I am sure most of you are sitting around thinking, “What is going on with Kim’s uterus?”  Obviously, since a woman’s uterus is up for public discussion, this is a natural thought for you to be having.  As you know, Jennings and I have been struggling to have a baby for the nearly 5 years now.  We wanted to do this the natural, romp in the hay way, but that’s not an option for us now. We also can’t buy any eggs and IVF isn’t an option either.  So really, all that was left was adoption, which seems to have stalled out for a while now.

Well, last year, I had horrendous monthly “cycles” (that’s periods for you not of sensitive mindsets).  I won’t get into the disgusting details, but they were the worst experiences each month. After discovering that my uterus was the same size it was when I was 4 months pregnant and we lost our baby, my doctor decided I need to have two procedures.  Apparently, it never returned to normal size.  As we all know, I always have to be the odd ball.  This predicament was not atypical.  Anyway, my doctor had to perform a hysteroscopy and an ablation.  You can look them up if you want to know the details, but they were supposed to help reduce the severity of my periods each month and help shrink my uterus.  Then, I was told, “Now, that you’ve had these procedures, you can under no circumstances become pregnant.”   We’ll decide in a few months if/when we’ll schedule your hysterectomy.

Well, that was that.   It was basically a really emotional, terribly sad time for us.  Admitting that one dream you have had your entire life is now gone is devastating as fuck.  But you pack it up with the other disappointments in life and move forward.

As a result of these procedures, I was taking a low-dose, continual-dose progesterone birth control bill.  Thankfully, it did help my menstrual problems, but it had some side effects.  Oh, I have also been anemic for years, so I take an iron prescription that costs $68 a month, with insurance. With the procedure, the lesser periods and the iron pills my hemoglobin is now up to 12.5!  I have had it as low as 7.9, so everyone was really pleased.  I also have been able to up the hysterectomy off indefinitely, so there’s another plus.  No baby for you, but at least you don’t feel like aliens are shredding your giant uterus.  Meanwhile, the fertility gods will impregnate these fourteen year olds and these drug addicts, and other idiots who can’t take care of themselves much less a baby.

Poor Jennings has suffered greatly.  The primary side effect that I have dealt with is NO LIBIDO.  None.  Now, I am a liker of the sex. Seriously, when it’s consensual and loving, it’s the greatest!  Jennings is patient and loving and kind, so he didn’t put up too much complaint.  On top of that, I was also coming to terms with our infertility, so I was a handful.

Fast forward to today. I went to talk to my doctor, who I really like, and figure out what to do.  I will now be using an IUD.  The doctor says I am not menopausal yet, but when that happens, this will help with that as well.  The doctor was hilarious telling Jennings to watch out because I would be a handful now.  He was laughing and making funny faces like he was really cool picking on Jennings, who was on the phone.  So that’s the latest.

It has been like coming to terms with the death of someone you really love.

I decided to share this intimate store because men love to tell us what to do with our bodies, so I thought they were entitled to the full story.  I deleted the literally gory details, because I know they are quite sensitive so such matters.

And, remember, never ask a couple why they don’t have kids. Or if they want kids. Or whatever else you think is your business, because it’s not.


In January 1986, I was an 11th grader at Dreher High School.  I was a Library Aide for one of my class periods.  There weren’t televisions in every classroom or SmartBoards or computers.  We had a few TVs on AV carts that were borrowed by teachers.  On this day, there were only so many to go around.  One of the self-contained classes had come to the library to watch the Challenger lift off from Cape Canaveral in Florida on one of the televisions we did have in that area.

