Projects for today:

1) Clean the living room. In spite of a monumental effort on our parts last Saturday, there were some piles of clothes and things out today. No more! To confined spaces with you, you random things. Also, the floor badly needed cleaning, so an intense sweep/dust/polish was in order.

2) Begin epic task of washing dishes. Yes, although we are only two we somehow manage to use a disproportionate amount of dishes. Or maybe it only seems disproportionate because we lack a dishwasher.

3) Organize shelves in the bathroom.  Not really much to say about this one.  Our stuff has been sitting in bags on the shelves since our arrival.  Time to create order and give the little things a proper home.

4) Make bread. This is the task of which I am most proud, and the pride mostly comes from the fact that we have not done our weekly grocery shopping trip (which means we are out of, and need, bread.) I made a French loaf in my bread machine. It turned out beautifully.

5) Study nutrition. Unfortunately, my study of this lovely science is tainted by the fact that we have not gone grocery shopping this week and therefore have not been eating as well (healthfully) as we should be. My poor food journal…

Story:

E: [sitting at the dining table, typing; pauses] What is that noise?

Z: [grading papers while sitting in the big, black chair; mutes television] What?

[Silence]

E: [brow furrowed] Well, now it’s not there.  But I heard it just a minute ago; it sounded like rain on a tin roof, but right outside the window.

Z: [un-mutes the television]

E: There it is again!

Z: [turns the volume down; listens]

[Distinct sound of scratching and scrabbling coming from outside, by the window]

Z: [gets up like a good husband; grabs keys; goes outside]

[Silence]

Z: [re-enters] It’s some sort of small animal. [Walks into the hall]

E: What if it’s a ‘possum*? Are you going to hit it with something?

Z: [Calling from the bedroom] Yes.  Where are my golf clubs?

E: In the hall closet.  The smelly one**.

Z: [holds breath and enters closet; re-emerges with golf club; heads toward front door] It’s probably a skunk and I’m going to get sprayed…

So, Z wanders over to the side of the house.  By this time, I’ve followed him out onto the front porch.  I can hear him poking at something with the golf club, but it has the same tin-roof-rain sound that I heard earlier.  Because of the way the front door swings out, I can immediately see him.  Then, all of sudden he is hurrying back toward the front steps.

Z: [bewildered] Why is there a skunk in a cage under my house?

E: …what?

And then I can see it: black and white, the same color, size, and build of my favorite cat back at my parents house, nosing through a section of wire.  It’s kind of cute, really.  I am stricken with sorrow at the fact that it is trapped in a wire cage.  At the same time, I didn’t want either of us going near it.  We both have obligations tomorrow and smelling like skunk would not be okay.  Also, I had a vague recollection of someone outside the window early this morning.  “Why would someone trap a skunk in a wire cage under someone else’s house?”

Initially, Z was going to try and un-latch the cage and scare it off.  However, he decided to go ask the neighbor if she had any idea what was going on.  She did.

Apparently, skunks are common around here and a real nuisance.  The someone who had been outside the house this morning was wildlife control setting up a perfectly legitimate cage.  Whew.  The most amusing bit?

Z: Yeah…she said this one’s early.  They usually don’t get into the traps until around midnight.

And that is how I came to be writing about skunks.  Instead of food.  Cheers to three weeks of marriage.  And wildlife.

Notes:
*Z absolutely loathes ‘possums.
**We are fortunate to have two hall closets.  Fortunate because A) we need the space, and B) I am drying my wedding bouquet in one closet…and it absolutely reeks.  (But I can’t throw it out because I am sensitive and attached and will have emotional issues if I throw it out.)

Instead of a lovely queen-sized mattress, we learned to share a twin…well, sort-of.  Z has no memory of this, but there was at least one night where I can remember groggily pushing my poor, cuddly husband away in an attempt to make space for my limbs.  I warned Z before our marriage that I sometimes need to “starfish” – a move in which I try to take up as much space of the bed as possible.  (He snores sometimes; we all have our flaws.)

Truth: last night Z was up grading a massive stack of papers and didn’t come to bed until around 2:00am.   I might have had more space initially to fall asleep in, but even a twin mattress can be lonely and I was much happier when he finally snuggled down next to me.

Anyway, all of this leads to the fact that our bed [finally] arrived today!  And I set it up.  By myself.  Am I proud of this?  Of course!

Thought Process: Z does not like large boxes in the living room. When he finally gets home from soccer practice after working all day, boxes in the living room will make him feel especially claustrophobic and he will be too tired to want to move them, much less set up the bed.  I could probably do it…

So I started opening boxes and hauling parts into the bedroom.  Once all the boxes were opened, I pulled out the instruction manual.  Yes, I could definitely do this.  Simple instructions.  Mostly time consuming.  So I did it.

