Wednesday was like a Saturday in New Oxford, Pa.

My sister had yesterday off from work. And me...well I have every day off from work, until I finally become an official expatriate. But until then...It's watchin' tv and waitin'...but that isn't what this blog is about...

This blog is about how yesterday was like saturday in the fact that Lyns did NOT have to work, and thus, it was a day of glorious sisterly glee.

Our first idea was to go to DC...so that she could gaze upon those Ruby Slippers..and I could grab a magnet for my ever growing ever beloved collection...Because of all the times I've been to DC...I've no magnet to prove it. Which in a way is a lesson in don't take anything for granted...except it is just a silly fridge magnet...but you know what I mean...

I always knew I'd leave DC...but just didn't know when...Ok I still don't know when...but how about I just didn't think it would be so soon...

Ok..so, we got dressed, we put on make up...we serenaded the bischon. We goofed off. We ate breakfast...and then...it was a little too late to go to DC AND have time to make it back to this area by 5pm for a meeting she had to attend...No...not AA.

So, in lieu of DC...we decided on New Oxford, Pa. Which is a charming place to visit. It's motto is ","The Little Town with the Beautiful Circle," Don't believe me? Check the link. It's all true.

We pulled around the circle in the middle of town, and there like a caffieniated beacon of hope in a historic building stood the coffee house/welcome center.

Which is ingenious if you ask me. You get a cup of coffee, and welcomed all in one stop. Not to mention, they also sell pregnancy tshirts. Tshirts with quippy little sayings like "Don't drink the water" with a huge arrow pointed at your baby gut. Or my personal favorite "Mostly likely to kick" with a swirly arrow pointed to your beach ball belly...

The shop is quaint...with little iron table and chairs out doors...and my most favorite thing about the place? The old doors. The kind with the windows and low door handles....gorgeous!
Once inside, however, dangers lurk behind the pastry cabinet...in case you are wondering...they have a plethora of sugary confections just tempting you from behind the curved glass.

I ordered the fresh apple cake. Apples=healthy. Apple cake=healthy-in-theory.
The lady working shop, who was slightly rude with a chance of friendly, wiped her hands on her apron and said "Want it warmed or what?"
I said "No. Unwarmed is good."
She looked at me like I was running with scissors around the shop. As though my preference for cold  as opposed to warm cake was somehow some way against the Holy Catholic Church and all the Saints in Heaven.
I almost apologized. Only Almost though.

She made our coffees, and pulled out my cake from behind the glass and said "Well, is that everything for you two?" Apparently I'd really chafed her perseption of me...by not allowing her to micro my treat.
Lyns, pointing to the bottom shelf of the case, asks "Could I getta slice of the Coconut cake?"
She pursed her lips as she asked "Well, is this to-go??"
She didn't have to sigh a sigh of discontent..I could hear it in her tone.
I said "No. It's to-stay."

She plunked down our pastries, we paid, and headed over to the sofa area for munches.
Note...Even though it is NORTH of the Mason-Dixon, Coffee Co.'s coconut cake tastes like someone's southern meemaw made it in her old fashion kitchen, with her  good old fashion applicances with good old fashion love. Yeah, it was THAT amazing.
and I can say this with honesty, because we forked each other's cakes.
And the apple cake? Well, let me just say...it could replace sex as the nations favorite pastime.

Before leaving, we signed the guest book...and if you ever find yourself there...and are browsing through the guest book and happen across the name Mander Nancy Holsenback from Ducktown Tn...well, just know that you probably have read her blog....and know her real name not just her Pseudonym.

So, the two of us, Lynsey & Mander-Nancy, decided to walk around the circle and found ourselves at a "Thirft Shop" in a historic home. Which is a bonus because
1.) we can dig through some junk.
2.) we get to go into an old house.
Once inside, we realize that it is possibly the smallest thrift store ever with wall-to-wall thick shaggy green carpet!! One elderly lady was running the place. And she looked none too happy that we were trodding in cramping her style and making her miss her programs.

I did however find one very awesome costume jewelry necklace for 2 bucks as well as a 10 commandments charm bracelet minus one commandment.

My sister, post drinking coffee, had to run to the bathroom. I was looking around, and I realized that we were in a Catholic thrift shop. What tipped me off was the giant statue of Mary, and a bust of blue eyed Jesus looking to the sky mournfully. In addition to a fine array of prayer cards, and up on the bulletin board was a brand new church bulletin/prayer list AND a list of Mass times.

I chose my vintage slip off the rack, for just 1.50. It still had the tags on it from way back when.

Lyns busts out of the rest room. She says "Dammit! I just squirted damn soap all over my leg. Look at this! Dammit!"
I mouthed "We are in a catholic thrift shop."
She, not being fluent in lip reading, gave the finger to the bathroom area.
I looked over my shoulder at the old lady pursing her lips in our general direction, and feeling much like a heathen.
I whispered "It's a religious thrift store."
She whispered back "What? How do you know that?"
I whispered "I saw Mary and Jesus statues...in there."
She said "Oooh. crap."