This was important in SC and in schools because we had home state hero, Ronald McNair and teacher, Christa McAuliffe on board. It wasn’t common to watch the lift offs, but occasionally we would in a science class.  The librarian, myself, the special education teacher and her aide and a handful of students from the self-contained classroom were all standing up watching the lift off.  For most people who watched the tragedy unfold, they remember the sight of that explosion and witnessing the deaths of the brave men and women on board.  While I do remember that, the moment I remember most about that day was when Helen, one of the students in that class of students who had come to the library excited to witness this event.  She was stricken.  As soon as it was clear that this was a fatal event, she let loose the most pained, heart-wrenching cry.  “NOOOOO!  THERE’S A TEACHER ON THAT SPACESHIP! NOOO! SHE CAN’T DIE!”  She just fell down and started crying and repeating this over and over.  She was utterly inconsolable.  I felt so sorry her, and her raw emotion and utter sadness touched every person in that room.

She was finally able to be led to the nurse, where her parents were called to come get her.  She missed several days afterward.  Apparently, she had to be sedated and kept that way for several days until she was able to come to terms with the tragedy.

Even today, 32 years later, that is the image that comes to me whenever the Challenger tragedy is discussed.  As a teacher, we take our students to the Challenger Center that we have here in my town.  The Challenger Center provides students with hands-on activities and experiences related to NASA and the space program.

True Confessions

I talk a lot, but I don’t always voice the things that are hurting me or causing me anxiety or stress.  I have always been the type of person who puts those hurts and indignities that I suffer in a neat little box in my brain and file it away, slowly building up a thick wall around it.  I can visual my brain as this endless file room full of various sized boxes depending on what needs to be filed away.  I don’t forget, I just harden myself to whatever has occurred.  It has probably made me more jaded and cranky that some folks, but I am better equipped to deal with difficult things if I can force myself to become objective.

I have had a worse life than some and a better life than most.  I have achieved nearly every goal I have set for myself.  College – check.  Grad school – check.  Work in a law firm – check.  Change careers and become a teacher – check. Fix my credit – check.  Find the love of my life – check.   Unfortunately, I have come upon the one goal I will never achieve.  You can call it a goal or a dream, a want or a desire, whatever label you put on it, I will never be able to get pregnant.  Being a mom is something I always wanted.  I always thought about “my kids” and what they’d be like and how it would be.  I may be come a mother, if adoption works out, but I will never know what it’s like to actually be pregnant.

My husband and I endured many miscarriages and finally got pregnant three years ago. I made it past the “danger zone” and told everyone the great news.  A week later, we found out that we had miscarried when we had a routine appointment.  It shredded my heart.  I wailed.  Even as I write this, my heart feels like it’s breaking again.  We went through the procedures you have to after an event like this, but I never really got over it  How do you?  You just put on the mask and move about your day.  I have always been good at masking things and eventually that box gets filed away, and I can move on. I have had other miscarriages since then, but no pregnancies that we ever though were going to be successful, no “this time it will work” moments.  My husband is amazing and understands me so well that even though I don’t want to talk about it and don’t, he knows.

This time last year we had an adoption in the works.  In March, she had the baby, invited us up to see her, hold her and name her, filling out the birth certificate.  We were to take her home on a Tuesday.  By the end of the day that Tuesday, she wasn’t returning calls and we learned that she had changed her mind.  Though I harbor no ill will or animosity towards this girl, it was just another thing to shred my unhealed heart.

Trying to become a mom has been the one failure or disappointment that I can’t get over or tuck away or not think about. I literally think about it every day.  “Oh, I will never wear maternity clothes” as I walk past them in Target.  “If everything had worked out, I would have a baby here this Christmas to buy gifts for.  I have a Christmas ornament I bought during that pregnancy that has never been taken out of the box.  I have a room full of things in my house that were supposed to be used to decorate a nursery.  It just chips away at you a little at a time.  You never know what will cause you to burst into tears.   I have always been considered strong and confident, but this one thing that thousands of women do every day, create a life, future and love it while it grows inside of you, I can’t do.

Now, my doctor tells me he doesn’t want me to get pregnant. I have other issues that will impede the process and possibly kill me if I do it.  No one wants to read about medical details, but I must have a procedure in a week that will prevent me from getting pregnant because it could literally kill me.  Then in May, when I should be planning my summer off and what I’ll be doing with my child, I will be getting a hysterectomy.  I am old. I am almost fifty. We have been trying for 5 years.  In the beginning, I thought we stood a chance.  I think that little spark of hope was my biggest enemy.  I let myself think this would happen.

