our family staycation

I've been introduced to a new word. Staycation. It's another one of those fun-to-say words like freegan that people will turn and look at you like 'what are you talking about, crazy lady.' (I love these words!) Though we dreamed of beaches, restaurants and fancy hotels, our budget well, just couldn't budget a vacation.



A staycation is almost exactly how we spent our Memorial Day weekend, we didn't stay home, but we stayed at my parents in Decorah, Iowa (which my husband would argue many people would actually 'vacation' in Decorah). The staycation was beautiful.

We took our first bike ride of the season. 23 miles, which proved to be a little much for Wyatt who cried at the top of his lungs for 3 of those. I dressed my poor children in matching green striped shirts and had their pictures taken formally and then not so formally (umm, by me as you can see in the sidebar). I'm still perplexed why I wasn't able to walk right by that t-shirt table at Target as I am soo not a matching children kind of mother. We watched a 15 minute parade on Memorial Day. We, meaning husband and parents, ate ice cream at a lovely shop (should I say shoppe) since neither of my children eat ice cream (well, Wyatt would if I let a 13 month old eat ice cream). We played in the park. We rode in the convertible.

Overall, I would say that it was a great staycation. Total price of our staycation = $172.36. Obviously for this anti-supermom, my children's fond memories of a vacation aren't exactly priceless.

birth day

This is part five, the final post of my surrogacy. See here for earlier posts.



Pregnancy generally is something that is shared. Shared with almost anyone that could stand to hear about it, 'in case you didn't know' (of course, after that first top-secret 12 weeks of pregnancy) but this was different. Eleni kept the pregnancy quiet on her end since laws in Australia looked down on surrogate pregnancies and here, with me, I didn't know what was next; what will people think, I just didn't know how to feel. After so long of wanting to be pregnant as a surrogate, I was. Now, that I was, what would be asked, how would I answer all those questions.

It was easy at first, there were no questions. I suppose my family didn't want to cross that path until necessary, but they didn't even ask if I was pregnant, though they knew about the surrogacy and the transfer. They always supported me, but not necessarily my decision. I can't blame them though either, as you can see, I didn't know exactly how to feel myself.

Looking back, this was probably the hardest part of the surrogacy. People never knew what to say, so nothing at all was said, when I was pregnant, but more so after I had the baby. My family simply didn't talk about it. Almost like it didn't happen. A sister-in-law described it best "we don't want to act like this didn't happen, but we don't know what to say". I'm not blaming anyone, as I didn't know how to talk about being a surrogate either. It's like being asked the question, 'so, who are you?' can you easily and eloquently say something just right? I quite simply couldn't.

After I told my immediate family, I shared it with my extended 'child care' family. I started the conversation the same way each time, "I'm pregnant, but this is a special pregnancy". I was encouraged by their reactions. My husband shared the news with his family. They had no idea that I even applied to be a surrogate, so this was a surprise to them. Obviously, some reactions were better than others, but overall their reactions made me more excited as the pregnancy progressed.

The pregnancy progressed. The pregnancy was uneventful for the most part. I continued my life as normal, only the calendar was dotted with OB appointments where I had to yet again explain to the nurse that I'm a surrogate, after a few times of this I just went along with it and stopped explaining. I did this with strangers too. Someone would ask my son if he was going to be a big brother, I'd say 'well, he doesn't really know' or something somewhat clever, I just didn't want to tell every stranger I was a surrogate. As for my son, I never told him I was 'growing a baby in my tummy', he was two and we decided he didn't really need to know as this wouldn't change his life by any means. The only time he really said anything was the day I went into labor, 'Mommy is big'.

The hardest part of the pregnancy was being diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I didn't expect to not pass the test. I cried for days, I cried in the OB office, I cried at the dietitian, I cried because I was doing all this for someone else's baby. All the books they gave you ended with, 'all that hard work you will do means a healthy baby for you to take home'. That was hard. I wasn't getting any 'reward' for being a good diabetic, but of course, I did it for Eleni and for their baby. I was scared too, that this meant they would tell me to not get pregnant again for awhile, to let my blood sugar levels stabilize, to put off having another child for my family. That too, was hard.

I wrote about Eleni being calm. If this had been her first child, I imagine she would have been a wreck about me having diabetes, but she wasn't. I've read stories about soon-to-be mother's from surrogate pregnancies breaking down in the hospital. Eleni already being a mother, was the picture of calm, this was for me a huge blessing.

