muchisimas gracias

You may have noticed that since I posted on my sadness, I have been feeling a bit better. It seems that getting it down on paper, and acknowledging that I wasn't doing that well, actually improved my outlook on life. I think that my trying so hard to ignore the problems sleeping and concentrating were making me worse, rather than better. And perhaps the realization that I was halfway done, which meant I had halfway more to go, and it felt like an eternity.

I have to tell you though, I think it was more than that. Your kind comments made me feel better. It made me feel less crazy or ridiculous. Those of you that said it was perfectly reasonable for me to be so down without my hubs allowed me to sleep better that night than I had in two weeks.

So, in short, thank you. Thanks for the nice comments, the generous emails, and for making me smile. After tomorrow I'll be meeting Josh in Costa Rica, and I am hoping that when we return I'll be feeling light years better. I figure that my life returning to my state of normal will improve things. And if not, you'll be hearing about it again, at least on Phantom Scribbler's Wednesday Whining.

Enough sappiness, though. I have another secret to share.

I do affirmations with my dogs. You know, affirmations, like Stuart Smalley's ("I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me"). It started off as a joke because one of my puppy training books said it was good for the dogs' self esteem (I know, I know, crackpots clearly write these books), and we all found it so hysterical when Tango would literally PREEN with happiness at my sing-songy voice, that I continued doing it whenever I remembered.

So when we have company, I demonstrate by telling him that he is the smartest dog in the neighborhood (wags) or the best looking dog on the block (wags and licks) or that he is getting more treats than any dog in the metro-Boston area (full-on puppy dancing).

My friend Y G & B and I also send each other random affirmations via email. By the way, she is the best dancer at any of the New York law firms.

And my dear blog readers, I've decided I should include all of you in my random affirmation goodness, so here you go.

Halloweenlover's readers are the most interesting bloggers on the Internet,
and you have very shiny hair.

Have a nice day.

Very Exciting Post!!!

I am meeting my husband in Costa Rica THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW!

The end.

and for you non-home improvement buffs

Just in case some of you aren't enthralled by my last post, I implore you to go read Y G & B's latest post, particularly if you are committed to civil and human rights.

Y G & B took a trip last summer throughout the South visiting key civil rights sites. All her posts are awesome, but this one takes the cake.

more perils of home improvement

One of the things that first attracted me to blogging was the concept of a home renovation blog. I couldn't stop reading them because I identified so strongly with everything they were doing. This is our first house and really our first time tackling so many projects (i.e. painting or removing wallpaper) and reading through blogs saved us much heartache. In these blogs I heard about the importance of using high quality paints, or how to score wallpaper to make it come off easier. Many things I read ended up not applying to our situation because of the type of house/paint/wallpaper/plaster, but I felt prepared nonetheless.

Before I started my own blog, though, I became hooked on blogs where people shared moments in their lives, thoughts, or stories. I really love those blogs! I find myself feeling invested in whatever these people are going through, and anxious to hear what happens as time passes. I compared it to reading a good book, except better, because its true (or I hope its true). This blog became more of a personal blog, despite my initial intentions, and I have really enjoyed myself! Writing every day gives me the opportunity to turn from my long stress-filled hours as an attorney (although clearly ALWAYS exciting) to something creative and nonsensical.

The truth is, though, that working on the house does fill up a good portion of my non-working time, so I think I can do a little bit of both (although I may have to write more about human-killing scorpions in Costa Rica since you all seem to enjoy that).

Anyway, let me tell you about my non-bug inhabited dining room. It was the first room we tackled after closing on the house, because Josh had (brilliantly) volunteered to host Thanksgiving dinner for 10 people. And remember, we closed on October 29th to a house in dire need of work and with no dining room furniture. Lovely.



Here is the pre-moving dining room. There is Josh signing our purchase and sale with the seller's real estate agent. Please note the disgusting yellow carpet with stains around the house. That carpet was put down in 1972 and wasn't removed until after we moved in. When we pulled it up, the padding underneath had turned to dust so it would billow up as you tugged on the carpet. Just what you want to fly in your face- 33 year old carpets, dirt, mites, and dust.



I know its hard to tell, but the wallpaper had blue, orange, and yellow flowers and a huge mirror on one side that we had to literally BEG the sellers to take when they moved. Up until the day we closed, they were calling to tell us that it was a 'welcome to your home' gift to us. Yeah, I don't think so. There is also this ENORMOUS chandelier that was given to the previous owners as a gift from a theological society. It was the chandelier that hung in the dining hall at the school. It has 10 arms!!! I hated it until we painted the room, and then it blended in.



First things first. We tore down the wallpaper.

This was one of those instances where our reality differed from what I read on blogs. Our wallpaper was cloth, not paper or vinyl, so it came down in sheets. I bought tools to score it and lots of wallpaper remover, but never used them. We were left with LOADS of glue, though, that we scraped off with hot water and DIF gel. As we scraped the glue, pieces of our horse hair plaster would come down too. This led to lots of spackling. Fun.

Again, note the lovely carpet. This was our first meal in our new home the day we closed. Josh's aunt, uncle and cousins brought us Chinese food! Picnic in the dining room! YAY!


Paint made the biggest difference. Here we used California Paints- Codman Claret from their historic colors line and had the primer tinted to Codman Claret as well. I adore California Paints- it is terribly thick and covers well. This room took one primer coat and one additional coat, even though it is a dark cranberry, plus some small touch ups.

The paint also has antibacterial beads in it- whatever that means. But it makes it easy to wipe down and keep clean. I was in charge of painting (for hours on end- day after day) and Josh attacked the disgusting carpets. He used a wonder bar sold at any home improvement store and a hammer. A wonder bar prevents you from scratching floors as you pry up the wood. The carpet was easily torn up and the hardest part was cutting it into pieces the garbage people would pick up. An exacto-knife is the best bet. His poor hands were swollen from tearing up tack strips in every room, but we were so pleased to find beautiful oak floors underneath. That was a risk in buying the house, I admit. Without seeing underneath the carpets, we took the seller's word for the fact that it had hard wood floors and what condition they were in.


Here is the (somewhat) finished product. We found a dining room table that looked antiqued and then found a used buffet at a Craigs List moving sale. Lucky for us, the buffet ended up being black on the outside and red on the inside! What are the odds? The wall color has been really easy to match when it comes to rugs, table cloths and decorations. It is very close to a typical cranberry color that stores like Pottery Barn or Crate and Barrel carry. I am still working on painting trim and despite painting over cracks in the ceiling, they will reappear with time. I guess that is just the nature of an old house.




