7 days of Christmas fun while I am off studying

Today is the last time I will post until after I take part two, the clinical vignette portion, of the State of California's BBS exam on Saturday, December 19th. For the next nine days I will be in a hyper-focused state of over preparing( if I pass) or inadequately preparing( if I don't).

I thought that I would share some goodies with you during my absence, one goody for each day I am gone.













1. My Christmas tree.
Be sure to notice the "Lily" ornaments( thank you Preppy Princess for telling me about the Westie ornaments from Saks) and all the Fleur de Lys ornaments that my very fabulous and generous friend Pamela of Francophilia gave me.

2. A Lily holiday photo.

3. My favorite Christmas movies: Love Actually, The Bishops Wife, and Heat Miser.

4. My favorite David Sedaris holiday story of all time.


5. I thought I would remind you all for the 105th time that when I was little I decorated Bob Newhart's Christmas tree. Maybe in 2010 I will bring out another brush with greatness story as this one is getting a little old. However it seemed timely, with the holidays and all. Here is a little Bob Newhart Christmas present for you.

6. My best secret for upping the wow factor for holiday makeup:
Mix your foundation with a dab of MAC's Strobe Cream. Then stipple on over your foundation some MAC vanilla pigment. If I am wanting to look like I might be a sparkley vampire from the Twilight set I add a little of MAC's Belightful Irridescent Pressed Powder.

False lashes always make things more festive unless you glue your eyelids shut. I like MAC's or Shu Umera's lashes best. I always have the sales gal cut the lashes for me, so they aren't too long for my little eyes and trail off onto my face like a confused caterpillar.

7. An easy holiday recipe that involves canned cranberries( this is me trying to be supportive of the Canned Cranberry Eaters of America©) . I got the delicious and festive recipe of Cranberry baked brie from here.
1 (16-ounce) round Brie
1 (16-ounce) can whole-berry cranberry sauce
1/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
2 tablespoons spiced rum
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 cup chopped pecans, toasted

Trim rind from top of Brie, leaving a 1/3-inch border on top. Place Brie on a baking sheet.Stir together cranberry sauce and next 3 ingredients; spread mixture evenly over top of Brie. Sprinkle evenly with pecans.
Bake Brie at 500° for 5 minutes. Serve with crackers, French bread and/or sliced fruit. Goes well with champagne or a nice white wine( preferable not from a box as canned cranberries and wine in a box are just taking the convenience food thing a bit too far).

No matter if I pass or fail I will post immediately after I am done with the test on the 19th. Please wish me luck and send good thoughts on my test date. I need all the good thoughts you can send. Can't wait to see you as that will mean this is all behind me. Besides that I will miss you!

The Wizard of Pilgrim pumps

See those shoes, the one in the picture, those are the gorgeous and iconic Roger Vivier Pilgrim pump with silver buckles shoes that Catherine Deneuve wore in Belle du Jour. Those shoes, for years, have been on my "someday" list. I just want one pair of Roger Vivier shoes to call my own. And yes I know full well that slipping on one of the shoes that Catherine Deneuve wore will not turn me into her. Having these shoes will not allow me to speak French with a perfect Parisian accent. I will not have long blond hair, an air of cool goddessy beauty, and I will still have days when I wear squirrel pajamas all day and think beer and pizza seems like a good idea( something I am sure Catherine has NEVER done). Knowing that has not stopped me from wanting these beauties.

My years of longing have inspired some settling. I have had a pair of Banana Republic copies. I once had a pair of suede shoes that had a similar pilgrim/pirate vibe that I wore to death and that I miss often. What held me back from owning a pair of Roger Vivier shoes? Simple, they are expensive. $585 for flats expensive.

There is a reason Roger's shoes are so expensive. Roger Vivier was a French fashion designer who specialized in shoes. He was the very first to create a stiletto heel. For many years he was the shoe designer for Givenchy. His designs and construction were so exceptional that he was considered the "Fragonard of the shoe" and "the Fabergé of Footwear. The Fragonard and Faberge of anything never comes cheap. Really, the Faberge of falafel has to be double the cost of your ordinary falafel.

Vivier's shoes have been worn by Ava Gardner, Gloria Guinness,The Beatles and most recently Suri Cruise( the only child lucky enough to have custom made Roger Viver pilgrim flats). Queen Elizabeth II wore Roger Vivier shoes for her coronation.

