This all began when my son asked to be renamed Jancefer Birdie (um…his version of “chance for a birdie”) and the mondegreens people offered were too good not to compile in one place for your viewing pleasure. This list is added to constantly, with the newest ones at the top rather than the bottom. Add your mondegreen (in other words, a phrase you misheard) in the comment section and I will move it up to the list as soon as I can.  Keep them coming and check back often to see new ones.

Updated: I have now started a new site to collect all of these over here: Mondegreens (thank you, Chickenpig, for the push!).  Keep them coming.  How to submit is on the right sidebar.

1. I used to think Steve Perry was shouting, “CINNAMON GUM!!!” in “Oh Sherry”. Instead of the actual “Should’ve been gone” (from Wendy).
2. Anyone remember “Le Freak?”  Over and over the song repeats “Le freak, C’est chic!  Freak out!”  I have a friend who used to think it was “Le freak, it’s a sheep! Freak cow!”  In the 80’s song “Fascinated,” part of the lyrics are “I’m fascinated by your love, boy.”    I had an old roommate who thought it was “I’m masturbating with a glove, boy.” (from Janet).
3. Until his late teens/early-20’s my husband used to sing “Give me the Beach Boys and free my soul” (instead of “Give me the beat, boys, and free my soul” by the Doobie Brothers) (from Tigger).
4. My sil’s sister thought it was “too late to call the Nye’s”  instead of “too late to apologize.”  My kids thought Queen has a chicken song:  “We are the chickens, we are the chickens, no time for woosters(sic), ’cause we are the chickens of the world”.  I kid you not.  I know Freddie Mercury is probably rolling over in his grave about now (from JuliaS).
5. The girl who cuts my hair always tells me stories about her son.  He sings the song “Poker Face” as if it were saying “Poke HER Face”.  But that isn’t nice (and he’s a nice little boy), so he instead says “Poke My Face”.  It sounds so unintentionally and innocently dirty, we both crack up laughing (from Fizzlemed).
6. When I was a kid they used to show commercials on tv for the armed forces that said “Army, Navy, Airforce, Marines.”  My brother still makes fun of me for saying “Army, Navy, AIRPORTS, Marines.”  Oh, and in the Dave Matthews Song “Ants Marching” where he sings “playing under the table and dreaming” I always thought it flowed better as “under the table and DRINKING.” (from Denise).
7. Our father, who art in heaven / How do you know my name?
   Bitter chains, round my heart. Yeah! (Billy Jeans not my lover)
   And everyone knows the first line of the chorus for funky town is actually Japanese (ish)…… dah le lah
   “nu jitsit witsu ……………da le lah Funky Town” (from B).
8. From Blinded By The Light (by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band).  “Blinded by the light, wrapped up like a douche bag in the middle of the night” (from B–see Kristin’s too).
9. From ‘Heart, I just died in your arms tonight’ by Whitesnake – the correct lyrics are “I just died in your arms tonight.  It must have been something you said”.  I always thought it was “Must have been something I ate” – which made perfect sense to me.  Also, my brother used to sing ‘I met a vol-au-vent’ for ‘Under the boardwalk’. (from Hope Springs).
10. Mine is from the bit in Tiffany’s “I think we’re alone now” that goes “I think we’re alone now / There doesn’t seem to be anyone around / I think we’re alone now / The beating of our hearts is the only sound.”  For years I thought the last line was “They’re beating up a horse, it’s the only sound” (from Hamstergirl).
11. College- when “Venus” by Bananarama was popular.  Except, I didn’t know the name of the song at first was “Venus” (neither did my roomate), so we sang….  “I’m your penis, I’m your fire, your desire…” (from Shelli).
12. Zoot Suit Riot.  I thought for a long time that they sang “I’m goin’ home through your coal black hair” instead of “Pull a comb through your coal black hair.”  Yep – another twisted one (from Jenni).
