We’re going to vet school!
Well last week was the Mister’s interview for Ross Vet School. After an eight-hour trip to Columbus, Ohio, a thirty-minute meeting and a horrendous eleven-hour trip back in the driving rain, we’re finally in the official waiting phase. His interviewer was very nice and estimated five weeks until we know the board’s decision.
Assuming the Mister is accepted for the upcoming May term, we’ll have about five weeks (after we find out in five weeks) to sell what we can, pack and store what we can’t and make our way to the island. For those who may not have been around when I first explained this situation, I’ll give a brief overview:
Ross Vet School is an American-accredited veterinary school located on the island of St. Kitts in the Caribbean, just south of Puerto Rico. It’s a year-round program, so the Mister would take classes there for two and a half years and then return to the states for his last clinical year.
St. Kitts is the smallest island federation in the Caribbean, everyone drives on the left side of the road and the monkeys are known for sneaking up on you and stealing your drinks. So yeah, it’ll be different. At first I was very nervous about the idea, but I’ve finally gotten excited about the adventure. We’ll have some awesome stories to tell our children one day, that’s for sure.
But in other news, while we’re waiting for those results to come in, here are a few things the Mister and I learned during our trip to The Great White North.
1. Parking spaces are much narrower in Ohio than they are out here in rural Tennessee, even for my tiny Honda Civic. There’s no way a good ole’ southern boy’s pickup truck would have fit anywhere!
2. Drivers in Ohio are not afraid to change lanes, even if that means wedging themselves between other cars at the last minute.
3. Nothing is connected directly to the main road; everything has to be reached via an access road running parallel to the main road, which creates a series of intersections-from-Hades.
4. Just because a sign hangs over a particular lane on the interstate does not mean it necessarily applies to that lane. This causes much turning around.
5. In fact, there are very few visible road signs at all until the last possible moment, at which point you still have to turn around in the next parking lot.
6. Just because you don’t see anything in the road doesn’t mean you won’t hit it hard enough to bulge a tire.
6. The people at the GoodYear Tire Repair Shop in Louisville, Ky., are very nice, even when you come in tired, frustrated and trying to outrun a snow storm.
7. It really does snow a lot farther north. I’m not sure if it’s because of the Great Lakes or just because of this particular storm system, but the flakes were HUGE! However, they do know how to prepare their roads up there, as opposed to our poor Tennessee salt trucks who get very confused by snow.
9. You can go to Jack Hanna’s Columbus Zoo in 18 degrees, although you’ll be pretty much the only ones there. There are indoor areas, though, like the aquarium and the nocturnal house.
10. Speaking of which, did you know there is a species of kangaroo that lives in trees? YES! It blew my mind too. It’s really cute.
So have you traveled anywhere new lately? Did you see anything there that is different from home?
Ain’t nobody got time for that. –by Fried Okra
The link above is to a blog written by a friend of mine, and I laughed so much I just had to share her thoughts on “the holy land of domestics.” While I do consider myself to be somewhat domestic, I totally agree! I have a pinterest account and I enjoy looking at artwork, wedding photographs and fashion ideas, but every time I look through the craft categories I find myself thinking, “You just spent $10 on materials and 3 days of your life on that…. when you could have bought it for $4 at Dollar General.” Although there are a few things my friends have made that I have to admit are pretty awesome (a la Nicole’s Mario cake).
But to each her (or his) own. The blog is still funny. 🙂
Growing up, whenever my brother and I would say something about my mom not having a “real job,” we would immediately get a laundry list lecture on all the jobs a mom actually has.
Chauffeur, coach, cheerleader, psychiatrist, pharmacist, nurse, doctor, chef, principal, teacher, maid, waitress, babysitter… you get the picture.
I’ve come to a better understanding of this concept since I got married, but the Mister and I have discovered something that should definitely NOT be in my job description.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely useless; I’m just useless where it really matters. I can trim over his ears and shorten his sideburns. I can make sure the line at the nape of his neck is straight. But I am not allowed to cut his bangs.
We discovered this a few short months after the wedding, when the Mister’s hair had gotten so long I was starting to mistake him for a sheepdog. I’d never done major cutting on a man’s hair before, but I’d had enough haircuts of my own to think I could do it myself. I dampened his hair, brushed it down straight and cut. Now this all sounds well and good, except that I had forgotten two very important things: one, hair looks shorter when it dries, and two, just because adjacent sections line up does not mean they are straight.
After several minutes and lots of hair in the bathroom floor, I began to realize I had made a horrible mistake. A mistake which only got worse the more I tried to fix it. I distinctly remember the Mister asking, “So, can I see it?” and me responding, “Why do you want to do that? You don’t have to look in a mirror, do you?”
I was crying before he even got to the sink.
But I have to congratulate him on the way the handled the situation. He stood at the mirror for several moments while I asked, “Are you mad?” over and over, and then tried to assure me everything was ok and it wasn’t that bad. But trust me, it was.
Despite the very odd angle of his bangs, I never heard him speak badly of his new style. He never once complained about how much of his forehead was showing or joked that his friends would never let him live it down. And he’s never brought it up to tease me since then. I really, truly appreciate that.
