Posts from — April 2011

In honour of NIAW, Resolve has asked us to Bust a Myth.  So I sat there, thinking through all of the misinformation I see floating through the media, all of the idiotic statements I’ve heard made to my face or behind my back.  We all collectively busted the myth of how one makes fertility drugs.

I decided to address something that hits closer to home; something that may rub people the wrong way at first, but a post that I hope people will read until the end.

The myth I’d like to bust is the gulf that exists between those on both sides of the infertility chasm.

I was originally going to blog about how infertility doesn’t really have an end point, and that is indeed part of this, but seeing the little punk teenage boy at American Idiot made me think of this idea in an entirely new direction.  We often talk about how once someone passes through treatments or adoption or surrogacy and is parenting, they can no longer truly comfort or understand people who are still standing on the other side of the divide.  That time and distance dull all ability to empathize properly.  That people forget and in that forgetting, they become careless, thoughtless.  They gleefully post pictures of their burgeoning stomach without any regard to how readers might feel.  They talk endlessly about parenting.  And for all intents and purposes, based on what they post on the screen, they’ve moved on.

Based on what they put on the screen.

I watched the teenage boy in front of me at the play emotionally fist pump the air with every “fuck” that is sounded in that play.  And it was true — I understood why he was doing it, why the play was emotional for him, what that moment meant to him.  But I didn’t feel those same things anymore, even though I knew I would have felt them if I were a teenager at the moment.  What I did feel as I watched him was a certain internal tenderness, as if his fist pump had punched against a spot inside of me that I had forgotten was bruised.  I certainly wasn’t aware of it when I was standing in line to get into the theater; I’m not often in touch with my inner teenager.

But seeing his emotions brought me back to a mental slideshow of my own teenage landscape.  That feeling like every moment was like walking across a minefield — what would I say that would suck up life for me later?  What would I not say that I would regret?  How was I being judged or misunderstood or slighted?  And it hurt to be there.  And my defense was to think about my adult life, a “wheeew, so glad I’m not there anymore” mentality.  If I had written a blog post in the moment, it probably would have gleefully pointed out exactly how glad I am that I’m an adult.  Once I realized I was mentally doing this, I thought about how hurtful it would have been if the teenager had been privy to my thoughts.

I think those who are parenting after infertility are in a unique place because they’ve been on both sides of the divide.  I think they can comfort in a way that those still in the trenches can’t always comfort because those on the other side of the divide no longer need to use their emotional rations on themselves.  And I think that when you see them behaving in a way that is insensitive — which I am sure I have done countless times on this blog, and I’m sorry — it is not because they’ve completely forgotten what infertility is like.  It’s because they remember precisely what infertility is like.  And it is like punching a bruised area to think about it.

Because for many people, infertility doesn’t have an expiration date.  It doesn’t have an end point.  It is so huge, so emotional, so life-changing that it becomes an event — a divide in a life and the way we count years — the moment before the diagnosis and the moment after.  BD and AD.  The moment before a loss and the moment after.  BL and AL.  Which is not to say that the emotional pain once you’ve moved from the epicenter of the experience is the same.  It is very different now — I can go through my entire day and barely think about infertility whereas it used to control every minute of every day.

And while I can’t enter that state of depression that I once lived inside, I can certainly see it in another person and remember how it felt even if I’m not feeling it in the moment.  Just in the same way that even though I am not currently eating a strawberry, I can remember how the seeds feel as they crunch under my teeth, the tartness of the fruit out of season, the smell when it’s moving from ripe to overtime.

The myth I want to bust is that the divide is so great that we can’t step back and forth over it for each other.  That once you reach parenthood, you need to leave the community which has been your support for many months or years.  I wish more people would stick around, jump into the advocacy work or give support.  It often turns out that when you’re going through treatments or the adoption process, you don’t have the energy to do anything more than get through your day.  The aftermath is the perfect time to turn around and use everything you learned along the way — to fight for insurance coverage for others, to offer comfort to those in the trenches, to bust all the myths that surround infertility.

And frankly, just because you’re parenting doesn’t mean that you don’t still want your feelings validated, your ideas confirmed, your triumphs celebrated.  Parenthood doesn’t erase — it’s a new creation that is built on a blank space on the heart, not a new creation rewriting everything that came before it.  Just as people should turn backwards and still comfort those in the trenches, I hope that those still fighting will reach out their figurative hands and touch those on the other side of the divide from time to time.

There are some who will not agree with me, who will say they never thought about infertility again once they were parenting or who can point at people who grew too insensitive for words.  But I’d like to believe that even if we don’t live each other’s lives, we don’t need to let that chasm divide us — we can give support, we can give empathy, we can simply say, “I heard you.  I listened.”

We may not be one, big, happy family — I’m not going to blow kumbaya-smoke up your ass — but we are a community who has a lot of energy, a lot of empathy, and the choice to use it inwardly and outwardly to create change as well as give support.

Seriously, this was the excuse the bomber used?