And now his shoes are being worn by me. Yep, those babies are MINE. MINE, all mine!!!!
How, you ask? After a lovely champagne luncheon with Une femme de une certain age, who had taken me out to lunch to celebrate passing my first test, I did a little shopping. I went into Neiman Marcus. I looked at handbags on sale and found nothing I loved. Then I looked for an ornament for our Christmas tree and found nothing but a $150 candle that I put down as quickly as I read the price. I was about to leave the store and then I though, hmmm....maybe I will stop by the shoe department.

I took a walk through the department I saw some over processed blond starlet shopping for shoes who was seemingly seeking anonymity behind big sunglasses and was simultaneously exposed in a big way in a tee shirt that was falling off one shoulder to reveal her bralessness. One would think I would have kept my eyes on her wardrobe malfunction in the making but truth be told I could not take my eyes off her over-fried, dried and extra-crunchy blond hair. I wanted to interrupt her shoe shopping and take her over to the Frederik Fekkai counter and suggest that she buy gallons of his Protein RX Reparative Treatment Mask and that she should keep this stuff on her head 23 hours a day and maybe after a month or two the stuff on top of her head would once again look like human hair and not some kind of mutant hay meant for kindling forest fires.

Still considering my intervention and thinking about adding a trip to the lingerie department to introduce the shoe seeking starlet to a brazier, I strolled over to the sale section after admiring all the shoes that cost more than my car payment and that is when I saw it. There it was in a ten medium sitting on the sales rack. I picked it up and examined it, disbelieving my eyes. I looked for a flaw or perhaps it was a mistake and they weren't really on sale. But there was nothing wrong and they really were on sale. I grabbed a sales association and insisted on seeing the mate of this beauty. As she went off to find my shoe I went into a kind of shock that they could be mine. I silently said to myself, "Today is the day they come home with me. Today could be the day when my Roger Vivier dream comes true."

When I got them on my feet I quit thinking and I started feeling. The feeling was a transcendent/ trans-verbal experience. It is difficult to put into the words the feeling of having the kind of shoes that Wicked Witches of all four corners would kill for. The sales associate interrupted my moment, "How do they feel?" She asked. I heard in her tone a subtext of sales seeking. What she really was asking was, "Are you buying these shoes?"
I ignored her subtext and answered her,"They feel like they are coming home with me."
I pressed my Neiman's card into her hand. I feared if I didn't seal the deal quickly something would happen and the price would go up and the shoes would have to stay in the store and I would have to leave without them or maybe flying monkeys would drop me in a poppy field and I would wake up next to a brainless scarecrow, a heartless tin man and a fraidy-cat feline.
Happily the sales associate returned with my shoes in a bag and my receipt to sign. I signed the receipt with enormous enthusiasm, it was as if my signature was saying "Yes!"

I am not sure how I got so lucky to get my Roger Vivier pilgrim flats for such a fantastic price. I am not sure how someday became today. Perhaps it was my fantasy of doing a well meaning mitzvah for the starlet with the hair of straw that opened the door to my miracle moment in the shoe department at Neiman Marcus. I think it is more likely that I benefited from the amazing shopping mojo of Une Femme who is a kind of Glinda the Good Witch when it comes to shopping( really, I have the best luck when shopping with her or even shopping after I see her. I have found two pairs of long longed for shoes at incredible prices after lunching with ). Whatever the reason, the shoes are mine. And in case any Wicked Witches are reading this, my guard dog is watching them so don't try anything funny---she'll drop a doghouse on you.

Accentuate the positive

I am in a mood and I only wish it was PMS inspired. It is so bad I can barely take it so I am not going to subject you to it. This is the kind of mood that Igor is meant for. This is the kind of moaning and winging that one ought to get $200 an hour to tolerate. So, I will try to accentuate the positive just out of kindness, consideration and perhaps more importantly that I don't think I could stand to write out in black and white all that it is getting to me. Instead I will, for the benefit of both of us, once again try to see the good.


1. " An Education". Just see it. It is fantastic. The clothes, the music, the actress, and there is Latin and Paris and Oxford. When He-weasel and I saw it he said, "It was like the movie was custom made for you."


