Here we are hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. This is one of those photos where I posed FlyGuy, put the camera on timer and ran to get in the photo. Not too bad considering I had just sat on Fidget’s tail.
This picture shows the lovely scenery we saw on the trail. I think Fidget is looking over her shoulder to protect me from some swarthy ticks.

p.s. Surely you are becoming tired of hearing about ticks, but Dear Readers, this blog is my brain exposed and I’ve got ticks on the brain (better than on the scalp.) Hopefully, soon I will become one with the tick and you will be released from this madness. Until then, your support is much appreciated.

FlyGuy and I are doing okay. We are communicating rather well. Things are okay, not great or horrible, just okay, which is fine with me. A total turn around would seem false. We are taking small steps toward greatness.
In lieu of all the negativity, I’ve decided to share some photos of things that make me smile.

The turkeys we made in the classroom at Thanksgiving. They are made of balloons, paper mache’ and tissue. The sign says, Warning! Turkey Crossing!

Our Poet Tree: The students wrote rhyming words and short poems which are hanging in the tree. Get it, Poet Tree… Poetry

Hanging out with a sleepy Fidget, wearing my favorite sock monkey slippers.

Our current hallway bulletin board that celebrates the great people in my classroom. As a group we generated sentiments about each other, things that make each individual person special. Then, each person decorated a cake and chose one sentiment to put on their cake stand. Decorations are tactile because the kids are visually impaired. The board says, Our Students and Staff Take the Cake!

My cake, my students said I’m a good role model because I set a good example so that is what I chose to put on my cake.

My lovely kitty Simon snuggling up with our Double Bubble pillow.

Peace.

Infertility update: My nurse finally called so, I started Lupron yesterday. I’m on a rather large dose, 20 units per day. I took a microdose last cycle and got wicked migraines. I’ve got Tylenol close by and I’m flirting with the idea of using Excedrin Migraine since I’ve got no chance of getting pregnant this cycle.

My summer is winding down far too quickly. I’ve crossed many things off my to-do list. Yesterday, I accomplished something that has been on my to-do list for 6 years. I finally took FlyGuy’s last name.

When we got married 6 years ago, I planned on adding his last name to mine. I’ve been saddled with a mouthful of a name since birth. My name is very ethnic. It’s long and makes your tongue do weird things. My first name looks like any generic American/English name, but my parents decided to go with a Serbian pronunciation so I’m one of those annoying people who say “Yes, my name is spelled DIANE but it’s pronounced, De-OWN-a.” (That’s not my real name, nor is Lassie, but you get the gist.)

Anyway, I was looking forward to marrying a man with an easy name that I could adopt. Boy, I got what I wished for, FlyGuy’s name is as bland as vanilla ice cream. After the wedding, I realized it was a bit too bland. I wasn’t so keen on changing my name all of a sudden. I got married mid-school year so, while on my honeymoon my students were prepped to call me Mrs. NewName when I returned. That was fine with me, kind of novel really. Thus, I began to use FlyGuy’s name yet never changed it officially, until yesterday.

When I thought about changing my name, I bristled at the notion that my parents gave me incredibly difficult names, first, middle and last can barely be said in one breath. My husband was giving me another name that I didn’t like all that much. I kept thinking, it’s my name, yet I have no say in it- that is just wrong. So, I decided to give myself a name. I would add a name that I identified with, as an extra middle name.

So, let’s say I was Diane Andrea Halvorson.
After marriage I’d be Diane Andrea Halvorson Wilkes
With my new addition I’d be Diane Andrea Morgan Halvorson Wilkes.

I know this sounds crazy, but it was the only way I could justify taking on FlyGuy’s name, I needed to take on “my own” name too. Well, that was the plan anyway. People that get married can easily change their name for $10 at the driver’s license office. Yesterday, I found out that both names I wanted had to come from FlyGuy. The name I chose was the street I grew up on, it wasn’t from FlyGuy. They wouldn’t let me use it. I left with only the addition of FlyGuy’s last name. Defeated.

Turns out, if I want to add “my own” name, it will cost $500, loads of paperwork and an appearance in front of a judge who will decide if I’m allowed to do this. I’m faltering, not sure if I’ve got the willpower to see this through. I really want that name. I won’t ever use it. No one but FlyGuy and I will know about it, but the name feels important to me. I’m torn.

FlyGuy is pleased, although he doesn’t object to my additional name. When I told him long ago that I wanted to add my own name he shrugged and said,
“Will, ah figgered as much, yuv niver bin one to foller directions outta the box.”

Yesterday, when I told him I changed my name, he said,
“Will, Awl Raht, Welcome to the famla!”

He’s a good egg.

So, my name is evolving and TBA (to be announced.)
In the meantime, you can call me Lassie