The sun finally came out

I have been feeling uncharacteristically unchatty recently (blogwise, at least), but I was inspired by the (finally) fantastic weather to take some pictures of my weekend:

Friday I took Ada and Monkey Boy berry picking with Debbie and her son.

Notice that with a tub of strawberries behind her,
my child chooses to snack on dried cranberries.

Monkey Boy eyes the flowering blackberries

Redhead, Red Chin

Answering that long standing question,
the chicken crossed the road to get to the berry-filled wagon

I think I love pigs because they appear to smile

On Saturday Chris, Ada and I went for a walk at Smith and Bybee Lakes, which has paths that are about the perfect distance for toddler attention spans.

Can you believe a week ago people were referring to this as Junuary?

Ada's treasure

They have these cool sculptures that giant replicas of seed pods.

Later we ate hamburgers on the back patio, after Chris and Ada read a few books on her porch.

On Sunday we celebrated Father's Day with Ellen and Jiro. Two of my favorite dads, grilled food and rum drinks - who could ask for more?

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Xu's teeth were beautiful. He had the fashionably angular eyeglasses and ingratiating eagerness of an untenured literature professor, and he was charming and frank on every imaginable subject--our driver's lack of basic road skills, the long and eventful history of homosexuality in China, the uncanny suddenness with which old neighborhoods in Ningbo were razed and replaced.

Jonathan Franzen
The Way of the Puffin: Travels in the Chinese Century

Photo Faves, SF Edition

At a friend's wedding: the groom, with a Chicago friend

Sit On It (Or Don't)

Okay, I promise this is it for the potty updates for a while.  I appreciate all the supportive comments, even as I know that our misbegotten attempts to get the girl out of diapers are not only failing but hardening her pro-diaper stance.  I realized this weekend that a lot of my fervor for this effort stems from my lack of control over fertility issues.  My control-freak brain tells me I must control something, so I took this on.  Bad idea.  In any case, this is the last of it for a while, as I will be sitting back, licking my wounds and waiting for the girl to dictate the next move.  

On the third morning of project bribery, Ada initiates so many "I'll sit on the potty then get a treat" moments that by 9 am Chris and I tell her that she can only get a candy for sitting on the potty with no pants.  This turns out not to be a problem, because when we tell her she has been running around without pants for 20 minutes and already sat on the potty at least twice during that period.  

Ada eats so many chocolates over the next couple of hours that I start desperately trying to get her to leave the house to burn off some of the sugar before lunch.  Ada is crazy for the m&ms, and bouncing off the walls with sugar-fueled, candy coated joy.  She is very particular, however, and only eats the blue ones.  

What it looks like when you eat a ton of blue m&ms, 

not including the blue streaks on her hands and legs

I ask her what she'll do when she's eaten all the blue ones.  What color will you pick then?Considering the candy-filled glass container, Ada points to a red one.  Great, good to plan ahead.  

The sugar-fest continues until nap time.  After nap I notice a trend - Ada is adamant that she wants her diaper back on after (repeatedly) taking it off to sit on the potty.  I am not initially concerned, and figure we will give her a couple more days of "treat for sitting" before telling her the treat comes only when she sits on the potty for the time it takes to read a book.  (Olivia, not War and Peace)

By Wednesday I notice a change.  Ada initiates many fewer sit-for-treat encounters, and declares a desire for a diaper in a way she was not doing previously.  This takes a little while to become clear, as I am away at work most of the day.  By Friday it is crystal, however.  She has stopped asking to sit, and even when we ask if she wants to she says "no" more than not.  

The bribery only works with a willing bribe-ee, which we apparently no longer have.  Having failed to force her to use the potty or to bribe her into wanting to use it, we are left without much leverage.  At this point I am resigned to waiting her out, or at least waiting for a better plan.  What else can I do?  As far as I can tell, pretty much nothing, so I sit and wait, patting myself on the back for not eating her stash of m&ms and wishing I'd changed the blog's tag line when I had the chance. 

Life in a poopy fog, indeed. 

Stool Pigeon

Day three of the "there are no more diapers here" attempt at potty training Ada, and the start of project bribery:

By Day 3, Ada has dug in. No amount of chocolate bribery will get her to sit on the potty again, much less pee in it. Plus, she is a tantrum-throwing fool over the weekend. She is clearly stressed, and taking it out on us in a way that feels very unpleasant for all of us. Oh, and I am really starting to wonder how long she can go without a bowel movement before we have a problem.