The hardest part (for me) was letting go of the perfection I'd seen in newer homes. No matter how much I spackle or caulk, I can't make the walls look perfect. They are 78 years old! I have learned to live with the bumps and imperfections and I think most people won't notice. Kinda like me! Just don't look too closely at my walls.... or my thighs.

death by Costa Rica

Josh's co-workers gave him a guide to Costa Rica that I have been reading in preparation for our trip. Clearly, Josh's email on the cockroaches, spiders and centipedes in CR have given me cause for concern. Today on the phone he told me that every morning he wakes up with bug bites from unknown creatures. Again, halloweenlover is NOT happy.

A week and a half ago, I went to a travel clinic appointment where they regaled me with stories of malaria, typhoid, yellow fever and hepatitis A. Today I have to go to the drug store to fill my malaria prescription and I got a hepatitis A shot that still has a bruise 11 days later. I'll let you know if I have "vivid and frightening dreams" on the malaria pills as described as potential side effects. Should be fun.

Over the weekend I read about the rainforest we are visiting, and the guide book advised wearing thick rubber boots to prevent poisonous snake bites. I'm sorry, WHAT?!?!

AND AS IF THIS WASN'T ENOUGH, Josh told me some of the names of the hotels where we will be staying. I did a google search for one of them, and came up with this. In case you'd rather not link, I'll cut and paste it in:

Safety Concerns: Tabacón Hot Springs is a “high-risk zone” and lies directly in
the path of the volcano’s eruptive path (the former community of Tabacón was
decimated in 1968 by an eruption that killed 78 people; and in June 1975, an
eruptive avalanche passed over the site of today’s Balneario [Hot Springs]). A
potentially deadly avalanche occurs within the zone once every two or three
years, often without warning, and it is unlikely that anyone in its path could
get out of the way in time. We do not recommend a visit to the Tabacon Hot
Springs (not Tabacon Resort Hotel which is on a rise) due to its low lying, down
wind position at the base of a stream that drains the summit. Travelers (or
local tour operators) intending to visit the Tabacon Hot Springs by their own
arrangement should be aware of the risk of a pyroclastic flow in the direction
of Tabacon.

Do you hear that sound? There? That is the sound of me crying.

People visit Costa Rica all the time, right? And they make it back?


** UPDATE**

Before I add scorpions to this list, per APL's suggestion, I feel the need to say that I am very happy and excited to be traveling to Costa Rica. I am simply lamenting the fact that people are telling me scary things- not criticizing the country. I love the places I have visited thus far in Central and South America and I hope to travel to many more exotic locations in my lifetime.

the not-so-master bedroom

If someone knows how to post multiple pictures on one blog through Hello and Picassa, PLEASE comment or send me an email!

For now this will work, I suppose, but its driving me a little batty.

When Josh and I bought our little white colonial money pit, there were a number of, ahem, cosmetic changes that needed to be made. There wasn't much that was wrong, per se, with the house, it just needed some help to become something that coincided with our style. We left 2 weeks after the closing until the movers came to allow us to make some of these cosmetic changes. I couldn't lift my arms above my shoulders from the pain of painting 10 hours a day.

The results have been great, though, and over the last few months it has started to feel like our home.

The master bedroom is a prime example (master is a bit of an exaggeration since my house is tiny, but lets imagine). Here is the way the room used to look.




Truly, it is a shame that you can't see the carpet in the room. It was a bright royal blue.

Here you'll note how the curtains match the pillows, which matches the lampshades, which matches the chairs in the corner of the room. Once we took those down, Josh almost fell over with the sheer shock of all the sunlight streaming in for the first time. There are 3 good sized windows in the room, but the overhanging curtains were blocking quite a bit of it!

The first thing we did was repaint the room. We chose a fairly dark tan color, that turned out a little darker than I expected. In fact, I whined for a couple of days and threatened to repaint because it looked too much like "poop", but in the end I left it.

It took waaaayyyy too many coats to cover up that blue paint.



Those are two closets, the one on the left is Josh's, on the right is mine. My closet, thankfully, is deceptive. It actually swings to the right and behind the wall, and is pretty big! HUGE selling point as we looked at old homes with no storage!

Then we tore up the royal blue carpet, although it did make you feel very happy and sesame street-ish. You know, like the cookie monster. We left the radiator painted the blue wall color, to remind us of how far we'd come. Truthfully, we thought we needed special radiator paint, although we've since been told that is a misguided belief. Apparently Benjamin Moore or California Paints works just fine.



We still don't have curtains. I can't seem to find anything I like. I bought a sewing machine in the hopes of sewing my own curtains, but can't find anything that looks right. Suggestions?

Before I had time to paint the trim or address the blue radiator, our furniture arrived. Turns out our armoire didn't fit, so we had to buy this dresser at Jordan's Furniture, the circus of furniture stores. If you haven't had the pleasure of shopping at Jordan's in Natick, you are missing out on all the beads and movies and mardi-gras goodness they push on you when you walk in the door!



For you home renovation bloggers, the color is called Bonjour Beige, but I had it especially mixed at California Paints from a Home Depot color. I couldn't find anything that was neutral enough in the Benjamin Moore or California Paints line.

And this is the finished product after I begged Josh to hang shelves and hooks and set everything up.

I stuck with the color because once we put all our antique white furniture in the room, it looked significantly lighter and a lot less poopy colored. It makes for a nice and cheerful room!



Sadly, I still find little spots of blue wall paint in the corners or inside closets so I have to continuously tackle it. I still have to paint all the trim in the room, and we are going with Benjamin Moore's White Dove. It is fairly white with a touch of cream, it really brightens up these small rooms!

I loved our previous owners, they were the sweetest, but oh my goodness, did I hate the colors they chose!!!

he did tell me not to post this, but....

Josh sent me an email this morning entitled "not fit for blog consumption" but welllllll, he is too busy attending Spanish classes to read my blog. Plus, did I mention that he has deserted me for ONE WHOLE MONTH while I slave and toil at work to pay for his exotic vacation?!?! Did I mention that?!?!

On to the story. Last night he went into his bedroom at his host family's house to study and saw a monster spider running down the wall toward the foot of his bed.

Mistake #1:
He pulled his bed away from the wall to catch the spider and when he didn't find it he pulled the covers off of the bed.

Chillin' under the covers was this little fella.

Yes, a disgusting hard shelled centipede. But being the tough man that he is, he grabbed some toilet paper and flushed said centipede down the toilet.

But, remember, he was still on the hunt for the spider.

Mistake #2:
He looked under the bed and found this little fella with three of his friends.

Ok, the truth is that I don't know what the spiders looked like, all I know is they were big and Google says this is what Costa Rican spiders look like.

Now Josh realized that he needed reinforcements, so he got some bug spray and sprayed the room from top to bottom.

Mistake #3:
He transported the spiders from his bedroom to the bathroom and found a new friend waiting for him on the tile floor.