A man who admitted a plot to blow up New York City subway stations with bombs planted in backpacks told his uncle that chemicals and other apparent bomb-making elements were “to manufacture a fertility medicine,” according to court papers.

You may be wondering what substances could possibly be used to create both bombs and random fake fertility drugs.  Apparently the answer is “gallon-sized bottles of toilet bowl cleaner” and nail polish.  You know, standard follicle-stimulating substances.

And he had to pick fertility drugs?  He couldn’t have been working on a cure for cancer?

So there was actually a reason to why I wanted to pull back from writing for a bit and just read through my Google Reader.  On Monday, I start a new position at BlogHer.  I am the section editor for the newly launched Blogging & Social Media section of the site.

So what does that mean?  It means that I am curating, syndicating, and assigning out any posts having to do with blogging, commenting, Twitter, Facebook, etc.  It also means that several times a week, I am highlighting a blogger or pointing you towards amusing tweets or celebrating someone else’s blog project.

In other words, I am essentially hired to read blogs.  And then to help cull out the amazing posts, spaces, tweets that I think other people should make sure they don’t miss.  My entire job is about directing people towards good posts and bloggers to read on the Internet.  Can you imagine a better job?

So, I wanted to just spend the week leading up to the kick off reading.  I’ve gotten behind in blog reading; it’s easy to do.  But now I’m back.

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Cherry blossoms are the pigeons of the tree world.  If you live in the DC area, they are everywhere.  Tourists think they look pretty — and they sort of do — but the trees make the tourists stop and gawk on the sidewalk in the same way that the pigeons do.  The tiny petals blow into our house every time we open the door, which means that I need to vacuum three or four times a day.  People track them through the house on the bottoms of their shoes which makes me curse them.  I recently started calling the petals “rats with wings” as we do the pigeons which Josh said was confusing since the petals were neither an animal nor had wings.  But still — for something that lasts for a very short period of time (cherry blossom time is maybe three weeks long), they are a huge pain in my ass.

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I would just like to write a tiny ode to technology.  I have no fashion sense, therefore, I need to ask people fashion advice before I leave the house so I don’t embarrass myself.  One day only Josh was around, which was no help at all.  So I went on Skype and called Calliope.  And I could stand in my living room and try on stuff and show it to her — all over the Internet!  How crazy is that?  And then walk out of the house with confidence?

I love video calls.

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Remember how I’m offering one NaBloPoMo prompt in the Roundup to entice you to one day commit to doing NaBloPoMo?  It’s a chance to test in a comment if you have the brain power to do a full month of NaBloPoMo.

So try your hand at a single prompt each week and if you can think of an answer, perhaps consider doing the entire month at some point.

ComOnNaPro (Comment on NaBloPoMo Prompt): If you could have a tree in your yard that would sprout anything, what type of tree would you have?

You can either answer this in a comment, or if you’re moved to do so, answer it in a post on your blog and then come back here and let me know the permalink to the post.

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And now, the blogs…

A Half Baked Life has a post about what fuels a blog.  She explains: “I think that our stories–regardless of what those stories are about, whether it’s food, or running, or pets, or children, or infertility, or meditation, or Capitol Hill–are advocacy, for a way of life, for an approach to the world.”  It’s really a fascinating post on redefining advocacy — broadening the definition.  And it may just make you a better blogger to read it, especially if you’ve been wondering about your blog’s direction. (And there’s a recipe to boot.)

Four of a Kind has a moving post about taking the statistical bullet and pairs it with a story about her father that will make you rethink the whole start of the post where she explains that she is that someone in the sentence, “it has to happen to someone.”  It is about re-examining suffering from two different angles.

Lastly, I’m a Smart One explains why it took her so long to return to blogging.  She writes, “The logic of mind reasoned rightfully that I had no cause to feel guilt. The affective capriciousness of heart told me that not only should I feel guilt, but that I also deserved guilt. The opposing sides canceled each other out at best and crusted into a stiff stalemate at worst.”  It is about not fighting the silence, but instead embracing that period of time and how she came through it to the other side.

The roundup to the Roundup: Starting a new job at BlogHer on Monday.  Not loving the cherry blossoms.  All hail Skype and giving fashion advice from afar.  Answer the ComOnNaPro.  And lots of great blogs to read.

That ComOnNaPro one more time: If you could have a tree in your yard that would sprout anything, what type of tree would you have?

So, the end of the autograph story.  We went to see American Idiot on Broadway last weekend.  It was a fantastic performance despite the plotline being a little thin.  Okay, a lot thin.  But the music was great and the kids had a lot of energy and Billie Joe Armstrong was the most adorable drug dealer in the world.

Afterward, we walked outside and there were hundreds of people all lined up, DOWN A CITY BLOCK, in order to catch a glimpse of Billie Joe when he walked out.  Josh and I ducked across the street behind the police barrier, trying to catch a picture of him for the twins.  One of the policemen dryly said to the other policeman, “If I told these people I was giving out $1000, I don’t think it would get a reaction like seeing this guy would.”  Fair enough, but money is pretty much meaningless to the twins right now, but a picture of Billie Joe Armstrong would bring about a huge grin.