2. A box filled with cosmetics from Neiman Marcus is on its way to me. I better get that box and the cosmetics better make me more beautiful. I am feeling really shlumpadinka lately. Doing my hair, makeup and dressing to meet Deja Pseu for lunch ought to help me feel less shlumpy. There is however the chance that seeing all the glamazons in Beverly Hills and seeing Deja looking lovely, as always, that I will feel even more of a hot mess in need of an extreme make over.

3. Lily's new collar is GORGEOUS. She is blinged out. All of the other dogs will be deeply and madly envious. I am a petty person who lives to make other pets wish I was their mother. Mwah-ha-haaaaaa!

4. I am getting my carpet cleaned tomorrow. I have a fantasy that by doing this we will move. If we improve the place in any way then we will be evicted. Developmental theorists call this magical thinking. Igor will just laugh when he hears my logic.

Speaking of magical thinking, did you read Joan Didion's memoir, The Year of Magical Thinking about the year of her husband's death? A beautiful book. I remember reading it in my bed in Lake Bluff. It was snowing and I had just made my favorite Bean/Italian sausage/Broccoli Rabe soup. Inkey was lying on my stomach and napping as I read and cried. Note to He-weasel: You are never-ever-ever allowed to die.

5. I got my JCrew order and I am just Luke warm about the Christiane ballet flats. For that price I want love. I don't feel love. However, I do love Jcrew's colour Fawn. I am in love with Fawn. Watch me fawn over it. I got this v-neck sweater in the gorgeous colour. I wasn't sure how it would look on me. I like the colour so much that I don't even care how it looks on me. I MUST have more. I quickly ordered this cardigan in this beautiful Bambi beige. And if Santa is reading this blog post I would love this bag in reindeer brown(i.e. Fawn).

6. I found a new fashion blog that I am addicted to and it is called Head to Toe with Heidi. She too shops Jcrew almost exclusively and we are similar height and ages. Heidi's blog reminds me a lot of my friend Leah's "Style for the Stay at Home Mom" that is sadly no more and that I miss very much. Heidi really knows how to style a Jcrew outfit. I am not quite as creative as she is and so I find her an inspiration.

7. The brilliant blogger, Completely Alienne, shared with me Morrissey's interview. It is so great to hear him talk, sing or recite the phone book. At 50 Morrissey is still as sexy as he ever was. Listen for yourself.

8. I am going to see The Fantastic Mr. Fox. I can't wait!!!!!!! There is a weasel in this film played by Wes Anderson. That Wes chose to play a weasel makes me think that Wes is a weasel/Belette appreciator. Love him more than I did before.

9. I just got my Crockpot out of storage and even though I have never managed to make anything in it that tastes good( I am convinced that Crockpots are an evil device that were created to suck the flavor our of perfectly good ingredients) I decided to try again. My first try was as disapointing as ever. I made Sandra Lee's Mango BBQ chicken from her book Sandra-Lee Semi-Homemade Slow Cooker Recipes and it tasted like a hot bowl of nothing. I added a tablespoon of hot red peppers and there was still no flavor. Oh, I guess this is not a good thing. Moving on.

10. I have been anti-magazine for a long time. Fashion and beauty magazines always leave me wanting stuff, hating the stuff I have and feeling fat and ugly. I don't need to pay money for that, I can call my mother for free. But, for some strange reason, after reading Christopher Buckley's FANTASTIC book, that I cannot recommend enough, I decided to subscribe to Vanity Fair again. I feel strangely excited about having a magazine on its way to me.

The other strange side effect of reading Buckley's book is that it made me want to read William F. Buckley Jr.'s biography on Reagan. When I read it I will put Clinton or Kennedy dustjacket on it so no one know what I am reading. I fear this my desire to read a biography about Reagan is a sign of some kind of brain disorder. I am going to be watching for other symptoms, and please email He-weasel and strongly suggest that he him take me in for an MRI if I start talking about buying Marie Osmond dolls, listening to Kenny G cds, and wearing Christmas sweaters.

I am off to Igor's. Igor will not hear about anything in this post. He will instead hear moaning, complaining, grieving and I might even mess up my eye makeup. Must remember to use waterproof mascara.

Update: Dear Santa, friends and family: Just FYI, Jcrew is offering 25% off all online orders until Sunday with the code GIFTS. Did you hear that Santa Weasel?