Not only do I feel like a failure, but I feel like I a depriving my husband of the opportunity to be a dad.  He doesn’t agree and is so loving and supportive, and that makes me feel bad because I don’t feel like I deserve that.  If he hadn’t married someone so old, he’d be able to be a father.  I waited until I was older to get married and have kids.  I wanted to be married and then have a child. I grew up with a grandmother and no mom or dad around.  I didn’t want to repeat that cycle.  I also didn’t meet anyone I wanted to marry.  I never wanted to get married just because other people thought I should.  I wanted to wait for “the one”, and I did.  That I do not regret at all.  He says, he had to marry me, I am his soul mate.  I know he’s mine, too, but that I can’t give him a child breaks my heart even more.

At this point, my heart is a tattered mess.   I don’t want to see a therapist, but I probably will.  I do think that writing this all down is cathartic.  I also think that hopefully, with some actual closure and the spark of hope is gone, I will be able to pack up the box and tuck it far away in my head.  I know that my situation isn’t unique or special, and I am holding out hope that we will be able to adopt, but that, too, must have a deadline. I can’t go on forever hoping that it will happen.

I am not writing this for pity or whatever you want to call it.  Just keep this story in mind when you so freely ask women “Don’t you want to get married?”  “Don’t you want kids?”   First of all, it’s none of your business. Second of all, it could be a subject that brings an onslaught of emotions and pain.

June 4, 1987, I had it ALL planned out, no vision boards necessary. The next ten years were all laid out in my head.  I would go to the College of Charleston, live with my best friend, become a child psychologist, find Mr. Right, get married, have 3 kids (all boys) and live happily ever after.  HAHAHA!  Oh, how much I knew at 18.  I did go to C of C and live with Amy Jo.  That’s about as far as I got in my 10-year plan.  During my Freshman year, I met and fell in love with who thought was my Mr. Right.  We were together for 4 years, then broke up the month I graduated.  During my Sophomore year, I decided I didn’t want to be a child psychologist.  I had always thought about teaching and law school.  So, obviously, the next step was to obtain a very useful English degree.  While I was doing that, I was also taking education classes so I could teach when I graduated, until I went to law school.  Changing my major and my overly active social life, plus working three jobs screwed up my credit hours, I ended up getting to the end of my financial aid eligibility and not finishing my student teaching.  I graduated.  I moved home.  I got a job in a law firm.  I got my paralegal certificate.

All that time, I was living with my grandmother.  Ultimately, we would live together until her death.  She could not financially take care of herself when she got too old to work, so I took over the bills.  I was glad to do it.  She had worked hard her entire life.  She deserved some time to lounge around and a little pocket money from her Social Security check.

Fast forward 20 years from my high school graduation.  My grandma passes away.  She had been ill and chose to no longer take her medications.  The event in my life that I am most proud of is allowing her the dignity of her death. She never wanted to be in a hospital, hooked up to machines.  My entire life she had always told us she wanted to die at home.  That was my last gift to her.  She died in her bed surrounded by her family and friends.  I will never regret that decision.

So, I still hadn’t found Mr. Right, had three sons but I was living pretty happily, aside from the normal grief that comes with life and death.  Ultimately, I did find and marry Mr. Right.  Unfortunately, it was rather late in life and I don’t know that we will have 1 child, much less three.  I can take some solace in knowing that I have had the joy of impacting the lives of hundreds of children.

Now, 30 years later, almost to the day, my senior class is celebrating and preparing for our reunion.  I am seeing lots of family and friends graduate or promote from kindergarten, middle school, high school and college.  I think about all of those high school and college graduates and their “plans”.  I can only offer advice that at 18 or 22 you’re probably not going to think is very realistic.