Our morning centers on a child who clearly needed to pee yet refused to get near the potty, followed by a big puddle of pee. Mid-morning, we get a visit from a friend who happens to be a pediatrician. I ask for her advice, and she tells Ada and me the following story:

A long time ago I visited Buchart Gardens. Buchart Gardens has pigeons that ride bicycles. Pigeons on bicycles! Most pigeons do not like to ride bicycles. It is much easier for them to walk around saying "coo, coo". But these pigeons do ride bicycles. I was so amazed I asked the trainer how they got pigeons to ride bicycles. The trainer said that pigeons love corn nuts.

The pigeons get corn nuts when they get close to the bicycles. After a while, they want to be near the bicycles in order to get corn nuts. At this point, the trainer starts to give them corn nuts only when they actually touch a bicycle. When they master that, they only get corn nuts for putting a foot on the bicycle. Then they get rewarded when both feet are on the bicycle.

Once a pigeon has both feet on the bicycle, he might move his foot, causing the bike to move a bit. When this happens, the pigeon gets a corn nut. After this, the pigeon only gets corn nuts when he actually moves the bike around on purpose. And voila! The pigeons ride bicycles! They love riding bicycles, and they love getting corn nuts.

The doctor friend also talked to us about how many kids don't like to use the potty, because it is a lot easier to pee and poop in a diaper. But using the potty is what big kids do, and once kids start doing it they realize it is a lot better than using a diaper. So much less messy, and they can be so grown up by doing things themselves.

Ada listened to the whole talk, squirming a bit at times in a way that I made me wonder how much she understand the story. Was she making any connection between the pigeon and herself? Would she go for this? After our doctor friend left, Chris and I decided to try it out. Why not, right? Our "there are no pants" attempt wasn't getting anywhere except tantrum-land.

We tell Ada that we have found some diapers and she can wear one if she'd like. She's thrilled, and I feel like a jerk for lying about the diapers being gone, but that is part of the fun of parenting, right? We also tell her that she can get a chocolate if she sits her bottom on the potty, even if she has pants or a diaper on. She is intruiged, if skeptical.

Several times that afternoon, we remind her that she can get a chocolate if she sits (however briefly) on the potty. By the evening she understands the trade. We keep up the bribery all the following day. When I get home from work, Ada is more than willing to sit, repeatedly asking if she can sit and get chocolate. Eventually we go upstairs for bath time, and after she gets undressed Ada asks if she can run downstairs to sit on the potty and get a chocolate. Sure! Down we go. Same thing after the bath, when our bare-bottomed girl bounces downstairs to sit and be rewarded.

I put Ada to bed, thinking maybe, just maybe this strategy will work for her. And for us.

The following day Ada is very enthusiastic about the sit for chocolate plan. So enthusiastic that after an hour of chocolate eating no-pants time, we tell her that now she'll only get a chocolate if she sits her bare bottom on the potty. This is fine with her, and even after she puts pants on, Ada readily undresses to sit and be rewarded. She does it so much that I finally decide we need to leave the house before my sugar-fueled child runs paces holes in the floor.

Things are going so well that I am planning how many days we'll stay at this stage. I figure we'll stay 3 more days at this, then transition to giving chocolate only when that shes sit long enough to read a book. Except that by the following day, she's cooled to the process. She is not running over to get rewarded all the time. And by the day after, she barely notices the jar of chocolates on the dining room table.

A few more days of this are in order, I think. As is a recognition that it might not work after all. Even if it does not, doing this has been beneficial. It gave me a way to back off of my previous plan when it was not working and I was dug in. Now I can step back a bit and let things happen. If nothing happens for a while, I can handle that. (for a while, at least) I know she needs to do things on her own schedule, and the more I push the more she wants to resist. A friend recently suggested a parent's role is guide rather than leader, and I will try to take that to heart.

Current Favorites

Two pictures I can't stop looking at:

Ada and Bunka

Monkey Boy and Ada

Pee, Pee, Pee, You Belong To Me, Me, Me

7 am
I get up with Ada and immediately take off her diaper. It is DRY, despite the fact that we woke Ada up at 10pm the previous night to take her home from Susie's house.

