So long. Farewell.

While at the store yesterday, though I had them on my list, I refused to buy tomatoes.

Why would I buy something that up until recently, we had in abundance in our own backyard?

So I didn't.

And last night we used the very last, homegrown tomato to garnish our homemade taco pizza.

It was delicious and served its purpose well.

Back to the pale, flavorless, hothouse variety.

It’s a Love/Hate Thing

This morning as I walked Master Teddy off the deck to do his business (he’s sometimes a little reluctant!) I noticed that the grass was heavy with dew. I know nothing about weather or seasons but dew on the grass is a reminder to me that fall is here. Fall is by far my favorite season. I love the smoky smell in the air on warm October afternoons. Colorful, crunchy leaves and bright, rotund pumpkins and that first cold night when you realize that your sweatshirt is no longer warm enough. I love wearing sweaters and long pants again after a summer of shorts and tank tops. The first dinner of roasted butternut squash with cinnamon and warm apple crisp. With fall comes the Peanuts Holiday Specials, beginning with It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and trips to the pumpkin patch to dig through the mud for the perfect pumpkin and rush off to the snack cart to buy kettle corn.

While fall is definitely my favorite season it also has many things about it that I very much don’t like. It is truly a love/hate relationship which leaves me exhausted trying to decide if I am happy, or sad at what fall brings along with that first gust of wind.

School. You knew this one was coming. I awoke quite early September 8th to welcome the little darlings with their brand new backpacks and lunchboxes, packed full with sharpened pencils, juice boxes and notebooks covered in Twilight stickers. Nervous kids with their wrinkled schedules peeking anxiously into my classroom, wondering if this was “The Spanish Room”. Girls shrieking, boys swaggering, all trying to prove they’re grown up while making it painfully obvious that they’re still just kids. I love it, and yet I hate it at the same time. I too am nervous. What am I supposed to wear? Will they respect me? Will this be a good batch? That isn’t even the part I dislike so much. What I really dislike is giving up the freedom. Though I didn’t spend entire days on the couch in my pajamas, I could have. Though I didn’t go to Hawaii for some mai tais and snorkeling, I could have. Though I didn’t go on a six-week backpacking tour of the Andes, I COULD HAVE! And now I can’t. The start of school reminds me of all the issues that weren’t resolved in June. The budget crisis still looms like a dark cloud over everything we do. “Don’t make extra copies. Your room only gets cleaned every other day. We'll try to find more chairs for the 36 kids you have in your class. We don’t have this, we don’t have that.” H1N1 lurks around the corner. “Wash your hands, cough into your sleeve, take vitamin C, for God’s sake, DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!” I already have a cold and it is only the second week.

Football. Football season kicks off (ha ha) in August and the beginning for me is the Ducks’ home opener. Early in the morning, we pack up the car with a cooler of beer and snacks and head off to Eugene to watch the game. No, we head off to Eugene to PREPARE to watch the game. I love cold game days, when we’re huddled around the barbeque drinking hot cocoa and Baileys (actually Carolans for Bill and I since we’re cheap!) and talking. I love the games when we’re winning and cheering and high-fiving and when we’re losing, I love sneaking out a little early and feeling so excited when we beat the rush out of the parking lot.

But. Football season also marks the loss of my husband. Check out this lineup: High school football game on Friday. College Gameday on Saturday and games all day. NFL on Sunday. NFL on Monday. The Fan when we get home on Tuesday. Pardon the Interruption after school. Sports Radio in the car on the way to school. Fantasy Football website to check. Sports Center on Thursday to catch college game predictions. Now, to my husband, that sounds like a whole lot of heaven. I’m glad he enjoys it so much and apparently I’m one of the lucky ones. But I miss my Saturday morning HGTV fix.

Rain. My other love/hate relationship with fall is falling from the sky as I write this post. Now, I mostly love rain. I live in Oregon for a reason! I love the drip, drip, drip of the rain. I love a quiet rain, when it feels good to stay inside with some cocoa and read a book but I also love a pounding, driving rain when you think that surely the gutters are going to come off the house and that soon you’ll see a canoe drifting by in river that has formed by the curb. The morning after a good rain when the air is clean and smells like worms is just so fresh to me. But the rain means I have to locate my umbrella again. The rain means more traffic and dangerous roads. Rain means shorter walks with an already neglected Master Teddy and wet footprints all over my kitchen floor.

Shoes. My feet are terrible. I’ve had bunion surgery on both feet and the only shoes that really feel good are flip flops. I own many pairs of flip flops. The problem with flip flops, and sandals in general, is the state your feet get into when you wear them. They get dry, cracked and uncomfortable. You have to keep your toes painted when you wear flip flips. So I love when fall comes around and I get to pull out the work shoes. Danskos are my favorite and I own three pairs. If I could get away with only wearing the Danskos during the summer, I would. So, so comfy. But they don’t look that good with shorts so I stick with the sandals.

