There is another house, which we are going to see tomorrow. Like all the houses, it has benefits and drawbacks. It's actually nineteenth-century, which I love. It has some charming features and details. It's quite a low price compared to the other stuff we've seen. It's in a good town. It may be easily accessible to a good parish and the metro (we will have to check). Regrettably, its strongest influence appears to be craftsman, which is my least favorite of the late Victorian styles. It's on the smaller side (but may have expansion potential - we shall see). And it's on a busy street, which I suspect my DH is going to veto outright. But we soldier on. (Or at least, I do, and sometimes he patiently comes along.)
During my last discussion with Father, he gave me the assignment by next month (coming up soon) to come up with a list of things that I would need to do at minimum on a daily basis for my spiritual life to be really in order. This has proven even more difficult than I expected. While I've prayed for discernment (OK, not as regularly as I should have), I don't have any blinding flashes of clarity. One temptation is not to choose anything it seems unlikely I will accomplish - but then I risk aiming too low. The other is to choose all the things I think I ought ideally to be doing, even if I know they are probably infeasible - and risk failing immediately and permanently. (My impulse here is to believe that an unbroken cycle of failure and guilt is exactly what God wants for me and expects of me. But this frame of mind isn't going to get me anywhere.)
In particular, I am still wrestling with the daily Mass dilemma. I'm strongly inclined to believe that's something I should return to. But is it sensible to expect myself to make Mass every day, or just most days? And I haven't solved my perennial problem - there's one daily Mass I can make before leaving for work, but it requires me to get up at least 90 minutes earlier than I do now, and it's an incredible challenge getting myself out of bed as it is. Even if I could accomplish that, my resulting commute would either be very expensive or involve a huge waste of time. The other possibility is one Mass in the evening, which works much better logistically, but which is in a language I don't know, with no cognates, and which I can't even pronounce. I tried that for a few months after we moved here, and hated it. My thought was that if God wants me to get to daily Mass, He will provide me with an accessible daily Mass (in English), as He always has before. I have pestered Him on this matter lately, but with no apparent response.
Tuesday I finally had the ultrasound that was supposed to determine why I am having all this abdominal pain. There's good news and bad news. The radiologist (and, now, my RE as well) both think that my ovaries look excellent following my surgery (which, remember, was all the way back in October 2009. We have to be fair here and give Dr. L/C credit for being a good surgeon). Apparently, Dr. L/C was correct that the random thing on my right ovary in December was a hemorrhagic corpus luteum (I was convinced it was an endometrioma). They did find a very small dermoid cyst that nobody deems worth worrying about on my right ovary, and an itty-bitty cyst (1cm) of indeterminate nature, expected to be a routine ovulatory sort of follicle, on the left ovary. But everyone seems just delighted with the state of my reproductive system, with just that one inconvenient note about it not working well enough for me to get pregnant.
The bad news is that this doesn't explain the day of raging pain in January, the approximately three days of pain some time between CD7 and CD11 for the last five or six months, or the premenstrual spotting for the last six or eight months. The radiologist noted that I might have endometrial adhesions that are causing pain. Fair point. Not that that's delightful either.
Although today is only CD21, I believe I am p+11 (obviously, that's no textbook ovulation). Because my body has a rollicking sense of humor, it has also decided to break new ground in creating symptoms that are slightly different from my previous non-pregnancy symptoms, thereby inviting me to descend into madness once again this cycle. In this case, it's the phantom impression that I will at any second explode out of my brassiere. Tragically for my figure, no objective evidence appears to support this impression. Thus far, I have steadfastly declined the invitation to madness. Also, the house has a kitchen in need of a bit of renovation, and I am sure that if I were pregnant, my DH would forbid me to so much as look upon paint, even were it distilled from the very tears of angels, so this isn't a good time.
Finally, a few things struck me in the past week that I very much wanted to share with all of you.
The first is an episode of Supernanny (I love Supernanny, for no reason that I can adequately explain, given my "condition") which is unusual in that it centers on a mother of four adopted children. Two are from Guatemala and two from Ghana; the adoptive parents are both white. What's more, the Ghanaian pair, who are siblings, were adopted only three months before the show was filmed, and are four and six - and before coming to the States, neither spoke English. A month after their adoption, their father was deployed to Afghanistan for a year. I can't even imagine how the father can bond with his children under such circumstances.
The mother has got to be the most competent parent who's ever been on the show (I think that's a pretty neutral observation, and I've seen a ton of episodes) - but she is, not surprisingly, overwhelmed. I watched most of the show with my mouth hanging open. That woman never stops running, and certainly never fails for laziness or lack of trying. I think I would collapse from exhaustion just at the thought of making that family work. Anyway, I found it fascinating, and thought some of you might too - though probably emotional as well. (You have been warned.)
Also, I found this immensely enjoyable:
Have a great weekend, blogosphere.