Well, my husband has left me...

for his first Big Boy Business Trip. And I am sad, because this is only the second time we've been apart since we got married. In our almost two years of marriage, we've only spent four nights apart, and now we are adding four more. We didn't make any You Can Never Leave Home pacts when we got married, it has just sort of worked out that we rarely had any place to go that didn't involve the other person. (Also, having limited finances helps. It's hard to whirl off on vacation when you try to buy a plane ticket and your credit card gets rejected). Add full-time jobs and school and bands and making movies, and well, there's no time to go anywhere anyways.

But I think when it comes down to it - and I thought this as I left the airport with little tears squirting out of the corner of my eyes as dramatically as possible - Joshua and I just like to be together. We don't get bored, we don't get annoyed with each other's presence in our apartment, and we have all these little, sickeningly domestic routines that we both like to follow. We argue aggressively (but that's not boring), we definitely get annoyed (again, not boring, and not due to our living situation), and we can't stand anyone else in the world for the duration of time we can stand each other. Even with our work/school/not ideal situation, we manage to have lunch together almost every day. I couldn't have lunch every day with my very best friends in the whole world. I'd want to smack them upside the head (in a very non-violent manner).

It sounds slightly sickening and cute, but isn't that the point? I mean, that's why I got married - not to cook, or keep house, or to be domestic or settle down (even the words "settle down" make me want to go out and do tequila shots). I got married because I I found someone that I could not and would not want to go one day without. I know that not everyone's relationship is like this - some people need more space, more literal aloneness. I need my time alone, but I like to have it in the same time zone as my husband.

However, I think he was glad to leave Chicago on what I am now calling Black Monday, or possibly Blame It On the (Purple)Rain, or alternatively Damn You Bad Rex For Showing Up in Miami and Crushing Our Dreams Day. I might be emotionally distraught over a week without Joshua, but I have not forgotten the pain of last night. This is what happens when you move to a new city and become caught up in their sports fanaticism. When you are from New England, and your football team gets to the Super Bowl, they WIN (go pats!). Then you move to Chicago, and not only have you had almost a lifetime of crushed baseball dreams back home (I say almost because WE BROKE THE CURSE!!), now you inherit two more heartbreaker teams. Yeah, I mean you, Bears and Cubs.

It's too much.

Things I Did On Friday That Actually Made Friday Feel Like A Monday?

-dishes
-put away laundry
-file bills
-homework
-clean up kitchen
-file 2006 taxes online

Things I Did On Friday That Actually Made Friday Feel Like A Saturday On The Beach In Cabo?

-file 2006 taxes online and fall off my chair looking a federal return that ended in "-ousands"

Let me tell you, H&R Block, you have made my week a little better, a little brighter, a little richer. Thanks to you we will be able to go out and --- oh wait, you thought we were going to SPEND that money? No, you have given us a glorious trip to the bank and an even more glorious moment as I write a check to Fully.Pay.Off. the credit card that is the bane of my existence.

DEBT-FREE IN 2007.

Obviously, I'm not including student loans in my DEBT-FREE IN 2007 goals (more like 2027) but hey, you can consolidate those bitches and put them on the back burner until your kids head off to college. Anyways, paying off our stupid credit cards has been our number one goal since we got married with a load of debt that included the DJ, the down payment on the reception hall, various wedding-and-honeymoon-related expenses, and probably some clothes I now never wear. It's amazing to me how many people our age have debt. Like serious, in over our heads and still throwing the plastic around type of debt. How did we all get in this mess?! Luckily, Joshua and I are now being blinded by the light at the end of the tunnel (thank you for holding onto our money, Mr. Federal Government, but we'll take it from here!) but in the 1.7 years we've been married, we've only used the cards maybe twice, and we still haven't been able to pay them off.

I think the problem is that we (the debt-bearing generation) have other priorities and see the future as so limitless that we don't think being in debt is a huge problem. Joshua and I have bled thousands of dollars from our checking account on Starbucks, Citizens jeans, music equipment, plane tickets, sushi, wine...all those hip and urban expenses have easily distracted us from crawling out of the debt hole. We rationalize this by the fact that I will have a job in a year and double our income (ps -CAN'T FREAKING WAIT FOR THAT) and since we will be comfortably financially secure THEN, the debt isn't a big deal NOW.