But I also hate fall for the exact same reasons. No one gets to see my pretty toes anymore. I have to come up with a good reason to justify a pedicure! On Tuesday I tried to wear dressier shoes with my skirt and I ended up with blisters on my big toes. I’ve yet to figure out a shoe I can wear with a dress for more than one hour that doesn’t cause me to hobble the next day so fall usually means I end up in pants or jeans, which starts to look frumpy really fast.

Holidays. Yeah, you heard me. The holidays. I love the holiday season! The anticipation is just outstanding. I love watching the store windows and displays and making my list, checking it twice! I’ll bring up Peanuts again because the trio of shows just lightens my mood and makes it feel like the holidays are actually here! In the fall, the anticipation begins with the change in weather. Cool nights, cooler mornings, the fog! Nothing welcomes Halloween more than a gray foggy morning! As each beloved day approaches I get more excited and look forward to all traditions, from carving pumpkins to canned jellied cranberry sauce to exchanging ornaments.

And it all starts in September? Seriously, WHY do stores start displaying holiday decorations MONTHS in advance? I wonder if anyone has ever tracked how sales are affected by how early or late the displays come out. I can’t believe anyone is actually buying Halloween decorations and candy in August so I wonder what the purpose is of putting everything out so early.

Instead of making me want to purchase fake Christmas trees on Mexican Independence Day (that’s September 16th, people) what I really want to scream when I see those displays is “PUT IT AWAY!!” It isn’t time yet!! I haven’t had the last mojito of the season, for crying out loud.

So, dear Readers, I welcome, and cry about, the return of Fall. Beautiful, orange, smoky, chai-flavored Fall. Summer buzz-kill, over zealous, rainy, soggy Fall. Welcome back! What lovely, hazy treat do you have in store for me this year?

Martha Stewart Never Has these Problems

There are two significant traits that I lack which prevent me from being a really good baker: patience and attention to detail. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy baking from time to time. I always get the urge to bake something yummy when the weather changes or when a party is coming up. My preference is to cook something for dinner.

Baking requires exact measurements and measurements as precise as quarter teaspoons. Cooking is a handful of this and measuring “to taste”, which is much easier and more appealing for me. If you mess up the ratios while baking, you can have flat cakes or cookies that are too dense. Not so with cooking. Too much or too little of something usually doesn’t yield anything awful unless it to the extreme.

I admire bakers. Everything they create seems so effortless. And usually baked goods are so pretty! That is the best part of baking. I love rows of chocolate cookies all lined up on the cooling rack like little soldiers. Or when you peek into the oven and see the cake rising proud above the pan.

Baking typically requires decorating which is my other downfall - no attention to detail. (This skill I lack also explains why I can’t stand scrapbooking.) Sure you can eat a cake with frosting slopped on but a cake on a plate with globs of frosting coated in a dusting of cake crumbs doesn’t look very nice. Baking yummy treats and making them pretty is tedious and time-consuming. My back starts hurting as I hunch over cupcakes painstakingly applying icing only to have them look like they came out of an Easy Bake Oven. You know, the toy we had as kids where we baked cakes in an oven that used a light bulb as the heat source.

I think the ultimate goal of bakers is to create a product that tastes homemade but looks professional. I subscribe to several baking blogs and love how each one posts pictures of the final product. For our family reunion last week I decided to bake sugar cookies so I could cut them in summer shapes like I did for our wedding reception five years ago. I made a huge batch and was really disappointed in the results. Now I think it is because I don't care for sugar cookies. I prefer shortbread and the cookies I made before were more shortbread-like. These cookies had an odd texture on the top and the glaze I made was sickly sweet and just gross. Bill suggested I frost them but I remained unconvinced. I made up some frosting and just went to town, fully anticipating that I would throw them all away.

Bill said they were fine with frosting and that they reminded him of the sugar cookies he used to buy at 7-11. Not exactly a compliment in my book, to have something you made compared to the convenience store version, but Bill meant it as high praise so I decided they were okay to serve for the event and frosted and decorated the remaining 4 dozen cookies.

When I was done, I noticed that this was the prefect opportunity to take a picture since they turned out pretty cute.

I took several pictures, attempting to shoot some clever angles like I see on the baking blogs. While arranging the cookies and snapping some pictures, I noticed something I hadn't while I was decorating.

I'm sure you saw it right away. In my efforts to make cute, summery cookies for our party, I inadvertently made boob cookies.

Though people seemed to enjoy the cookies, I think I'll stay away from sugar cookies for awhile.

