Welcome back to IComLeavWe. It stands for International Comment Leaving Week, but if you say it aloud, doesn’t it sounds like “I come; [but] leave [as a] we”? And that’s sort of the point. Blogging is a conversation and comments should be honoured and encouraged. I like to say that comments are the new hug–a way of saying hello, giving comfort, leaving congratulations.

Here is the vital information, pure and simple (a more detailed set of rules follows below the list):

• The list opens the 1st of every month. It remains open until the 21st. You can add yourself at any point. The list is open to everyone in the blogosphere–blog writers and/or blog readers.
• Add yourself to the list by filling out this form: The list is now closed.  The new list will open on 6/30
• Click here to cut-and-paste this bit of code to add to your sidebar (if you have the old code from another month, remove it and replace it with this one). You need to add the icon or a link to the current list on your blog (see below) and will not be added until it’s up.
• Commenting kicks off every month on the 21st. Please mark it somewhere (calendar, post-it note taped to your computer…), though I will be sending out an email reminder on the 20th. Commenting week runs from the 21st to the 28th. Every day, leave 5 comments and return 1 comment for a total of 6 comments. You are highly encouraged to choose the blogs you comment on from the participants list below, but this is not required.
• I will send a second email on the 28th to remind you to remove the icon from your blog.
• Read below if you want to find out about Iron Commenters.
• The commenting ends on the 28th. We catch our breath and the whole thing starts again the next month on the 1st. Drop in and out according to what is happening in your life between the 21st and the 28th.