Lets be frank here. As I have said in the past, I love my husband. In fact, I tell him often that I adore him and cannot imagine life without him. I am definitely sufrida without him. But I am just not sure that I love him enough to endure this or this.

Everyone has their limits, and I think we have glimpsed mine.

I have 9 days to find cockroach, spider and centipede repellent. Suggestions?

sweetness personified

Josh just sent me this (unedited) email:

Subject: soy sufrido
From: Josh
To: Halloweenlover

donde esta mi esposa? me perece ella no quiere hablar conmigo. Pero yo no se por que? Ella es la amor de mi vido. soy sufrido mucho.

su amor,

mimoso


Some background on this first. In Argentina, we have this joke word sufrido/sufrida meaning "I am suffered" or "I am suffering". It is a noun to describe yourself or someone else as a person who has or is suffering. Not in a bad way, though, more in a sarcastic or joking way. You wouldn't say that a sick person was sufrido, but you would say that a person who has to eat pizza even though she wants Chinese food is sufrida. My cousins and I use it all the time. If one of us complains about something trivial, like being hot or hungry or tired, we will (in a mocking tone) call her sufrida.

I love this word. We need to make something up in English that means the same thing, but for the meantime, we use it a lot. You haven't lived until you've heard my dear law school friend, Monika, with her dark blond hair and not-knowing-a-lick-of-Spanish North Carolina accent bust out with a "soy sufriiiiiidaaaaa". It cracks me up each and every time.

And then Josh's nickname at the end- mimoso, is the word in Spanish for a person who is very loving or cuddly. When we met in college, I was intensely surprised at how shameless Josh was. He would kiss and hug me in public, hold my hand anywhere, yell an "I love you" across the parking lot. A story for another time is about him kneeling in the mud in front of hundreds of people at a college party begging me to forgive him for some infraction. Totally shameless. So I started calling him a mimoso as a tease. He is the most loving person I know, which is ironic since I am not all that touchy-feely.

Anyway, for you non-Spanish speakers, the gist of the email (all spelling and grammatical errors aside) is this.

Subject: I am suffered.
From: Josh
To: Halloweenlover

Where is my wife? I think she doesn't want to talk to me. But I don't know why? She is the love of my life. I am very suffered.

Her love,
mimoso


See? How could I not be sad?

please don't hate me

The summer I got married, 2002, was the best summer of my life.

I spent the first 8 weeks in Paris in a summer associate position at my former law firm. I had so much fun that I cried the whole way to the airport because I didn't want to leave. I ate so much delicious food that my mother exclaimed when she arrived for her 2 week visit "oh dear God, you'll never fit in your wedding dress!" I went to the French Open, the Opera, Disneyland Paris, and on so many day trips I could bore you to tears. I had the most beautiful apartment near the Eiffel Tower, on a ritzy street called Rue de Passy, and when I walked out of my front door I looked up at its glittering lights. My office was on the Champs Elysee, a block away from the Arc de Triomphe. These two things combined into a constant reminder of my Parisien existence.

The next 5 weeks were spent in a small but functional (and absurdly expensive) studio in New York City's Times Square that I shared with two other friends and her poodle. And Josh visiting on weekends. I still don't know how we did it, but we survived. In an effort to work the pain au chocolat and tarte tatin from my chunky ass in time for my wedding, I ran every morning in Central Park. There were days that I pinched myself in order to believe it wasn't a dream.

2 weeks before my wedding on August 25, I stopped working and dedicated myself to the important and all-consuming details. You know, table signs, bridesmaid gifts, unpacking presents... it was hard. Of course, that day was the culmination of my summer and definitely the happiest day of my life thus far. I got married and we were off to Negril, Jamaica for 8 glorious and mind-numbing days.

As I said, best summer of my life. Please don't hate me.

This summer has not quite measured up. I'm not sure why. It could be that I actually have to work, and of course that puts a damper on my attending tennis tournaments and going to theme parks on a Tuesday. Josh is gone, and of course that lowers the fun threshold as well. I am in Boston, not Paris or New York, and while Boston is glorious- there is just something missing. The weather in Boston has felt a bit like playing the lottery, a guessing game of what-to-wear-today, and that annoys me. All good reasons, I suppose.

I've decided that I will just have to remind myself (and now you) of all the unfortunate things that happened from the summer of 2002 to cheer myself up.

Hmmmmm, there was the time when I took my NYC roommate's poodle out for a walk and I felt some drops splashing me and heard the sound of running water. I looked for the source and saw an ass staring me in the face while a woman bent over and shot urine onto the sidewalk from between two parked cars. That was lovely. I stepped in dog shit about 72 times while walking the streets of Paris, most notably on the way to work many mornings so that everywhere I went in the office building, the eau de merde lingered. There was also smoking allowed inside the law firm, of course, so I would choke and cough in my office as the night secretaries puffed away. None of those things have happened yet this summer, thank goodness.

Who knows, maybe this summer will turn out to be my best ever! Plus, none of our summer associates have jumped into rivers during an outing, so its shaping up pretty well.

to the genius on the elevator

Dear Woman Who Just Rode the Elevator With Me,

The huge sign located above each elevator bank is meant to indicate the floors to which those respective elevators go. Please do not get on the elevator with me, ask me what the sign stating Floors 13-23 means, and then proceed to complain loudly to me until I get off at Floor 22 that the elevator won't stop at the 7th floor.

When I said, before the doors closed, that Floors 13-23 means that it only stops at those floors, I wasn't kidding.

I did not design the elevators. I only work here.

Good luck.
Halloweenlover

sadness

I have been fortunate enough not to face depression yet personally.

I have, however, faced depression through family and friends, and I have felt how utterly terrible it is. How much pain depression can cause.

Because of this, I am extraordinarily careful with the word 'depressed'. I never say that I am depressed, I never refer to others as depressed, I never throw the word around. I know that it is far more serious and debilitating than many realize.

These days, though, I have to admit that I am down. I am sad. And I keep telling myself that I am fine fine fine, and in many ways I am. But in many ways I am not. I am having a hard time concentrating on work and having trouble sleeping. And I just feel down in the dumps. I'm not sure how else to describe it.

I believe that some large part is Josh's absence, and while I hate to admit that my husband's leaving would have such a big impact on my life, I think it does. I know that I am independent. I know I can survive without him, and I do. But now that I have chosen to live this life with him by my side, it is hard for him to be away for so long.

I feel ridiculous to even put this down in writing, but maybe it will help a little to acknowledge that all is not okay.

The good news is, 12 days to go. The bad news is, 12 days to go. Ahh well, incorporations, indemnification agreements, and partnership details will keep me busy, right?

he can 'catch' me anytime...