We emailed at least weekly, we talked on the phone not as often. She called me on the cell phone at the sonogram appointments, where I'm sure she would have given the world to be in that room, but couldn't. She was there (on the phone) when she found out she was having a boy and there at following ones listening to how well her little boy was growing, hearing the heartbeat. I mailed her all the pictures from the sonograms, it was as good as we both could do until she got here.

She got to Minneapolis on a Thursday night. I picked her up from the airport. I was nervous. I imagine she was nervous too. I saw her, waved and we hugged each other and in the middle of our embrace was her baby. His presence was obvious to us both. I had told Eleni that 'Henry was early, so please come early'. She fortunately listened, as I went into labor that Monday.

It's still a blur. It's also blending in with Wyatt's birth, that was just 11 months later. The nurses were incredible. They were so excited; for Eleni, for me, for themselves to be part of a surrogate's birth. It was less intense than Henry's as he had some more than difficult moments, but still the energy flowed in the room. When the time came to push, my husband was at my feet and Eleni was holding my hand. For those of you that have given birth, you know when there is only one push left, you can feel it. I didn't say a word, I just squeezed Eleni's hand letting her know her baby was almost here. This moment is one of the greatest single moments in my life, no words, just my hand and hers. In re-telling this story, I cry at this moment almost every time. I think of this moment almost daily two years later.

Two years ago today, 'Ari' was born. May 23rd, 2006.

Eleni holding her son for the first time

and Eleni's husband

my beautiful surro-son Ari, Happy Birthday

the crime scene

I did it again. I left my wallet. It's not that I have done this a lot, but yes, I have done. it. before. This time it was our local library, the scene it set. Two whining children at 5:25pm, one in stroller crying about him being ready for dinner. The second whining about getting out of here to go to his end-of-year preschool picnic. Neither one is making it an easier to complete the task at hand. Get our books and get out.

I scanned my library card, 'unable to process your request'. Ugg. I swipe it under the red beam again. The message appeared once more. I rolled my eyes, took a deep breath and walked up to the counter. I knew I had reached the $10 limit in fines. 'Yep, it looks like you have $12.60 worth of overdue fines'. I must have looked pathetic at this point. She continues 'you could just pay $3 to get you back under the $10 limit'. Of course, this was suppose to help but I haven't carried any cash since 2006. She then directed me to where I could 'conveniently' pay my fines online with a credit card.


Should I accept defeat and leave empty-handed? No, I pull up stroller and all, pay my fines and get those darn children books. This is where I believe the crime happened, I abandoned my wallet. I imagine it was some onlooker who found my wallet, who was previously staring at me and my children, praying for them to be quiet and leave and I did I left with them, those books and no wallet.


I didn't even notice it was gone until we got home from the picnic to a message on my phone. 'We have your wallet'. This call was left at 5:30pm. If you see my wallet any time in the near future, know that it's my children to blame and yes, please do give me a call.

open late

What a surprise, I love to shop. In fact I use to be a buyer, so shopping was literally in the job description. I was a buyer for Von Maur (never mind that I was only shopping for 18 stores at that time and every time we buyers went to New York City the vendors would call us the Von Mormons because we we not allowed to wear pants. Yes, if you don't believe me, go to the Eden Prairie mall -or a mall in closer proximity to you- and look in Von Maur, you will not see a single woman in pants, or denim for that matter), and I thought the job was pretty cool (also, never mind that my core customers were basically female retirees and hip grandmas). I also worked for Target Corporation, which I thought was so not cool. (I don't know what I thinking, why I would believe managing purchase orders and planograms would be more fun?)

I still love Target the store and of course, I still love shopping. So, why did I not have any idea that they were open until 10pm on the weekdays? I was hastily going in the one night after volunteering to get a Mother's Day card -sorry Mom, I had it on time, it really was just mailed late- right before 9 o'clock thinking that I had just made it (did I mention that I grew up in a small town, so take that into consideration) when my face was hit with the beautiful glass doors of the oasis we call Target 'open until 10pm'.

My mind started to wander, what could I do with this information. From 9-10pm I could peruse the aisle sans children, sans guilt from husband (because the sweet kiddos would be in bed, hopefully). I dreamed of weaving my hands through the t-stands of clothing, actually able to get both feet into a possible new pair of shoes and being able to look at them in the tiny little 'foot mirror'. I smiled at the thought of actually being able to read labels on the side of granola bars to see what one really is mostly granola. I laughed out loud at me giving eyes to the parents that have children in Target when they should be in bed (okay, I wouldn't be that horrible).