1. Stirrup Queens (twins, books, writing)
2. I Want to be a Daddy (male infertility experience)
3. The Mud and the Lotus (cat, pain, sci-fi)
4. In Due Time (life, infertility, college student)
5. It Is What It Is (Or Is It?) (domestic adoption, adoptee, life)
6. Our Twisty Turny Journey (endometriosis, donor egg, orm)
7. Bio Girl (parenting, infertility, FET for baby #2)
8. Kate; Uncensored (life, depression)
9. Wonderfully Ordinary (parenting, infertility, life)
10. Dragondreamer’s Lair (parenting, secondary infertility, crafts)
11. Somewhere in the Middle (infertility, adoption, waiting)
12. Bring On The Babies… (miscarriage, IVF, infertility)
13. Someday (pregnancy after ivf)
14. Survive and Thrive (infertility, decisions, EFT)
15. Navigating Cyberloss (grief, loss, cyberloss)
16. Cats with passports (baby after IVF, FET, autoimmune issues)
17. As Good As it Gets? (infertility, parenting, TTC/adoption=confusion)
18. Yolk: A blog about eggs and sperm (pregnant, humour, infertility)
19. Trying for a baby (endometriosis, FET #2, IF)
20. Here We Go Again (babyloss, parenting, random)
21. My Daily Mooosings in the Netherlands (simplifying life, culture, Netherlands)
22. BattleFish (life, infertility, trying to conceive)
23. Because Two People Fell In Love (loss, love, puppy)
24. Baby, Borneo, or Bust… (parenting, TTC #2, travel)
25. The Port of Indecision (RPL, DOR/POF, smartass)
26. MommyForward (motherhood, self-improvement, adoption)
27. Joyous Birdie (de, ivf,loss of one twin, 49 y/o, pregnant)
28. Created Family (unexplained infertility, ttc #1, grad school)
29. Ready for my baby bump (TTC#1, life and everything in between)
30. Journey to Baby G (ivf, hope, anxiety)
31. Meier Madness (PCOS, gardening, life)
32. A Woman My Age (adoption, infertility, parenting after 40)
33. Babylicious Tales (parenting, newbie, monkey)
34. Praying for a Little Miracle (TTC, miscarriage, crafts)
35. A Field of Dreams (parenting, IFsupport, giveaways)
36. My Lady of the Lantern (neonatal loss, grief, TTC again)
37. Bunless In The Oven (azoospermia, donor sperm, infertility)
38. Life As I Know It (twins, newborn, life)
39. Feeling Beachie (daily life, humor, cats)
40. Infertile Revolution (infertility, feminism, ivf)
41. It’s Just Us Chickens (ivf1,ttc, mfi)
42. Mommy Odyssey (miscarriage, suspected ectopics, generally crazy)
43. A Half Baked Life (parenting after loss, food, yoga)
44. The 2 Week Wait (ttc ivf humor)
45. Savor The Moment (pcos, humor, life)
46. Every Day is a Country Song (ttc #1 after 5 miscarriages, possible use of donor sperm, faith)
47. Mommy-In-Waiting (pregnant, twins, IVF#4)
48. Taking the Long Way (formerly G-d Doesn’t Make Mistakes) (secondary infertility, rpl, second trimester)
49. After Years In The Making (motherhood, navy, life)
50. Miss(ed)Conception (parenting after infertility)
51. Creating a Family (infertility, adoption, adoptive parenting)
52. My Bumpy Journey (MFI, pregnancy, life)
53. Not a Fertile Myrtle (male factor, pcos, donor)
54. The Two Week Worship (infertility, encouragement, prayer)
55. Let’s Conversate About Irregardless (80’s, TTC, MFI)
56. Empty Whole (MFI, healing, next?)
57. Dragon & Blossom’s Adventures (infertility, life, love)
58. Rasta Less Traveled (donor egg, surrogacy in India, infertility)
59. Grit and Patience (infertility, positivity, ivf)
60. The misadventures of missohkay (pregnancy loss, adoption)
61. MissConception (ttc #1, IVF, PCOS)
62. The Lightness of Being on the Bike (biking, culture, travel)
63. The Road Less Traveled (pregnancy after loss, embryo donation)
64. A Year On… Our New Beginning {hopefully} (stillbirth, secondary IF, IVF)
65. IFSerenityNow (pregnancy, ivf, loss)
66. Zygotta Getting Pregnant (early pregnancy, infertility, pcos)
67. One Wheeler’s World (parenting after infertility, healing, life)
68. Diary of taking small steps toward baby steps (FET, IVF, hope)
69. 3hearts2hold1love (parenting after primary infertility, secondary infertility, life)
70. infertile myrtle (parenting after infertility)
71. Compromised Fertility (PCOS, first time IVF’er and gardener)
72. This Hampton Life of Mine (iui, pcos, secondary infertility)
73. TTC Baby E (infertility, pcos, ttc #1)
74. Trying To Conceive (IVF, pregnancy after IVF, support)
75. The Childless Mom (ivf, icsi, humor)
76. Babymakin’ 101 (life, IVF, crafts)
77. Life as I Know it (motherhood, emotions, road ahead)
78. Mission: Fertile Soul (FET, humor, profound joy)
79. Witty Infertility (infertility, acupuncture, PCOS)
80. For We Are Bound by Symmetry (TTC#1, autoimmune issues, IVF #1)
81. Zero Guarantees (suro pregnant, twins)
82. A Freckled Life (infertility marriage life)
83. Colours Of Cattiz (ivf#1, male factor, uk)
84. I’m Very Far Away (IUI, IVF, asia)
85. IUI to Roux-en-Y (weight loss, surgery, my journey)
86. 3 hearts 2 hold 1 love (parenting after infertility, life, secondary infertility)
87. Walking an Unknown Path (infertility, therapy, life)
88. Knocked up by Another Man (DE-IVF, parenting, Alaska)
89. I Believe In Miracles (RPL, motherhood after adoption)
90. Marriage 2.0 (infertility, domestic adoption, life)
91. The Stork Drop Zone (humor, infertility, life)
92. Unglamorous (toddler, marriage, family)
93. The Ladies in Waiting Book Club (books, infertility, support)
94. Wistfulgirl’s World (infertility, weight loss, life)
95. The Rocky Road To Motherhood (pregnancy after IVF)
96. Musings of a Hormonal Egg Basket (parenting after IVF)
97. Holly’s Narrative Dream (secondary infertility coping)
98. Cradles and Graves (2nd-tri losses, infertility, rainbow?)
99. Just us and the cat (the dreaded 2ww)
100. To Those Who Wait (pregnancy after IF, triplets from IUI, bedrest)
101. The confessions of a wannabe mom (infertility, pcos, life)
102. Infertility Expat (pregnancy after ivf)
103. Beyond the Brick Wall (marriage, infertility, life)
104. A Writer In A Wheelchair (disability, writing, life)
105. Just Stop Trying and It Will Happen (infertility, life, snarkiness)
106. Lissie’s Luck (prep for IVF)
107. Then Comes the Baby in the Baby Carriage (TCM, TTC#1, unexplained infertility)
108. It’s Definitely Possible (pregnancy, SMC, IUI)
109. Cinderella Wore Glass Slippers (our first FET)
110. A peek into our journey (ttc #1, ivf, pcos)
111. Chasing Our Stork: Our Journey with Infertility (international adoption, unexplained infertility, faith)
112. This International Life (travel, expat life, Europe)
113. Flogging the Muse (art, painting, creativity)
114. The Bushey Life (baby after infertility)
115. GoTeamBaby (ivf, infertility, hope)
116. Rainbow Making 101 (loss, natural cycle, 2ww)
117. Thefertilitydaily (free ivf contest, infertility, humor)
118. Not Exactly What I Had Planned (ivf #3, severe mfi, life)
119. Just Us…For Now (pregnancy after miscarriage)
120. The Barreness (infertility, art, sadness)
121. Beyond the Wallpaper (ranting, balanced translocation, miscarriage)
122. Hearts Joined, Hands Fast (ivf#1, mfi, hope)
123. Diaries by Lucy (parenting, pcos, infertility)
124. My Infertile Confessions (pregnant with twins after IVF)
125. Exotic Hadron (personal, random, canadian)
126. Bean Dreams (PCOS, IUI, hope)
127. A Fine Mess (adoption, infertility, loss)
128. Embracing the Rain (natural cycle ivf, dor, rpl)
129. Life in the White House (donor sperm, crafting, pregnancy)
130. Becoming Me (baby, feelings, weight)
131. Baby On Mind (IVF, TTC#1, unexplained)
132. Traditionally Nontraditional (infertility life struggles)
133. One day at a time (army, infertility, fighting)
134. So Very Me (photography motherhood art)
135. Cammie.Me (parenting work food)
136. My Empty Womb (unexplained infertility frustration)
137. A Little Hope in My Pocket (pregnancy loss, infertility, life)
138. To Infertility and Beyond (ivf, endometriosis)
139. They say all you need is love (infertility.life.love)
140. TTC A Modern Medicine Miracle (ectopic loss, donor sperm, ttc)
141. Everyday Gyaan (motivation, inspiration, personal development)
142. Sprout (smbc, ttc #1, 30+)
143. Digital-Damita.net (frugal, green, ttc)
144. Getting There (adoption, parenting, life)
145. Adventures In Infertility-Land (infertility veteran, IVF, baby loss)
146. The list is now closed.  The new list will open on 6/30.