The only negative: I lost precious study time for my classes.  But, I think the good night’s sleep I have coming to me outweighs that minor con.

Monday: breakfast-for-dinner!

• Yes, we love it.  Some of you may remember this as a theme for our reception food…
• Our menu included: waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, and mimosas!
• This was the end of our first full day in our new home.
• As such, this was a joint effort in the kitchen.

Tuesday: potato and leek soup!

• I love this soup!  It is hearty and delicious and makes for tons of leftovers.
• Did I mention this is Z’s recipe?  However, he was at work, so I made the soup.
• This marked my first battle with onion in the kitchen (they make me cry so badly.)
• I would be content with simply potatoes and leeks, but Z prefers the addition of ham.

Wednesday: Parmesan chicken!

• This meal was all my doing as the recipe is one of my staples.
• I used to make it frequently for my family.  Needless to say, I have it memorized.
• It’s super easy and pretty much fool-proof (unless you are Z and try to make your own bread crumbs. WARNING: do not attempt to make bread crumbs by grating a flimsy slice of sandwich bread!)
• This also happened to be the evening Z was stuck in traffic for TWO HOURS on his way home.
• After a long and frustrating drive, it’s good to come home to a wife and a hot meal.

Thursday: pork roast with apples and onions!

• Ah, the pork roast…I made this one and it was quite the feat.
• Really, it took several hours and a transfer from the stove to the crock-pot.
• But, it was totally worth it!  The roast turned out beautifully.
• And we had some fabulous leftovers…

Friday: Leftovers!

• Yep, with that much soup and pork roast remaining there really wasn’t a need to make more food…

Saturday: More leftovers!

• …Ditto.

P.S. We make healthy attempts: salad is served with nearly every meal and a healthful grain accompanies our meats.

Shortly after 2:15, I met my (then) fiance on a staircase in the church, embraced him from behind (no, he did not get to see me yet) and pressed a letter into his hands, whispering, “I love you.”  The letter, for the record, also contained a letter – one penned six years ago, shortly after we began dating, and one that perfectly expressed all the hope and love I could possibly put into words.

By 2:45, I was tapping my foot and wishing that time would trot a little faster.  After six years, fifteen minutes is an eternity to wait before getting married.

3:00 finally appeared, lazy, golden, and beautiful.  Those last few seconds on the steps outside the church door, peeking through the glass panel towards the light and love that awaited – that was the best anticipation I have ever felt in my life.  Processing into the church of my childhood on my father’s arm, gazing at the smiling faces to the right and left, surrounded by overwhelming communal love – I will never forget that feeling.  I will never forget embracing my mother or staring into the eyes of my bridesmaids and bride’s man (my brother.)  I will never forget those final moments with my father at the end of the aisle, before he lifted my veil, hugged me, and handed me off to my groom.  I will never forget how my veil and train both behaved perfectly, how the bouquet hand-off to my sister was smooth as silk, how the music was beyond amazing, and the timing of our ceremony from the processional to the recessional was immaculate.

But above all, I will never, never forget the tears shining in my handsome groom’s eyes when I finally arrived at the end of the aisle, beaming and joyously ready to be his wife.

E: (mouthing words) Are you crying?
Z: (nods)

If you ask my husband, there are plenty of things about our wedding that caused me anxiety, especially in the days following.  In fact, there was one night of our “winter moon” where I slept horribly and woke up fretful because my dreams were filled with all the details that had not gone according to plan and (worse) all the faces of the people I felt I had let down, either by not getting a chance to speak to them or in some other way.

Our ceremony, however, remains perfect and untarnished in my memory: the only proper fulfillment of so many years of love and waiting.  Whatever little details bothered me before or after, that glorious half hour in which I actually got married, that was as perfect as anything can be on this earth.

I keep expecting it to be taken away from me somehow.  Like this is some elaborate hoax.  Someone will jump out and yell, “Haha!  Just kidding!  You’re not actually married.  Now say goodbye and go home.”  Except this little house is my home!  And this handsome man that I get to wake up to every morning is my husband!  No more goodbyes.

I could not for the life of me tell you what the best thing about marriage is.  I’m not sure anyone could.  However, I can say that marriage is unquestionably the best decision I’ve ever made.  I almost wrote “the best thing that ever happened to me” but that’s not how marriage works, or should work, right?  Marriage doesn’t just fall into your life.

That’s why we chose to memorize our vows.  For something as important, as deeply sacred as marriage, it seemed good to us that the binding words should be emblazoned in our minds and hearts.

