moosh in indy.

There are certain things in life that we all have in common, married, unmarried or divorced. Religious or not. Parent or childless. Man or woman. These are the things that allow us to relate to almost every human on the planet, if we can’t relate to someone with one of these criteria then we can fall back on the fact that we are all human and most everyone has a bellybutton.

But then there are sub-genres of things. Those who have experienced miscarriages, the loss of a child or infertility. Those who come from “traditional” homes, single parent homes or same sex parent homes. Often when faced with those who know a life so much different than ours we are left staring at each other from opposite corners, or struggling to find common ground. Other times common ground is irrelevant because that whole “we’re all human” thing takes over.

But what about the times when we’re staring down those who have more in common that we’re used to? Sometimes our fight reflex comes out. Sometimes our trials and difficulties are what define us and we get uncomfortable in the presence of others who are going through similar difficulties. I know I have a hard time seeing other couples who deal with infertility so eloquently, or on the other hand couples who are just starting down the scary and uncertain road who avoid me, knowing that they may one day be where I am. A two thousand dollar shot in the butt with nothing to show for it but crazy.

I had my heart broken nine years ago. Smashed, destroyed and left for dead. I cannot say I have had my heart broken a thousand times because it only happened once, and once was all it took. Maybe if it had never happened I could be one of those who could say I had my heart broken more than once, never knowing what a true broken heart was.

Cody bears the scars of a broken heart too. While it’s not my story to tell, he was hurt. And hurt badly.

While we both struggle when we talk about those who broke us before we found each other, I have a feeling we both nurse the wounds of our broken hearts privately more often than we’d like to admit. I wish it had never happened to me. Cody swears he’s healed. I’m mad at the girl who hurt Cody. I’m mad that I’ll never know what he was like before her. That she left a mark on him that affects him and our relationship to this day.

I’m also mad at the boy who broke my heart. I’m mad that I have to know what that pain feels like and constantly live in fear of feeling it again.

I know our most personal struggles can bring us closer together with those who have gone down the same path. Yet at the same time they can put us against one another.

We are put into these little “groups” by default.

The haves and the have nots.

How would my life be different if I had never been hurt? Would I love Cody any less? Would we have even found each other?

If you could go back to the one moment thus far that defined you (or hurt you) the most…would you undo it?

I am not a food blogger.

Food blogging is a whole mess of work between the photography, the steps, the presentation and THOSE PEOPLE WHO ALWAYS HAVE TO TELL YOU HOW TO DO IT BETTER. (I’m looking at you CORN SNOBS.)

Blah.

So I made these muffins today. Only I made them in my muffin top pans. (Proof that God loves a good muffin top.)

SCOOORE!!!

I took pictures of all the steps but they didn’t turn out very well because today was the day God nearly forgot the promise he made to Noah not to flood the Earth ever again and the lighting in my kitchen was seriously compromised due to all the fire and brimstone going on outside.

Let me show you…what my street should look like normally…(well okay so this is AFTER all the flooding, but you get the idea.)

Earlier today? It looked like this…

Normal trip to the mailbox should go something like this…(with tutu, yes.)

Earlier in the afternoon? This…

And you people wonder why we Mormons are so big on being prepared for natural disasters. The only reason I left my house today was because if the world was going to end today?

I was going to have Double Stuffs to see me through it.

So yeah, I made the muffins. And took pictures. Pretty self explanatory.

What I didn’t do was take a picture of the finished and baked muffins.

Because I ate them all before I remembered.

And this? Is why I would never hack it as a true food blogger.

I have to hurry up and write this while I’m coherent and sane.

Had I sat down and written this four hours ago when I originally intended to you would all be cocking your heads doing the “AWW.” thing offering to send me puppies and rubbing your rosaries for me and my poor tortured spirit.

You see, four hours ago I was making spaghetti while bawling my eyes out because my friend had asked me what I was wearing. (Truth be told that I was wearing the same thing for 24 hours straight and I smelled like an armpit. This in and of itself was utterly and completely depressing.)

The best way I can describe the feelings I have on Lupron?

It’s like watching one of those slow motion crash test videos and Crazy Lupron Red (that’s what we call her around these parts) is behind the wheel and Normal Not Lupron Red is screaming at Crazy Lupron Red (phone call, hold please.)