13. Mine isn’t a song lyric (or even mine for that matter), but my husband discovered AFTER he graduated from college that the phrase isn’t “all intensive purposes” but “all intents and purposes.” lol  I still make fun of him for that one! (from Krystal).
14. My brother used to go around singing “hot spurs in my material” to the line “our spirits in the material world”  by the Police (from Chickenpig).
15. Mine was the Beatles Paperback Writer:  The beginning I thought it was “Take the Back Right Turn”  I’m so ashamed since this is one of my all time favorite songs.  My friend’s though was great.  His name is Howard and he was raised a Catholic.  So for years he felt great about himself since he had the same first name as Gd.  “Our Father who art in heaven, HOWARD be thy name…”  His parents nearly passed out when he told the priest (from Journeywoman).
16. I could’ve sworn Fall Out Boy’s “Sugar We’re Going Down Swinging” said: “c*ck getting p**sy” — instead of “cock it and pull it”.  I was so shocked I asked out loud, and ev.ery.one. laughed! (from Susy).
17. My favorite is actually my husband’s.  In The Who’s song Who Are You? (which is the theme song for CSI, one of our favorite shows) the lyrics go “Whoooo are you Who who who who? Whoooo are you Who who who who?”  He thinks it’s “OOOO aw wooo woo woo woo woo”  No words at all, just sounds, kinda like a train.  We get a laugh out of this dispute every Thursday (from Nicole).
18. The song that irritates my husband the most is U2 “The Sweetest Thing” – I sing it as “The Sweetest ThingS” – Every single time he reminds me that it’s not plural. Of course I continue to sing it that way just to make him laugh (from Searching for Serenity).
19. My mom heard a song by LIT, “Can we forget about the things I said when I was drunk?  I didn’t mean to call you FAT (supposed to be that)”.  Hey, it totally made sense with the lyrics and she still likes to sing it her way.  I also used to screw up Bad Moon on the Rise.  I thought he was saying “There’s a bathroom on the right.” (from Christa).
20. Years ago Celine Dion’s ‘Immortality” was played ALL the time.  For a VERY long time I thought the words were ‘ The storm will never end, my foetus on the wind’.  It is actually: ‘My storm will never end, My fate is on the wind’ (from Andrea).
21. One of my best friends grew up thinking the lyrics to the song “More Than a Woman” by the Bee Gees was actually “Four Letter Woman,” because she knew that four letter words were something sexy and dirty, and this woman, the Bee Gees magical more than a woman woman, was somehow dirty and sexy too. But now, I cannot hear that song without belting out “Four Letter Woooooman. Four letter Woman to Meeeee. ” (from Angie).
22. In Blind Melon’s song “No Rain”, the actual lyric is “And all I can do is just pour some tea for two.” My interpretation:  “And all I can do is just pull some teeth or two.” (from Meim).
23. When I was in kindergarten, we had a substitute teacher who taught us Japanese. I came home from school proclaiming I knew my “itchy knee socks” when I really meant ” ichi, ni, san”- one, two, three (from Tara).
24. My kids watch “Caillou” on PBS, and I thought that part of the theme song was, “Growing up sometimes sucks, I have had enough.” A little dark for children’s television! I just looked up the lyrics and it’s actually “Growing up is not so tough, except when I’ve had enough.” Oh (from Jjiraffe).
25. Secret Asian Man (for Secret Agent Man).  I think a lot of people have thought that one.  Hang On, Stupid (or sometimes, Hang on, Snoopy) for “Hang on Sloopy” by the McCoys (a terrible 60’s pop song). I could never figure out why this guy was calling a girl he liked stupid (from Lorin).
