Oh Right...I Have A Blog?!

Well I think the past few months just go to show how consistency is obviously what I strive for, and so often achieve in my writing career...

um, no.

I have not actually forgotten about this blog, contrary to everything that is obvious and straightforward in this life. In fact, I have felt very guilty about the lack of posting, but then things became kind of a downer for awhile (more family cancer, although we're jazzing it up with the thyroid instead of the breast, my dad is still unemployed, joshua was working 14 hour days and weekends for a while there). Sometimes writing things down is therapeutic and cathartic and then sometimes merely experiencing a difficult situation is enough and to commit it to words just makes it even more raw and jarring.

Still, the 10 week hiatus was a bit much. After all, it is the SUMMER, I'm employed and working a crazy flexible, glorious schedule that allows me time to sun myself, keep up a demanding running schedule, and waste the days away slowly killing brain cells on the InterNet (please see Yahoo! Music Videos and the hilarity that isWill Ferrell).

However, during my blogging break, I have achieved one of my major goals - which is to get my ever-widening tush back in a dance studio before the cellulite starts creeping up my back and into my hair or something equally repulsive. This Thursday, I found myself surrounded by all sorts of dancing goodies, looking for a pair of jazz shoes to purchase for my new Adult Jazz class (please note - i used to make fun of Adult Jazz back when I was underage and flexible and could throw my leg behind my head for fun and then do double pirouettes en pointe) I might be a measly 23 years old, but that is past the typical prime of a professional dancer's life, and I've spent the last 5 years drinking my weight in lattes and cooking pasta. Right now Adult Jazz seems pretty intimidating and I would like to smack my 18-year-old condescending size 6 self in the face.

So, Thursday morning I bought these (in basic black):


and Thursday night I found myself wearing lycra and leather (please also note - not as sexy as it sounds) and attempting to perform all the steps that I once knew in my sleep...tendu, rond de jambe, battement, chassee, chassee, pas de bouree...I did not do anythng embarrassing like fall down or start crying after discovering my complete inability to even jazz walk, but I think the experience can be summed up by saying that it is now Saturday and I am still sore enough to dread things like, I don't know, changing clothes? However, I am also thrilled to pieces that I successfully did most of the combinations, and I have been torturing both Joshua and all my neighbors by practicing my pirouettes in our dining room. I have also convinced roughly half my friends to sign up for dance classes by promising them flat abs and killer calves.

I did not mention that they would also need to stock up on Icy Hot and any product ever marketed to the arthritic geriatric population, because while it is 100% true, I think it's probably a turn-off.

I'm back and stiffer than ever.

I ate ice cream for breakfast.

After all, I am on summer vacation and we've been eating relatively healthy lately (grilled portabellas last night? grilled salmon two nights ago? did I mention we got a grill?)Also, the ice cream I ate for breakfast was the ice cream that we (ok, Joshua) made last night in our ice cream maker. Unlike my yellow soppy mess that never thickened and was ultimately tossed down the drain, HIS mint chocolate chip ice cream was smooth and creamy and flecked with pieces of chocolate and specks of mint leaves. (As far as edible plants go, we have basil and mint growing and thriving on our windowsills. Also we have a fish visiting us who is currently living next to the basil, but we are not planning on turning him into ice cream). I was so full from dinner that I only had a few bites of ice cream, but this morning it was even richer and yummier than I remembered. Soothing an empty stomach with chocolate and full-fat dairy...we will see if that's really a good idea.

All of these ridiculous summer pleasures - ice cream, grilling out, shucking corn, being outside in the sun and turning all shades of pink and brown - remind me of my childhood. We had a big backyard that was perfect for running and tag as kids, and then for laying out on beach towels when I got older. I remember sitting on the concrete steps that led to our back door and shucking corn into big paper shopping bags, hoping that no one would forget I was there and body slam the door open carrying a big plate of chicken or hamburgers to the grill (this was not an unwarranted fear. It happened all the time).

On Tuesday, my mom called me and asked where I was. This is her fun, stomach-sinking way of alerting me to the fact that she's calling with bad news - given the past few months, my mind was racing ahead to figure out who possibly could have cancer now. But instead she told me that my father had lost his job.