My First Response? EPT: Expensive Peed-on Twit

I know it is no secret that we're trying to start a family, so in a long-overdue post I shall share some insight I have into a big part of this process: pregnancy tests. I usually have an opinion about everything so it is no surprise that I would have an opinion about this.

Since we have had an ectopic pregnancy, one precaution we have to take is early pregnancy tests. Should we become pregnant again, hormone levels must be monitored because if they don't increase normally, the pregnancy could be ectopic. Therefore, we don't even wait until a missed period. Every month, at least once, I take a home pregnancy test.

I shudder to think how much money we've dumped into this precaution because as many of you know, home pregnancy tests are not cheap. Usually 2 tests cost about $14.99. Not only are they expensive, but they sum up the emotional trials of fertility in one quick trip to the can.

Regardless of the circumstances surrounding taking a home pregnancy test (HPT), it is an event charged with emotion. Will it be positive? Will it be negative? Both scenarios can bring disappointment, fear, elation, devastation depending on the situation. That is a whole lot of power for something you pee on and then throw away.

While I have used drugstore brands before, I usually opt for First Response. FR claims to detect pregnancy 5 days early (they all do, by the way) and shows a positive result with two vertical pink lines, a negative result with one vertical pink line. In very early pregnancy, if the hormones are barely detectable, FR may show the faintest of the second pink pregnancy line which can confuse people. EPT offers a digital choice which displays "pregnant" or "not pregnant". I don't really think the faint line is all that confusing but because I had a coupon AND it was on sale, I tried the digital EPT test recently.

I never thought I would have a preference because really, you just pee on it, wait, look, throw it away. But I am surprised to report that I don't like the digital test. At. All. Here is why: the digital home pregnancy test lacks sensitivity. Let me explain.

As I mentioned earlier, taking a HPT is an emotional experience regardless of the circumstances. The emotion I left out in my description that definitely dominates the whole process is hope. Whatever the desired outcome, the people involved are hopeful that the test will display the results they want. While getting ready to take this last test I was of course, full of hope that it would be positive. I was also curious about the digital test since I've never peed on anything digital before. Kind of weird experience. All tests require you to wait a couple of minutes so I took the test, and waited.

It took hardly any time for me to determine that this test is not for me. I'm used to FR. Immediately after taking the FR test, the dark pink control line appears. You have to wait for the second line to appear. If after about three minutes it hasn't appeared, the result is negative. Sometimes when the second line appears it is just a whisper of a line and other times it is just as strong as the control line.

You could take the test, walk away and come back to review the results. I doubt anyone does that. I stay in the bathroom and stare at the stupid thing, willing that light pink line to slowly appear. For a few minutes, your mind plays tricks on you. Is it changing? Is that it? Could it be? Oh please, oh please, oh please.

I really believe that FR wants to make me happy. That's why the line appears slowly. It is trying so hard to deliver the results I want but sometimes it is just too hard. Sometimes, it obliges with that dear faint line and your heart leaps as only it can when holding something you just peed on. Other times, the line never appears and you throw it in the trash only to pull it out a couple of minutes later just to double check. When it is negative, I am disappointed and I kind of feel bad for the test. Because it tried.

Not so the villainous digital option. After taking the test, of course I started watching. The display screen showed an hour glass rotating in a circle. Pretty high tech. No wonder this test typically costs around $18 for two tests. It is the Mercedes of HPTs. Anyway, after about 2 minutes of watching the silly hour glass turn circles, the words "not pregnant" suddenly appeared on the screen. BAM. No second-guessing, no mind tricks, no moments of hope lifting just a little. Just direct, sudden, insensitive results. I don't feel like it tried at all. Not like FR. While the obnoxious hour glass turned over and over, this insensitive test was just hanging out, until it decided to smoosh all my hope in one quick, unmistakable, blaring display of the words "not pregnant".

Just before tossing it in the trash I kind of wanted to flip the thing off. I mean, how rude. Rather than that flippant hour glass rotating over and over could it have said "just a moment please" or "hang in there"? And what about the results? Not pregnant. Could it have considered saying, "sorry, not this time" or "you're not pregnant but you look great this early in the morning" or "you're not pregnant but at least you can have a glass of wine tonight"? And the way it appeared! I felt like I'd been slapped.

Trying to conceive is hard enough without insensitive pregnancy tests. Women are very emotional during this process without the harsh coldness of the digital display. I'll stick with my sweet pink lines, thank you very much. Because even when there is only one line, at least I feel like the test is trying as hard as I am.

My Hair and Gambling

(This post is going to have an odd beginning.  I hope you’ll stay with me because I do have a point, it just doesn’t happen until later!)

