I am not writing my blog right now because I realized mid-August that it felt like a burden instead of a release. I am too sad, navigating the twins leaving for college. I scheduled these posts that day so the blog wouldn’t be empty, but I could pull back and use the time left with the twins. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

Our camp (the site of the Wishing Tree) had an enormous field that was surrounded by woods, and in the middle of the woods wound a creek. Sometimes I’d go with some older campers into the woods and down to the creek, and as we crossed the field, I would have to jog to keep pace with their longer legs. I didn’t want them going too far ahead of me, swallowed up by the trees.

As summer winds down, it feels as if it’s an older camp kid who is moving too quickly across the field, barely paying attention to the fact that I am chasing summer to keep up.

I don’t like the return to school; I never have. I thought it would get easier, but it has only stayed the same. August rolls around, and I start feeling morose. Four weeks left, then three weeks left, then two weeks left… and then there is only one week left and then it is gone too. The twins are excited to start school again; to see their friends every day even if they’re not looking forward to the return to homework and long days in the classroom. They want to know which teacher they got, who else is in their class.

Read the rest here.

I am not writing my blog right now because I realized mid-August that it felt like a burden instead of a release. I am too sad, navigating the twins leaving for college. I scheduled these posts that day so the blog wouldn’t be empty, but I could pull back and use the time left with the twins. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

Loss is inherent in infertility–the negative beta at the end of the cycle, diminishing hope, forgoing opportunities. We have spent so many years of our life together in a perpetual state of continued loss. And mixed in with the loss is the physical pain and the emotional embarrassment. The financial holes and constant anxiety. And, of course, shwanking off in public.

When my husband, Josh, would complain about the donation rooms, I would lift up my shirt to show him my bruised belly. Needles, in my mind, always trumped a date with your hand because at the end of masturbation comes an orgasm as opposed to the end of a Follistim injection which comes with an annoying sting and a little medication dribbling out. How could he ever compare rubbing one out with nightly injections?

And then I took a field trip to the donation rooms and listened to the nurses discussing the viscosity of a semen sample on the other side of the thin wall and I had a newfound appreciation for my husband’s prowess to zone in on an image of breasts (always my own, always my own) and get the job done despite the andrologist crooning “Careless Whisper” in his office, three feet away.

Read the rest here.

You know how I’ve trucked along here for 17 years, writing at least five times per week without fail? Sort of like the USPS… “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” Perhaps not as important as delivering the mail, but my point is rain, heat, and gloom of night have never stopped me.

The twins leaving for college has stopped me.

Each week gets harder mentally, physically, and emotionally. I keep it together for work. I mostly keep it together in front of the twins. I do not keep it together any other time. I feel heavier and heavier, slower and slower, sadder and sadder.

I don’t think I’m conveying it well.

But suffice it to say that I can’t write. I woke up thinking that writing was just one more can’t in a long line of mental can’ts. I didn’t want to leave the blog empty, so I just grabbed the URLs of old posts and scheduled posts. It’s like a small time machine. The posts are fine, but I loved reading through the comment section. I hope you do, too.

I will be back in September. I’m sorry if you write me, and I don’t write back. I go back to the first thought. This is the time that stopped me.

As I say every month, I’m shamelessly stealing this idea from Jessica Lahey. She has a recurring monthly date where she reviews all the books she reads that month. Book reviews are important for authors, and I want to get better at doing this.

So. I’m going to review them here and also online, but I’m going to do it a little differently. I’m only going to review the stuff I really liked. I don’t see a reason to spend my time writing about something I didn’t love; it’s just using up more of my energy. So only positive reviews.

These are the books I liked (or mostly liked) from July.

My Murder (Katie Williams): Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. I didn’t think a lot could top her other book, Tell the Machine Goodnight, but this managed to top that story. It’s about a woman brought back to life after her murder and how she processes moving through a world where she is both alive and not alive. I could not stop thinking about this book whenever I put it down, and I highlighted so many amazing sentences that half the e-book was yellow by the time I finished.

The Brutal Telling (Louise Penny): I finished this book while in Montreal, which gave me a chance to visit the Emily Carr statue and walk the same streets as the characters. Reading these books is like spending time with old friends.

The Magicians (Lev Grossman): The ChickieNob and I live in a perpetual state of listening or reading this trilogy. As much as we’ve memorized the story, I still notice new things with each re-reading. I love this trilogy so much.

Bury Your Dead (Louise Penny): I started this book the night before we went to Quebec City, the setting for this story. What luck! I got to see so many of the streets referenced in the novel. Each book gets better and better, and this one was moving and interesting and touching and thrilling. It was everything. I think it’s my favourite one so far.

The Hangman (Louise Penny): It was a Three Pines-heavy month. This story was fine. I guessed the ending, which I can’t even remember a few weeks later, which is odd. Maybe Three Pines works better as a novel than a novella.

Zero Days (Ruth Ware): I guessed the killer and motive 25% of the way through the book, which was disappointing because I shouldn’t notice more than the main character, who is a penetration tester. But I gave this five stars because it was a great thriller that felt like a movie in paper form.

What did you read last month?

Before the pandemic, I lived a plant-free existence. It wasn’t an accident; it was a choice. I did not want to take care of plants, and I made no space for them in my home. And then the pandemic hit, and I wanted various herbs without going to the store. After much trial and error and many many many dead plants, I learned what grows well inside. I’ve kept a small indoor garden going for over three years.

My parsley plants died this summer after my self-watering system failed while we were in Montreal, flooding the plants. My basil plants kept going for a few more weeks, but they, too, experienced a quiet death.

My instinct was to replace them — most of our plants only last a half year or so — but Josh thought replacing them before college drop-off was a terrible idea. If I did it after, I would have weeks before I had to try rigging up the self-watering system again.

But it’s weird not having plants. I went from no plants to feeling like the colour is off in our home without plants.