I suggest potty time, Ada declines.

7:45 - 8:30 am
Ada bounces, dances and generally acts like she has to pee, but refuses to admit it or sit on the potty. She starts to pee while sitting on the couch, so I carry her to the potty in the dining room. While I am getting fabric cleaner for the cushion, Ada floods the dining room (and basement). Chris and I clean it up, while letting Ada know that (a) we are not upset, and (b) the potty would be a better target than the floor.

This is pretty much how our day went. Each attempt to get Ada to sit on the potty are met with: (a) refusals; (b) screaming; (c) tantrums; or (d) a - c, all at once.

1:30 pm
At nap time, Chris tells me that if Ada doesn't start peeing on the potty by Sunday, we should abandon this effort and try again in a couple of months. This surprises me, as I was counting on his support over the next week. I argue that if we go back to diapers we stand to lose a lot. Ada will know that stonewalling and tantrums will get her whatever she wants. Plus, if she is afraid of the potty now, won't more time just make it loom larger?

1:45 pm
I head off to do errands and call Ellen and then Karen from Target. Both support my position, which kind of doesn't help, because after talking to them I am dug in and pissed off at Chris.

3:30 pm
Ada wakes up with dry underpants.

3:30-5:30 pm
Ada roams the neighborhood with Chris. She wears no underwear (or pants, for that matter) but has no accidents. I am starting to worry about her bladder, even as I marvel at its capacity.

Not at our house, apparently

5:30 pm
The three of us head inside for dinner, which sends Ada into a tantrum. (Something about a new friend and watermelon) After a time out, Ada says she does not want dinner. After a bath, a revived Ada agrees to eat.

6:45 pm
In a a hail mary play, I tell Ada she can have chocolate for sitting on the potty while I read her a book. No actual pee needs to come out. She demures. Even more desperate, Chris says he will give her a chocolate before she sits on the potty, plus another after she sits down. Ada takes the first candy, sits for 2 seconds a rolls off into my lap. I glare at Chris for his inability to see that coming. (Yes, I am a jerk. Sue me.)

7:30 pm
After Ada is in bed, I exercise, yet fail to release any of my annoyance at Chris. Childish, but who am I going to be mad at, Ada? I half decide not to talk to him, even though I know this is futile. Chris could win a silence contest with a mute, and giving the silent treatment to someone who does not even notice is bound to be self-destructive. Hungry, I head downstairs to drown my sorrows in take out pad see ew.

This is probably the low point. Things get better, at least a little, tomorrow.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Several months earlier, Terry had given me the book "Into the Wild" for Valentine's Day (because nothing says "I love you" like the story of a young man starving to death in the Alaska wilderness).

Lee Conell
My Dropout Boyfriend Kept Dropping In

To Pee Or Not To Pee

Highlights from day one of my "there are no diapers here" attempt at potty training Ada:

8 am

Remove overnight diaper and tell Ada "There are no more diapers. You can pee in the potty, but the diapers are gone." Ada says she does not have to pee. I tell her to let me know when she needs to go. I also mention that we are going to the store to get chocolates, and she'll get chocolate as a reward when she pees in the potty.

Ada: Let's sit on the potty!

She sits, we read books and no one pees. (Still, a good start, and I am heartened.)

8 am - 10 am

Ada acts like she wants to pee, but declares she does not need to pee. We discuss whether Thomas belongs in the front or the back of her underwear.

Three notes on the Thomas the Train underwear:

1. Ada requested this underwear. Although Ada doesn't watch Thomas, Monkey Boy has this underwear (reason enough for her to want it).
2. If you click on the link you see that I am totally in the right, the train goes on the back.
3. This begs the question of why you would put the image on the butt, rather than in the front where the child might be able to see it and the parent could avoid arguing that the child was wearing her underwear backwards.
4. Does anyone (child or adult) really use that little flap? As a woman I don't have the option, but I have always thought the flap did not look to functional.

10 am

We walk the two blocks to our local grocery store to get chocolate. Once in the store I remember my friend Heidi's story that her mom potty trained her with potato chips, water and chocolate. Heidi's mom parked her in the bathroom and fed her chips until Heidi asked for water. Lots of water. Her mom waited a bit and then got her to pee. Voila - potty trained in two days.