First, take chances.  Don’t sit and wait for anything to come to you.  It won’t.  Whether it’s a job opportunity or that special girl or guy, you have to go after it.  Time is not on your side.  In one blink, you are 30 then 40 then 30 again (haha).

Second, forgive.  Don’t hold grudges or hatred towards someone else, if you can avoid it.  It only makes you feel bad.  They usually don’t even know or care.  Forgiveness is more for you than for the other person.  It allows you to move on.

Third, don’t wait.  That’s similar to taking chances, but different.  Don’t wait for that ex-girlfriend to realize she wants you back.  Don’t wait until your 40 and then decide you want to go to law school, but realize you have too many adult responsibilities to justify another $100k for schooling.

Fourth, have fun!  There are so many amazing things you can do.  Travel alone, meet new people.  Take that class in class French cuisine or creative writing.  Plant flowers in the yard because you LIKE that, not because you want your yard to live up to the Joneses down the road.  Be silly.  It’s okay to laugh at yourself.  It’s pretty necessary actually to keep a sane mind

Fifth, let the people you love know it.  I have a friend whose parents never say they love each other or even tell this man or his sister that they love them.   I tell my husband multiple times a day that I love him.

Sixth, actions speak louder than words.  Sometimes idioms enter our culture because they are true.  Thought you may tell others you love them, SHOW them you love them. Clean up the cat barf because you know your wife doesn’t like to.  Call and make the dental appointment because you know your husband hates talking on the phone.  You can still be a snarky jackass and show kindness.  Just ask me, I do it every day.

Seventh, cut the people out who need to be cut out.  Sometimes, we have to “break up” with friends and even family because they are toxic to our lives.  We must watch out for ourselves sometimes.  It’s not easy, but sometimes it is necessary for your well-being.

Eighth, sometimes we don’t know everything.  Whether you’re new to a job or in a workplace, whether you are going through an illness or a divorce, SOMEONE has been there before and can give you reassurances, guidance and an empathic ear.

Ninth, step out of your comfort zone.  Try new things that scare you! Public speaking! Parachuting out of an airplane! Asking that person out! Getting out of your rut will invigorate you!

Tenth, finally, ignore all of this if you want, because ultimately, it’s your life to live and no one can judge you for your decisions and how you carve your path.  As long as your actions don’t inflict harm on others, trudge on.

I’m not writing this just for you nubile adults just graduating.  Sometimes we old folks need a reminder, too.

Adopting a Baby

My husband and I have  tried (happily) to get pregnant since we  were married in 2013.   We have had no success, most likely due to my age.  We decided that at the beginning of January 2017 we would start the process to adopt a baby.  On  New Year’s Eve, we met someone who has a step-daughter who is pregnant.  She is an 18 year old honor student who is in college and doing well.  She does not want children at this time, if ever.  After some discussions, the step-mom agreed to talk to the daughter some more about adoption, which is the option she was going with.  Thankfully, after meeting she agreed to allow us to adopt her baby!  I almost threw up I was so excited, and Jennings cried.  This is something we have wanted for so long and  never thought we’d have,  even with adoption as an option.  We have many friends who have adopted  children or who were adopted themselves.   I was able to get the perspective from different angles, and I still have more questions!

I come from a very small family, and never knew my father or his family.  Jennings comes from an extended family so  big we barely see everyone unless it’s a wedding or a funeral. We always want our baby to know that she or he is adopted and that we chose them for our small family.