When your father is 50 years old and has struggled for all of his adult life to get ahead of the curves life has thrown at him (and there have been so, so many), I think that the news that he is unemployed is devastating. My dad takes his role as provider incredibly seriously, and on Monday he was called into his boss's office and told that he had two weeks - TWO WEEKS! it's insulting - until he was done there. They are closing his branch of the office, where he is the only salesman. My parents still have a 16 year old at home but as of June 1, neither of them has a job. And it's just so overwhelming and huge and the prospect of job hunting involuntarily at age 50 is demoralizing and frustrating. And here I am in Chicago, with my new grill and my ice cream maker, surrounded by material comfort and all the benefits that a two-income lifestyle afford. Sick to my stomach, because isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

On Monday night, while we were eating our grilled salmon and talking about our memories of childhood summers, I didn't know that my parents were sitting on their couch mourning the loss of what they do. I assumed they'd be flipping chicken on the grill and possibly knocking my brother off the steps because he's the only one left to get stuck shucking corn, and there's still no place to sit.

I know this post is so discombobulated. I wasn't sure if I wanted to write about my parents at all, even though they don't know I have this blog. But I think that it's the only thing on my mind, even though I've tried to block it out with ice cream breakfasts today, and books and movies yesterday. I'm avoiding it, but it won't let me go.

Today, in honor of our second wedding anniversary, I decided to make a special dessert - sweet basil scrambled eggs.

Let's be honest, I was aiming for basil ice cream, but somewhere in the process of heating 8 egg yolks and 4 cups of milk (in my defense - to a precise 175 degrees! and never did it boil!)I made scrambled eggs instead. In one of the greatest displays of optimism I have ever attempted, I then threw it in the ice cream maker anyways. So far, it's still chugging away and the whole thing is disconcertingly yellow (it should be green) and liquid (it should be solidifying). It just goes to prove my suspicions that I am not ready for epicurious. However, I can taste the potential lurking beyond the egg-ness of it all - when my poor hardworking window-ledge basil plant regroups from this tragedy and springs forth new leaves, I'll try basil ice cream again. I will not double the recipe. Or scramble the yolks. Or skip an important "cool-down" step in the recipe that Joshua helpfully pointed out to me after it was all in the ice-cream maker.

The Great Basil Egg Ice Cream Debacle is something that I kind of regret happening on our anniversary. Besides one absolutely horrendous Moroccan eggplant dish I cooked for Joshua the summer we got married, I have surprised myself with a love of cooking and a knack for it. For someone who never wanted to domesticate, finding myself at 23 with a husband and a Kitchen-Aid mixer is sometimes overwhelming, usually surprising, and in all ways a blessing. Until I met Joshua, I had literally never thought about getting married. I was planning on moving to New York City to live in a studio apartment and write the Great American Novel, and maybe get a cat and possibly adopt a baby later in life. By myself. And for those of you who know me now, this sounds absolutely ridiculous - I am clearly fulfilled by my roles as wife, soon-to-be nurse, and future baby mama. I also hate cats and studio apartments, so it wouldn't have worked out anyways. Sorry, NYC.

Joshua and I celebrated four years of togetherness in March, and now we have been married almost as long as we've been a couple. We have had mostly bliss and hilarity - but also sheer exhaustion at the effort it takes to make a marriage and a family and a life together work. We are both fiercely independent people, and compromise does not come easily to us. God has broken our pride through the challenges of marriage, and has softened us both into more compassionate and gracious people. We still manage to do our fair share of whining (me) and complaining (me) and taking our relationship for granted (me again!) but we have also grown so much that sometimes I cannot believe I am still the same girl who walked down the aisle to Etta James singing "At Last". That girl had no idea what a privilege it would be to fall asleep every night next to a loving husband, and also no idea how annoying it would be when that man rolled over and pulled off all her covers. EVERY NIGHT!

To Joshua, the man who pulls off my covers, laughs at my jokes, eats the food that I make (and some that I ruin), supports me, doesn't pull the plug on my Starbucks addiction, gives me space and pulls me close, prays for me and loves me and tries every day to be just a little bit better...

you are my everything and i love you more today than I ever thought possible two years ago...


Sorry about the basil eggs...maybe next year.

Things I Have Learned: Finals Week Edition

- Finals week is incredibly, mind-numbingly, fingernailsonachalkboard agonizingly slow. I am usually in a daze over how quickly Monday through Friday passes. Instead I am in a tizzy over the fact that it is STILL.THURSDAY.

- During the week one needs to study most, one will suddenly lose all motivation, persistence,and drive to succeed.