Last Sunday I grabbed breakfast at Starbucks with my inlaws, and a young woman came in with a puppy. I started chatting with her about her new dog, a Cavalier King Charles, and we set a date to meet this Sunday at 10am with all our pups for coffee. So yesterday I packed up Tango and Murray and off we went to the neighborhood Starbucks. She never showed, which was a little disappointing, but as Josh pointed out, she likely forgot it was Father's day when she made the date. Understandable, and maybe we'll run into each other again.

As I was sitting outside and chatting with my mom and some friends while we waited, a car pulled up next to us and out came Jason Varitek, the Red Sox catcher and captain. As the door slammed to my right, I glanced over and proceeded to stare shamelessly as he sauntered past my bench and into the coffee shop. In fact, I think my mouth may have actually fallen open and stayed open for that brief minute. I interrupted my mom and tried to explain who he was to her, but as the most non-athletic person I know, she wasn't very interested.

Now, I am not much for watching sports, but I do have a soft spot for the Red Sox. My hubs, Josh, is a HUGE sports fan, and he is practically fanatic for the Red Sox, as is most of New England. Out of all the players on the team, though, Jason Varitek is my favorite. He seems the most level-headed, hard working, supportive member of the group. Plus he is HOT. Yesterday, he was wearing slacks and a button down shirt and the best way to describe him would be to say he looked 'manly' and 'rugged'.

Needless to say, I totally forgive the Cavalier King Charles' mom for not showing up at Starbucks. If it weren't for her, I'd have missed seeing Jason's butt. And that made my 20 minutes lost absolutely worth it.

boobs all over the place

My secretary is the sweetest thing ever, but did she really need to inform all of us that she has a mammogram appointment on Monday and that is why she'll be late?

the promise of good friends

The Internet is a funny place. When I started blogging, I never imagined that I would actually MEET people on the Internet. I never thought I would email with people, or carry on a dialogue. I certainly never thought I'd make friends on the Internet. I thought it would be a fun journal-type thing to keep.

The truth is, though, it has been so much nicer than that. In an email conversation today with a friend I met blogging, she commented that it is so funny that you can email with someone and realize that if you met in 'real life' you'd be fast friends. And its true! The irony about meeting people through blogging is that even though you haven't met in person, you've often been privy to many of their private thoughts or feelings. Sure, there is plenty about their real life that you don't know, but I believe there are also many things about their private life that people they see daily don't know. So when you email with someone whose blog you have read, you actually know quite a bit about that person. Selective bits, but still a good amount.

The other day a friend met through 'real life law school' emailed me this article from the BBC about the importance of friendships. Apparently this study in Australia has discovered what many bloggers (and other people) have already realized. Friends make you live longer. Friends are positive and happy influences in your lives and they encourage you to stay healthy and well. Friends can be far closer and more influential on your life than your own family.

Perhaps this is why internet trolls can be so hurtful, even though it is 'just the internet'. People don't normally walk up to you on the street and spout hurtful or rude things to your face. But under the veil of an IP address, people are willing to be outrageous and crazy.

The good news is that since your friends will help you live longer, and I believe this includes your blogging friends, it is all worth it in the end.

Maybe we should make t-shirts that say "Writing nasty comments on people's blogs shortens your life span, so stay away!"

the love of my life

Phantom Scribbler started a little meme off of significant other meet-ups. Her story is FABULOSO, I definitely recommend you all go read it. And now, I will share the story of how I met my adored hubs.

In my final semester of high school, I began dating a boy from the all-boys Jesuit school associated with my all-girls Catholic high school. Can you believe it? I went to an all-girls school! How trite, no? Anyway, said boy and I, lets call him G, were head over heels for each other, but he was going to college in California, and I was off to Massachusetts. It should have been over at the end of that summer, but it wasn't. Being the crazy impetuous person that he was, he decided in July that he would move to Boston with me. He'd never traveled, and he figured that if it worked out he would take classes at the local community college and eventually transfer to a university in the area, or if it didn't work out, he'd move back to California and follow his original plan. I was terrified of moving to Boston anyway, so when he suggested it, I was ecstatic! I would live in the dorms, he would live in a nearby town, and we didn't have to break up.

Insane though it sounds, it worked out quite well. I had my best friend nearby, and he gave me the space I needed to make friends as a freshman and the time to study. I missed out on the crazy parties my classmates attended, but I wasn't really all that crazy to begin with, so it wasn't a bad thing.

We dated steadily through my freshman and sophomore years until the start of my junior year. It made me a bit of a random celebrity on campus: this girl whose high school boyfriend had moved to Boston to be with her. It was fun and looking back now, I think I had more confidence and an easier time adjusting because I had a built in support system. He wasn't on campus every day and we certainly had independent lives, but it was still nice. During the summer after my sophomore year, though, everything changed. He became moody and mean. We argued a lot. He hated school and he wasn't as interested in having a girlfriend. I found out that he was doing drugs, and as the fairly straight arrow kid that I was, I was devastated.

In October, in an oddly vague and unimportant conversation we decided to take a break. Our reasoning figured that if we missed each other or couldn't live apart, we just wouldn't, but for now we'd see how we felt. I was fine for a couple of days, and then I crumbled. I didn't understand how this could be happening and I cried for days. We had one terrible fight that reminded me of why we were breaking up and I decided that I would stick out the break-up, no matter how sad I was. I threw myself into school, into exercising, into deciding what I would do with my life. I think I was mildly depressed and I lost 15 pounds because I was never hungry. As winter break approached I couldn't fathom going home to California and to all our friends and family. I didn't want to face the holidays without seeing him, and my parents suggested selflessly that I take a trip to Argentina on my own.

It was one of the best ideas they have ever had. I took off for almost a month to the sunny temperatures of Buenos Aires, where I had friends and family that had never met or known G. I had a blast, but I also mourned the time that was over. I didn't want to get back together with G, but I was sorry that the time in my life when we were together was over. I remember laying on lawn chairs by the pool and listening to Sarah McLachlan's "You Do What You Have To Do" and the line that says "and I have the sense to recognize that I don't know how to let you go" over and over. Because that is how I felt.

I flew back to Boston refreshed and ready to move on and oh-so-glad it was over. It was a Friday. Saturday morning, G called. He asked if he could come over. Stunned, I said yes. He said he missed me, he had the hardest Christmas of his life. He didn't know how to do this, this being apart. And I didn't know what to say. Here was this boy I loved, but I wasn't in love with him anymore. And I was glad it was over, but I was tempted. I told him I needed time to think and asked him to leave. I thought about him and his proposition until classes started on Wednesday, and I still didn't know what I would do.

On Wednesday morning I got up and got dressed for class and as I was packing my bag my roommate came in and told me she had a dream the night before. With a dead serious look on her face, she said that she dreamt I would meet my future husband that day in class. She also said that I needed to wear something cute for this man of my dreams. We laughed and both looked down at my perfectly nice but nothing-special outfit, so I changed. I put on a gray fitted dress jumper with tights and cute shoes. I curled my hair.