The process is so different for everyone, and my husband gets sucked into to Google-land, so what we actually have to do gets confusing!  We finally meet with an attorney next week.  The baby is due on April 14th.  This is all going to be happening FAST.  Adoption is very expensive, so we have created a GoFundMe to help offset the legal, hospital and court fees/costs.  I have attached our story (in more detail) and our donation page.  If you are feeling philanthropic and wish to practice a random act of guidance, please consider helping us in our quest. Our Go Fund Me Page



We Are Adopting

Roof Repairs

If you’ve read my blog or know me, you know that my grandma raised me.  We had so many adventures.  She also taught me so many lessons. I might not have realized it at the time, but now, as I think back on them, I can find the lesson she maybe never intended, but I took away from the event anyway.  Some of these helped me develop my character and my personality.  Every single day I am more and more like her, which is ok with me.  One of my best traits is my tenacity.  I do not give up.  Once I set my sites on something, I usually get what I want either through hard work, diligence or a little fancy manipulation.  This story really happened and as annoyed as I was at the time, it has become one of my favorite memories of our time together.  I would do anything to get roped into one of her plans again.


“Kim!” my grandma called from the living room.

I got up from my comfy spot on the bed where I was reading a book and went to the living room.  Why didn’t I just yell, “What?”  from the bedroom?  Because you NEVER yelled what.  You always went to her.  It was a “rule” that was instilled from the minute you started communicating in my family.  After 30 years of living with her, I knew the drill.

“Yes, ma’am?” I said.

“Sit down.  I have an idea for a project for us,” she said.  Two things that are important about this statement.  The first thing: anytime she had a project it rarely worked out, which no one really pointed out unless she did, and usually the end-result was more humorous than devastating.  The second thing: “us” meant I would do all of the actual work while she oversaw the operation.

I rolled my eyes and plopped down on the sofa.  “Let’s hear it”.

“You know that garage in the backyard?” she asked.  Do I know the garage?  We have lived here since I was ten.  The garage has never held a vehicle since we moved in during the Spring of 1979.   My great uncle, her brother, used it as a woodworking shop when he lived with us.  Since then, it has basically become the catchall for anything not of value or necessary for yard work.  We have always called it the garage, but really, it’s more of a shed, and it’s completely dilapidated.

“You mean the shed that has been in the backyard my entire life?  The one that houses the lawn mower that I used to mow our yard? That “garage”?’

“Don’t be a smartass. Yes, that GARAGE.  Anyway, you know there are a few holes in the roof.  I was thinking we could get one of those extra-large blue tarps from the hardware store and spread it over the top, then secure it with that heavy-duty stapler. What do you think?”

“I don’t really want to spend all day securing a tarp to the roof of that building that is falling down anyway.” I replied.

“Oh, it should only take about 15 minutes to get up on the ladder and spread it out then we can go grab some lunch.”  She thought she could bribe me.  I would eventually agree, not for the food, but because she would pout the rest of the weekend and tell our other family and friends that “Kim refused to help me”.  No one would believe her, of course, but this was just easier.  I had to get a few jabs in first, because as anyone who knows me can attest, I don’t know when to shut my damned mouth.  Luckily, she was in a good mood.

“Oh, just 15, huh? Like the half hour it would take for me dig up every yucca plant in our yard and replant them under the windows for a – what did you call it? – “natural security system”.  Or like the hour it was going to take you and Aunt Mel to prop our heavy ass iron and porcelain sink up on three thin pieces of plywood, AFTER you had destroyed the cabinet tearing it out.  That kind of 15 minutes?”

She cackled her 61-year-old woman’s smoker’s laugh and told me to forget that, she was SURE this wouldn’t take long.

She gets up with her cigarette case and the cordless phone, as I glance at the clock: 12:25 p.m. We walk through the length of the house to the backyard where we stand and appraise the “garage”.

“Ok, there is a pretty big tarp in the garage.  I’ll grab that while you set up the ladder,” she ordered, with a cigarette dangling from her lip.

I rolled my eyes and trudged into the shed. I grabbed the ladder and set it up at the front of the shed.  Gramma came out with the tarp, and, after I had climbed up the ladder, she handed it up to me.  “Ok, just unfurl it like you do a bed sheet.”

After several attempts of me flailing my arms around with this heavy tarp, Gramma starts to “supervise”. “C’mon,” she says in her Indiana twang, “quit screwing around up there!”