- However, one will discover a newfound joy in reading celebrity gossip, going to Starbucks to "stay awake", inviting people over for dinner (wha?!) and going to bed early in order to "get up early and study", which really means "get up early and go to Starbucks in order to 'stay awake'". It's a vicious cycle.

- The situation is dire when one decides that instead of grocery shopping and planning for said dinner, one will go to Bath and Body Works to take advantage of the 4 for $10 sale involving antibacterial soap and an overwhelming choice of scents. (in "one's" defense, dinner was excellent and everyone's hands smelled fantastic).

- If the flip top to one's keychain hand sanitizer has become stuck, DO NOT attempt to use your teeth to unstick it. It WILL end up in your mouth, it WILL burn ferociously, and you WILL feel like a complete idiot as you sticks your tongue under the faucet to rinse it off. I think this will remain true even after finals week.

- It is still possible to purchase appropriate cards and presents for two mothers and one grandmother, wrap and mail them on time, and do this on the same day as the Bath and Body Works sale, the grocery shopping, the dinner, and a previously unmentioned employee physical at one's brand spanking new summer job. It is NOT, however, possible to study on this particular day.

- If one has forgotten to wear their Target brand premium plus white strips during the day (due to excessive activities involving other people), an excellent way to multitask is to wear them to bed, set an alarm for 30 minutes later, and then get up, remove the strips, and brush one's teeth. This is really wonderful because one will probably not remember this activity very well the next morning. (Disclaimer!*one's spouse might not find this time saver all that amusing*)

- The craziness and the lack of sleep and the excess caffeine and the scrambling from one activity to the next and the studying and the maladjusted coping are really all worth it when you consider...

I will be done with my junior year in two hours...
I'm 75% done with college as a whole...
by this time next year I'll have a job and a degree...

and there is a bottle of red wine, a long-suffering husband, and Grey's Anatomy waiting to celebrate with me tonight!

Just now, I jumped into bed, grabbed my laptop and textbook and was about to start writing a paper that was due last week and needs to be handed in at 6:45am, after I wake up at 5:45am (yes, it's 10:13 and I'm just starting)...and I'm feeling like something is kind of wrong with the situation...

And it is, because I still have my toothbrush in my mouth. Where I put in 15 minutes before and then proceeded to not brush my teeth but rather just clench it in my jaws of death (and forgetfulness).

This sort of sums up why I have not been blogging lately.

But school is out next week...and I have a job lined up for summer...and a lot more free time...and I will be trying to claw my way back into being a personal favorite of Tricia's.

I am in a spectacularly horrific mood today. I don't know if has to do with the commute from the suburbs we've been experiencing this past week (dogsitting. yeah, we do that), or if it's related to the overwhelming workload of my new class, or if it's all hormonal, or if it's just sleep deprivation (please also see dogsitting). I actually can't remember the last time I've been in one of these please-God-take-me-now moods, where the only thing that sounds good is sitting on the couch in a blanket watching cable and eating cookies and thinking horrible nasty thoughts towards life in general.

There are only six weeks left in the semester, and then I can officially have senioritis. It's so close I can almost feel the heat and the freedom of summer, and the amazing realization that I will NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN. My last time registering for classes, last winter break, last finals week, last time getting up for clinicals at 5 am. I have no delusions of nostalgia right now. This summer, and next year, and especially next summer, cannot come fast enough. Really. I spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about our pinning ceremony and graduation and the day I pass NCLEX and the first day I get a paycheck.I know I am getting a little ahead of myself - I still have a whole year of school left to plow through before those days - but I feel like focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel is the only thing keeping me sane. Otherwise I just feel crushed by all the things that are left to do before I can scribble RN, BSN behind my name (and you better believe I will be writing that on every scrap of paper I can get my name on. People are going to have to beg me to stop).

I spent the day at Ikea - which was a horrible idea. I didn't go for myself,I was lured with the promise of free Starbucks to help a friend pick stuff out for her new apartment. Still, when you would like to be curled up in the fetal position and hanging out with the Food Network, Ikea is a nightmare. I am sad to say that I was absolutely no help at all. I kept wandering into different aisles and displays like a four year old looking at all the pretty colors, and all the cheap crap, and all the overwhelming possibilities of self-assembly. I tried at one point to pick out a large flower pot for our apartment (one of our more ambitious plants just outgrew its current home) and then my head fell off and I collapsed in a heap on the floor sobbing with the difficulty of it all.