Despite the lady looking at us like we were sure fire on our way to spending some hard time in Purgatory, we made out like bandits!
Seriously, I felt so giddy with the pompatus of getting a good deal, I bought a 10 puzzles in one box jumbo set for $2. I sided with the standoffish old lady....She probably likes puzzles too.

I also had my prized necklace, charm bracelet, and a pair of clip on earrings...yeah, I have pierced ears, but They were just sooo avent garde, and 1950's chic...I couldn't...no I wouldn't turn them down...not with that glorious $.25 price tag they were dangling from.

Once outside and safely on the sidewalk, Lyns said "Can you BELIEVE I flipped the bird in a catholic thrift shop?"
I laughed and said "I know. And I'm walking with my jumbo box of puzzles down the middle of the street, like I'm proud."
She said "But I gave the finger. THE BIRD to a Catholic thrift shop."
I said "A catholic thrift shop bathroom, and that lady was fairly sure she didn't like us."
We had rounded the corner, and were putting all out loot in Lyns' Rover when a frenchman approached my sister...
Yeah...I know...how did a french person FIND New Oxford? THAT is the million dollar question.
And you  may be asking yourself, "But how did Amber know he was French?"
Yes, he was wearing loafers, no socks...but that wasn't it.
He said "Excuse me, Do you know where zee Rest-OH-RAN on zee square ees? I am lookzing fow zis."
Lyns shrugged and said "I dunno. I'm not from here."
He shrugged. "Ok."
I hopped in the passenger seat and saw that we were parked literally in front of the restaurant. He was actually standing under the sign when he asked.

I said "Lyns! Look!" And pointed to the sign.
She hopped out of the car and said "Sir! Sir! It's right here!"
He saluted her and marched back over and went inside.

We then took ourselves to Frederick, MD so she could pick up some paperwork at her MD's and then we entertained ourselves at Goodwill in Frederick with a glorious fashion show as the rain poured down outside....

my lil' treasures

Flowers in New Oxford.

Lovely garden statue

Front Porch

Why Motherhood Matters...to me.

I always knew I wanted to have children. Seriously. I even tucked in my Fozzie Bear at night when I was 3. I mothered everything. I stuffed pillows under my shirt, I nursed a rag doll when I was 4. (Ok. I was weird.)

Point is, I always wanted a luscious buttery sweet smelling chubby baby. Or two. Or five. Who can seriously resist a happy fatty that has drool sticking to it's fat fist? (Unless the fatty is over the age of accountability...then that is just Jonathan Winters as Mork's child weird...Although...I loved Mearth. There I was a tangly red haired preschooler tuning into the show waiting to see the "baby" I didn't care/notice that he was full grown.)

I don't think I ever rationalized that it wouldn't be 1.2.3 easy for me.
I didn't imagine that I'd ever get pregnant from a One Nighter...but I didn't think I'd not get pregnant...like the daring young man on the flying trapeze....with the greatest of ease.
Even though that song was about a guy so it's not like he'd get pregnant with ease either...although there was that circus case in People magazine back a few years ago where some guy had a baby...but turns out he was hanging on to the uterus 'just in case'. Greedy!

It could be because birthday number 34 is looming around the corner...and my husband and I have been apart since February....So not only is my biological clock flashing at me like a digital after the electricity has been out "set me! Set Me! SET ME!" but I can't do anything about it!
In lieu of being with my husband...I didn't the  next best thing...I reached for the internet. Don't be dirty!
I did some innocent searching on %s and such. As I read that a 34 year old woman has a 75% chance of conceiving naturally I stared at the screen and thought...is that what it comes down to? My fertility reduced to a statistic...a number....and a not-too-pleasing odd either. But still if the weather woman said there was a 75% chance of rain...I'd take an umbrella...I guess...but still...
Where is the romance in that, pray tell?

I decided right then that I was giving up the ghost of wanting someone in my life who has yet to be created. Just like that...
And oh, I was so smug, so self righteous about it.
I thought, I am happy. My life is good. Why screw it up with sleepless nights spent with a screaming infant? Cleaning up runny diarrhea? Projectile vomit aimed straight at me?
Why willingly lose freedoms like...sleeping in late, cereal for dinner, going to a late-late movie, going to any movie?
Why would I volunteer to have poison control on speed dial, boogers on fingers pointed right at me? Wiping someone's nethers until age  3 (it is 3 that people can wipe their own kit-n-kaboodle, right?)
I actually like making out with my husband right in the living room/dining room/kitchen/multi colored sofa, using off color language and making off color references, and the occasional few cocktails...in a row..., I like not having to censor my words, actions, life.

