A Heavy Heart, Soft Little Feet

My kitty is dead. I can't breathe from the loss at times. The absence of her spirit haunts me.

A whirlwind!

Since arriving two weeks ago, I have met several wonderful women whose husbands are attending USU at my first Student Spouses Club meeting, been to Andrews Air Force Base and Forte Meade and been shocked (in a good way) by the variety at the BX/PX and commissaries, gotten lost countless times due to our trusty GPS (ha), explored the National Naval base and USU, furniture shopped (didn't buy anything yet), unpacked the majority of our boxes, and visited the sites in DC.

My skin and hair adores the soft water here but going outside in the blanket of humidity makes my skin sticky. I am so thankful that everything is air conditioned down here.

Bruce is sleeping in quite late since he has had an extremely busy couple of weeks and I guess he finally decided he needs the rest. I am about to take advantage of this and go eat my breakfast in solitude while I can!

Oh, and of course: Nathan's first day of medical school is today. I can't believe it is finally here! SO excited!

Reunion

This is our reunion picture. When we first clapped eyes upon each other in the airport.

Off Into the Blue Yonder...

We have moved. I will always be a NYer at heart, but I am no longer home. You know that feeling of infinite suspension you get while looking up and swinging? Your feet kick back to arc you to earth and towards the sky again, taking your breath away. That's how I feel right now. I am excited to meet new people, try new things, venture into the new.

However, I almost cried my first day here, when upon ordering subs at a Safeway (grocery store), I was told that I would need to call ahead the next time I wanted to order five subs. Five subs was apparently an overwhelming number of subs to make. It took her 20 minutes. In NY, that would have taken maybe 5-7 minutes for all five. I wanted to pull my hair out, and I think I looked at her cross-eyed from disbelief when she told me that five subs was too many.

Anyhoo, I got my military ID card yesterday, so I am now able to get on bases, buy goods at the commissary and exchange, and use any other military benefits.

It is really weird to see people saluting Nathan and calling him "sir." I am sure I will get used to it eventually, but it is so foreign to me. I like it.

Where the Spot Be

We are moving in just seven days. Nathan will return from COT in five. Only six more sleeps until he is back with me.

My chest rises with anticipation over our new venture even as it deflates with sorrow at the notion of leaving all my loved ones.

I know our direction is sure. Nathan got into his top choice. Since he was a child, he has had a desire to serve in the military, and as we moved into married life, medicine became his focus. At USUHS, he fulfills both interests. He is an officer in the Air Force and about to enter a top medical school in the US. I could not ask for more, except to remain with my extended family.

Bruce will have to connect with his grandparents in other ways. He and I will visit when Nate is busy. He will have "slumber parties" at his grandparents, and see them for long stretches in the summer. He will not be disconnected.

Plane tickets are extremely cheap from here to there, and the flight length is to sneeze at. It will be a breeze to visit, with Bruce on my lap on the puddle-jumper.

On another note, I have become somewhat lazy with cooking my delicious plant-based meals. I am in a type of malaise, waiting for Nathan to return as I procrastinate to pack. I throw together some pasta and veggies and add some chick peas and eat it for three meals for as many days as it takes to finish it. I shall be more creative in a few weeks. "I'll do it tomorrow."

However (*clears throat*), no one can accuse me of not getting enough fats in my diet. I just consumed an entire avocado. I mashed it up, added some salt and lemon juice and a dollop of hummus, and scooped it into my mouth with about 50 tortilla chips. Yup. I did.

Immerse Me in Change

I will have to start at the beginning of the middle.

On May 16th, Nathan received his acceptance to USU School of Medicine in Bethesda, MD. As I write this, he is a 2nd Lieutenant in the Air Force and will begin his education at a top medical institution in August. This July, he will leave me and Bruce for 5 weeks to attend COT, which is the Air Force's Commissioned Officer Training. While he is in school, I will be staying home with Bruce in our lovely 1400 sq. ft., 3 bedroom, 2 bath condo and dancing.

My husband is going to be a doctor. My husband is going to be a doctor.

I'm not going to say it three times, lest I register as anti-climactic.

While he is away, my house is going completely vegan. No more adding meat for Nathan's dish. Well, except for Bruce. And Tinkerbell. Anyways. I am going to practice my delicious vegan recipes so that I may woo Nathan to the wonderful vegan world when he returns. I just need the time to hit my stride without him here whining about his meat.

Sundries

The past is warm and familiar. I carry it with me, take it out of my pocket, view my face in its reflection. I see every bump, every line, every swipe of mascara that missed its mark.

Nathan is on the waiting list for two medical schools. Because he only applied to six schools, and so late in the cycle, the only spots available were wait-listed. I long, I ache, I pray for the call that tells us we are moving, that a spot it open. My chest tightens with excitement when I think about it. I think we will be moving to Maryland, just outside of DC. I have seen signs everywhere. Three separate vehicles with Air Force bumper stickers, and the name Bethasda, MD, has been popping up everywhere. Then, I saw a Maryland license plate yesterday.

Oh, Lord, oh, Lord.

Like I said, the past is a guarantee. What is done is done. In the future, I write ahead of myself, painting my face and future in a hazy cloud.

A huge bonus of Nathan being in school is that I will not be working. I long to focus just on my son. As it is, by the time Thursday rolls around, I am incredibly annoyed with him because I am so tired. It takes me the whole weekend to relax.

Eat, Love, Pray

I might have the order wrong. It might be Eat, Pray, Love. Either way, I am in the middle of watching it, and the movie only reinforces my feelings that Julia Roberts is a pretentious actress. She always seems so self-aware. When she is supposed to be sad, she looks like she is still attempting to look cute. I want her to just cry already.