I walked into my first class of the day, Philosophy, and in the seat in front of my assigned seat, was the hubs. I took one look at him and knew. I came home that evening and started a journal. The first line of this journal talked about my roommate's dream and this boy. By the second class he had my phone number, by the third we had a date. At the end of the week I told my mother that I knew I would marry him.

3 and a half years later, my roommate was the maid of honor at our wedding. 6 years later, we moved a mile a half away from where we met.

I never knew I could be this happy.

How about you, Angry Pregnant Lawyer? And anyone else who wants to share!

my masterpiece

The previous owners of our house didn't have much of a green thumb. In fact, they informed me specifically that it was more of a brown thumb. The inside of the house was impeccable, but the outside left much to be desired : )

The house has shrubs all along the front that are half dead and badly in need of a trim, the grass in the backyard is fairly non-existent, and all the trees are terribly overgrown and block our sunlight.

Over Thanksgiving week, just after we moved in, the Hubs and his dad spent hours chopping down two shrubs that had since turned into awful ugly trees that blocked our dining room and office windows. Now we have stumps in our front yard, but its still better.

Over Memorial Day weekend, the hubs threw down grass seed, which is ever so slowly growing in. My job is to water it while he is gone. Just don't tell him that I forget all the time. He also bought the largest non-riding lawn mower that Sears sells, because he is a manly man, and he needs lots of power tools and big mechanical items. I might mention again that we have a ten foot square patch of no grass, but that would be mean so I won't.

I tore up hostas, as we have previously discussed, thinking they were weeds, because frankly, I don't know a damn thing about gardening. But I am learning, because that is the obsessive over-achiever that I am. I also ordered about 40 plants that all arrived at the same time, because planting 40 plants at one time wouldn't be difficult. Noooooo. Not at all.

But I did plant my 40 plants and lined them with lovely rocks stolen from the inlaws house in the Berkshires, and I covered them with mulch. Aren't they beautiful?



I know they look small, but they are babies! They will grow to be big and strong and provide halloweenlover with lots of lovely flowers! I promise!!!

FYI, that person you saw hunched over and walking like an 80-year-old on the subway? That was me 2 weeks ago.

I'm still limping.

Tango

Why I smile when I get home every day. Wouldn't you?

suburbia?

I just finished a great fun book, Book Ends, recommended to me by my sister-in-law. It was funny, sweet, dramatic toward the end, and an easy quick read. I love reading books like this in the summertime, when the days are longer and time goes a bit slower. Toward the end of the book, I was so desperate to know what was going to happen that I refused lunch with other people to hide for 40 minutes and read!

In the book, one of the characters scoffs at suburban life. He says that the new image of a suburb is an urban center, on the outskirts of the city, full of young marrieds with 2 children and an SUV. These little urban centers are full of shops and cafes, and cater to these young families and their growing wealth. He thinks that these young families don't want to believe that they live in the suburbs, so they have recreated this new notion of an urban town. It allows them to feel they live in the city, even though they don't.

The character's description struck a chord with me. I suppose I might live in such a town, even though it is very old and not really a new urban center. I chose to live here because I love the old houses, the mature shady trees, the great schools, the friendly neighborhoods. I also chose it because it is on the subway, I can have sushi or Thai or Indian delivered, there are tons of cafes and shops, there are festivals and fairs every weekend. I love feeling close to the city, but also feeling tremendously safe.

The other day, one of our summer associates told me that living in my town was like living in the Midwest. It was practically nowhere. Besides that fact that he clearly doesn't want an offer that badly, since he is insulting older associates, I surprised myself with how angry he made me. I came home and complained to my husband and inlaws and parents about how obnoxious and wrong the comment was.

After reading Book End's character's description of suburban life, I was reminded of the mommy drive-bys so many bloggers mention. After my defensiveness about my town (it is really a small city, but I won't split hairs), I started wondering why I cared? I also wondered why people put each other down so much. Whether I agree or disagree with the description above, what would be wrong with a town that catered to young married couples and families? What is wrong with a new notion of suburbia consisting of an urban center on the outskirts of a city? Why do people insist on putting down other people in an effort to pump themselves up? I could care less where other people live, and it wouldn't occur to me to tell someone who lives downtown about my friend whose apartment was broken into while she slept inside alone, or to tell someone who lives an hour and a half away from Boston that I would gouge my eye out if my commute were that long. I wouldn't say any of those things, because it would be rude and unnecessary. I can see merits in whatever choice you make.

I have found myself becoming outraged at the mommy drive-bys other people describe, but I think the problem is really drive-bys in general. Whether it is about the town you live in, the person you married, the car you drive, or your hobbies, people should think twice before putting down those around them.

Play nice people, just play nice.

princess of procrastination

Does anyone else out there put something off day after day, making yourself sick with worry in the meantime, thinking about it constantly, obsessing over how long it will take and how you will ever get it done, but still not do it?

And then when you finally get around to finishing said task, it takes no time at all and you just want to scream at yourself asking why you didn't just do it last week!!!

Yet, tomorrow, I'll do the same thing. Sigh.

the trial

I guess everyone has heard about old thriller's acquital.

I think I was expecting him to be found not guilty, or at the most, to have a hung jury. My mother is an avid Court TV watcher and she felt the need to keep me up to date on the trial. On Friday, she told me that once Macaulay Culkin said that Jackson had never molested him, she was knew he was innocent. You see why I love my mother?

She also said that as soon as she saw a picture of Hillary Clinton as a 20-something, she knew Bill had an affair with Monica. Monica was apparently the spitting image of a young Hillary. Who knew?

Anyway, the hallways in this law firm are buzzing and lots of people seem to be watching the report as it comes down the wire. I just keep thinking that this is such a sad situation, and such a waste of taxpayers' money.

and the award for inlaws of the year goes to...

Mine!

My inlaws were here this weekend and they proceeded to bend themselves backwards and turn themselves upside down helping me around the house! My father-in-law got up at 7:30am to trim trees in my backyard, despite the crushing heat (TONS of trees). Then he trimmed the neighbor's bushes that were hanging over my fence. Then he chopped all those limbs and bushes up and stacked them neatly in lawn bags. 8 lawn bags! He also installed 2 window air conditioners for me, which clearly took the prize as I would have melted without them.

My mother-in-law, not to be outdone, cleaned some of my rooms, did laundry, washed dishes, went on a long walk with me on Sunday morning, and dug holes to plant a lilac bush, azalea, 3 hydrangeas, and then cleaned up the yard with me. They both worked nonstop every minute they were in my house!

And my little abode does look very pretty today. I took lots of pictures to appease all of you, and I'll post them tonight since I forgot the #*^%& camera cord again.

