here's where you might get really pissed off, at least I hope you do. He not only lost his legs, but it took him four years to get a second prosthetic. It was his second leg that kept getting infected and rather than believe his own diagnosis of the infection, the doctors kept cutting more of his bone to fix what they thought was broken. What's left is a small stump barely long enough for the prosthetic to grab hold of. 40 surgeries and countless doctors later, you might think his suffering would be over, but in many ways it's just beginning. While most of the physical ailments have FINALLY been treated, the mental and emotional have not.

His cry for help has not been heard. When he seeks psychiatric care for his PTSD.... symptoms include migraines, insomnia, no appetite, chronic fatigue, horrible nightmares, inability to finish a thought, highly emotional and volatile, hopelessness, the VA has no protocol for him. He's been shuffled around from doctor to doctor and each time he thinks he's found the therapist for him they assign him to someone else. His latest therapist was a pregnant civilian who, by all accounts, had never been in combat. The day I met him, he wept because he feels that he's been set aside by the very country that he fought for. He talked about going into the VA and stoically asking to see the doctor, asking for sleep aids, asking to talk to someone. He's finally ready to talk to someone. But no one, at least that day was there to receive him.

The other side to his story is that he's in school and working really hard to make his life better. He's a rock star stud! He's not only testified before Congress for better VA treatment, ran marathons and competed in down hill skiing in Aspen on a mono-ski, he recently brought light to a potential solution for PTSD: Hyperbaric Oxygen therapy. His highly effective personal skills convinced a producer for CBS World News' Katie Couric to do a story on this treatment hoping to convince the VA that it's a therapy that has worked. Or at least it has for him. But like with any treatment, once is not enough. He is currently seeking other places that provide this treatment.

We ended up having dinner at the Wing's house that night. The three of us drank red wine, sang really loudly and badly to The Doors, danced around the kitchen. As I watched this young man take off his legs and get himself into the hot tub, my heart sank, broke and repaired itself all over again. He is not to be pitied by any means, but if anyone deserves a second chance, it's him. He's a true American Hero. He may not have ever anticipated that his life would be about charging his leg so it works, wheelchair ramps, or the idea that dancing now happens from the waist up, but that's where he is. And he is doing an amazing job, but he needs help to start his New Beginning.

This Hyperbaric Oxygen treatment, is from what I can tell, a very significant piece in this long, complicated, messy puzzle to helping him and the countless others who suffer from PTSD heal. Truly Heal. So what I would have said to that audience of women had I met Chad before I spoke, is that Second Chances and New Beginnings require compassion from friends and strangers, you can't do any of it alone. I can see his new beginning just around the corner, if he gets the help he needs and deserves. We need to help him see it too.

Note to Self: Give to the Veterans any way that you can.

82 is the new 42

2009-11-04T22:15:00.001-08:00

My dad turned 82 on 9/29. I am 42 on 11/5.

Here is my Dad, my Mom and their dog, Penny, sitting on his latest invention....the rock. He made this fine specimen out of recycled material in his garage and then delivered it to my sister's house. It now sits around the pool. If this were a "real" rock it would weigh 500-700 pounds? but because it's made out of reused plastics, paper, styrophome and whatever else he put in there it weighs 102 pounds.

This desire to create something out of nothing is what keeps the world spinning, people living, hearts beating and everything else that is great.

What I have to sit on, as I sit here typing this birthday message, is not a man made rock, but rather the lineage and history of my father and my mother....who have given me the life force to create something out of nothing. Words out of thought. Work out of thought. And love out of heart.

The Yankees won the world series tonight. We had some friends over. I made chili. We drank beer and Yes I turn 42 tomorrow!!! It could be a sad day because we I don't have a baby...yet. But I am choosing a different vision. One that is full of the desire to create and to know that it's never too late.

My wish for myself as I embark on my 42nd year is that I continue my Parent's drive and continue to create. Whether it's a child, a friendship, a book, a warm bath...I am happy to be alive.

The adoption stack is still making its way from living room, to kitchen, to office, but we've made a promise to one another (Jason and I) that they will be done by this weekend.

Note to Self: It's never too late to create.

Going Rouge in LA while attempting to fill out Adoption Papers

2009-10-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

No that's not a type-o. And I started writing this blog before I learned that there is a book out in response to Sarah Palin's Going Rogue called Going Rouge.

I went to my wonderfully talented hairdresser today, Romi Cortier , to get my hairs dyed. I have been increasingly more blond for months now, and while I was born blond, lived most of my life as a blond, I was looking for a pick me up and nothing says yahoo, in my mind, like gorgeous red hair.