I head to the chips aisle. I grab chips and seconds later Ada declares "I need to pee!" I drop the chips and rush to the front of the store to get the bathroom key. Ada refuses to pee in the store bathroom (rational, I think), so I pee instead and we head back to the chocolate aisle. Chips and chocolate in hand, we head home.

10:30 am

Ada finally agrees she needs to pee, and after considering the small potty seat on the big toilet, decides to use the potty chair upstairs. I follow with books, ready for another false start, but Ada pees almost immediately upon sitting. She turns to me, horrified and starts to cry. I reassure her and praise her profusely. I also reconsider my strategy, worried that I am scarring Ada in some subtle yet irreversible way. Ada hugging my leg, we head downstairs and I let Ada pick the colors of m&ms she wants. The chocolate works on her, and Ada relaxes considerably.

11:30 am

Risking a trip out of the house, we visit Monkey Boy. I know he's got a potty seat, so I feel pretty safe at his house. Ellen praises Ada for using the potty, and then Monkey Boy and Ada play outside for over an hour. At some point Monkey Boy declares he has to poop, so we all troop inside for a potty run. Ada says she wants to use the potty too, but by the time we get to the bathroom she's changed her mind. She does watch Monkey Boy's toilet technique closely, however.

1 - 1:45 pm

We head home, have lunch and head upstairs for nap. Fully committed to the lie that we have no diapers, at 1:40 I put Ada to bed with underwear on.

3:15 pm

Ada wakes up and I rush upstairs to examine the damage. Pants, underwear and sheets are dry. I take the opportunity to praise Ada for this, despite the fact that I don't think it shows strength of character. I certainly would not have criticized her if she'd been wet. But whatever, I take the victory as it comes.

4:00 - 5:30 pm

I pack up some wipes and an extra pair of underwear and pants, and we head to the park. I risk going to the park because: (1) it is incredibly gorgeous out and will probably be pouring tomorrow, knowing Portland; and (2) Ada wants to go and I am feeling so good about her peeing that I decide to risk it. All goes well until about 5:15, when Ada runs over to tell me she's peed. No problem, I have wipes, etc. We make a quick change and she's off again. Ten minutes later she's peed again (I wish I had video of her bow-legged wet-pants walk). We head home, which I'd wanted to do anyway.

6:15 - bedtime

Ada plays at Susie and Mike's house, with no accidents but no willingness to pee on the potty either. At this point I am hoping she's peed in the tub, because otherwise I might worry about her urinary tract. I start to wonder how many days a child can hold her feces without suffering ill effects. I hope we don't have to find that out from experience.

(Despite this decent start, things went downhill from here. More later)

I need to get over it, I can't get over it

This is really hard.

I am crying every day, something I am familiar with but have been spared for a while.

I am distracted, not by sadness that this round did not work, but by the creeping realization that it likely won't ever work. I know I have said that it is different now that I have Ada, but it is still an ache I can't lose.

It has only been a few weeks and it will get better. I know it will get better. When will it get better?

A friend stopped by and we celebrated his good news - a baby girl. Chris and I are thrilled for our friends and very excited to meet the new baby. Our friend left, and moments later returned to express his sadness at our bad news. I was an immediate puddle, appreciative of his love and concern, but horrified that I could not stop crying.

I cry at work and then turn around to talk about health reform or political gossip, pretending my nose is not running and my eyes are not red. I cry when people ask me about it, but annoyed when they don't.  

My co-worker who is in treatment for cancer came in to the office while I was still red-eyed and soggy. How can I be sad about my life? I recently talked to two good friends who have fertility issues of their own, both related to past or current medical conditions. How can I be sad about my life? What kind of asshole am I?

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Let's see . . . next Mother's Day, should I go with the balloon bouquet or a gift certificate for total rectal beauty?

Ali Wentworth
Beautify your bum!

franks for the memories

The old computer is dead, long live the new computer. To celebrate being back online (my god were we in withdrawal), I offer the following scenes from a recent trip to the Dog House: 

There's nothing like ending a satisfying meal with a good tinfoil hat.