26. Back in the Dark Ages when I was in the 3rd grade, our Music teacher asked if anyone knew the words to “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”  Immediately my hand shot up and the teacher picked me to write the words on the blackboard.  With great confidence I strode to the front of the class and wrote:  “My knives have seen the glory…”  Oooops.  I still remember the teacher trying to hide her amusement as she corrected it to read: “Mine eyes have seen the glory…” (from Suzanna Catherine).
27. One of my most embarrassing mondegreens was in high school when I thought Salt N Pepa’s “None of Your Business,” where I heard “the difference between a hooker and a ho’ ain’t nothing but her feet.”
    I figured hookers walk the streets in really high heels, so they must have ganked up feet. Of course, they were really saying “the difference between a hooker and a ho’ ain’t nothing but a FEE.” (from Krista).
28. From a Manic Street Preachers song. The original says “A bronze moth dies easily.” The singer really sounds like he says, “I bronze my thighs easily.” (from Rebecca).
29. “I wanna rock and roll all night / And part of every day.” Because even rock n rollers need their sleep… And how could I forget Bruce Springsteen’s “Ten Devils in a Freezer.” (known to most of the rest of the world as “Tenth Avenue Freeze-out”) (from Niobe).
30. “Give to me your letter, take from me my name” Stevie Nicks (real words: “give to me your leather, take from me my lace”). I was sure that they were getting married and she was saying that she was taking his name (“your letter” meaning his monogram, I guess) and giving up hers. Since I didn’t want to change my name when I got married, I thought it was a very submissive way to say it. TAKE my name from me? Sheesh! (from Rebecca).
31. My favorite misheard lyric, though, is from a Rob Thomas song (Lonely No More, I think). He says “Open up to me like you do your girlfriends.” I always hear “Open up to me, so I can do your girlfriends.” I think I’m just the suspicious sort (from A).
32. The song is “The Love You Save” by the Jackson 5: I got my butt way before my crotchee. The real words: Look both ways before you cross me… (from Royalyne).
33. “Hold me closer Tony Danza.” — Elton John (from Katie).
34. 80’s Quarterflash song: “I’m gonna harden my heart..I’m gonna swallow my tears” I always sang “I’m gonna swallow my tea herbs..” who the Hell knows why? Did I think Tea was going to help her get over what’s his name? (from Kir).
35. From Blinded By The Light (by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band). I know the lyrics are “Blinded by the light, revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night,” but I hear “Blinded by the light, revved up like a douche, another runner in the night.” (from Kristin).
36. Mine’s not a lyric, but my stepdaughter came into my life as a teenager, and suddenly I was attending a bunch of softball games, a new experience for me. When her team played against a team with a very vocal coach, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he wanted each girl on his team who came to bat to “Get your cell phone!” (“Get yourself on [base]”). Oh, and there’s my stepson, famous both for, “Don’t go, Jason Waterfalls!” (“Don’t go chasin’ waterfalls) (from Alexicographer).
37. My mondegreens weren’t as funny as my little sister’s, who used to think that “We Built this City on Rock and Roll” was actually “A Milk is Sitting on Rock and Roll.” (from Serenity).
38. I thought the song “Bedrock” said “Call me Mr. Flintstone, I can make you better.” Y’know. Like the vitamins? Then one day, I shut my trap and didn’t sing along – and realized it’s “I can make your bed rock.” (from Allison).
39. Beatles – Michelle. “Some day Mokie won’t play piano song, play piano song.” I had NO clue they were speaking French… DH has a cute one – he thought Hank Williams was singing “Willie the Honky Tonk Moose” haha (from Sarah).
40. My cousin called me one day a few years back to ask me the lyrics to “Buttons” by the PCD…he thought the words were “Lotion up my butt and spank” and in reality they are “Loosen up my buttons, babe.” (from Caitlin).