I knew it would take a couple of hours so I brought my computer bag filled with articles, my computer and the dreaded adoption constitution. I say dreaded because it is literally a mound of paperwork that we've been putting off for weeks/months now. Jason and I met with this lovely adoption counselor last week. She was sincere, soothing and nothing but hopeful. We were told that in order to get started and get our home study scheduled we had to get complete the paperwork that had been sent to us in the mail. This stack (about 200 pages it seems) has been moved from the kitchen, to the office, to the kitchen, to the dining room table and back to the kitchen waiting for the perfect time to begin the process of answering thousands of questions, writing your biography, doing fingerprints and a myriad of other things.

In order to feel like I was moving forward on the adoption process, I decided to lug the stack with me to the hairdresser's today. I stared at them as we discussed tints, coppers, golds, semi permanent vs. permanent. I asked if the coloring had kept me from getting pregnant. He reminded me that he uses only non toxic dyes. I stared some more at the first question. Name? I managed to fill out the first line and then Harper's Bazar, Us Weekly, The New Yorker and People magazine caught my eye. I perused every magazine that I could get my hands on. I even looked at classified in today's paper (something I haven't done in years). I want to fill these papers out with excitement, hope and with my husband. So, I decided that sitting under a hair dryer amidst the flurry of salon sounds, was not the place I wanted to conceive a child. Call it procrastination. Or a realization.

So, I lugged the papers back home with me. And maybe we will start the process tomorrow. Or on Sunday. The perfect day to start something wonderful.

Note to Self: Just because you "bring it" doesn't mean you have to "do it".

photo: Jason and Andrea on the coast of Mendocino, CA taken by Thomas Krauss.

Balloon boy barfed....did you see it?

2009-10-19T22:55:00.001-07:00

Deep breath. Confession. I have been sucked into this drama of the boy in the balloon. (I love how we have to give things names, even if they're false....news alert: HE WAS NEVER IN THE BALLOON) You'd be hard pressed to miss it, considering every show from The View, to Campbell Brown, Larry King and the super brain, Rachel Maddow has covered it. I didn't fall down the rabbit hole until Friday morning when I tuned in to ABC's Good Morning America (my favorite morning show) at 7:00 am. The superbly dazzling Diane was interviewing the family. What happened after that was just a moment of weirdly bizarre, train wreck television. Probably never to be repeated.

You've all seen it by now....the tired, confused, shut down kid barfed on national television. Watching it live in my kitchen while attempting to grind coffee, I was screaming at the top of my lungs....NO WAY. NO WAY. HOLY SHIT. I happen to have a contact or two at GMA and emailed my pals and it turns out that everyone there was just as shocked as those of us at home watching the family watching the poor, traumatized kid puke on television. What's wrong with this picture? Is it the family? The media? Or the public that numbs out to all of it? The whole thing is absurdly bizarre and I am embarrassed for "us" narcissus....those who desire attention no matter the cost. At the end of the day if you are allowing your child to barf on national television FOUR times and pretending he has floated away in an aluminum balloon or agree to go on Wife Swap, your ego is bigger than anything else in your life and you may want to check yourself before you wreck yourself. And to those of us who have indulged in this circus act, the sick pleasure of watching alien/human beings do sick and twisted things, we are just as guilty as the parents. For if it weren't for us and the insatiable desire to watch human beings make asses out of themselves, they would have no audience.

I seriously hope this family gets some help, or help gets to them for putting their kids in harm's way and for exposing them to this strange world. And for their aching need to be television stars and storm chasing cowboys. And I hope that we find some way to tune out when the chatter is so loud so that we are able to tune in to a frequency of truth, and the real issues that face us today. Maybe that's why the balloon boy (there I go again) has swept us away -- because for one week, which is how long this should last, we can leave our own demoralizing issues behind, and be whisked away by a barfing boy whose false claim (to his parent's fame) is that he took a Peter Pan flight high over the Rockies in a home made spacecraft balloon.

Note to Self: Just when you think life can't get more bizarre....it does.

Going Rogue in Annapolis while reading the New York Times

2009-10-14T23:38:00.000-07:00

Two very significant things happened since I posted last. Well, three. Okay, make it four.