I'm over this myth. I packed up all our 2006 bills a few weeks ago, and organized them in snazzy blue file folders from Target (again, a must-buy!) and in doing so, I took a good look at where our money went that year. And it went to interest. I could have bought multiple pairs of my favorite,oh so expensive jeans. Joshua could have bought a new bass, we could have INVESTED or SAVED hundreds. But instead, we merrily sent it all off in interest and wondered why our balances weren't really coming down that much.

And I am done with that. I hate being indebted, I hate owing people (or emotionless, soulless corporations!) money. So we have decided to be done with that particular shenanigan.

Let's see...with all the money we save in credit card payments, we will have so much more to spend!

And there's another problem.

Today, at 11:49am I saw my first live vajayjay birth. (yesterday I saw a c-section but let me tell you it is a whole different ballgame) Today, I was able to be with the mom the whole time she was pushing. When the baby girl was born, I was holding the mom's right leg saying "oh! you are doing SO WELL!!" and I was about six inches from the "action".

By "action", I mean, the human being coming out of her vagina.

WHAT?! I'm still so surprised by the whole wonderful crazy drama of birth. First there were just four of us in the room - mama pushing, labor nurse with her hands IN the vagina making sure the baby was ok, the dad looking terrified, and me practically bursting with the JOY of it all and trying to contain this seriously dopey grin that I kept getting on my face. I really had no idea what to do, except just hold on to her leg and remember that although she needed to bear down during a contraction, I did not. (seriously. I kept holding my breath and then gasping when her contraction ended, and if I was squeezing out a child, I would not have been amused). Then the nurse is all, "Oh I have to go get something! You can handle it, right?" and I am all, "Well, of course!"

This is what I said out loud. In my head, I said, "Oh my GOD! I can see most of this baby's head! What if it just comes out right here!?" Luckily, that did not occur, but I did get to count the mom through a contraction and she got even more of that head down before the nurse got back. And I felt so proud to be there, "helping".

Then all of the sudden, a whole whirlwind of people burst in for the actual birth. The doctor suited up in her splash mask and got situated, with placenta bag and everything all ready, and suddenly the baby's head was out and because she was occiput posterior, she was looking right at us! With a massive conehead. And a pissed-off expression. One more push and she came slithering out and she cried like, I don't know, someone had smushed her through PELVIC BONES or something.

And it was pretty much the most incredible, beautiful, ridiculous thing I have ever seen in my life.

The mom and dad were crying, the baby was wailing, the doctor was stitching up a nasty tear and delivering the placenta, the nurse was weighing the baby, and I just got to watch all the excitement, and now I know that there IS something that is worth coming to work for every day. One and a half years before I sign up for L&D - the Vagina Squad - for real.

Oh, and what you've heard about pooping on the delivery table? That is the real deal, people. Trust me.

Update on previous post: Hypothetical in-laws are still firmly planted on my hypothetical couch, seeing as mother-in-law is not clear to fly. Theory has become OH SO REAL.

Recent changes in my life: Increase in emotional turmoil, grandmother headed for lumpectomy and radiation (although prognosis is excellent), wonderful great-uncle who took place of grandfather passed away very unexpectedly after elective surgery, Bears are headed to Miami. A big shout-out to Rex Grossman, not for being so good, but for thankfully not being SO BAD. My heart broke a teeny-tiny bit for New Orleans (as a city), but don't worry, I repressed that just like everything else. Oh, and emotional drinking? Yes, I have that covered. Sobbing myself to sleep? Check.

I have so much to update about my recent explorations into the world of vajayjays and babies' mommas, but instead I have to get up at 5am for clinical and so I just wanted to say to the whole internet (read: Tricia), that I have not forgotten this blog and in fact I think about it longingly...but unfortunately I have found myself with other responsibilities.

Like providing in-home health care.

And attempting to keep my humanity about me.

porque dios?!?!?

Let's hypothesize for a moment.

Let's say - just SAY - that your sister in law was moving to Chicago, and with her came 6 suitcases, 3 huge boxes, 6 little boxes, 3 overflowing carts worth of Target junk, emotional baggage, and a set of very generous, slightly overprotective parents.

Then let's say that this entire caravan arrived only 4 days after you and your husband (hypothetically!!) returned from a 3 week trip in which you only spent 3 nights at home, and only 4 days before you are headed back to a challenging semester of...well, let's just theorize that you are in some sort of medically oriented program.