Scrappydoo

When Lily's fur has gotten a little long He-weasel and I call her Scrappydoo. To us she is at her cutest and most alluring when her appearance inspires that nickname. So, I was more than a little flattered that a bevy of beautiful bloggers think I am scrappy. The Daily Conneseur, Tale Peddler and Little Ms. J all awarded me the Honest Scrap award and I couldn't be happier.
As part of my duties of being Ms. Scrappydoo December 1, 2009 is that I have to share ten honest things about myself and then pass this lovely award on to ten other bloggers who bring honesty and scrappiness to the blogosphere.

Here I go:

1. I have watched Wonder Boys well over 25 times this year. It for sure is my most watched movie of 2009. I am not at all sure why I seem to be in a repetition compulsion with this film other than I may be trying to will for myself the happy ending that Micheal Douglas has in this film. A gorgeous house in the country, a baby, a teaching job in a writing department, and writing a book that will win a Pen Award. I think I have watched it so much that I could recite it on demand. I could rent myself out at Blockbuster.

2. Botox makes me very happy---jump up and down and stare at my forehead in amazement kind of happy. Really, I am a person who likes to see results and nothing gives me instant and effortless results like Botox. The wrinkles and lines are there and then they are not. I love you, Botox. Botox, I love you so much I would marry you---that is if California allowed polygamy. I would be Mrs. La Belette Rouge Weasel-Botox. That is a lot to fit on a monogram.

3. I am terrified I will not pass my MFT exam. I feel like I haven't studied enough and that when I go into the test center I will choke, panic and fail. In an attempt to counter my failure fantasy I think of a nincompoop who was in my graduate school class and who passed this test---if he can pass I can pass. December 19th is my test date. Wish me luck.
4. Something about being with my mother for longer than an hour turns off my heart. For 24-48 hours after seeing her I feel nothing for nobody. Really. Nothing. I am like Spock. It is as if being with her gives me a heartectomy. I can't even feel love for He-weasel. It is always scary when it happens. Happily, my heart always comes back---at least so far it has.

5. In the last couple of weeks several people have, without provocation, named my style as "Classic with a twist" or "Classic with a sense of humour". Every time it happens I felt an enormous sense of joy. The joy went way beyond what one would expect to feel at someone naming your style. I guess that the real happiness comes from the feeling of being seen. I so often feel invisible that when people in my life actually see me I feel happily surprised.

6. I am sure that one day I will meet Bill Clinton. I am not sure how, why, when or where. But, I am sure it will happen.

7. Grey hair and lines that require Botox are not the most annoying parts of aging. I am finding that the bizarre skin tabs that I am growing are. Anyone have any suggestions on how I can get rid of these dermal irregularities that seem to have invaded the back of my knees at the same speed that mini-malls invaded the streets of L.A.?

8. I judge people harshly who eat cranberries in a can. I place cranberry jelly eaters in the same category as eaters of Miracle Whip and that it is not a good category. It is He-weasel's unpardonable sin that he will not eat cranberries unless they come in a can and have lines on them. I try to shame him into eating less processed cranberries, so far nothing has worked.

9. I am terrified of snakes yet this is my favorite poem.

10. I hate surprises and He-weasel LOVES surprises. This, as you can imagine, creates some conflict. It just came to me the other night when I was watching Mad Men why I hate surprises as I do. Don was talking to his daughter about the new baby. They had both thought that the baby was going to be a girl. Don says, "Not all surprises are bad." As soon as I heard him say it I realized that I believed just the opposite. The overt message I got from my family is that the unexpected is always bad.

The ten Scrappytastic bloggers I am sharing this award with are:

1. Jeniffer at Writing to Survive who writes a blog that is the kind of writing I would pay money for. If only I were an agent or a publisher.

2. Utah Savage who is writing a novel that I cannot wait to read and who writes a blog thats honesty inspires and emboldens me.

3. Maggie May of "Flux Capacitor" who is the kind of blogger that this award was invented for.

4. Kayleigh the Brave of Fashionably Later. She is undoubtedly the bravest and most courageous blogger I have the privilege to know. Your courage, dear you, inspires me.

5. Stephanie Baffone who is my soul sister in so many ways. We are both childless not by choice, writers and therapists who blog. What are the odds?

6. Indigo Alison whose honesty inspires me to dare to say it like it is. She writes with unflinching honesty about her work, her daughters, her relationship and desires---and she is an amazing photographer.