41. When I was a kid learning to sing the ABC song, I thought for a long time that L M N O was “Ella Menno.” Funny story along those lines – when I was an adult visiting South Africa, I called somewhere for directions and was told to take a highway the name of which I couldn’t decipher although it sounded like “Enema.” I asked “How do you spell that?” and got a long silence in response. When I looked at a map I realized that it was the “NMR” highway (from Elizabeth).
42. I originally thought Boot Scooting Boogie was BooB Scooting Boogie. Yeah. Hey, I’m short, and many restaurant booth tables are tall with low seats so I end up being able to rest my boobs on the table. Made sense to me… (from Blanche).
43. Just call me angel of the morning, angel. Just touch my teeth before you leave me… I think I was maybe in college when someone told me it was “cheek.” Well heck, maybe Juice Newton could have enunciated better, no? But my baby brother’s mondegreen is way better. I remember him running around the house as a kid singing: “I’m a cheerio….I’m a cheerio…” And being like, dude. What the hell are you saying? And him looking at me like I was an idiot and saying, “uh, that song from Madonna, stupid. That one that’s always on the radio.” (from M).
44. “Ooo eee ooo I look just like Buddy Holly / Oh Oh and you’re Mary Tyler Moore / I don’t care what they say about us anyway / I don’t care ’bout that.” My sister used to swear that the third line was “I don’t care what they say about seaweed.” No reason (from PiquantMolly).
45. “Don’t cry for me Aunty Tina” known to most as “Don’t cry for me Argentina” (from MommyinWaiting).
46. AC/DC song lyrics are “it’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll” often sung ” it’s a long way to the shop if you wanna sausage roll” (from Vee).
47. I used to sing, “You might as well face it you’re a dick to love” and even once I stood corrected I still think my lyric is better (from Calliope).
48. I used to think in My Country Tis of Thee that the line was ‘of the icing’ (from Rachel).
49. The only think I can think of is some country song I heard growing up – I swore it said “I spill tea all over your B-O-D,” which being interpreted is, “I smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E”… (from NotTheMama).
50. Instead of “Afroman likes tall cans / Afroman likes tall cans”, I always heard “Afroman likes small cans / Afroman likes taaaalking”. I assumed Afroman was trying to showcase his good qualities in a song otherwise about his rampant alcoholism in a desperate bid to find a nice partner (from Manapan).
51. From my sister–for the song “(You Make Me Feel Like A ) Natural Woman” by Aretha Franklin. She thought the lyrics were “You make me feel like a man but you are a woman” (from Michelle).
52. “Donuts make my brown eyes blue.” (from Aunt Misfit).
53. Jimmy Hendrix with “’scuse me while I kiss this guy” (not the sky). Well, the guy made more sense to me than the sky. Hubs still says “f**k them and you’re low” (that would be Prodigy with F’em and their law) (from Mina).
54. Oh dear. Back in the early nineties, when I was a wee adolescent, my close friend loved the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Particularly the song “Give It Away.” She always turned it up to eleven when this song came on the radio. One day we were shouting along to the lyrics and when I got to this line “I can’t tell if I’m a kisser or a popper,” she stared at me like I had 40 eyeballs. Of course due to the fact that the line is actually “I can’t tell if I’m a kingpin or a pauper.” She then made me explain just what I thought my version of the line meant and I mumbled some hideously self-conscious prattle about how I thought he was not sure if he wanted to just kiss someone or have sex with them. Because apparently my simple 16-year-old self believed that a “popper” was a hip slang term for a person having sex. Virgin alert! Nerd alert! Virgin nerd alert! (from Stephanie).