Then let's say that yesterday, when you and your husband and theoretical brother and sister-in-law were across the street from the other sister-in-law's new dorm ordering Mexican food, your hypothetical mother-in-law fell out of a 7 foot loft (which belongs to the college-bound sister-in-law and is dangerously attired in satin sheets).

So then let's hypothesize that instead of meeting 14 of your in-laws' old friends for dinner, you and all your hypothetical in-laws spend the evening in the ER eating the Mexican food you didn't get to eat when you got that panicked phone call about The Fall.

Then let's pretend for a minute that your mother-in-law cracked three ribs during her startling escape from the loft.

And she doesn't want to take Vicodin, because this is a lady who gave birth to three kids au natural and just told you yesterday that it was "no big deal". But she can't move her right arm or right side, and she can't go home on Monday, because your hypothetical father-in-law is going on a business trip, and she can't be home alone.

So...after all this, let's hypothesize that she will be sitting on your couch until Friday. While your husband goes back to work (in theory!) and you and collegiate sister-in-law head off to class. And she's already bored.

Then, let's just say that while 8 people sat in your apartment's living room eating Kentucky Fried Chicken and swapping Fractured Rib Stories, your mom calls and tells you in a very chipper voice, "Oh and your grandmother has breast cancer."

"But don't worry - it's not aggressive."

SO LET'S JUST SAY...that you very privately freaked out in your bedroom, didn't tell anyone about your grandmother, sat on the couch til 1am watching Shrek 2, convinced the mother in law to take the damn Vicodin already, slept like a baby (@#$!), skipped church, and are about to watch the Bears play the Seahawks.

And so let's theorize that you are suppressing the emotional upheaval of your grandmother's diagnosis and your restless mother-in-law gracing your couch for 5 more days.

And so, instead of processing those emotions, you cry - CRY!! - reading pregame analysis of the Bears playoff game and you CURSE Rex Grossman for his inconsistent play, and even though you are from New England and your first crush on a quarterback was Tom Brady, you are now so overcome with desire to see Rex succeed that you are SHAKING. AS. YOU. TYPE. THIS.

But I mean, this is just a THEORY.

Thoughts on blogging:

Damn you, world, for letting me try to fancy up my blog in Safari...when I could have just opened Firefox and been done two hours ago!

During my renovations, I got a site meter and I have to say, De.Press.Ing. Shouldn't people be stopping by, at least randomly? It just goes to show that my suspicions are correct: Blogging = Narcissism. Well, at least for me. According to my husband, who is convinced I will write a best-seller and we will jump on the bandwagon of famous authors who bathe in royalty checks and offers to make their novels into Major Motion Pictures, this is just a stepping stone.

Wait, what's that? That happens to only a very select few? Authors generally STRUGGLE to make it big? What do you mean, REJECTION?

To make that particular dream come true, Joshua should have married JK Rowling,or one of those easy breezy beautiful chick lit authors. He should not be counting on me, or my writing to take him anywhere. (That's why I'm in nursing school. To ease the pain when the bubble bursts. And also, because I'm a hypochondriac. Know thine enemy and so forth.)

Things I am excited about today:

Going back to school. Yes, it's true, I've actually read all the books I intended to, watched all the TV I need (well that will be true after tonights brand!new!Grey's Anatomy), and used up my laziness quota.

Things I am dreading:

Going back to school. IRONIC. But shockingly, I have really enjoyed sleeping in past 5:30am, and not having to wear see-through white scrubs in 30 degree weather.

Random fact:

I am considering not eating meat again. I was a vegetarian for most of high school and even a vegan for 7 months (that ended when all my clothes started hanging off my body in a scary, Nicole Richie-esque way and I started to loathe the smell of hummus). Recently, meat has been making me sick. I ate sesame chicken for lunch and it had the strangest taste, like someone had dropped sugar on it. At least I am hoping this is what happened, and not something more sinister.

Closing Statement:

In-laws arriving tonight. Sister-in-law moving permanently to Chicago. TONIGHT. The reality of this new development hasn't really set in yet. So I'm going to go contemplate it. Over a brownie. That I made. From a box.

2007

Sometimes I can't actually believe it's 2007. And by sometimes, I mean, almost constantly over the past 10 days. I have had to pinch myself (figuratively - i'm not into that) to remind myself that I am now living in My Grown Up Years. This is what I called them as a kid, when we would sit around figuring out what year it would be when we turned 12, 16, 21, etc. It is a little dismaying to now be older than the oldest year I ever accounted for as a kid. I'm not sure why we stopped at 21, but it probably had something to do with the fact that there is nothing left after 21 to look forward to until you collect retirement at 65. And I don't think we knew that way back when. We also didn't know about renting cars at 25, or we probably would have included that as well. Helloooo, 2009.