7. Sal of Already Pretty who writes absolutely honestly about her relationship with her body and wardrobe.

8. Cheryl de los Reyes Cruz I love reading about her inner and outer life, creative process and her life in San Francisco.

9. David at SparkleMirrorwho is both scrappy and sparkly.

10. Hammie at Hammiesblog writes honestly about her life as a mother of children with autism. To be honest, that is not a subject that I would usually be interested in but she writes so honestly that she got me hooked.

Unsteady

He-weasel, Lily and I went for coffee yesterday morning. Because of Lily's dog status we have to drink our coffee outside of Peet's. The three of us sat in a silent and meditative reverie on the patio; we, respectively, drank our coffees, ate our treats, enjoyed the fall like weather, sniffed at unfamiliar scents, groomed and people watched the parade of Peet seeking passersbys.

A little girl, just finding her feet, toddled towards Lily in purple sparkly shoes that seemed to be bought as a celebratory gesture and to shine a bright purple light on the little girl's ambulatory accomplishment. The girl ambitiously attempted to walk, point and name the animal in her view all at the same time."Dotty", she exclaimed, as if she was a mini-Adam whose job it was to name the animals into creation. He-weasel, in the name of accommodation, got up and walked Lily towards the toddling toddler who was incredibly tipsy and posed Lily like an expert at the Westminster dog show, so the child could pet Lily without taking too many more steps. Every action he took was intended to prevent the wobbling weeble from taking a spill that would lead to tears and doubt about her ability to walk on her own. Secondly, he saw her enthusiasm for our "Dotty" and he seemed intent on bringing the purple-shoed girl even greater joy by making sure that she could pet the "Furry Dotty".

I sat back and sipped my latte and watched the interaction between He-weasel and the little girl. As I did, Lily and the little girl's mother went fuzzy and disappeared from my focus. Words came to mind against my will, "He-weasel would have been such an amazing father." Saying those words to myself was like taking a scab off a wound or toothpaste out of the tube, I knew that I couldn't undo it and that I would be left with a big mess that hurts.

The moment I fell in love with He-weasel was when I saw him talking to some children that had been brought to a very-adult birthday party by the kind of parents who bring their kids to an R-rated movie at midnight, that we had both attended( there was a tequila fountain and a pin the tail on a playboy bunny game). He-weasel tried to entertain the kids and amuse them, even as other guests, rolled their eyes and huffed at how the kids presence might hinder with their plans to enjoy complete debauchery and perhaps achieve previously unprecedented liver damage. I sat back and sipped a Jack and Coke and fell in love with the him as I watched.

I am sure it is because of the month I've had and because on Thursday I got the flu and that I am feeling tired and drained and depleted and because the stupid holidays are around the corner and the holidays always make it worse, but I got hit hard by the infertility grief---slammed is likely the best word---I got slammed by my grief. We went shopping and then to lunch and I started to melt. Everything he said made me think of home and of the holidays and babies and Lake Bluff and I just wanted to go home and I wanted to cry until somebody fixed this mess. I went to my old standard that I always go to when I get to this place, "It's not fair."

When I got home I thought about calling Igor only today I am feeling tired of telling him the same stuff over and over. I knew there was nothing he could do about it in a 15 minute phone call so I decided to Google "depression after infertility". I don't know what I was hoping to find. Perhaps I was hoping to feel a little less alone and for some evidence that my lingering grief was normal. After a few unsatisfactory returns I found the article "A Roadmap for Life Without Children" by Shelagh Little and one paragraph into the piece I was sobbing in recognition. Shelagh knew my pain. He-weasel saw my crying and he asked "what are you reading?" But he asked it in a way that was loaded with the tone of "what masochistic act are you committing against your self?" I am sure he thought I was visiting the What to expect when you're expecting web site.
"Nothing" I lied.
"You are not reading nothing."
"J Crew's web site."
"J Crew is making you cry?" he asked in a tone of appropriate disbelief.
"Uh-huh", I sniffed.
He-weasel weaseled into my personal space to see what I was actually reading.
"It's really good", I explained as he looked on to see words instead of cashmere cardigans.
"Then why is it making you cry?
"Because it's true. Because this is how I feel."
I made the mistake of reading the article aloud to him and the article so hit home that I punctuated each paragraph with long crying breaks.