Q: What if I miss a day?

A: Catch up the next day by doubling your comments–12 comments instead of 6.

Q: What if I have two blogs? Can I sign up twice, listing both blogs?

A: Yes, but you also need to double your comments. If you have two blogs listed, you should be leaving 12 comments per day.

Q: What is an Iron Commenter?

A: Not for the faint-of-heart. People who wish to be an Iron Commenter and be entered on the Iron Commenter honour roll need to leave a comment on every blog on the participants list (exceptions are blogs that require you to have a special log-in, such as some LiveJournal accounts or other similar situations). You can spread out this commenting any way you wish over the whole week, but the final comment needs to be left by midnight on the 28th (EST). Reaching Iron Commenter status is done on an honour system. Please email me if you earn Iron Commenter status so I can add you to the wall of honour.

Q: Why do I have to add that bit of code to my sidebar?

A: The code is the latest icon (the icon changes colour every month so you know that you’re on the right list). This month, the icon is red, the next month it will be blue, etc. The reason is two-fold: (1) it enables more people to find out about IComLeavWe and (2) it gives you easy access to the current list once the commenting week actually begins and better ensures that you’ll use it. Too many times, people sign up and forget to actually do IComLeavWe and this icon gives you a daily reminder (with the dates on it) every time you open your own blog. The icon is linked back to the current list. On the 28th, remove the icon from your blog. A new one will be created for the next month.