“First, this is a heavy plastic sharp, not a thin cotton sheet. Second, you can come up here and do it while I watch, if you’d rather!”  I finally get the tarp spread enough to then move the ladder and grab the tarp from the side and sort of shimmy it down.  Eventually the tarp is what can sort of be considered “flat”.  It covers maybe 1/3 of the roof.  Also, at least 20 minutes has passed.  “Ok, that’s done, and it’s been 20 minutes,” I attempt to get out of it.

“Well, we’re just going to have to go to the hardware store and get a larger one.  I was trying to save us some time,” she said.  Here we go I thought.  The rest of the day is shot.

“Ok, but we are picking up lunch while we’re out.  This is going to be an endeavor, I can see that now,” I was sitting my foot down now.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”

After we have grabbed a quick sandwich and some fries, and picked up a larger tarp, we go home and make our second attempt. It’s now 1:57.

“Ok, this should be easier because the tarp is new and slick,” she offers as what I suppose is encouragement.

As, I climb up the ladder and repeat the last attempt with the same futility, she stands on the ground laughing and smoking, giving me directions, because of course if she was just a little younger and not on a blood thinner, she would gladly get up there and do it herself.

Once again, the tarp isn’t long enough to suit her.  It’s 2:27. My thirty minutes of effort is not up to par. So, covered in sweat, dirty and itchy from all the pine straw and other crud on the roof, I trek back to Hiller Hardware for a third tarp.  I buy the biggest size they make.  It’s huge.  I am certain we could use it to tarp our entire house and have some extra.

As I walk in, she jerks up from the sofa, where she has been…NAPPING! “Ooooh, I see.  I am out running around in the South Carolina, June heat with your fifteen-minute project and you’re here in the AC napping!”

“Quit yer bitchin’.  I’m old.” Well, how can I argue with that?

So, I stomp out to the back yard with her trailing behind me lighting her cigarette as we go.  “If this doesn’t work, we just have to give up, Gramma.”

“Ok, Ok, well let’s try this one.”  It’s almost four in the afternoon at this point. I climb up the ladder and start the now-familiar process again.  Having done it twice, I begrudgingly admit to her that it’s a little easier now.  “See! I know we could do it!”

“We, huh?”

Heh heh heh (smoker’s cough again)

FINALLY! I have the tarp spread out on top of the shed. “OK, here is the stapler.” I make the first attempt to staple the tarp down.  The staple goes completely through the dry rotted wood.

“Gramma, this roof is like a sponge.  There’s no way to staple it!”

“Just try it a few other places.” So of course, I do, and of course it doesn’t work.  “Ok, I have an idea.”

“Oh hell.  An idea is what has had me stuck on this ladder for four hours today!”

“Just listen. Just listen.”

I roll my eyes as she continues, signature, generic brand Ultra Light cigarette waving in her hand as she gesticulates her plan. “Let’s grab a few cinder blocks and just toss them up there to hold it down.  If we don’t secure it, the damned thing’s just gonna fly off, and all of our (OUR!?) hard work will have been for nothing.  So just come down here and grab one and toss it over.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘just toss’ a block of cement, huh?  Are you insane?  I am calling your doctors Monday morning, and we’re getting a CT scan.  You’ve lost it now.”

“Quit being rude.  Take this.”  She fumbles to hand me the cement block and manipulate her cigarette.

I take the cement block and “toss” it as best I can.  It sort of tumbles across the roof before it crashes through the dry rotted roof and drags the entire tarp with it through the hole.  At this point, we both just lose it. We are laughing so hard at this complete failure of her plan.

When we finally get ourselves together, I say. “I am NOT doing that again. It doesn’t work.”

As we are cleaning up, she says, “Ok, we can try again next weekend.”



New Domain Name

So, I am back on WordPress.  I have been neglecting my blog and my writing, so my husband bought me a domain name for christmas.  www.booknurd.com.  This is the website, so you probably figured that out.  I want to expand the site to include different areas, but for the time being it will just be a blog.


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