As puffy as my eyes are I am not sorry I read the article. I am sorry I didn't read it earlier, it is the best article on life after infertility I have ever read and I feel like it describes exactly how I feel, Shelagh Little writes: "infertility is...like a low-level, lifelong bio-psychosocial syndrome. My physical inability to produce children has emotional and social consequences that I struggle with, at least to some extent, every day." I so related I Googled the author's name in hopes that she had a book or a blog or something so I could read more, sadly I found nothing.

I got up from reading the article, even more tired and depleted and a bit woozy. I felt a bit dizzy and I toddled towards the kitchen. My inability to walk a straight line got He-weasel's attention. He rushed towards me and put his arms around me in an attempt to steady me and stop me from falling.

Monthus horribilis (That's Latin for this month has sucked)

I am not going to minimize or put a good spin on it, things have sucked lately( to name a few: Lily and the raisins; The near Boston move that didn't come through; The case of the stolen penny loafers; Lily and her"False Pregnancy"). While I don't have swine flu or cholera, I do have a dog with a hysterical illness that Freud might have found compelling enough to have made him the first psychiatrist to let dogs on the couch. I am not quite sure how I am managing to survive this time and yet I am. Let me share with you the small pleasures that help me endure this time that even Job might have found unmanageable.

1. Drinking Peet's Eggnog lattes.
Delicious and MUCH better than Starbuck's Eggnog lattes. There are days when the promise of a Peet's Egg nog Latte is enough to get me through eight more hours of living in Valencia. I usually only allow myself one a week but during this time if I need three a week to survive I will not begrudge myself this seasonal serotonin boosting beverage.

2.Watching Craig Ferguson
He makes me laugh and I need all the laughs I can get. I started out with his late night show. I fell for him immediately. He is Scottish. He is filled with self-loathing. He has been known to wear a kilt. He is the only late night talk show host who employs puppets in a way that doesn't have me grabbing for the remote and he has proudly introduced the awkward pause into late night. I am enjoying Craig so much that I have ordered Craig Ferguson: A Wee Bit o' Revolution and American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot.

3. The promise of a good read that could crush my father complex.
I have wanted, for a long time, to read Christopher Buckley's memoir, " Losing Mum and Pup: A Memoir" I wanted to read it not because I am a big fan of Christopher Buckley. In fact there is something about Christopher and his personal life that has kept me away from his well reviewed books. But, I have always had a strange affection for William Buckley Jr. My attraction to him is complex and can at times be a bit ego-dystonic. Every week of my childhood I remember my father, depending on how many cocktails he had before or during, watching or sleeping through Firing Line. I sat and watched because we had only one TV and I would hope that my father would go to bed and I could watch the Brady Bunch, Love Boat or Charlie's Angels instead.

After sometime I actually started to enjoy Firing Line( it was about the same time that I developed an age inappropriate crush on Phil Donahue). Even at a young age I was compelled by Buckley Jr. I grew up in a Democratic family and nothing that Buckley ever said convinced me to go to the dark side( the right side). But I was endlessly astounded by his ability to be totally wrong and yet still win the argument---his ability to do that never ceased to amaze me.

Something about him fit perfectly with my father complex. William Buckley Jr. was smart, a brilliant debater and had the kind of mind and wit that could leave me feeling like a complete idiot, "ah, hello, daddy!" Over the years of my Jungian analysis I would often dream of William Buckley Jr. He would stand in as code for my brutalizing father complex/Super ego. This William Buckley Jr. figure in my head existed to tell me I was dumb, not enough, and completely inadequate. He was a somewhat exaggerated version of my father and I suppose that is why I am so looking forward to reading Christopher's memoir. I suspect that in getting an up close and personal look at Bill Buckley I will see that he is not the omniscient overlord that he has played in my psyche. He, I am sure, is a just a man with weaknesses, insecurities and plenty of flaws. Knowing that, I hope, will help to eliminate that last big of negative father complex that lives in my mind.

I bought Losing Mum and Pup and have it sitting on my bedside table. I am saving it for a special occasion. Just knowing it is there and that I can read it at anytime makes me feel better--- much like knowing there is a piece of coconut cream pie in my fridge and that at any moment I could eat that pie. Knowing about the pie is almost always better than eating the pie.

4. The low temperature in Valencia today is just 10 degrees above freezing!!!
It is cold enough in Valencia that I can wear sweaters and drink Port. Both of these small pleasures make me very happy.