Q: It’s the 23rd and I just saw this for the first time on my friend’s blog! I want to join the list–why can’t I?

A: Because IComLeavWe happens every month, once the list is closed, it’s closed. If you’re finding out about this on the 23rd, you can’t join the current month. But leave yourself a note to check back in a week on the 1st and you can sign up for the next month.

Q: You said the list closes on the 21st. Well, it’s still the 21st where I am. Why aren’t you moving my information onto the list?

A: All dates and times are U.S. Eastern Standard Time (UTC/GMT -5 hours). The list closes around 11 p.m. EST on the 21st.

Q: What if no one comments on my blog and I have no comments to return?

A: Well, that really doesn’t happen for the most part, but in that case, simply choose another blog and add an additional comment. The goal is to hit 6 comments daily as a minimum. Going over that is fantastic and encouraged.

Q: Mel, my question wasn’t covered at all. What do I do?

A: Email me; I’m quite friendly. It helps to place “IComLeavWe” in the subject line. You could also check this post which contains the history of IComLeavWe and see if you can glean anything there.

Looking for the comment section? It has been closed on this post. Use the form in the directions to add yourself to the list.

My birthday has sort of sneaked up on me this year.  I had to look at the calendar yesterday and noticed that my birthday is next week.  Which freaks the crap out of me as it always does.

The kids have returned to watching Free to Be You And Me at night.  Josh got home early last night as we were watching the song “I’d Rather Be the Sun” and commented that the creators of all the child-like drawings are now paunchy middle-agers like ourselves.  And I suddenly got this sick feeling of how there would be a day that we would no longer be here, but kids in the future would be watching this video and seeing drawings created by people who are now dead.

Which isn’t that unique — many things we look at are created by people who are no longer around — but it was mind-blowing.  This idea of no longer being here.  Of how art can trap time.

Please don’t wish me happy birthday yet.  Give me my last few days ignoring the fact that I’m aging another year.

Josh and I are getting a date this weekend in honour of my birthday.  I’ve chosen to go to the aquarium because nothing says romance like breathing in the stench of the stingray pool.  We’ll see if we can work in a quick make-out session in the shark tank area.  Growl!

*******

Kir asked me to contribute a Proudest Mum Moment to her blog and I agreed simply because she is Kir.  I think she thought I’d tell the Ste.ve Jo.bs story, but this is truly my proudest moment as a parent, and it is a story that everyone who knows me in the face-to-face world would list as my proudest moment because it has been told so many times.

The twins were born prematurely, and as a result, had a compromised immune system.  They were constantly sick in their first year of life, especially — it seemed — when Josh was out of town.  Another important fact to know is that prior to their birth, we had new carpet laid in the living room as well as the entire upstairs (sans bathrooms since that would be a bit strange).  I love this carpet, and we ask that people take off their shoes when they’re in the house in an attempt to keep it clean.

At the time this story begins, the carpet is a year old.  It is still in mint condition.

In February, Josh went to the Berlin Film Festival.  The twins were a little over 6 months old (yes, my proudest parenting moment came early in their life, casting a shadow over all that could possibly come in the future).  I was sitting on the sofa, holding the ChickieNob, who was sick (yet again) while my mother held the Wolvog (who was also sick).

The ChickieNob made a body shudder as if she was about to throw up, something she had done numerous times that day — all luckily over tiled floor or on herself (please don’t judge me on how much I love this carpet).  This time, we were on the sofa, with no time to sweep her out of the room.  In that split second, I said goodbye to the carpet, certain that it would be stained with vomit just as my friend’s carpet was stained by medication-laced vomit.

My ChickieNob, a girl who loves things of beauty, who appreciates room aesthetics, projectile vomited across the room.  The vomit sailed through the air to a chair 4 feet away — 4 FEET AWAY — that had a towel discarded on the seat.  The throw up landed on the towel, and the towel only.  It soared through the air as if all the droplets were magnetically drawn to one another.  There was literally not a single drop on the floor.

Like most moments of parenting pride, it was all left to chance: out of my hands.  I had nothing to do with the wonder that was that projectile vomiting moment, just as I have little to do with the Wolvog’s gift for computers or the ChickieNob’s talent with dance.  But damn, with all they accomplish, there are few things that can hold a candle to vomiting halfway across the room and having it all land on a towel for easy clean-up.