When I was little and trying to figure out what it would be like in the Way Distant Future of My Grown Up Years, my whole life was contained in a one-mile radius. The gingerbread house where I grew up (not a joke, my family's house is a squat brick Cape Cod style house that is only lacking gumdrops and frosted edging) was less than a mile from my school and my church and the gas station, and because I am from New England, there were actually THREE Dunkin' Donuts within a mile of my house. Maybe because my world was so small, I still have a distinct memory of my first political awakening.

Age 6. First Grade.

I remember my teacher asking if anyone knew what had happened the night before, and being a brown-nosed, smart aleck kiss up, I was devastated that I could think of nothing more significant than the fact that I had a hot dog for dinner and my baby brother threw up. Of course, there is always one child in every class with overachieving, National Public Radio-loving parents, and in this case, his name was Cash and his parents were both surgeons. His snotty little hand shot up in the air - "Last night, the Iron Curtain came down."

Here is where my memory is sharpest - I laughed. Yes, as the Cold War crumbled and East and West Germany reunited and the entire world celebrated, I LAUGHED, because I was so sure that Cash did not have a CLUE what he was talking about. Who has Iron Curtains? Ours were cotton, and if they fell down, it was because they got pulled down, and that was not news, that was a time-out for one of us kids. I remember that smug feeling all smartypants brats get when another kid says something so utterly ridiculous.

Well, that feeling lasted about 3 seconds, because my teacher nodded gravely and proceeded to give us a watered down lesson about Communism (Bad) and America (Good). Because I went to a Christian school, I am pretty sure we then prayed for the souls of the Communists (Jesus + America = INVINCIBLE!). Here is where my memory gets fuzzy and I go back to being a chastised little kiss-up and drift out of politics until the morning my parents mournfully tell me that Bill Clinton won the '92 election. Yeah, the one-mile radius of my childhood also happens to be the ONE Republican enclave of an entirely blue state.

Growing up in the Ivy League Belt, and getting shown up by a 6 year old whose name was slang for MONEY made me decide that all things political were going to be my arena. Of course, I made a few mistakes along the way, especially during early elementary school and the Gulf War. I still have absolutely no idea how I got my information at the age of 7. Somehow I missed the concept that the draft was over, so I raced to the mailbox every single day after school, and anything that was addressed to my father and looked remotely governmental (i.e. pictures of eagles) went straight under my bed. One time a magazine offer came with a picture of Uncle Sam on it, and I literally.almost.died. holding the envelope. Actually I went straight to my mom sobbing, and she's still not sure where I got the idea that my father, a packaging engineer, was shipping out under strict orders from Uncle Sam. She was only 10 years old during Vietnam herself.

I'm not a political science major anymore, but I'm still a junkie for it. Joshua and I are those people who casually turn on NPR in the car, and know the names of NY Times political columnists, and check the BBC to see what's really going on, and we use Macs and shop at Whole Foods. Bleeding-heart, blue state liberals, and yeah, we also like wine and cheese, and OH GOD are our kids going to be those over-informed smart alecks like Cash (although, you could NOT pay me enough money to name my kid after it). Oh shut up - I also read People, and US Weekly, and I'm just as dismayed as the rest of the country at Britney Spears turning every night on town into a crotch shot, and yes I was surprised when Reese and Ryan broke up and as I'm typing this my damn acrylic nails are turning every word into a typo. So control yourselves - I'm not the female John Kerry.

It's weird how those little kid years, where you think about what you will be as an adult, start to shape who you are in the Grown Up Years. What if I had missed that day at school, and I hadn't laughed at Cash's outrageous statement about iron curtains? What if someone had actually set me straight, and told me there was no possible way my father was getting sent into the desert? What if I had grown up in Kansas, or California, or somewhere that wasn't 3 hours from NYC on 9/11. What if I had never flown out of the same airports the hijackers did, or what if I had NOT gotten addicted to celebrity news as a distraction from my school work (well, I think my life would probably be better for it, but anyways...) I would be a different person.

I don't really make resolutions. But I like to see how the new year MAKES me different. Just think...that retirement money won't come in until 2049!!