But still, I am sad today. I feel down in the dumps and lethargic and incapable of getting anything done.

The reason? My hubs has abandoned me. Not literally, but he left me a week ago to go on a month-long trip to Costa Rica. He is taking a Spanish immersion course so that one day, when we have children, he'll be able to speak to them in Spanish too. I told him that he had two options (1) I teach the kids Spanish and then we talk shit about him behind his back or (2) he learns the language. You can see which one he chose.

So I won't see my sweet hubs until I visit him in Costa Rica in 3 weeks. I really really really cannot wait. I felt very brave and happy about him leaving for the first week, even though I missed him, but today, for some reason I feel overwhelmed with his absence. On the one hand, I think that 3 more weeks is nothing. 2 more weekends! And I'll have family as entertainment! On the other hand, 3 more weeks feels interminable. As if I might shrivel up with sadness. Ahh, I love to be dramatic. But I do miss him terribly.

Since my inlaws were here all weekend and until this Wednesday and then my parents arrive Wednesday to take over the lonely daughter shift, I figured I would be protected from crazy stalkers (or masturbators). Hopefully. If any crazy stalkers are reading this, I don't really live in Boston. I live in Oklahoma. Deep in the fields of Oklahoma. Start looking for me there.

how hot was it?

Well, it was 90+ degrees all weekend, and about 100% humidity.

It was so hot that if you stepped outside you would be drenched with sweat within minutes.

It was so hot that after 10 minutes of gardening I had to sit down because I thought I might pass out.

It was so hot that my window air conditioners couldn't seem to cool down the house.

It was so hot that even the dogs didn't want to stay outside. After a couple of minutes they would scratch at the door to go back in.

It was so hot that my friend and I were pretending to be interested in awful stores just to get inside and enjoy air conditioning.

It was so hot that it gave new meaning to the term "swamp ass".

It was so hot and I was so dripping wet with sweat that I slipped down the stairs (because even my feet were sweaty) and smashed my hand into the banister. I thought I broke my hand for a while, but now it is just 17 shades of purple and swelled to twice its normal size.

Now why did I leave San Francisco again?

ahhhh... to be a summer associate again

Every summer has a story passed from inbox to inbox, whispered in law schools and conference rooms- about a summer associate gone mad. It is as if the wining and dining pushes them over the edge, making them incapable of seeing the difference between appropriate and inappropriate, sane and insane.

One summer it was a London summer associate who stopped going to work, but continued collecting paychecks for weeks, claiming he was deathly ill although he was seen out and about. Another amusing anecdote was a summer associate urinating and mooning people from the Boston Duck Tours. The summer I interned it was an email, apparently written in jest (but now legendary) that ridiculed and insulted the partners at this summer associate's NY firm.

This year, despite the fact that it is only June 10th, I believe we have found our "incident":

On a night just two weeks ago, hundreds of New York summer associates were at a very snooty charity benefit at Pier 60 in Chelsea Piers, put on by a number of law firms.

Drinks were served in abundance, and it was only a matter of time before some summer associate with a low tolerance made an egregious social faux pas in front of the partners of their firm.

What actually took place surpassed expectations.

In a drunken stupor, a girl from (names removed to protect the innocent- but lets call the firm CG- hint hint) suggested to those standing around her that they all go for a swim. This swim would take place from the restaurant's deck sitting over the Hudson River. Once off the deck it was 500 feet back to shore in fairly rough swells of very polluted water. Everyone around looked at her as if she were joking, or crazy. Despite the fact that nobody was willing to join her, she took off her shoes and dress and jumped half-naked into the River, causing, as you can imagine, widespread panic amongst everyone at the party.

The Coast Guard was called in immediately and the summer associate was arrested.

The question is, will this sort of behavior even prevent her from getting an offer from said firm at the end of the summer? Let me tell you- it takes A LOT. An awful lot, not to get an offer. Stay tuned.

Today's message: step away from the bar. Put down that drink. You've had enough.

WHY?

am I INCAPABLE of eating or drinking one f$#*%& single thing without spilling it down the front of my shirt?

Today's feat: White Sweater a la Buffalo Chicken Sauce

life IS good

Doesn't this festival sound so cool? It is a Life is Good Backyard Athlete Festival! I love those "Life is Good" t-shirts. They are so fun and wholesome. My nephew wears a little golfing Life is Good hat and I just want to eat him up, he's so adorable. But this festival sounds great- watermelon seed spitting? Dog bowling? What more could you want? Plus, I need a t-shirt with a dog on it.

Also, there is an art festival lining Beacon Street in Boston, from Newton to downtown Boston! My office walls are looking mighty boring, so I may need to check out some local artists. I need paintings of sunflowers to cheer me and my office up. Anyone know any artists that paint nice pics of landscapes? Preferably with sunflowers or the ocean?

the post in which I complain about nothing important

You know those days? The ones where you want to crawl into bed with the puppies and not come out?* Yup, one of those.

Last night I didn't leave work until 10:30pm or so, and I came outside to a torrential downpour, complete with thunder and lightning. Also featuring "NO CABS ANYWHERE IN THE VICINITY." I stood there, without an umbrella, and waited. And waited. And waited. 10 minutes later another associate and a partner stroll out with umbrellas and I huddle with them to stop the drenching. Finally a cab pulled up and the associate suggested we share one so we all hopped in. Unfortunately, since I am the only one who lives in the suburbs, I am also the last to be dropped off. We drove the partner to his car in a parking lot a few blocks away, then drop the associate off in the South End (not close) and then drive to my little town (also not close). The cab driver, apparently on his first ride EVER, drove 25 miles per hour the whole way to my house. I didn't get there until 11:30.

It was also a cool 90 degrees inside my house, at about 479% humidity, courtesy of the torrential downpour. I try to fall asleep. It isn't working. The dogs are restless too. My little bit of sleep is punctuated by nightmares of people breaking into my house and coming into my bedroom. I literally sat up in bed screaming in my sleep, something I have never done before, and scared the shit out of the dogs.

At 7:07 am, the neighbors begin construction next door on their brick steps, including jackhammers and saws.

At 8:02 am, I can't find the car keys.

At 8:26 am, I still can't find the car keys.

At 8:36 am, its too late to take the subway, I HAVE TO FIND THE CAR KEYS.

At 8:41 am, I find the car keys and run out the door.

I stroll into work at 9:32 am, half asleep and desperate for coffee.

From 9:33 am to now, the phone rings nonstop and I am handed assignment after assignment. And then another assignment.

I asked for notebooks from the supply room and was told that attorneys need to "conform their practices to the supplies at hand." So that means I can't have a notebook?

I have a run in my pantyhose. I spilled salsa down the front of my shirt. I have to pee like a, well, like a racehorse, but I have been holding it because I am on call after call.