(Gramma Flower just called and sent me back into spaghetti bawling hysterics because she got a puppy. OH HOW I WISH I WERE KIDDING.)

Okay. Back to the Crazy Lupron Red crash analogy. Only this time Crazy Lupron Red will be telling a little more of the story.

Crazy Lupron Red is headed for a gigantic very painful crash in very slow motion. The logical part of my brain (Normal Not Lupron Red (another aside, Cody calls me Red.)) has been forced to sit in a soundproof booth and just watch Crazy Lupron Red descend into madness. No matter how much Normal Not Lupron Red screams and yells at Crazy Lupron Red that “this will all end and it’s only temporary and THIS ISN’T REALLY YOU!” Crazy Lupron Red cannot hear Normal Not Lupron Reds logic.

I dialed the first 10 digits of a lot of phone numbers today. I could never bring myself to hit that last number though.

I so desperately wanted to talk to someone but couldn’t bring myself to burden some poor unsuspecting soul with my blabberings. This isn’t me. No need to spread the crazy farther than my front door step.

And here is where my friends are reading this going “YOU BIG DUMMY, YOU COULD HAVE CALLED ME.” I know I could have called you. But I have really good reasons for not calling you all snotty and hiccupy. I didn’t call you because you live in Canada and that’s expensive. I didn’t call you because you’re in the middle of moving and hardly have time for the blatherings of a menopausal 27 year old. I didn’t call you because YOU JUST HAD A BABY and the last thing you need is *this right here*. I didn’t call you because frankly we’re not big phone talkers, I didn’t call you because you’re a boy and as much as you’d like to think of yourself as a girl YOU’RE A BOY. And lastly I didn’t call you because even though we have hung out in a hotel room I still don’t feel like I’m to that point where I can call in the middle of the day bawling into my marinara and not worry about what you’re really thinking about me.

Ten years ago the lowest point of my life was when I was in a pit of depression and I realized I had NO ONE to call and talk to.

Today? I had so many people I could call that I couldn’t even be bothered to make a decision.

I need to watch what I say. I feel as though I am very full of venom and a little too unpredictable. I am going to be completely selfish for awhile. Not only for my own benefit, but so Crazy Lupron Red doesn’t take down some nice people while on her warpath to an endometriosis free life.

I am quite certain I will not be “me” for the next few months. So take this as your warning.

When I break down for no apparent reason in the middle of the grocery store over a particular shade of orange melamine?

It’s the Lupron talking.

Go here for the panda backstory.

(thanks Della)

Fasten your seatbelts dear reader. I am a hormonal wreck with a blog.

The weather does this thing in Indiana, something I never saw in Utah.

It changes, quickly. I don’t even check the weather anymore out here because it has never, EVER been right. Ever.

A sunny morning could dramatically change to a storm in a matter of moments. When looking out the window at a storm with my kid I know in that it will pass over in fifteen minutes and that it’s not even worth rearranging our day or giving any consideration to.

If the rain sticks around for awhile we don ponytails, waterproof shoes, umbrellas and leave the white tshirts at home.

Other times we’ll be watching a storm and it will change dramatically. Tornado sirens go off. I worry about where our 72 hour kit is. How we would find Cody. What’s even worse is when these kinds of storms happen when I’m out driving alone. I have to choose between pulling off the road or risk continuing on.

Other times I find myself sitting in a downpour. But I can see blue skies just a few miles away. The cloud just seems to be following me around. Head a few minutes in the opposite direction and suddenly I’m under those blue skies, wondering what the heck I was so worried about and wondering if the storm that had me so freaked out ever really happened.

This is depression for me.

I never know when it’s going to sneak up on me. There’s no forecast for such things. And just like the weather there’s no way to prevent it or move it along if I’m just not in the mood for crappy weather.

When I’m in the thick of it I really only have two choices. Pull off or keep going, risking the consequences.

I know it will go away. But when? Sitting under that raincloud staring out at blue sky that is so close is soul crushing sometimes.

Why am I one of the ones stuck under the cloud without an umbrella?

I hate that I will always have a fear of those stupid storm clouds no matter how blue the sky is.