I then woke, snapped to the realization that by 9pm I'm tired. I enjoy plopping on the couch, turning on tivo'd Oprah and just relishing in this 'me' time. There is no way this anti-supermom is heading at the door then, it's way past my bedtime!

email attachment

This is part four of my surrogacy story, see here for past postings



Less than 48 hours of climbing out of the seat of the airplane sitting on the tarmac of Toronto's airport, I was lying on the metal table, in the dark with my knees up to my stomach getting my uterus lining checked. Eleni was in the room with me, though we had officially just met, she was a comfort to me. The tech said something along the lines of 'hmm, now why again didn't you have a lining check?'. I closed my eyes and replied, 'because no one told me to'. No one told me to get an ultrasound several days before leaving, that my lining needed to be at least 8mm, someone just 'forgot' to tell me this. I don't think that they told me what my lining even was, it was that bad.



Eleni and I were taken into Dr. Virro's office. He explained that with Eleni's poor quality of eggs and my poor lining, the chances of a successful pregnancy were very, well poor. Nonetheless, we would try because the eggs were ready, we were both there, what was there to lose'. I asked him, 'What would you do differently next time if this weren't successful?' Remember this, this is an important detail to the future of the journey. He said that he would change my medication protocol. He would probably have Eleni's eggs mature for 5 days instead of 3 days.



The doctor brought us both to a tiny closet of a room. I was to have my bladder full, (drinking 32 oz. of water 2 hours before the transfer (IVF). The over-achiever that I am probably drank 48 oz. and was severely in pain, I waddle up to the table without most of my clothing and yet again found myself with my legs up in the air.



The whole procedure took less than five minutes. The doctor knocked on a small door and a petrie dish was passed through. Two embryos were simply moved from the dish, put into a catheter and slid into my uterus guided by an ultrasound. This is my perspective of it, it's not technical, it may not have exactly happened like that, but one thing was sure, there was now two little embryo inside of me that either would decided to grow or not.

Side note. I know many surrogates will put in more than two embryos to increase the chances of pregnancy. I was only willing to transfer two. Blessed beyond belief, there was only two embryos to transfer each time. Also meaning, there was no struggle for Eleni on having any remaining non-transferred embryos.

It was mandated that I wait at least 30 minutes before getting up. At this point I had to pee so badly that I had to take short breaths and keep me eyes focused on the ceiling and not think about going to the bathroom. After all, I would do anything to make this pregnancy happen.



But, it didn't. It didn't happen. I wasn't pregnant. The picture was painted so bleak, that my hopes were not up; I was disappointed, but not surprised, I was sad, but not devastated. Eleni had things happen in her life, she was herself very surprised, very sad and almost devastated, but this was because of more than just a failed IVF but those are her stories, not mine.



Eleni called, 'is there any way that I could do another transfer in September?' My heart ached, I most certainly wanted to do another transfer, but from the beginning I wanted the last month to try to be August. See, unlike most surrogates, I did want more children of our own and I did not want my son to be too far in age from a sibling. I agreed, but it had to be in the beginning of the month. This would be it. My last try to be a surrogate, but for Eleni, her last try for another child.



It was all arranged again. When the time came, I was emailed the medication protocol. It was exactly the same as the first, failed transfer. I emailed back that I was surprised and this was quickly sent back with a corrected protocol. To this day, I think about what would have happened if I didn't ask the simple question to the doctor: what would you do differently? I would have had no idea to look for a protocol change, would have accepted what was sent, taken the same meds, had the same poor lining, and all that would have meant not having the beautiful outcome that we obviously did.



September came and the story is pretty much the same. This time around though, my lining was beautiful, Eleni had one exceptional 5 day embryo (and one average) and I was taken back to the room to be explained what would happen if I did become pregnant (this didn't happen the first time). Everyone was more confident, cautious but still confident.



I emailed Eleni was an attachment called something like; 'great picture'. I waited as she opened up her attachment from across the world and for the first time saw two wonderful pink lines.

Part five

Funny enough, I learned that Eleni wasn't sure what two pink line meant and had to check with the pregnancy test maker's site. Now that must have been nerve wracking!

update to birthday aftermath

Wednesday nights are my volunteer, mommy-gets-out-of-the-house nights. My DH calls them Daddy Nights. Henry said about this night, 'now we can do whatever we want'. After my departure, my DH decided that it would be a great idea to move Wyatt's car seat, load both children and head to Target to find out exactly how much Henry's Mack truck would cost him. I'm sure you can see where this is going, but I will fill you in on the conversation:

Henry: There it is, the one just like Noah's

Daddy: Wow, Henry. (Notices that it is on sale, though looking at the incorrect UPC and thinks that it's only $15)

Daddy: It looks like you would only need $10 more to earn the truck. I think we should get it today because it's on sale. (It's actually $20 but that's beyond the point of this post).