I proudly announced this to my husband. I could hear him smile as he told me about the weekend that he spent with a childful couple. How the 2 year old threw mammoth tantrums...and all he wanted was to go home.
I said "So, you're ok if we don't have a child?"
He said "I'm ok with it, only if you are."
Good enough for me!
We both high fived each other.
Well, the only kind of high five you can give via the telephone...but you get the picture.
We were on the same no-kids-for-us page.
I wore it like a girl scout badge of honor. The "I decided I don't want kids!" badge. If you're wondering, it's a little embroidered patch with a margarita smack in the middle ...and I sewed it like a good childless woman, right on the front of my modern day grown up girl scout vest.
Then I went out to do more good in the world.
I scoffed at mom's in target who had the annoying 3 pack of kids in the buggy, who were all simultaneously screaming for their lives. A trio of terror. Where was homeland security? I announced loud and proud that I was SO thankful I wasn't in that boat. And "oh sweet vishnu can't she DO something with that?" Yes, I was totally honestly 100% unabashedly objectifying the three caterwauling heathens she'd loaded into the Orangish buggy. I looked down my nose as I looked at the tote bags "Good Ganesh, she sould've used a condom."

And that resolve lasted....it did, really.

Then I saw Fozzy Bear in the back of my car...how he got there, I don't know. Well, could be I'm taking my prized possessions back to Georgia (Don't judge, Fozzie is prized to me!) and I tossed them all in my car.
But nevermind all that,  there he was...looking at me like "Waka Waka...you're gonna bail on me? What happened to all the gotta-tuck-fozzie bear in at night routine? What happened to lil' miss mommy?"
I pursed my lips and told him "I was 3 and you should count yourself lucky that you aren't in a warehouse in Virginia."
"I'm just saying...." He retorted.
I looked in my review mirror...there he sat, love worn, full of jokes. Eyebrows raised at me, questioning my newly embraced I don't want no kids crampin' style philosophy...

I thought of my own real life Fozzy Bear living la vida europa... who at that very minute was snapping a picture of himself and emailing it per my two days ago request.
"We both already decided. We like our life... I'm getting too old. Right?" I asked no one but myself.

Later I opened my email and saw Michael's ocean eyes smiling back at me from his self photog moment. So endearingly that I smiled back at the computer screen. Suddenly, the image of his sheer joy of having my best friend's child asleep in his arms came into my mind. I heard his excited voice whispering, to not wake the baby, "I really want us to have one." and all of our "I hope it looks like you!" "NO! I hope it looks like you!" conversations came rushing back.
My heart stopped beating, my eyes misted over....

And from the back seat of my car I heard a fuzzy worn bear lovingly say "Waka. Waka."

My Passport in my hands.....

Yesterday, coffee still in my cup...the fed ex man pulled into Lynsey's drive on a mission.
The fed ex man in his fed ex shorts knocked on the door in a fed ex fast fashion. Each knock yelling URGENT!
Chloe went crazy-go-nuts at the commotion and decided biting someone/thing would be appropo. She took out her aggression on her raccoon toy named Bobby.
I opened the front door and he held out his little electronic scan tron with a No. 2 computery pen for me.
I signed the little signature pad, in an excited scribble. I knew. I just knew what was safely sealed inside the flat envelope.
As soon as the door was shut, standing in Lyns' foyer, in a beige vintage night gown, hair still proudly displaying the fact that it hasn't been awake long, I ripped the little "pull to open" tab across the envelope.
I saw a blue legal sized envelope.  Stamped: RETURN TO CSM OFFICE
I gulped...thinking...noooo...what!
But I cast it aside and looked deeper into the darkness of the fed ex envelope. (turns out it was just my birth certificate.)
There...quietly in the darkness was the glorious navy blue booklet.
I lifted it out, held it in my hands and thought "This is what cost us $165 bucks?"
I opened the front page, Saw Francis Scott Key and the first part of the National Anthem...quote by Abe Lincoln...yeah yeah yeah..I'm not gonna forget that stuff...
And I turned the page...
There in all it's gloriousness...The Bald Eagle standing guard over the photo of me...in my brown cord jacket...kinda smiling...kinda not...but mostly looking like I'm smelling poop..and my face...looking a lot fat.
Awesome.
I was smelling something stinky when the picture was made...but it was more of a vegetable soup and sandwich variety. I thought of Chef...snapping the picture in the old musty building there at ft. meade.
The way he referred to himself in 3rd person while he was out to lunch.

I did a happy dance. Which was more-or-less some disco shuffle mixed with a lady ga-ga arm punch/leg kick. Which wasn't as stylish as Madame Garland's 'c'mon get happy' dance routine...but I didn't have the ensemb of men falling at my feet while I shimmied to a show tune.
But, it was my dance o' joy. My one-step-closer-to-my-husband-who-is-living-in-Europe-already dance.

I realize that I'm not going to Germany tomorrow..and there is still the whole waiting on the paperwork thing...but...
If I HAD to get to my husband...at least now, I know I could :)