Show and Tell is wasted on elementary schoolers. Join several dozen bloggers weekly to show off an item, tell a story, and get the attention of the class. In other words, this is Show and Tell 2.0. Everyone is welcome to join, even if you have never posted before and just found out about Show and Tell for the first time today. So yank out a photo of the worst bridesmaid’s dress you ever wore and tell us the story; show off the homemade soup you cooked last night; or tell us all about the scarf you made for your first knitting project. Details on how to participate are located at the bottom of this post.

Let’s begin.

While I was rearranging things in the living room, I found our old mancala board.  Josh refuses to play with me anymore because he never wins.  And I’m not just saying this to make him feel better–he truly isn’t that bad a player.  It’s just that I am fucking awesome.

I am to mancala what Bobby Fischer was to chess.  I literally could make you sick with my mad mancala skillz.  People start weeping when I play.  Weeping with the enormity of watching the brilliance unfold.

I taught the twins how to play, just so I could have someone to play against.  The ChickieNob tires quickly of the game and needs to get up and dance in between each move.  But the Wolvog (pardon, Jancefer Birdie) has got the ‘cala (which is what we call that frenzy that overtakes the body when it gets too close to those beautiful flat marbles).

On his second day of playing mancala, he beat me.  Yes, I was paying attention.  Yes, I was trying hard.  No, I didn’t throw the game.  He really beat my ass across the mancala board and back.  I photographed him dancing around the hallway by the mancala board and emailed it to Josh.  It only took 36 hours for the student to become the master.

If you want to play mancala online, I’ve found a decent site.  Though I kick the computer’s ass almost every time, even on the advance level.  Because I’m just that good.  The proof is in the picture.

What are you showing today?

Click here or scroll down to the bottom of this post if this is your first time joining along (Important: link to the permalink for the post, not the main url for your blog and use your blog’s name, not your name. Links not going to a Show and Tell post will be deleted). The list is open from now until late Friday night and a new one is posted every week.

The Wolvog woke up Monday morning and informed us that his new name was a garbled mess that closely resembled Lucifer Dirty.  This is not the remarkable part because he often changes his name.  Last month, he asked us to call him by a single moniker: Shimps.

We tried to understand the new name and repeated what we heard several times, each time sending the Wolvog into a new fit when we didn’t pronounce it correctly (Lucifer Ditty?  Joosifer Dirty?  Chance Barbie?).  The boy was sobbing into his pillow over the idea that his parents couldn’t say his new name, the only name he would now have for the rest of his life until he changed it again next month.

When I picked him up from school, he told me in a voice reeking of incredulity that no one called him by his new name at school.  “Did you tell them your new name?” I asked.  No, he hadn’t.  But it was just that powerful a name that he assumed that somehow, it would enter their minds via telepathy.

I finally asked him to spell it and with a few stops and starts, he finally settled on this:

Jancefer Birdie

“Google it,” he told me.  So I did, and Google told me that not only was the full name not found on any page, but Jancefer alone was not found either.  He smiled this secret, pleased smile, the sort of smile an evil dictator does when they’ve seen a particularly appealing beheading.

Later in the evening, I finally found the source of his new name, a Google app for the iPhone called Let’s Golf where the game shouts out in the promo: “chance for a birdie!”  Which reminded me of a friend who had a younger brother who named his goldfish Kimber because that’s what he thought people called out when they chopped down a tree.

But why explain that and spoil it?

I am thrilled that my son, Jancefer, has picked up my inability to hear things correctly (I am the Queen of the Wrong Lyric).

In addition to catching us up on your life, tell us your best mondegreen.

And happy almost St. Patrick’s Day (unless you’re reading this on Wednesday and in that case, happy St. Patrick’s Day)!

As always, it has been about a month since we met, bitched, cried, comforted, and caught up each other on our cycles and lives. Pull up a seat and I’ll pour you a drink. Let everyone know what is happening in your life. The good, the bad, the ugly. My only request is that if a story catches your eye, you follow it back to the person’s blog and start reading their posts. Give some love, give some support, or laugh with someone until your drink comes out of your nose.

I have a ton of assvice in my back pocket and as a virtual bartender, I will give it to you unless you specifically tell me that this is simply a vent and you do not want to receive anything more than a hug.

So if you have been a lurker for a while (or if this is your first open bar), sit down and tell us about yourself. Remember to provide a link or a way for people to continue reading your story (or if you don’t have a blog–gasp!–you can always leave an email address if you’re looking for advice or support. If not, people can leave messages for that person here in the comments section too). If you’re a regular at the bar, I’ll get out your engraved martini glass while you make yourself comfortable. And anyone new, welcome. I’m glad you found this virtual bar.

For those who have no clue what I’m talking about when I say that the bar is open, click here to catch up and then jump into the conversation back on this current post.

So have an imaginary cocktail and tell us what is up with your life.