I am only half-kidding with this.

*******

And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “Hard Questions” (Here We Go Again)
• “Saying Crappy Things on the Internet” (Stirrup Queens)
• “Temperature” (XKCD)

Okay, now my choices this week.

As Good as it Gets has a post about happiness this week; namely, how you feel when you get everything you ever wanted.  She asks: “There cannot be any other reason for our existence but to be happy. All we do, every action of ours is in pursuance of happiness.  So why are we never truly and completely happy? Why is there something missing in life, no matter what we achieve or possess?”  I was smiling as I read the last line of the post — everyone should write that way every once in a while.

Bio Girl has a post about the beginning of the end of her infertility journey.  About how there is a peacefulness in knowing that whatever happens, this current cycle will be your last.  How even having a stopping point doesn’t affect the level of hope she feels.  She states: “I hope this peace I have found stays with me. But what I really hope is that I don’t need that peace to calm my breaking heart a month from now. I hope that we just get to be happy.”  It’s beautiful; it’s bittersweet — and I’m sending only good thoughts for the last cycle.

Mommy Odyssey has a post about the void that blogging fills, and I think a lot of people will have her self-realization resonate with them as well.  She explains: “This uncensored, open book. I love Mo. I love her dearly. She is the real me. The essence of who I truly am. And yet, I’m not her in real life. I don’t live up to her. Mo isn’t a persona. She’s not a construction. Mo is the person I aspire to be in real life, but never really get there. I’m more real here than I am with my own freaking mother.”  The post is an astute look at why she loves her blog; why she needs her blog, and why her blog also may be holding her back.  It is about finding that balance — between the thing she needs, but not letting the thing she needs take over her life.  A great post.

Lastly, A Woman My Age has a post about the fantasy life she constructed for herself as a child.  The “real” family who would come fetch her.  The changing colour of her skin and how that would create a cascade effect through the rest of life.  But what twisted my heart was the story that comes in the middle about the little boy’s mother.  About what that woman meant to her as a child and how she never got to tell her.  And how that experience informed her fantasy life.

The roundup to the Roundup: I’m getting old and I’m going on a date.  This is truly my proudest moment.  And lots of great blog posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between May 20 and May 27) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

Everyone knows who Phoebe Potts is, correct?  She wrote the book, Good Eggs, which has gotten rave reviews.  It’s a memoir, told in comic book form, about her experience with family building and infertility.  But more than that, it’s a love story — one between a husband and wife, between a woman and her parents, between friends and family and community.

You might not think that the comic book form naturally lends itself to emotional material, and you would be wrong.  Because it’s one thing for someone to describe their depression with words — many can do a fine job placing you right inside their head by stringing together sentences — but it’s another to read about depression while seeing the droop of the line, the expression on the person’s face.

The book is also a case of the bitter and the sweet because there were plenty of times that amid the enormous topics of infertility and depression and love, I also found myself laughing — at things her mother said, at her clever use of the physical elephant in the room (who, you know, is raiding the refrigerator to give them a little time and space to mourn).

Good Eggs doesn’t come to a neat ending.  It comes — again — to the bitter and the sweet; or, as Potts says, the hope and heartbreak (because aren’t those two things the bricks that line life’s road?).  Which is to say that you will sigh and smile as you close the last page, all the while wiping away tears.

(Page 152 in the book: explaining what it takes for Jeff and Phoebe to try to make a baby)

So, my Phoebe Potts story.  I had to go up to New York this week to do a presentation of my book, Life from Scratch. (What?  You haven’t read it yet?  What are you waiting for?  Greatest chicklit book of all times…)

I got to the place early and went to the bathroom to spiffy myself up.  As I stood there, wondering whether or not I had a soul since the automatic paper towel dispenser didn’t seem to register my existence, a voice said, “Melissa Ford?”

I turned around and Phoebe Potts was standing in the same, random New York bathroom, about to speak on her book, Good Eggs, at the same presentation.  My first words to her were about what an asshole I am because her book has been by my bedside for months, 3/4ths of the way done, un-reviewed, all because I got distracted by vampire smut novels.