After waiting a half hour, security came out and announced that he wasn’t going to exit the theater (ever?) so Josh and I turned and left.  The reality was that I was fulfilled by that point, but it had nothing to do with the play exactly.  We had witnessed two moments that made the trip worth it.  The first was when we were waiting to get into the theater, this little boy with Down syndrome walked by with his mother, and when he saw the painting of Billie Joe on the building, he stopped and got so excited.  His mother took his picture with it.  It was actually quite touching to watch this little boy get so emotional at seeing the painting — like we live in this magical world where you could pass your favourite person painted onto the side of a building.  I will never forget that smile he made while posing.

The other was the teenager in front of us in the theater.  I forget which song it happened during, but he gave this emotional fist pump at the end of the song.  He played air guitar.  He mouthed all the words.  It was again catching this moment that meant so much to another person.  I think as you move away from the teenage years you forget how meaningful it can to have your thoughts reflected back in song.  Every once in a while, I can tap into that — but it is so much easier to remember when you see a teenager hooked into their music.

So… no autograph, no picture.  But seeing those two moments meant more to me than a signature on a Playbill.

(Though, Billie Joe, if you’re reading this, please email my kids at the address under the “contact me” section — they were so disappointed that we came home with just stories and no visuals, though we stayed up giving them the sanitized version of American Idiot.  My daughter was particularly amused to hear that you proposed to Van Hughes on stage and that Leslie McDonel pretended to be upset.  She made me retell that story several times.)

So.

The other post was getting too convoluted, and I thought it best to divide this thought from it.

My other question was whether interacting with a blogger changes the way you read their blog.  It’s different from actors or musicians because the medium literally has interaction embedded in the process.  There is that comment box, practically begging you to start a conversation.  Most bloggers freely give out their email address.

But still, there is the moment where the blogger steps out through the screen and you meet in the face-to-face world or you speak over the phone or you Skype — and in those moments, does it change the way you read their blog?

I’ve had it happen both ways — I’ve had bloggers step through the screen and appear exactly as I imagined they would be based on their writing.  And I’ve had bloggers step through the screen and be so wholly different from their blog that it affected how I read their blog after that point.  Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing — it’s not as if the blog was ruined and I could never read it again.  But I now needed to incorporate this experience into the equation.

And because of that knowledge, there are some people I would rather not meet.  I’d rather not have their blog change for me at all, and not knowing which way it would go — would it enhance my reading experience or change it — I think I would choose to have them remain on the other side of the screen.  Therefore, I’d never be offended if someone didn’t want to meet me, either because they think I’m as boring as a syrup-less pancake or because they don’t want reading this space changed for them in any way.

Have you met many bloggers in the face-to-face world?  Were they exactly as they appeared on their blog?  Did it change the way you read their space?

Welcome to the third concert on the blog. Get your lighters ready because here we go…

[For those who are new: Concert on the Blog Series is a weekly post highlighting a musical, theater, film, or comedy performance. It’s also a chance for viewers to communicate with the artists via the comment section on the post. In other words, it’s free publicity for artists and it’s free enjoyment for viewers — a win-win for all participants. Please click here to find out how you can have your performance featured.]

Melissa the Emcee: We’ve heard quirky and we’ve heard mind-expanding, but it’s time to focus on some good, old-fashioned folk rock.  This band is the embodiment of the outdoor, evening concert.  The sort where you throw a picnic blanket on the ground and lie around with old friends, listening to jeans-and-chucks rock-and-roll.

There’s a story behind the song: He wrote it in 1997 as a lonely, single guy living in Israel, and “I actually used it to propose to my then-girlfriend Beverly almost a decade later.  MKB had a gig at the music venue where Bev and I had our first date — a club called the Middle East in Cambridge MA.  She was there, along with a whole lot of friends and family, and when the time came, I hopped off the stage, got down on one knee, and sang the ‘Will you marry me?’ lyric.”

Seriously, hearing that, how can you not get goosebumps?

The beautiful, lilting “Maple Tree” by the Max Klau Band.

[audio:https://www.stirrup-queens.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/07-Maple-Tree.mp3]

The band is actually currently holding a contest that you can read about on their Facebook page.  They’ve launched the “Best Musical Proposal Story” competition.  Go send in any true stories of ways that someone used music to propose marriage, and whoever submits the most creative, moving, and romantic story will win a free CD.

More about the band: “In just over two years of playing the clubs of Boston, MKB has built an enthusiastic base of fans who appreciate great musicianship, quality songwriting and energetic live shows. Fans love their Dave Matthews Band Alternative/Folk via Van Morrison style. The band has a rare combination of catchy, intelligent hooks, soulful lyrics and musical sophistication that’s too good to pass up.”

For those in love with the music (and please let them know in the comment section below), you can find them in many places on the Web:

• Website: http://www.myspace.com/maxklauband.
• Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Max-Klau-Band/100607403926

Now go mill about the lawn (fine, the comment section), hanging out with your fellow concert goers and chat about what you just heard and saw.