Back in graduate school, we paid a yearly fee to the graduate student union which funded a plethora of projects including the graduate student newspaper. Though I went to graduate school in Massachusetts, the front page article of the weekly newspaper was usually inexplicably about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict arguing in favour of Israelis moving out of the Middle East entirely. Week after week, while there were plenty of newsworthy things happening in the college town and on campus, these topics were eschewed for Middle East politics. And the whole thing made me beyond uncomfortable.

I made an appointment with the Dean of Graduate Students and she patiently listened to why I might feel uncomfortable with my graduate student dollars supporting a newspaper that advocated the extermination of…myself. And then she explained that she cannot control what the editor of the newspaper chooses to print, though the university did end up establishing an anti-Semitism task force to deal with the fallout from the articles.

I then expressed my Plan B, which was to stop paying my yearly fee to the graduate student union. It made perfect sense–I didn’t want to support the newspaper, so I would pull my funding from the organization that supports the newspaper. Except that it didn’t work that way. It turned out that out of the $100 fee, under a penny went to fund the newspaper and the rest of that fee went to support great programs such as rape/crisis hotline and financial aid. Pulling my penny wasn’t going to sink the newspaper that included such scintillating headlines as “Death to Israel” but protesting our graduate student fee or refusing to pay it was going to affect a lot of other programs.

It was my first life lesson in the idea that simple solutions sometimes don’t take into account all the facts.

With health care reform being a hot topic, the discussion of whether it is cost-effective for insurance companies to fund IVF is being debated within and outside the US.

According to Resolve, the National Infertility Association, “Some insurance companies and employers incorrectly believe that adding infertility coverage to a health benefit package leads to increased premiums. In fact, states that have passed laws requiring coverage of infertility treatment actually have reduced overall health care costs.”

The reason being that those with insurance coverage tend to treat their infertility based on the best course of treatment rather than first trying procedures, surgeries, and medications covered by insurance. It saves money to bypass expensive attempts that have a lower success rate based on the reason for the person’s infertility. Coverage of expensive procedures such as IVF, means that those utilizing the procedure can make sensible decisions such as transferring fewer embryos and therefore lowering costs on the back-end including the financial burden associated with premature birth (which is often the case with multiples). According to Resolve, “In states with full coverage for infertility treatment, multiple birth rates (twins, triplets, etc.) are lower than in states with no infertility coverage. (New England Journal of Medicine, August 2002).”

Think about it this way: would you rather have your insurance dollars going towards a $10,000 IVF cycle or a $150,000 hospital bill for a three week NICU stay for premature triplets?

Barb Collura, the executive director of Resolve says,

RESOLVE: The National Infertility Association has known for years that insurance coverage for IVF treatments is not only the right thing to do, but it will dramatically reduce and perhaps even eliminate higher order multiples as a result of IVF treatments. Study after study shows that when you take the cost issue of an IVF cycle out of the equation, patients make better decisions about the number of embryos to transfer, thereby reducing the risk of a multiple birth. A recent study by Shady Grove Fertility on eSET (elective Single Embryo Transfer) among their Shared Risk patients confirms this – patients make better decisions when they are not pressured with paying out of pocket for every IVF cycle. If you only have $10,000 to spend, as a patient you want to get the most for your money, which does not always lead to a healthy pregnancy, mom, or baby.

Yet even with these stark financial facts on the table, if you take the comments and blog posts popping up about insurance companies covering IVF, it appears as if the average, vocal, non-infertile man or woman would rather pay the astronomically high costs associated with premature birth rather than have a few pennies of their insurance premiums go towards IVF. Childfreedom posted two emails that she got from readers on this topic, with one stating:

Covered by insurance? It should be illegal. Nobody ever died from not having a baby…This is the thing I hate most about assisted reproduction: for some reason your body is not able to sustain an embryo or bear a child, but we can chemically torture it into doing what it shouldn’t, all because society says you are a failure as a woman if you don’t pursue every possible option to get a baby, no matter how impractical or expensive or detrimental to your health. Look what Science can do for you! Oh, so many beautiful babies! It’s a miracle!