A couple of weeks ago I was getting my hair done.  I drive over 45 minutes back to my hometown to get my hair done every five weeks.  A little bizarre, I know, but it makes perfect sense.  Men may not understand barber loyalty as well as women.  Most women I know have had the same hairdresser for years.  When I moved from said hometown to current address, I changed my general practitioner, got a new dentist, new mechanic, everything.  But I refuse to change my hairdresser.  First of all, I could never find someone who does what she does (cut and weave and brow wax) for the price she charges (too low mention!) and secondly, I don’t want to change.  She knows me.  She knows my hair grows faster behind my left ear (it’s true!) and that I need extra color every other month at the spot above my right eye where I get a little stripe of gray.  Funny thing about Linda is she also cuts my mom’s hair.  Because she cuts my mom’s hair, she also cuts my dad’s since he doesn’t like to do anything without my mom.  Every other time she goes in, he grumbles and sits in the chair so Linda can cut his hair.

(Hang in there!  My Point still coming!)

So, Linda does my hair, my parents’ hair and also my sister’s if she is ever in town at the time she needs her hair done.  Because Linda is this close to my family and our hair, she knows that I have inherited the delightful trait from my parents of premature gray hair.  My mom would be completely white without Linda, my dad is totally gray, and my 33 year-old head is in the not-so-early stages of suffering the same plight.  In fact, I’ve been covering up gray with some form of color since age 16.  Thanks Mom and Dad.

(Congratulations!  You’ve made it to My Point!)

Have you ever noticed that when we have a particularly annoying trait or feature about ourselves we always laugh it off and say, “Thanks _____!”, filling in one or both of our parents’ names?  Why do we do this?  Do we actually believe that our parents are responsible to the point of blame for our physical appearance and personalities?  Or do we do this to somehow excuse our own behaviors/shortcomings and therefore transferring the blame to someone who realistically, has no control whatsoever over said behavior/shortcoming?

When pondering this question, I get a picture of my parents dressed in white lab coats, hunched over a glowing petri dish in a lab with bubbling graduated cylinders all around.  My mad scientist mom and dad hold pipettes and in hushed voices argue over my genetic makeup.  

Mad Scientist Mom:  Give her my eyes and your height!

Mad Scientist Dad: Do we give her the premature gray hair?

Mad Scientist Mom: No, we already gave her zero coordination!

Mad Scientist Dad: But we also gave her high intelligence.

Mad Scientist Mom:  You’re right.  The premature gray balances it out.  Do it.

This scenario suggests that our parents are working together to balance out the genetic makeup.  To create a child with equal parts of the two parents and equal parts of good and bad.  It is fair.  They want to create the best possible person with what they have to work with.  I’m sure many of you with siblings know that this isn’t always how it works out.  Ever heard “Yeah, she got the brains in the family!”?  In my family it was always about skin.  My dad’s olive, easily-tanned skin was coveted whereas my mom’s fair skin which burns in the shade was a curse.  This is when I picture my parents as witches.

Mom has a pointy witch hat and a cape.  They are bending over a bubbling cauldron and cackling wildly when deciding my genetic fate.  Bats are flying around and a big pile of weird genetic traits are thrown into the brew soon to be their offspring.

Witch Mom:  And now an eye of newt, so that her eyesight will be poor and she will run into things in broad daylight!

Witch Dad:  Excellent!  And one beaver tooth to ensure that her teeth be bucked and crooked.

Witch Mom:  Perfect!  A horse hoof should guarantee her bunions and don’t forget the pile of grass and cat hair!

Witch Dad:  Of course - for the allergies!  Last but not least, the hair of a nanny goat so she'll go prematurely gray.

Witch Mom:  And now for the magic words!

Bibbity Babbity Bobbity Boo

Everything about you is inside this brew

Bobbity Babbity Bibbity Bee

You’ll talk about this in therapy!

Of course this isn’t the correct scenario because our parents love us and would never intentionally do something to put us into therapy.  If we know even a little about genetics we know the real story which is there’s not a damn thing we can do about any of it.

Genetics is a roll of the dice.  A crap shoot.  A spin of the roulette wheel.  Uh oh, I feel another vision coming on.  Mom and Dad at a casino with a big bucket of nickels.  Well, my parents did spend their honeymoon in Reno...

Gambler Mom:  The wheel's spinning!  All right!  She got a good sense of humor!

Gambler Dad:  I'm going to try again.  Maybe she'll be charming and charismatic.

Gambler Mom:  You got it!  Wait to go, honey!  Try just one more time!  She could get a sparkling wit.

Gambler Dad:  It's risky.  Are you sure?  Charming and charismatic is pretty fantastic.  

Gambler Mom:  What the heck!  Go for it!

Gambler Dad:  Okay, here goes.  Oh crap.  Sarcastic and goofy.  Nice try.  Let's go see how we do on hair.

Gambler Mom:  Good idea.  I'm feeling really lucky about hair!