5. Music that is more mood lifting than Morrissey.
Yo-Yo Ma playing the Prelude from Bach's cello Suite No.1


6. Beautiful shoes
Thanks to a gift card and a 20% off promotion, these gorgeous shoes are on their way to me. Note to thieves: We have installed a video camera and I requested signature only on these kitties, so you can't have them.

7. Knowing that in 1 1/2 weeks to 2 1/2 weeks my Lily will be back to her old self.

I guess this makes me a monkey's grandmother

It started Friday night, Lily was extremely fatigued and was eating less than usual. When we went to bed we found that Lily had decided to abandon her regular sleeping location and was instead burrowed in between He-weasel's pillow and mine and she was not alone, she had brought her two toy monkey's into bed with us and she was grooming them both---all night.

By Saturday Lily was in a self-made nest with her two monkeys and was in a vigilant state of watch for their safety. When Lily wasn't in the nest grooming or guarding her preemie-primates she was walking around the house disoriented, depressed, anxious and whining. It was as if she was looking for something. It was as if she had lost something. As I watched her my anxiety grew. I couldn't stop watching her. But something in my gut told me she wasn't sick as she would eat, sleep, drink and wasn't vomiting and she had no temperature so I decided to hold off on a visit to the ER and would wait to see her vet on Monday.

When her symptoms were no better on Sunday I started to Google to search for explanation of her symptoms. It didn't take long to find them, it turns out that Lily has a classic case of Canine False Pregnancy Syndrome or pseudocyesis. Who knew such a thing exist? I certainly didn't. After researching pseudocyesis I learned that Lily's body and mind are convinced that she is pregnant even though she is not. The symptoms of a false pregnancy are:

• Nesting
• Whining,panting, and trembling
• Mothering inanimate objects
  
• Lactating (giving milk)
  
• Abdominal distension
  
• She can even appear to go into labor.
• Restlessness and lack of appetite.
  
• She might be slightly more aggressive or territorial than usual.
  
• Symptoms should subside in 2-3 weeks, or 48hrs after the birth would have occurred.
  
  

It is so hard to watch Lily go through this, and yes I know that she might not be going through this if we would have had her fixed (please today is not the day for helpful reminders about spaying as I have run out of Xanax and Igor is out of town and is only available by phone). The hardest part about this for me is other than just not wanting my baby to suffer in anyway is that I know the emotional pain she is in as I have been there. Every time I went through IVF I was sure I was pregnant. I would feather my nest. I would have symptoms. I would shop at Pottery Barn baby and pick out baby names.

As I see Lily search the house for her puppies that she knows that she has had and I hear her cry I can do nothing for her but love her. Lily's phantom pregnancy brings up so much for me, I know what Lily is going through. I went through it for years. And, like Lily I made a nest and brought in a baby that is not my real baby( her) to love and nurture and make up for the emptiness.

I have taken Lily to two doctors and both say she is fine and that there is nothing to do but ride this out. It will be another two weeks of these kinds of symptoms. Both vets refused to give Lily hormones or tranquilizers, they say she is fine. I hate to disagree with them but I can tell you for sure that she is not fine.

As hard as this is for Lily and for us I can tell you that it makes me more sure what an amazing mother Lily would be and this may be what pushes us over the edge into choosing to breed her. I know there are many people who think that is a horrible idea and think that no one should every breed a dog as there are so many in shelters but today is not the day for me to enter into that argument. I would ask you to please not share that with me today, I thank you in advance for understanding that I too am a hormonal mess and that no decisions are being made today. Today Lily and I are in her nest. She and the baby monkeys are sleeping and I am blowing off studying to watch her sleep and I am watching all four episodes of the History of Scotland on Youtube out of deference to Lily's family history. Yesterday I called He-weasel at work four times and Igor twice. He-weasel is trying hard to understand why this is so very hard for me and Igor understood immediately how it triggered all my grief about infertility.

Two to three more weeks of this and I should be a total hot mess as well as an expert on Scottish history and completely unprepared to take the MFT Clinical Vignette Exam. Today I am cooking chicken and rice for her babies and we will all be watching Braveheart and Monarch the Glenn and I will be indulging in a few wee Mc-Xanax's, which is an old Scottish compound used for treating anxiety when the Scottish clans had drunk up all the Scotch.