I literally had no excuse; no grand story about how I had been using that time not reviewing her book to scale Mount Everest or save thousands of whales.  I was not reviewing her book because there were vampires — somewhere — having sex.  And there were writers — somewhere — writing about said vampire sex.  And my G-d, if there was vampire sex,  I had to hear about it.  And I was stressed and had turned to being a vampire sex voyeur as a stress reliever.  And in doing so, had not reviewed her amazing, emotional, funny, heartbreaking book.

So.

But this chance meeting gave me the kick in the ass I needed to come home, put down the vampires, eat chocolate as a stress reliever instead, finish the incredible Good Eggs, and tell you about it, complete with pictures of Phoebe Potts, who is just as funny and warm and down-to-earth as you imagine she would be based on her drawings and writing.

Sometimes, she even comes out of hiding to hug her book:

Our books even appeared on the table side-by-side, as if we were destined to meet:

Okay, so perhaps this isn’t the greatest Phoebe Potts story ever.  I mean, I could have told you about the time she saved that bus filled with candy-baring Grandmas from alligators.  Or the time when she freakin’ swam across the Atlantic Ocean — on a goof. (She didn’t mean to do it.  She just felt like a swim and ended up in England — crazy!)  Or the time Phoebe Potts was President of the United States for 37 hours due to a glitch in the voting system.  But meeting her in a random New York bathroom is one of my greatest Phoebe Potts stories ever.

When I walked into the room, I was quite nervous.  I felt like one of those little kids you see walking to school with their enormous instrument — like the instrument is walking them instead of the other way around.  I felt shut up inside myself, like a collapsible telescope — making everything feel very far away.

Before I left the house, Josh reminded me of the ChickieNob’s excellent advice to be the scariest thing in the room:

I once asked her how she was so brave.  She thought about it and said, “I try to be the scarier thing.  When I’m scared, I either scream to scare the other thing, or I try to freak the other thing out so that it isn’t the scariest thing in the room.  I am.”

I had to remind myself that the jam session was fairly low stakes.  Not seeing any recording equipment in plain sight, I had to assume that if I embarrassed myself, I embarrassed myself in front of these five other women and that was the end of it.  I could drop in once, and if I didn’t like it, never had to come back.

At least half of the women in the room were eons ahead of me, skill-wise.  But half were comfortably back where I was, just learning how to read tab, a little shaky on some chords.  They ended up changing around the song list and luckily I could roll with it because (1) I knew the new song and (2) it had fairly simple chords.

There was another song we covered which was currently outside my abilities, though I promised to learn it for next time.  Instead, I provided the vocals.  I will preface this by saying that the last time I  sung in front of anyone (beyond my current guitar teacher or Josh or the twins) was at my wedding, almost ten years ago.  Yes, I’ve sung “Happy Birthday” in a crowd, and I played Beatles RockBand once at Lindsay’s house, but the last time I got up and had eyes on me and sang was the night before my wedding (“They Can’t Take That Away From Me”).  That too felt fairly low stakes since we were all doped up on love and the people in the room were fairly forgiving of the bride making a fool of herself.

Which is not to say that I’m terrified to sing.  I may not have a fantastic voice, but I can generally stay on key and I enjoy singing.  I sang on the movies.  I’m fine with that because I don’t need to face you while you’re listening to it.  Whereas, if we’re in the same room, and I can see your eyes on me, I am massively self-conscious.

But I thought about being the scariest thing in the room.  Who knows when another opportunity will present itself where I can just have fun without any thought to how terrible I sound.

So I belted out that Anna Nalick song.  And for two hours in a shag-carpeted practice room, hanging out with five women I’ve never met before, I didn’t feel like a middle-aged writer with grey streaks in her hair.

I felt like a rock star.

I walked out, swinging my guitar case like I imagine Joan Jett does when she’s walking into the airport to board a flight to her next gig, feeling a bit like a rock star.

My friend gave the twins one of those battery-operated airplanes.  You place it in the charger, pull the trigger, and it can go — it claims — 100 feet.  When we left school, the Wolvog asked if we could play with it outside before the rain came.

