What's in Fort Smith, Arkansas?

They're pregnant. No, not us. Them. The other couple in Supper Club who've been TTC for the last year and a half. Not so long as us, but still, long enough to reach the despair point. Mrs. J had endometriosis, and so they were on this drug and that treatment. They did their first round of IUI in November with no success. But at that point I knew that any day it would be us or them. It's them.

But not the way you would expect! Oh no. They did it naturally! Serious! How, you may want to know? So did we. Apparently, the secret is going on vacation. And for them, it was having sex at her parents' house. I'm afraid we draw the line at that, but vacation? Yeah, we could do that. The fact that we haven't done that since we got married 7 years ago may have something to do with our current situation.

Actually, we have taken time off from work, but time off does not a vacation make. Our time off has usually consisted of this family crisis or that minor emergency... which, according to my husband's most recent Master's class, Stress Management, produces cortisol, the stress hormone. Cortisol then inhibits the production of endorphins, the feel-good chemicals in your brain that you are supposed to feel when you ACTUALLY go on vacation. But I digress.

So, on our way home from Supper Club, my husband asked me what I thought about going on vacation during our next ovulation window. Granted, taking time off from work is stressful in and of itself. We know that when we get back, we are always buried for a few days as we try to get caught up. But I digress again.

Vacation. We're actually on vacation! I swear! We're in Fort Smith, Arkansas for a week. What's in Fort Smith, you might ask? That's not important. What's more important is what's not in Fort Smith. Work, friends, family, our house, our cats, our dogs, laundry, homework dishes... I could go on and on. What have we done so far? Dinner, sleep, breakfast, and, well, lunch is pending. Oh, and so is sex. After all that's the whole point.

A sorrowful heart produces no blogging

Why is it that I am comfortable telling the whole world about the inner workings of my reproductive tract, but am loath to set down the pain in my heart over the loss of a loved one?

There has been little to inspire me to write since December 23 when we found out that the cancer our second oldest cat was diagnosed with in November had spread to her lungs. I should have written about the Winter Solstice night we spent decorating our tree with two of our best friends. I should have written about the blizzard in Denver that kept my mother from getting her luggage for two days after she arrived here 4 hours late on December 22. I should have written about the compound miter saw and the Wusthof knives that Dear Hubby and I gave each other for Christmas. Or, finally, I should have written about the hours my mother spent sleeping on the floor in the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport trying to get home after her annual holiday visit. But the sadness that hung like a cloud over my house after the diagnosis and that has haunted us since January 2 when we put our precious girl Nhalla to sleep has left me without words.

I have told almost no one except close friends and family. Work has kept us crazy busy and stressed out and, overall, has not helped. During the last few days of our vigil, I read somewhere that humans need to believe in something greater than themselves, or they will fall into despair. We have leaned on our belief in that something these last few weeks to get us through this difficult time.

Our beautiful Nhalla - of the chirping meow, green eyes, and fuzzy tummy - who loved to chase the laser dot and curl up for a nap in any random ray of sunlight. Baby girl, you will be missed so much.