I must start bringing a piece of paper and pen everywhere I go. Suddenly, in the midst of my day, I am constantly struck by poignant, elegant one-liners, only to forget them, and what inspired them, and instead relay these clunky, frumpy thoughts. If only my mind were connected to the internet. Or just this blog.

A Time For Mourning

Bruce is almost completely weaned. He refuses to breastfeed unless he wakes up in the middle of the night, or unless it is first thing upon waking. I knew that I would be sad when this day came, even as I longed for it's arrival.

Connect the dots for me.

Dot One: I love spandex. I would rather wear spandex around the house all day than anything else. Especially when they are mid-calf length, because then they make my calf muscles look oh-so-defined. Plus, all I need to do is throw on an athletic tank and a pair of sneakers and I am good to work out.

Dot Two: I am holding on to my dream of working in a coffee shop. How I long to work somewhere where I don't need to wear pumps and blouses and stockings, and where my tongue ring is no longer taboo, needing to be hidden. I also want that nose ring back, desperately, and I if I show a tattoo or two at work, who cares?

Currently, these are all things I have to weigh carefully when I am dressing for work. These desires have almost single-handedly held me back from spending much money on new, professional clothes. I just haven't the desire or the heart.

The one drawback to working in a coffee shop or similar setting is that I will be taking quite the demotion. If there is one thing I love about my job, it is the respect that it carries. I am a professional. I make good money. People respect me.. I have excellent benefits.

Sigh. These are things I will miss.

Dot Three (for consistency): I love fuzzy socks, too.

Voila, voila. I am a complete woman.

I have to make this quick. I went to the local Clothesline Project today and read the t-shirts created by women who have survived incest, abuse, rape, stalking, etc. There were even white shirts created in memory of girls and women who have passed away due to violence.

At the end of the display was a table by Planned Parenthood with the opportunity to sign up to be a Rape Crisis Service Volunteer. Immediately, this resonated with me. It is the perfect way for me to get involved with womens' rights and relief efforts for the abused. It will open up doors that I don't know how to open.

I will have to wait to take the course until Nathan and I have relocated, because once I commit, I must fulfill a one-year commitment. I don't want to start something here and not be able to finish it. I am not sure if I would be able to relocate my commitment through a Planned Parenthood in the area that I live in.

www.pprsr.org

How to Say This Intelligently?

I am already embarrassed by this post, because I know it is going to be crudely written, but I have to organize my thoughts, and I have to start somewhere.

I am proud to be a woman.

I grew up in a somewhat anti-feminist atmosphere. The more aware I become of the issues surrounding the female gender across the world, the more in awe I am.

For example, 3 women are brutally murdered every day in South America and Latin American countries. Officials look the other way. Girls as young as four are sold as sex slaves in the human trafficking industry. Female porn stars are addicted to drugs and become trapped in the cycle of making money and getting a hit.

I belong to the trodden-on gender, and I am a sister to the abused and mistreated. We suffer violence at the hands of our husbands, brothers, fathers, and strangers.

I live in the United States and have freedoms and rights and opportunities that other women will never have. How can I ignore their cries? And here, at home, how can I scoff at the efforts of girls and women to do what men are able to do, who dream of being what they are told they can not be?

I have been reading some commentary on an online forum about girls in the sport of wrestling. One woman said, "Girls have breasts and vaginas. They should not be wrestling with boys."

Well, boys have penises. Why do we automatically assume that the female is being victimized in a one-on-one sport, simply because she has a vagina and her opponent has a penis?

Couples figure skating has crotch-grabbing, too, and no one bats an eye. Except in that case, it's intentional. For some reason, seeing a male and female relate to each other artistically in the public arena is palatable, but seeing a male and female engaged in a contact sport (read: not choreographed) in the public arena is not. This doesn't make sense.

At any rate, as I have become a mother and realized my own capabilities and the enormous reserves of strength that I have, I respect my body and my gender. It is misconstrued, and I realize that I have grown up believing things about myself that are not true, but I thought they were simply due to the fact that I am a woman.

This is horribly written, but one day my thoughts on this will work through the keys like a palatable, viscous honey, but for now, they are choppy and floppy. Bear with me; I am learning to fly.

Scrutinize Me This.

You know, writing a blog is nerve-wracking. There are always those wanna-be bloggers out there, delusional and tapping away on the keys about some supposed brilliance or another. Who cares if you painted your nursery periwinkle? I know I have mentioned this before, so I will cut to the chase and say that I am afraid to be one of those, too.

I hope someone would tell me if I am delusional.


Anyways, Nathan and I just returned from Valhalla, NY, where he interviewed at New York Medical College. The day of his interview was incredibly rainy and I was not allowed into the Admissions building.

These people were like the Gestapo with their security. When I was attempting to park the SUV after dropping Nathan off, I was halted by a gate. Pressing the button to speak with security did nothing. I waited for about thirty seconds. "Hello?" I said. Then another thirty. Then, "Hello, is anyone there?" Pressed the button again. "Hello?!" Waited a full minute. Finally, trying not to utter an expletive under my breath, I pressed the button again and said, "I think your thing is broken! I can't hear a thing! I need to park my car! I'm here for Admissions!" I did yell this whole thing into the intercom.

Finally, a crackle was heard from the other side so I repeated myself for greater emphasis. "Hello! Your thing is broken! I need to park my car!!" The gate started and went up and I parked the SUV in the last available spot.

Then, when I made it into their student center (sans umbrella and dripping wet), I noticed this printed on sheets of paper on every door: "Please have your NYMC ID ready at all times. You will be stopped and asked for ID."

"Well, darn." I thought. Hesitantly, I sat down in their union went on Facebook on my phone for a while. I think every security guard that passed eyeballed me, but not a one asked to see ID.

I just want Nathan to get into medical school this year.