Jason and I were on our way to Annapolis, Maryland for a friend's wedding over the weekend. A very tall man sat next to me in the middle seat. He called me sweetie and offered me mints within minutes of putting away his bag and wiggling his way in. When I looked up to meet his eyes and say thanks for the mints, of which I took two, I realized I was sitting next to a person that I have either questioned, felt anger towards, or made fun of my entire existence in Los Angeles. As a matter of fact, many months ago, I took issue not with him directly, but with his profession and those that populate it. This man of mystery is our local Weather Man Super Star, Dallas Raines.

For those of you who live or have lived in Los Angeles, you know who I'm talking about. Tall. Very Very Very Tan. Big white teeth. Blonde (Maybe bleached?) blown out hair. I have spent many years frustrated with him because I have wondered how hard can it be to report the weather in Los Angeles? It goes something like Sunny and 72 for 9 months. Hot and 95 for two months. A week or two of rain scattered in there. Marine layer in June that keeps the sunshine away. June Rocks. Invariably, there is always a report of the "Storm of the Century" that makes people do radical things like sand bag their store fronts. Indeed we get rain, but not enough to warrant the "Storm of the Century" end of the world graphics and music. It always baffles me that with Doppler radar, Satellites flying above and every other instrument available to major metropolis' that weather men have a hard time getting it right.

Dallas, it turns out, is a lovely and generous man. He offered me almonds after the mints. Talked proudly about his three kids. Knew he wanted to be a meteorologist since he was five years old. He is a race car driver enthusiast. Born and raised in Georgia. Dallas Raines is his given name (I always thought it was a stage name). He's very out there with his Christianity, but not in a you need to be saved way. One other thing that I learned about him is that he doesn't believe in Global Warming. I found that strange for a man that lives his life studying weather patterns. I wanted to scream, ARE YOU JOKING, but held back. It was a lively, enlightening two hours and I have a new found respect for him. Even though he believes things that I do not -- God made the world in seven days and the fact that the polar ice caps are melting isn't necessarily a problem for us humans. I sincerely hope that I didn't misunderstand him, but I am pretty sure those are his beliefs. Fair enough.

Second thing that happened is that when I was in Annapolis I (we) WENT ROGUE. Jason and I ditched our fertility protocol and decided on Saturday morning, after I took Femara pill number two and was emotional and cranky, that staying on these drugs and trying again with IUI is not a great plan for either one of us right now. I put the pills away and now I will be hormone free for a while. Good for him. Good for me. Good for anyone who has to interact with me.

Third thing is the New York Times on Sunday and Monday ran front page feature stories about infertility. So much was covered regarding IVF and IUI. But the gist that I got from the very in-depth articles was that a) It's a travesty that Infertility isn't covered by insurance and b) So many of these families end up with premature multiple births and the cost not only in dollars but in emotional well being is immense. I strongly urge anyone who is going through this to check these articles out.

Fourth thing is we met with an adoption person who deals with Foster kids who are looking for homes. It's a step. And we took it. I'm very happy about that.

When we arrived back to LA there was 48 hours of glorious, refreshing, desperately needed rain. Dallas told me it would happen while we sat on the plane eating almonds and discussing weather patterns. And for the first time since I've lived here, I believed him.

Note to Self: Weather, just like life, is unpredictable no matter how many Doppler radars you have.

Gratitude

2009-10-08T20:17:00.001-07:00

I wanted to take this moment to thank you for becoming a follower of this blog and taking a journey with me and this community of women. I am just understanding this blogging world, so if I haven't reached out to you on your blog or email, it's because there are some where I am unable to do that. I am still working on it. If you have any suggestions, please do tell. So THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU....for listening, reading, writing and for your support and love.

Can you believe that "whatever" is the most hated word in the English language? That came out today in a poll. I love the word whatever. I use it way too much, as a lazy attempt to fill space. Or how about the abbreviated version -- whatevs. That's a cool word too. I have a friend who literally says "whatever" every 15 seconds. If she was asked to stop saying it, I believe she would make no sense and develop a nervous tick, actually she has a couple of those, which might be why she fills space with words like whatever, like, come on, i'm just sayin'. It's a great reminder for all of us that there are bazillions of words out there that we had to learn to get into a college, and to use more of them. As a rule of thumb, less is more, unless the less is creating a language that is annoying the shit out of the population at large.