Blogger's Lament

My computer died on Thursday. I was happily working when the machine started buzzing and I got a scary, never-before-seen error message. I turned the thing off, then unsuccessfully tried to turn it on. Then I noticed that the little white light that flashes on a mac when the computer is on but closed - not flashing. Bad, bad sign. I finally got it to turn on, but it froze halfway through the start up. Twice.

There goes our stimulus check. Plus a little more, since Chris convinced me that a 13 inch screen would drive me crazy. That I NEEDED a 15 inch screen for work.

I am hoping Chris can help get stuff off the hard drive, or someone else can. Because oy, even though I have gotten better about backing up photos, a couple of months worth are on there, along with the new Bon Iver album I bought on itunes last night. Poof.

Plus, as long as I am complaining: I have not heard word one from the sponsors of that Kirtsy contest. No computer, no bike, no tea. (Dramatic sigh.)

What the hell are you doing poem, er, post.

Some of the searches that have led to people here. Maybe you can explain these:


"scroti rhode island"

(Help, Canadians, one of your fellow countrymen was looking for this.)


"girl bladder rock"


As in a girl's bladder is cool, or girl has a rock bladder? Maybe the girl with the rock bladder can help find:

"girl pumpkin face"


"Pictures of my sisters vagina"

Sorry, your sister and I are close, but we don't have that kind of friendship.


"Grandpa babysitting picture jokes"

"what the hell are you doing poem"

"very old ladies gets milk"

I wouldn't deny them if they wanted some. But only 2%.


"list things that scare me"

Wouldn't it be more fun if you did that?

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Loading up an empty elevator car with discarded Christmas trees, pressing the button for the top floor, then throwing in a match, so that by the time the car reaches the top it is ablaze with heat so intense that the alloy (called "babbitt") connecting the cables to the car melts, and the car, a fireball now, plunges into the pit: this practice, apparently popular in New York City housing projects, is inadvisable.

Nick Paumgarten
Up and Then Down

What Liberties Are Taken

This song has been on the radio a lot. Even though it is a new song, hearing Billy Bragg's voice catapults me backwards 20 years, to my first year in college and my roommate and best friend.

Despite growing up in a huge city, I felt pretty sheltered and naive when I got to college. My friend affected a world weary attitude that I bought hook, line and sinker. We became friends immediately, and our tastes, clothing style, manners merged. Maybe mine merged more into hers than vice versa. Ok, definitely. Looking back on it, our relationship turned me into a sidekick, but a willing one to her strong and compelling personality. I wanted to become someone new, so why not model myself on this young woman who both enjoyed my attention and showed herself interested in me? I still carry some of her in me today. (At the very least she taught me to shop in vintage and thrift stores. )

It seems weird that someone so important to me for several years should drop so completely out of my life. It isn't the first time, and it did not happen all at once. We both got serious boyfriends, Chris and I moved out of state, we had the predictable complaints about who had wronged whom. . . It doesn't really matter anymore. But I think of her when I hear that song, and wonder where she is and if she thinks of me.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

If naked, drunken, sightless lava-bikers, why not chain-smoking, crack-using, unprotected-sex-enthusiasts?

Randy Cohen
The Ethicist

Can you Kirtsy on a Bike?

(or: Look, some GOOD news!)

You may or may not know about the web site formerly known as Sk*rt. Due to a legal kerfuffle started by a magazine (also called Skirt), the women who run Sk*rt needed a new name. (The backstory is easy to find. For a funny recounting, see Jenny's version.)

A contest was held, and now the site is called Kirtsy. But, before the brouhaha and name change and and and, the site had a "Young at Heart" contest. By leaving a comment on the site's blog saying what I do to remain young at heart, I was entered. (Apparently I said that I eat dessert first. Innovative, huh? Not sure it keeps me young at heart, but it does help ensure Chris doesn't eat all my cookies before I can get to them.)

Right, the contest. Well apparently I won! Good thing one of the Kirtsy gals sent me an email to let me know. I haven't exactly been keeping up on my internet life lately. So, yay! I won a bike and some tea. Weird combo, but I am sure I can put the tea in a bottle and sip it while I tool around on my new bike.

So, thanks Kirtsy gals (and your random number generator)! Really, already I would have done anything for the fabulous Laurie, but now? Well, I'd let her ride my bike, that's for sure.