My hair looks like ass because it was rained on last night and I refused to wash it this morning, because damnit, I need sleep.

I have a huge pimple on my cheek.

And to top it all off, I brought my digital camera to work so that I could share pretty pictures of all my gardening with all of you, and I FORGOT THE CORD TO CONNECT TO THE COMPUTER!!! Oh, the tragedy of it all.

And it is only 2:24pm.


*puppies optional.

Tagged!

Yay! Ninotchka tagged me for this musical meme, so here I go...

Total number of music files on my computer:
Hmmm, I think this is an unfair question because I just switched jobs and I had lots of files on my work computer at my old job, but none at the new job. But, on my ipod mini- Gmini ('cause he's a gangsta and green), I have 635.*

The last CD I bought:
In store: Sacred Love by Sting.
On iTunes: Over and Over by Nelly and Tim McGraw

Song playing right now:
The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me by Gladys Knight and the Pips, per my last blog entry, because I'm reminiscing!

Five songs that I listen to a lot:
1 - Fallen by Sarah McLachlan
2 - Anything by Sarah McLachlan
3 - Confessions by Usher
4 - Donde Estan Los Ladrones by Shakira
5 - Say Anything by Edwin McCain (really the whole new CD, Scream and Whisper)

Thanks for the tag Ninotchka! I was thinking that I wouldn't be able to think of anything, but I had to edit my choices down a ton!

I've had the sweetest comments recently from HoneyBunny and Spooky Rach, so now you two are tagged!


* Can't you sooo tell that I am a lawyer? Geez. Soon I am going to be putting up disclaimers at the beginning of each entry. Pfft.

The Best Thing

When I got engaged, my parents were totally unfamiliar with the engagement and wedding customs of the United States. In Argentina, people don't get diamond rings, or plan long engagements, or have engagement parties. A wedding would be a civil union in front of a judge, and maybe, for some people, a church (or other religious) service too. But you would wear a suit or a nice dress (not necessarily white) to either the civil union or church service, and then a party dress to a party you might have with friends and family (likely not white).

My parents got married on the steps of San Francisco City Hall, my dad in this striped blue suit, my mom in a cream suit with a big white floppy hat. How I loved that hat as a child- it was so chic!

All of the 'nonsense' of bridesmaids, bouquets, several different parties, structured dances, and all the rest were completely novel to them. I think my parents worried that they wouldn't enjoy the wedding as much because it was so different, although they had the time of their lives (their own words) and danced the night away. We had a Jewish wedding, outdoor in a garden with a rabbi, and danced the traditional hava nagila, went up on chairs, the whole shebang. It was fabulous.

Josh (the hubs) and I surprised everyone by learning the Tango for our first dance. One of my sweetest memories is when the music started and there was a stunned silence as we began the choreographed moves. We pretended to be courting each other and while Josh would grab my hand I'd walk away from him glancing back seductively. I can still hear my friends' whoops and hollers, and I can see my father's tears of surprise and pride.

My father-in-law said that our dance was his favorite moment from the whole wedding. He told us later that he had never seen such guts and flair in his children.

I wasn't the only one with a surprise, though. My parents kept the song for the father-daughter dance a secret from me. They loved the idea of that tradition and they both spent months selecting the perfect song. As the music started, these were the words I heard:

I've had my share of life's ups and downs

But fate's been kind- the downs have been few

I guess you could say that I've been lucky

I guess you could say that its all because of you

If anyone should ever write my life story

For whatever reason there might be

You'd be there - between each line of pain and glory

Because you're the best thing that ever happened to me

You're the best thing that ever happened to me

There have been times, when times were hard

But always somehow I made it - I made it through

'Cause for every moment that I've spent hurting

There was a moment that I've spent just loving you

If anyone should ever write my life story

For whatever reason, there might be

You'd be there, between each line of pain and glory

Because you're the best thing that ever happened to me

That ever happened to me

I know that you're the best thing that ever happened to
me

Now seriously, is this something that you should sneak up on an already tearful bride on her wedding day?

I guess so.



** The song is by Gladys Knight and the Pips, it is called The Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me

The Truth About Me

The hubs and I grew up in dramatically different lifestyles. Our parents' styles of raising us were similar (i.e. we were both sent to our rooms and told not to come out until there was a smile on our faces, how weird is that?), but the manner in which we grew up was oh-so-opposite. The hubs was a- skiing in Switzerland, summers in Paris, great neighborhood, and country club- kind of kid. Not a brat and very appreciative and cognizant of what he had, but he did have a fortunate upbringing. I, on the other hand, was a- tiny apartment, somewhat inner-city ghetto (and I know its totally not PC to say ghetto, but hey, I lived there, I can say it), went to school on scholarships, dad was a waiter for years and years, immigrant, and not too much money- kind of lifestyle. I was very happy growing up, and we definitely had fun and took day trips to places like Napa where we would picnic and drive around in lovely towns, but I never went to Switzerland or Bermuda or Aspen or any of those other amazing places that now make me salivate and drool all over myself.

Since the hubs has always been very grateful and unassuming about what he has, it has never been a problem. He has never made me feel like I had less, or as if he thinks his life was better than mine. Not better, just different. Both of us were happy kids, happy teens, happy almost grown-ups. Sometimes, though, I am struck by how different my (hopefully someday) future children's lives will be. My parents didn't own a house until I was a teenager, and even then we moved to Sacramento because housing was so much more affordable than in San Francisco. My kids will come into this world in a house their parents own, in a great neighborhood with great schools. They won't know the difference. They will be driven around in (fairly) new cars. I had clothes and toys from the Salvation Army, they will have new clothes and new toys. They have grandparents that winter in Florida, summer in the Berkshires. They will probably take trips, see shows, and do all of these things I didn't do until I was much older. They probably won't ever worry about money, they'll never see a cockroach in their house, never have neighbors that are from El Salvador next door, Guatemala down the hall, Mexico upstairs.

Don't think I am complaining about my upbringing, though, I couldn't have been happier. I had parents that doted on me all the time and since I was in an apartment building with tons of Spanish-speaking families, I had a ready made group of friends available at all times. I went to the best schools (on scholarships, but who cares?), I grew up speaking more than one language, we put together enough money to be able to visit family in Argentina regularly. I never thought I was disadvantaged.

After law school, though, I made a decision about money. I didn't want to worry about money anymore. I wanted to pay off my $100K+ school loans as soon as possible. I wanted to get a prestigious name on my resume at the beginning of my career. So I chose to go to a big law firm. It was a tremendously hard decision. My dream was to do human rights law. It was the reason I went to law school, what I focused on, what all my papers and courses were centered around. I question my decision sometimes, but I know it isn't forever, so I am able to be happy for now. I spend less time at home and more time at work, but I feel secure. The hubs can quit his job and go to school for the next two years and we can still be okay financially. We still live frugally, but I don't worry about paying my bills.