I agreed, even though my gut told me that it was a terrible idea to play with it outside our house.  But we didn’t have time to go out to a field, and I didn’t think the thing would truly fly that far.  We’d just be careful, choosing a large lot of grass nearby in the neighbourhood.

The first few flights were unspectacular.  The plane took off and then made a sharp nose dive towards the ground.  The neighbourhood kids gathered around to watch — seven of them — and cheer the plane on.

Finally, after watching 3 or 4 times, the Wolvog felt confident enough to charge the plane and pull the trigger on his own.  He aimed it just as I had aimed it, but this time, it took off, soaring high above the fences, weaving in and out of yards, ducking through branches of nearby trees.  The kids ran after it, shrieking, and at one point, I lost sight of it.  My heart sank when I couldn’t find it, and I feared that it had gone into one of our neighbour’s yards.

One of the boys raced away to see if it was in his, and that’s when I saw it — our little red plane stuck on a roof.

I can’t even explain the rage I felt at myself in that moment; to watch the Wolvog’s face as he realized that he wasn’t getting back this plane; that his gift was for all intents and purposes gone forever.  And it was all.my.fault.  Because I didn’t listen to my gut and put my foot down as the adult, explaining that playing with the plane near houses was a terrible idea.  There would have been bitching and moaning, but at least we’d still have the toy.

I rang the neighbour’s doorbell and explained to the teenage boy who answered — 7 children sniffling behind me — that our plane was on their roof and if, by chance, it happened to fall by its own volition during the impending storm, could I come over and get it?  I knew that it would be worthless once wet, but I really needed to get that red plane back.

When we went inside for the day, I kept trekking out to see if the plane was still on the roof.  And it was; this forlorn red toy, perched propeller down against the shingles.  Every time I saw it, I hated myself more.  I spoke with my friend, Amy, explaining my regret, lamenting the lost plane.  The plane became the receptacle for all of my regrets — a long litany of them — all stuffed into this one stupid choice to go with my id instead of my superego.

After I got off the phone, I went outside one last time to check.  It had been two hours since the plane first landed on the roof.  I couldn’t see anything red against the shingles, so I ran backwards, checking from all angles.  I went back in the house and told the twins not to move; I was going back to our neighbour’s place to ask him for the plane.

My poor neighbour, an elderly man who speaks no English, answered the door this time instead of his teenage grandson.  With much pantomiming, making my arms into airplane wings and pointing to red on my shirt, he was able to understand that I wanted the plane, and he lit up, excited to know the origins of the toy.

He led me through his house (and yes, my gut was kicking in again, wondering if this was a good idea to trek through a stranger’s house), and we went into the backyard.  I fully expected to see the plane on the ground beneath the spot on the roof, but it was gone.

He finally conveyed (again, with much pantomiming) that he didn’t know why there was a toy plane in his yard — his grandson, I assume, didn’t share this with him — so he had chucked it over the fence into another neighbour’s yard.  Except it hadn’t landed on the other person’s lawn.  It had become entangled in their satellite dish.

I am a poor judge of distance, but it looked as if I could reach it if I stood on his lawn chair, a fact that I first needed to convey to him via miming since I didn’t know how he felt about me climbing on his chair.  He was, judging by the look on his face, horrified but permissive, and he gasped when I not only climbed onto the chair, but balanced on the thin left arm, in my flip flops, stretching to reach the plane which was only inches from my fingertips.

So I did what any crazed, guilt-addled, regretful woman would do.

I jumped.

In flip flops.

And landed again on the thin, metal arm of the lawn chair.

The red plane in my hand.

After I got back the toy, I tried to introduce myself to this neighbour — he’s someone that I see, but have never spoken to prior to this point — but all he said to me was “you, go.”  Not angry.  Not annoyed.  Just this bemused, “please get the hell out of my house before you do something else dangerous such as run with my elderly wife’s scissors” look and tone.

So I went home with my prize, the little red plane.  No one greeted me like a hero at door.  They just continued to play with their other toys as if nothing miraculous had happened.  But all was right in the world again.

I’m telling this story today because it involves Amy.  And it’s our Bat Mitzvah-versary — the 24th anniversary from the day we both became women.  Oh, and because I was so very annoyed with myself, but it makes for a good story.