Mourning, Noon and Night

(or: Working Out Some Issues, in four parts)

Part I: In which I did everything right but still didn't get the outcome I wanted

I really thought I was pregnant this time. I knew that all the symptoms - nausea, difficulty sleeping, the two-day long headache - they were all side effects of the progesterone I was faithfully injecting into my ass each night. I knew that. But still I hoped the symptoms were positive signs. I didn't feel so sick last time, did I? It must be a sign, I thought. Except it wasn't.

Nor did it help that I did everything I was supposed to, on time and perfectly. The stimulation cycle went right, my eggs grew fast and well. I had acupuncture in the weeks leading up to, as well as just before and after the transfer and again a week later. I (mostly) rested when directed and I refused to lift my heavy child, for fear of tensing my abdominal muscles. I strolled instead of rushed. I let the house fall to pieces, neither cleaning nor really caring about the mess.

On Thursday I knew the truth. I felt that wetness, the precursor to my period. That day or two of dampness before the blood comes. When I felt that, I went from hopeful to whatever it is when you know the truth but you push it down for another day, thinking you can change reality by the sheer force of your wanting.

* *** *

Part II: In Which I Soothe Myself By Moving the Furniture Around and Steal a Phrase from a Famous Blogger

I am not one of those people who cleans to soothe or calm herself. However, when I am disappointed or upset, I do like to reorganize things. (I totally see that it is an attempt to impose order in some small way. Plus it is way more fun than cleaning.)

This time I moved the dining room furniture around, something I'd been considering for a while but didn't want to do while I was trying to be a good host to my embryos. I wonder whether it matters at all what I did or didn't do. People get pregnant on ski trips, while training for 10ks. Did it matter that I bent over my garden, tugging at weeds and scooping compost? Did it matter that I was stressed about work? that I was frustrated daily by Ada? I kind of doubt the impact of those last two. I got pregnant with Ada during the most stressful days of a very unpleasant new job, and annoyance hardly seems like a key factor in fertility.

I knew it probably made no difference, but what if I did not slow down enough? I marched up and down the stairs after my transfer. OK, not marched. Tiptoed. But more than once. More than too much? Why didn't the embryos implant? With Ada, I was a poster child for IVF. Or should I say poster mom? We had a defined problem, need intervention to get pregnant, and were immediately successful when we tried IVF.

This time I am older, but not "old." No whisperings or notes on my chart about "advanced maternal age." Yet. So why is it different? I keep thinking of a phrase Dooce uses. I wanted to be valedictorian of IVF.

* *** *

Part III: In Which I Get Overly Meta and Beat Myself Up for Doing What Bloggers Do
I convinced myself I needed to write about this. For other people. For the women who find me by searching for "progesterone in oil," "how many units of follistim," or "I can't stop crying why can't I get pregnant." Not for me.

This is important to me, but not just for the help it might offer strangers. For me. Writing makes it real and takes some of the sting away. The past few days I have gotten calls and texts from close friends. I have not wanted to talk, because what is there to say? There is everything to say, but nothing too. Nothing that will change the truth of it. I want this out because I need to talk about it but I don't know how to do that in a way that doesn't give me a headache.

I don't really like to read blogs that are so pain-focused. I want funny, or crafty, or ooh, look at that shiny thing! Why I think anyone would want to read about my pain is beyond me, even as I need you here reading about it.

* *** *

Part IV: In Which, Despite My Failures, I Resolve To Try Again

Despite the fact that a famous Einstein quote keeps ringing in my ears, I want to try again. My ever supportive family has offered to help us once again, and I am not quite ready to give up yet.

Part of me wants to walk away, to get used to the idea of just having one kid without simultaneously working on having another one. Karen suggested that coming to terms with the alternative makes it possible to try again. The thing is that if I can't give up entirely, I have to try again as soon as possible. I need this to get resolved sooner rather than later. Even if it works, I will be 37 when I have a baby. And if it doesn't work, I want to know that so I can get on with my life.

I have a required month off, then a test of my estrogen and fsh, apparently to see the effect of my pituitary playing drill sergeant to my ovaries. If that looks okay we can start again. If not, I am not sure what. I will deal with that if and when it is an issue.

Feels Just Like...

February 14, 2008