Henry: Would Mommy say OK?

My sweet, wonderful boy. He knew a little better than my sweet DH did last night. No, it was not "OK" with me. Out the window goes the idea of earning something, learning the idea of a dollar. My dreams of a little financial wizard disappeared. DH did a little bit of damage control this morning by telling Henry that he was still 'earning' his truck by doing jobs. Since Henry still believes that he only needed $10 more to pay for the truck, he'll be getting an inflated payment of $1 per job (I guess our economy knows how to pay four-year-olds), with only 10 jobs to get his truck fully paid off. At this point, the only lesson I hope that this may help him with is getting a firm concept of ten things.

On the flip side, Henry has spent the entire day thanking Dad for getting his truck. Putting his head down and telling God 'thank you for Mack'. Asking me if Mack is a kid, does he have a Mom and Dad? Telling me when I tell him that it's time to go outside, that he hasn't had enough time to play with Mack. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if all this Mack talk is any better than him rolling out of bed and asking about Mack every morning. Perhaps it could have waiting more than 6 months.


PS- I had to try the same coloring editing that OHMommy did, so yes, I'm copying you, it's flattery I promise.

birthday aftermath

Henry went to a birthday party this last weekend. His first birthday party where he was actually dropped off at the front door and picked up 2 blissfully quiet hours later. (Boy, I love four-year-old birthdays, but no way would I leave myself alone with five little sugar-high boys running around my house- wait, that is what I do, but I get paid for that!) The party was a Disney Pixar Cars themed party; there were red, black and white balloon(race car Lightening McQueen colors), many Cars gifts, Cars gift bags (which I'm a big believer in only the birthday-boy getting presents, but what can you do) and I believe a chocolate (by the stains on my son's shirt) Cars cake.

He left the party bubbling with excitement about Mack. For a second, I thought a new friend at the party? Of course, the silly mother that I am should have known, Mack the truck from Cars. Noah had gotten one for his birthday and he has always wanted one just like that. Can we get one, today? I told him that he could perhaps get one for his birthday or Christmas. The only problem is that both are more than 6 months away and I not sure that I can handle him asking as he is rolling out of bed every morning about the now his Mack truck.

So this genius, anti-supermom suggested that her sweet four-year-old son earn his Mack truck by doing jobs around the house. (We are big believers that our children will have to earn many things, and heaven forbid might even have to get a job in high-school.) He was so excited about the idea that he even told his father over the phone that Mom is having him get a job. I told him he could earn some money by putting his clothes away, taking out the recycling, picking up the toys, etc.

This morning, we went online to 'research' how much he would have to earn to add to his current $5.20. We couldn't find this online, but I told him I imagined that it will be around $29.99 and with tax he would have to earn about 30 dollars more. Hoping that he would be excited about all the 'jobs' that are potential money makers, I asked him, how do you expect to get all that money to pay for this truck? So this genius, son-of-an-anti-supermom replies "I'm going to ask Santa".

reason number 973

Reason number 973 of why I love having children:
-I get to send the 'leftovers' with them.

How I love banana bread. I lose it for a cheap box of chocolate cake with probably even a cheaper tub of frosting oozing on top. I'd give my first born son (OK, maybe not him, but my third if we have one) for a warm, fresh baked batch of monster cookies. Honestly though, I can't just have a bit. Well, I can have a bit, then a bit more, then a forkful, then a little slice. You get it, I have no control.

The solution became a simple one, a couple of years ago, in the form of this pint sized little one that I call my son. Most times, when I make something sweet I *have* to give some of it away. I wrap it up for him to share with the friends at childcare or better yet, I pass it off on the children's parents that I watch, that way they can deal with the sugar rush during my off hours (I should really do that more often!).

This of course works with my DH as well. His office has been subjected to my banana bread many times. I just don't like sending it with him as they might then actually find out how bad of a cook I am.

In honor of this little post, here's a picture of Wyatt's first birthday. Enjoying his first taste of the good stuff. I mean of course, chocolate cupcakes made especially for him by SuperTarget. (Oh yes, this anti-supermom didn't even make her child's first cake, I'm sure he'll thank me someday!)