The Globe and Mail wrote about this topic in regards to Ontario and received 400 comments on the online article which states: “Life’s unfair, and health care is a bottomless pit, and some of these procedures have wretched outcomes” to which many of her readers agree: “To the infertility zealots all infertile couples are angels. Dose of reality many are not, and some have indeed created this by their own making as well. Some should NOT have children, and if nature has assisted with that, maybe that is a good thing too.”

Like It Is jumps off this article with her own thoughts: “it’s clear that it’s not just childfree people who object to being the purse strings for women who think having IVF is their right. The tax-paying public has a right to be alarmed.”

The problem, of course, is that when insurance companies pick-and-choose what they cover without rhyme or reason, the general public is left to argue amongst themselves. Treatments for impotence are covered (“Within weeks of hitting the U.S. market in 1998, more than half of Viagra prescriptions received health insurance coverage.”) but the drugs that help the body release an egg are not. Pregnancy and maternity benefits are well-covered, but abortion and fertility treatments (two sides of the same reproductive coin) are not. We pay a lot of lip service to family building and reproductive health, but then do not give people the means to help themselves or make sound personal decisions in regards to their body.

We can reduce people to caricatures and chalk up all problems to bad decision-making. Those who don’t want insurance to cover gastric-bypass surgery reduce all people experiencing obesity as “lazy, irresponsible, sly and greedy folk.” We can write off all children with ADHD as just needing to lower their sugar intake.

And even though the facts point to the contrary–according to a December 2005 report of the CDC’s National Survey on Family Growth (NSFG), the fastest-growing segment of U.S. women with impaired fecundity (the capacity to conceive and carry a child to term) is those under 25– we can say that those who are experiencing infertility just waited too long to start building their family.

Returning to the lesson learned back in graduate school, simple solutions don’t usually take into account all the facts. That simply writing off sections of the population and deeming certain diseases the fault of the person is reductive and lumps all the various causes for a disease down to a single factor. Instead of stating via insurance coverage that some diseases are worthy of treatment and others are not, let’s aim to have policies that neither reward nor punish, but instead enable citizens to treat their health ailments.

So rather than discuss the people with the disease, let’s discuss the disease itself and whether or not insurance companies should fund treatment based on the ideals and ethics we subscribe to within our respective countries.  I plan to pass on all our thoughts in the comment box to Resolve so they can know our thoughts on the fight they’re fighting on our behalf within the US.

Cross-posted with BlogHer.

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat and maybe it’s been raining too long, you’re just sad that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Paul Varjak: Sure.
Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that’d make me feel like Tiffany’s, then – then I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name!

I have been in a terrible mood all week, and when the mean reds set in and everything in life feels out-of-my-control, I clean.  I scrub and organize the house within an inch of its life with the other inhabitants clinging to my leg and screaming, “don’t give away my thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiings.”  And at some point, in the process of cleaning and organizing, I generally decide that while I can’t control my body and produce a person, I can control the way my bathroom looks and I get a new $5 shower curtain with a Swedish name and all feels right in the world much in the same way that a chocolate bar can make things feel right even if your body knows that it was cheated out of the calories it actually wanted and needed in exchange for this tasty item.

Substitute room redecoration is like empty calories.

I knew on Monday after I gutted the closet in the second bedroom and purged it of bouncey seats and baby bjorns that I needed to go to IKEA to get a storage bin that would allow the kids to help themselves to their toys.  It was the thought that kept me going all week as I went through the baby items–that on Thursday, I would go to IKEA and envelope myself in the warmth and safety that comes in the form of clean-lined furniture and cheap textiles.