I am so thankful we were able to make our vows before a host of witnesses that we love and cherish and who have vested interest in the sacredness of what we have committed to.  This marriage is the best choice I have ever made.  Or ever will make, for the matter, since I feel as though we choose it every day we are together, a sort of continuing promise.

Celebrating one week today, and looking forward to many, many more.

P.S. Posted exactly a week after the start of my wedding ceremony.  Because I am sentimental.

One might say I fell off the face of the earth for Weeks #9-16.  I prefer to think of it as battening down the hatches, hunkering in for a long winter, something to that extent.  Basically, life got crazy in November.  CrAzY.  Since my last post I have flown to and from Texas, lasted through two bridal showers, spent Thanksgiving with Z and my family in SJ, endured two premarital counseling sessions, and spent a weekend at home so I could attend another dress fitting.  I’ve also made Christmas goodies, written a bunch of papers, and survived finals.

Yes, that’s right: survived finals.  I’m done with the first semester of nursing school!  In this program that means I’ve finished the equivalent of one year of nursing school.  Three more semesters to go!  A year from now I will be looking forward to my residency and preparing to take NCLEX.

At present, I’ve got some packing to attend to and a wedding to get excited about.  In just fourteen days I will be a Mrs. W instead of a Miss W!  A little scary, but mostly exciting.

However, instead of packing just yet, I think I’m going to do a little pampering.  Maybe a walk, maybe some chai… I definitely want something indulgent and refreshing right now.  Semester = done = celebrate!

P.S. This is my 90th post!  Way to be monumental.

The past few weeks I have been growing more comfortable in the hospital setting, cleaning up messes and providing what little comfort I can.  I have watched my academic work start to suffer as my attention has been pulled from studying to wedding planning.  I managed to scrape through my Awful Evil Foundations class with an A-.

This week, Med-Surg started.  I’m not sure what to expect regarding this class.  The professor seems lovely: articulate, patient, clear about her expectations.  The content is simply very difficult.  We have our first exam next Tuesday.  I desperately want to do well.

I also desperately want my wedding to be over with.  Partly because I just want to be married and partly because I am less and less confident about whether or not I will actually enjoy my wedding.  As reality sets in and people R.S.V.P. and I realize that some very dear friends and family will not be attending, my spirits start to sink.  This isn’t what I wanted.

Today, I have a paper outline to write and a study guide to create for my first Med-Surg exam.  Tomorrow, I leave in the evening for a whirlwind trip to Houston to visit Z’s parents.  Life…is crazy.

Tuesday I had a group presentation in the class that I despise.  I will start by saying that the presentation ultimately went well and we got all our points.  Now I will tell you that I was up late the night before trying to edit the group powerpoint (because some of the team members hadn’t done a very good job on their slides, and I wanted it to look good during the presentation.)  As I was trying to edit the powepoint, my internet cut out.  Frantic, I jumped up with my computer and tried to find a spot with signal.  In my haste, my power cord got pulled…and broken.  That destroyed my evening, my night, and my next morning.  I’m pretty sure I cried for a solid 45 minutes.

On Tuesday, I discovered that I hadn’t done as well on my Health Assessment quiz as I assumed.  Now, this was an emotional blow, because I realized that I could no longer trust my gut following quizzes/tests.

On Wednesday, clinical went well, but long.  It went long because clinical was canceled for the following Monday (today, that’s why I’m sitting here typing) and we needed to make up those lost hours.  I think our Wednesday clinical this week will run long, as well.

On Saturday, my clinical group had our simulation lab.  Now, this lab started at 7:00am in a location about 50 minutes to an hour away, so I stayed the night with one of my classmates and we carpooled with two other girls.  The night before I stayed up until 1:30am.  This is something I have not done since I was an undergrad (at least, not for education purposes.)  I was making drug cards and studying the case scenario and my mind was too wired to go to sleep.  We left at 5:30am and I was up by 5:00am, so very little sleep was had.

The simulation went surprisingly well, much better than I anticipated.  We were split into three groups of three, and I was part of the first group to go (which amped up my terror, but at least allowed me to get the experience out of the way.)  After both rounds of simulation and official debriefing, a bunch of us grabbed a bite to eat at Panera and spent some time unofficially debriefing (which I felt was really good and helpful.)  I made back to my cottage around 3:00, dead tired, and when Z showed up an hour later, I was asleep.

Sunday was a lovely day.  Z and I went to church together and then in the afternoon we went to a wedding.  The groom was one of Z’s roommates from his sophomore year.  He and his bride have been together even longer than Z and I have (7 years!) and we were just so happy for them to finally be getting married.  It was poignant because this is the last wedding that Z and I will attend as an unmarried couple and we are so looking forward to our own.