It is a trade-off, but for now, I think its worth it.

The irony is, I sometimes feel guilty. Sometimes I feel like an imposter. As if this isn't really my life. Or my job. Or my house. I feel torn between the person I used to be and the person I am now. I see my colleagues with designer purses, nice clothes, new cars, and I can't bring myself to spend that kind of money even though I sometimes want to. I can't help thinking that my parents will cringe if I buy a purse from Coach, even though I've wanted one for years. I still clip coupons because I feel like I should still save more, spend less, live frugally, even though I work here so that I don't have to do exactly that.

So that is how I live my life. On the one hand, I speak Spanish to my parents and the scent of an Argentine asado (barbecue) can bring tears to my eyes, and on the other I am a corporate lawyer at a big law firm living in a nice town, and I love both sides of this life. I wonder if my children will ever feel this conflict or ever worry that perhaps they don't fit in.

Maybe they'll never know that what their mother worries about most is that perhaps she fits in too well.

Traffic Laws in Boston

The short answer is: NONE.

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of driving in Boston, it is a FUCKING NIGHTMARE. Pardon my language, but it is true. The first time my mom and I visited to look at colleges, she cried about 3 times on the first day because we kept ending up on some bridge or another, always headed in the wrong direction. There are very few signs, the road construction keeps changing all of the streets and where they lead, and drivers are mean mean mean. We are talking- keep your blinker on for half an hour but they'll never let you in- mean.

When Josh and I got married, one of his groomsmen decorated our car with condoms and white paint. On every window was some reference to the fact that we were "Just Married" or "Newlyweds". The inside of the car was covered in lubricant from all the condoms (about 100) that he had placed on the seatbelts, door handles, knobs, and antenna, but that's another story.

When we returned from our honeymoon, I took the car over to the car wash to get all the paint off, and on the drive I noticed an astounding thing. People were being NICE to me. When I put my blinker on, THEY LET ME IN. Some honked, or waved, and at an intersection, the other driver smiled. I was shocked. So I did what any normal person would do, and I went back home without washing the car off. And then? I kept the paint on for 9 MONTHS.

It became a running joke amongst friends. A girlfriend and I went to grab a coffee and an elderly couple came over and told us congratulations and that they "were so happy to see YOU people making it work." Sweet. Odd, but sweet. I kept the paint on when leaves covered the car in the fall, when snow covered it in the winter, when bird poop hit it in the spring. I would wash any parts that got excessively dirty, but I lived without washing it until the next summer started. It was fun. I felt like such a newlywed whenever people would comment on the paint, and the honking and smiles and nice drivers continued throughout the 9 months.

I remembered this today because I drove downtown for the first time today, instead of taking the subway. The traffic was horrendous and no one would let anyone in when they needed to change lanes. I got stuck behind a taxi that pulled to a stop to wait for passengers in the middle of the lane, so I put my blinker on and resigned myself to waiting 5 minutes until I could wedge my way in. Until a red jeep paused for a moment to allow me to cut in. It caught me off guard and I had to jam my foot onto the accelerator to not make her wait, so I raised my hand in thanks, and she raised her hand back as a "you're welcome" sign.

She must be an out-of-towner. Sucker.

since we're talking about babies...

My sister-in-law and brother-in-law came to visit us this week (the hubs' sister), and last night we went out for dinner in Boston's North End. Before I go on, if you are ever in Boston, you have got to head to the North End and then to Mike's Pastry on Hanover Street. I know lots of people say other bakeries are better, but the chocolate dipped, chocolate chip stuffed canollis make me want to cry, they are so delicious.

Anyway, we are at dinner and my sister-in-law (hereafter, SIL) turns to her hubs and very seriously says "there's no easy way to talk about this". My stomach turned a little while they looked at each other and I started to speed review what it could be. Maybe she hates us, or she's pregnant, or they need money, or I have no idea. So her hubs, my brother-in-law (hereafter, BIL) says, "you know that we have a will, but we haven't changed it from when Ellie (their second child) was born. Right now SIL's parents are the guardians, but the sad truth is that they are getting older. And... well... we were wondering if you two would be their guardians if anything ever happened to us". And then SIL interrupted and launched into lots of excuses for us and told us that we didn't have to, but they wanted us to, but they understood if we didn't, and they knew it wasn't a good time, and etc.

I was stunned. Grateful. Honored. But stunned.

I also wanted to laugh at all of her excuses and her saying that she knew it wasn't a good time for us, because really, the concept of your SIL and BIL dying is never a good time. In fact, it would be one of the saddest, scariest, most painful things I could ever imagine. But that does not mean that I wouldn't drop everything and anything to love my niece and nephew with every ounce of my being. I would change my life completely to do what was best for them. I would love them as much as I will hopefully love my own children, without a doubt.

My hubs tried to convey that to them, and then we agreed to change the subject quickly before she and I started crying.

We moved on from the conversation and made fun of friends and the waitress and complained about our minor problems without discussing it again. Right now, though, I feel at a loss. I am not sure what you do with information like that? Do you say something again? Do you send a card?

I pray with every shred of my being that something like that never ever comes about. At the same time, though, I feel as if we should acknowledge the conversation again. It is the most precious gift of trust and love on their part. One of the hardest decisions they will ever have to make.

I guess I come back to the fact that the hubs and I are so blessed and so loved. I should just add it to the many wonderful things in my life.

But if anyone has etiquette suggestions out there, pass them on.

Welcome Cate!

Baby Cate was born last night (I don't know the exact time, but around 7pm) and she weighs 7 pounds and is 21 inches long! And beautiful, of course.

Mom is doing great and was sitting up in bed half an hour later saying that she could hardly remember what labor was like! I'll throw something at her when I see her later today for saying that, don't worry.

Baby Update

A is 9 cm dilated, almost ready to push as of 10 minutes ago!

Looks like we will be having a baby Cate pretty soon!

quickie

I only have a minute because I started my new job yesterday (YAY!) and I am trying not to spend too much time blogging while at the office, particularly since I already have 5 clients. FIVE!!! What are these people thinking? What happened to easing me into things?

Anyway. Good news on the A in labor front. Last time we chatted, she had decided to march into her appointment yesterday and behave hysterically and demand to be induced. Turns out it worked because last night she went into the hospital and they started the process at about 7pm or so. According to my college roommate, the pediatrician, who although she treats children has also covered labor and delivery, they will put some type of gel stuff on her cervix to "ripen it" and this morning they started the pitocin.

So at this very moment A is likely working through the labor thing and getting her future baby girl out of the premises. Please send lots of positive thoughts and prayers her way! And I'll keep you updated!