Cali and N agreed to go with me (Lindsay was supposed to be there too, but last minute changes meant her items would not fit in my car and so she is going on a different day and I am tweaking to go again too just so we can covet kitchens together–our favourite IKEA activity) and we met in the cafe.  It is nice to have a set of friends who agree with you that IKEA is our Tiffany’s, a place to go that has the power to instantly calm.  I have 1000 memories tied to trips to IKEA, and calls to my father begging him to drive down to Virginia and save our asses when the stuff we’ve bought doesn’t fit in the car, and putting together furniture.  It feels like nothing can go wrong in IKEA with the exception that anything you buy will be missing a few necessary screws.  Everything is organized, with signs, and clear boundaries, and when life feels chaotic and scary and the choices to big to wrap my mind around, it is a place to go where everything makes sense.  Where the world is colour-coordinated.  And in the face of expensive losses of dreams, everything comes with a tiny price tag.  Where else can you redo an entire closet for $40?

Before we headed to fill my actual needs, we walked through the upper level of mock rooms, critiquing the set-up of furniture and paint colours.  There is something so hopeful about seeing those rooms, as if you too could live that free of clutter and disorganization.  You too could have a place for everything tangible and the thought bleeds off the side of reality into making you believe that you could also have a place for everything intangible.  A neat doling out of your love and emotional energy and happiness.  Wherever you placed your feelings would be where they belonged.

I could tuck my thoughts on family neatly into a drawer where it would rest, nestled inside a box and untangled from all the other items beside it.

I place a lot of stock in the power of IKEA.

Everything I needed was in textiles or the warehouse room.  It is best to visit IKEA with others who appreciate IKEA, who can move through the textiles with a mental map in place.  We didn’t consult the signs in the warehouse, marching directly to the aisle of Trofasts.  And after I paid (a mark of true friends–Cali and N didn’t buy anything.  They just came with me to ensure that I didn’t end up curled in a ball, rocking back and forth, muttering in Swedish) and the twins and I kissed our friends goodbye and went out to the car to fit our items into the trunk and live happily ever after.

And that’s when I had the quintessential IKEA experience that I have almost every trip (at least the ones where I do not bring along Lindsay or Josh who have highly-honed spatial relations skills).  I let the twins in the backseat and went to put my Trofast in the trunk.  It was freakin’ heavy and I grunted and strained to slide it from the cart into the trunk, gasping at the Wolvog to please-for-the-love-of-G-d-hang-over-the-backseat-and-pick-up-the-beach-toy-basket-and-move-it-out-of-the-way-because-my-heart-is-going-to-explode-from-lack-of-oxygen.  I finally got it wedged into the trunk and tried to close the top and–of course–it didn’t fit.  I say “of course” because this has been my experience every damn trip and I never seem to remember it.  My thinking went: “I have obviously gotten a Trofast home before, therefore, it must fit in the car somehow.”

I tried several more times to get it to fit, the twins a complete lack of help because they have muscles as sturdy as a Kleenex tissue.  People walked by me in the parking lot, watching me struggle and stand with my hands over my face and no one offered to help.  And it wasn’t them–I mean, I don’t know how often I’ve paused at IKEA to help someone get something into their trunk and everyone struggles at IKEA–it was just the idea that two minutes upon leaving the safety and orderliness of IKEA, that I was back to feeling as if a situation was out of my control.  That I could shove and push as much as I wanted, but it wasn’t going to do any good because there were additional factors that the dream item had to contend with.  Sometimes you can’t make a Trofast fit no matter how you twist and prop it.

I already warned you that I make IKEA work hard to bring me emotional catharsis.

In the end, I took the Trofast out of the trunk and somehow hauled it to the side door and slid it across the backseat, an ordeal that took about 10 minutes of gasping while the twins cheered me on.  I closed the door and slipped into the driver’s seat, admitting that I no longer held that IKEA joie de vivre energy to spur me through a trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond.  We drove home, a route we never take that Google Maps promised me was faster than my usual route.  And for once, it was.

Holly Golightly: He’s all right! Aren’t you, cat? Poor cat! Poor slob! Poor slob without a name! The way I see it I haven’t got the right to give him one. We don’t belong to each other. We just took up one day by the river. I don’t want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I’m not sure where that is but I know what it is like. It’s like Tiffany’s.