Ok, no, I didn't. But that was what it FELT like - and so I bought myself coffee and
oatmeal chocolate crisp cookies and tried to sedate myself with sugar and saturated fat (25% of my daily value! In ONE cookie! HOW DO THEY PACK IT ALL IN?!?!). Add in the Chinese takeout we grabbed for lunch, and fast forward to me sitting in my lonely, dog-free apartment with some serious bloating and a headache. I am scrupulously avoiding Other People until I am forced to go to class at 6:30. I am also praying for some perspective and a slightly brighter outlook, because I recently walked passed a mirror and noticed that I looked like death dropping by for a visit. It's not fair for unsuspecting and possibly good-natured people to have to encounter THAT.

In other news, one of the dogs we are feeding and walking and generally keeping alive thought it would be fun to chew up the slippers my mom got me for Christmas. This is a dog that has not chewed anything for the entire week, even alone and uncrated for eight hours a day. Then Joshua stayed there sick today, and instead of being GRATEFUL that someone was there to play with her and let her out five times an hour, what does the dog do? CHEWS MY POOR, HELPLESS SLIPPER.

It just isn't right, people.

Today I woke up and saw that the grass was greener on the other side of the street.

Luckily, it was green on my side as well, and really the whole point was that it was green. Not brown,not cracked and gray and looking sad and defeated, but a real, springtime, St-Paddys-beer color of green. There might not be any leaves yet, I haven't seen a flower yet, but I can see life in the green grass and in the fact that I wore flip flops to school yesterday (and then yes, soaked my bare feet in a March thunderstorm - but it's ok, i painted my toenails hot pink and so it's hard to get me down). All the plants in our house, which are kept alive and thriving by Joshua only, are having growth spurts. The calla lilies that I had no idea were annuals are suddenly 6 inch shoots. I really thought we were keeping that planter of dirt on our windowsill because we were being too lazy to throw it away.

In much more important life-affirming news, my foxy mama is just fine and CANCER FREE. It was a bit of a scary appointment because her first mammogram showed a very large area of density that apparently sent the radiologist into a panic attack. However, on the second, more precise mammogram (which sounded pretty painful and involved some nasty breast-smushing techniques), that dark area turned out to be just dense breast tissue that hadn't been flattened out enough to get an accurate picture. The only bad news is that my mom will probably have these terrifying, "get back in our office before it spreads to your bones" kind of call-backs after her mammograms every year now. The areas of density may change in size and shape and location and she will probably have to always have the Mammogram of Torture to get good pictures. But she is WELL, and healthy.

And then this morning I was reading the news and discovered that Elizabeth Edwards' breast cancer has come back, and is now in her bones. She has two young children and a husband running for president...and just yesterday the doctors told her that at this point, her cancer is no longer curable. Just treatable. Just treatable is an incredibly devastating and inevitable thing to hear. I immediately had the selfish thought that I was so glad my mother was not the one who had THAT appointment yesterday. Then I had the much more appropriate thought that no one's mother should ever have to have that appointment.

Even before my mom's scare, and before Elizabeth Edwards' terrible news, my best friend Amy and I had decided to walk these 60 miles in August. In order to participate in the 3 Day, you have to raise a minimum of $2,200. That's a lot. But I think it will be worth all the letters and phone calls and training and sweat and of course,the absolute psychosis of attempting to walk SIXTY MILES over three days. In AUGUST.

Also, I have these new shoes? These ones?



They are absolutely amazing. I have been working out like crazy, because running in these babies is similar to springing on air (or, what I imagine that to be like) and I think these shoes can take me sixty miles. In fact, I wear these shoes everywhere now and if you know me, I am not exactly a sneakers and jeans kind of girl. Or a tennis shoes and jeans kind of girl either - and they are NOT for tennis and I resent that entire Midwestern term!

In non-cancer and running shoe related news, we've been trying out this radical new lifestyle. It's called...Save Money. I know, it's shocking. We have actually eaten every lunch and dinner at home since Sunday, which has quite possibly never happened before in our lives. Have we eaten a little too much pasta? Yes. But have we also eaten more fruits and vegetables and whole grains than ever before? YES! Unfortunately, the downside of this great marital experiment is that the house looks like a tornado blew through, so I should probably attempt to fix the chaos before my wonderful husband comes home and really starts asking questions about what I do all day.

Which is, of course, work out in my new SNEAKERS and then browse the internet, interspersing homework here and there. SHHHHH....