On a fertility note, I went into the Doctors for a follow up visit yesterday. Needless to say, I was kind of a wreck. The loving and very worried nurse offered a chocolate sprinkles cupcake to me as a sweet, buttery salve. As I sat in the Docs well lit office looking across his desk at his new, young and very pregnant intern, I wept and I ate. And all I could think was, I should have brought cupcakes. I bet the person who brought in cupcakes is pregnant, LIKE THIS INTERN!!! My doc asked me if I needed anything to help calm me down this next cycle. I wasn't sure what he was getting at, but after quizzical looks and a very uncomfortable conversation, that went something like, "I always said I would NEVER go on anti-depressants", he wrote me a prescription for the big P. Prozac. You heard me. I don't know if I'm going to take it. I have a weird feeling that I might like it too much. Whatever.

Note to Self: Never say never and use "whatever" only when necessary.

photo: Wiley in the grass taken by Leelee Groome

Sheryl Crow reflects on Note to Self

2009-10-06T16:47:00.001-07:00

I have dreaded this blog entry for 36 hours. I wasn't sure how to put into black and white that I am not pregnant (AGAIN). How many times can this happen to a girl and she remain sane? Is that possible? Has anyone out there ever wanted to apologize for not being pregnant? All the well wishes and phone calls. All the fertility dolls and lucky charms. Has anyone had the mind to send them all back? Because on days like this I feel like I have let everyone down. My Jason. My family. My friends. I know it's not rational, but it's real. I have heard it all...you are building a family. It takes time. One day this time will be in your rear view mirror. I want to believe it and yet it all seems so far away. I want to say this is the hormones talking, I am mostly right. Part hormones. Part desire. Part disappointment.

I sat down on the couch, next to the window, by the fountain about 25 times. Checked email, surfed the web, anything to avoid writing. Jason left town on a business trip so this news has come and I have had to deal with it alone. Not totally alone as I have friends who love me and have called and been there. So I continued to surf the web....and this is what I found:

The wonderfully talented and loving and beautiful Sheryl Crow blogged about "Note to Self". It's not everyday that a rock star tells her fan base to check out your book, so I thought I would take this moment to say that's what happened today along with I got my period. I can't thank her enough. It is a bright spot in this rather confusing and depressing day.
http://www.sherylcrow.com/news/

I have included an excerpt from her chapter in my book. She writes about the mistakes and frustrations in making her first record and how making her second album freed her to be the artist she is today. While it's about making music, the lesson resonates beautifully in many areas of all of our lives. Mine included. This baby making process has nothing to do with anyone else but me and Jason and I have to let go "the idea" that I might be disappointing those around me. The expectations and the regret. The idea of letting go is the new idea.
Ladies and gentlemen an excerpt from "Note to Self", Sheryl Crow's essay: "Achieving Harmony"....

The experience really set me up to make my second album in the right spirit. When I went into the studio to record, I felt like nobody believed in me so I had nothing to lose. I figured I’d make the record I wanted to make. I couldn’t wait to get in, close the door, and purge myself.

24 hours after shutting the studio door, my producer left. I called my manager. “I’m screwed,” I told him. “What should I do?” “Do it yourself,” he said. “You know what you’re doing. You’ve always demoed your music well enough that it sounds like records.” We didn’t okay this change with the label, because we thought they would never let me, a woman, produce on my own. So feeling like I really had nothing else to lose, I just did it. My second album created a big opportunity for me, and I’d like to think, for other women to produce their music. When one door closed, another opened. Literally.

When I listen to the album today, I hear a scrappy, frustrated voice who thought her career was over, and then proved that she was just beginning. It was a nice opportunity to turn a horribly negative experience into a positive, self-affirming one and learn to believe in myself again. The process toughened my skin. and it made me much more protective of my own talent. I’m no longer afraid to own it. I called that album, “Sheryl Crow”—for all the obvious reasons—it was my statement, for better or for worse, and happily it was received for the better.

I always said that if my first record had sold 10,000 copies, I would have still been in good graces with those misunderstood artists, but instead I became the “them” in the “us against them.” It didn’t feel great at the time, but in hindsight, I realize how much it prepared me for the future. The lessons that come with breaking free, in many ways, carry over in all areas of one’s life. I’m not nearly as gullible, and I have a lot more savvy when it comes to running my business like a business. Ultimately, I can’t make everybody happy.

The amazing and beautiful thing about life is that there will always be a time and a place to heal old wounds and practice forgiveness and compassion. I hold no grudges against anybody for anything, and my days are better lived that way. This reality was never more than clear when I had the amazing opportunity to reunite with my producer, Bill, fifteen years later on the album, “Detours.” The title says it all. We laughed, we cried, we got to work, and we made some really inspired, kick ass music.

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Note to Self: When you try to please everyone, you risk losing yourself along the way.