However, the issue resurfaced this past weekend when the Mister once again needed a haircut. Except this is no ordinary haircut; it’s the haircut to prepare for his Ross Vet school interview this coming Wednesday.
So, Saturday night, I found myself standing in front of the Mister, scissors in hand, hoping against all hope that I don’t screw this up. The Mister looked on with an amused expression, clearly reading my mind.
But it actually turned out alright this time. I didn’t wet his hair (on the Mister’s orders) and I used a tiny comb to make sure all the sections lined up straight across (also on the Mister’s orders). He’s not tossing hair out of his eyes anymore and he doesn’t look like one of my massacred Barbie dolls, so I consider the operation a success.
However, there will definitely not be any little Nuts in highchairs sitting above a floor of newspapers while Mommy cuts their hair. I don’t think they would handle it quite as well as their father.
Over Christmas, I saw a Pier One Imports commercial about an adorable little penguin with his foot “smooshed in a cupcake.” It never failed to make me grin uncontrollably for the rest of the day and soon even became the Mister’s ringtone. (If you’re a sad soul who never caught this commercial, feel free to view it here.)
We all have those things that just make us smile, cry or laugh manically, every time we see them. Well, for the Mister, it’s this:
Seriously. Manical laughter. It’s quite frightening.
What’s your instant-laugh trigger? Share pictures or stories here or on the Facebook page.
Sometimes when I look back on the first few weeks of our dating relationship, I really wonder why the Mister stayed with me past the first month.
I. was. disgusting. No, seriously. We started dating in the last 2-3 weeks of our sophomore year – the weeks leading up to and including final exams. I’m still amazed I even passed my Spanish final, since I’d get through the same four flashcards every night before giving up and goofing off with the Mister instead.
We would be at the church of Christ student center just off campus until at least midnight every night (at the earliest), and by the time I staggered into my dorm room I was too exhausted to shower. Well then the alarm would go off the next morning and I’d hit snooze until the last possible second, inevitably pulling my hair into a ponytail and running to class, notebooks flying. After class we’d be back at the student center and the cycle would continue.
Like I said, I don’t know why he stayed with me. I definitely did not start off our relationship clean and polished.
I’ve decided since then that comfort is one of the most important factors in a relationship, even over whether or not he makes you laugh or if you like her cooking. If she can’t cook, you can get take-out. If you can’t pass gas in the house, you will explode. It’s that simple.
And that doesn’t just apply to gross things, like passing gas or being sick (yes, unfortunately that’s happened). It also applies to things like singing in the shower, dancing in front of the microwave and screaming in high-pitched terror when a leaf that looks like a bug blows across the sidewalk.
(And all those things don’t just apply to me, by the way.)
Now I don’t mean you get married and just let yourself go completely. You do still have to take care of yourself (trust me, showering is still not optional), and I still get dressed in the morning hoping the Mister will like my outfit, but you also can’t check into a hotel every time you have to blow your nose or use the bathroom.
Although I will admit there are some things the Mister and I still don’t acknowledge that the other does. Like when the bathroom fan is on and you hear the air freshener dispense. There’s no reason for that; it just happens spontaneously as the universe wills it.
And it will stay that way.
I will go ahead and admit that I, like the majority of women, have moments where I can be very hard to live with. I can be irrational, unreasonable and over-dramatic (imagine that, right?)
This past Friday was one of those nights.
Now my resume says I’m an accomplished multitasker, and it’s true. However, recently it only seems to be true at work. When it comes to housework – remembering to get the laundry from the dryer, remembering to take meat out of the freezer in the morning to thaw, forgetting small details in recipes, etc. – that seems to go out the window.
I’ve been trying to expand my cooking repertoire lately, and Friday night, for example, I was excited about marinated, grilled chicken tenders and cheesy broccoli and rice casserole from a recipe I’d found online.
I had worked hard to figure out how to substitute for ingredients I didn’t have and how to time everything so both dishes would be ready at once. I got home from work so excited to cook. I got the casserole in the oven and realized I had forgotten to marinate the chicken overnight.
Not to mention thaw it.
I’m not completely sure why – maybe it was the overwhelming frustration with myself – but this sequence of events somehow caused a downward emotional spiral. That’s when the Mister, dismayed when a hug and comforting words failed to stop my tears, got out his bat.
“This would look really bad if a policeman walked in right now,” he said, as he pinned me down on our bed and waved his old baseball bat over my head.
The metal bat was COLD, and the Mister had somehow gotten it into his head that if he could press it against my stomach I would stop crying. It sort of worked, since I had to stop focusing on the forgotten chicken long enough to fend him off.
In the end, he was successful – both in pressing the cold metal to my skin and in making me laugh – but only after I insisted on crying “because I wanted to” for another ten minutes.
The need just to cry because I want to is just one of those things I suppose the Mister will never really understand. But at least he was able to come up with a way to take my mind off it, even if it was a bit unconventional (and COLD!)
He was also able to think of a way to save dinner, convincing me that the tenders, thrown in the oven covered in cheese sauce, were good. (And I have to admit, I suppose it did turn out alright.)
Husband: 1; PMS: 0
Do you men out there have any other creative suggestions to stop the waterworks? Do you women have any laugh-at-yourself stories?
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