Today has been a blessing as I’ve had a chance to catch up on some of the sleep I lost this weekend.  I’ve got one project and one paper to finish for tomorrow, plus some busywork that’s due to my clinical instructor on Wednesday.

It’s hard to believe I’m already in Week #6 of this semester.  Time really dragged through September and I am so ready to be done with my Foundations class (almost there!)

On the wedding front: this week I get to start sending out the invitations!  I’m excited to have those sent out soon, because it means that my tangible responsibilities for the wedding are drawing to a close.  The save-the-dates and invitations were my pet projects.  Now I just need to decide which pair of ballroom shoes I want and I’m done.

However, I look back now with a sense of almost-nostalgia.  And if I look back just a little bit farther, back into Human Anatomy (Fall 2009) and Microbiology (Spring 2009), I feel full-on nostalgia.  I never had good science teachers in high school.  And I never had good science teachers during my undergrad.  It wasn’t until I started Microbiology at WVC in the spring of 2009 that I finally discovered what a world of difference a good science teacher can make.  I credit both my Microbiology and Anatomy teachers not only with rebuilding my self-esteem as a student of science but with instilling in me a love of science and drive to pursue it.  While my Physiology teacher taught a class so hard it brought me to tears time and time again, I am thankful that he was organized in his approach and that in pushing me nearly to a breaking point he taught me what it means to be an excellent Physiology student.

One of the saddest things is this: I spent my undergrad at a private Christian university and I took my prerequisites at a small public community college.  As a Christian student of the sciences, I think it the greatest shame that I have yet to encounter a Christian science teacher that does as good of a job as my non-Christian community college teachers.  Granted, this disparity may have nothing to do with my individual teachers’ faiths and everything to do with their inherent gifts (or lack thereof) in the realm of teaching.  Still…it disheartens me.  And it continues to dishearten me as I pursue an accelerated BSN and MSN at a private Christian university and find that…I have some bad apple teachers again.

I just now realized I have been in school for a month.  I have shed so many tears over the past month.  I think I have cried at least once nearly every day for the past week.  I know that I have cried at least once every day since Sunday.  I have weathered some hard scholastic disappointments recently and I can feel the dream of nursing starting to slip away again.  “What am I doing here?  I don’t belong.  Maybe it’s just a dream.  A really nice dream, but just a dream.  Too lofty to accomplish.  I’m not strong enough or smart enough to measure up to all that my dream entails.”  These are the thoughts that flit through my [very tired] brain.

Then I start to think of my friends, the ones who faced their own personal setbacks in the academic world.  I think especially of Z, who, in spite of his summa cum laude GPA and stunning extracurricular track record, was passed over for certain honors and awards in both the honors program and the university at large.  I remember the continual disappointment he face in applying for internships and job opportunities.  In the end, the job he received was far better than anything he applied for, and the esteem of his colleagues and administrators is (in my opinion) worth more than any of the awards he did not receive.  Remembering how my friends have succeeded gives me hope and helps me rally.

I think also of all the really good teachers I’ve had.  I think of Mr. D and Mrs. L in high school.  How they instilled such a love of learning in me, because I saw something bright inside of them that I wanted to emulate.  How they saw something bright inside of me and encouraged it to shine.  I think of Ms. S, in college, who made time in her schedule for me when no-one else could be bothered to and who believed in the best parts of my spirit even when I did not always display them.  I think of Ms. B (and with her Ms. H, my lab teacher) and Ms. G and Mr. N who taught me the Trinity of Science Courses All Future Nurses Must Take – Microbiology, Anatomy, and Physiology, respectively.  Without their aid and subtle encouragement, I never would have regained the confidence to pursue the path I have chosen.

And when I think of them, this small but massively important list of really, really good teachers I have had…it starts to outweigh the fact that I have some less-than-stellar instructors right now.  Because, I can think of them, the Really Good Ones, while I am struggling through the muck with the Not As Good Ones.  I can picture their faces and hear their voices and imagine the many ways in which they have encouraged me and the ways they would encourage me right now, if they knew how I was feeling.  And I can succeed…for them.

Yes, I know, ultimately I am succeeding for something more than them.  But right now, here, in the place where it’s hard and icky and I want to give up, I can succeed for them.  For the educators who really did “lead me out of” a place of ignorance and into a place of understanding.

So…for Mr. D…and Mrs. L…and Ms. S…and Ms. B…and Ms. H…and Ms. G…and Mr. N: you might not know it, but you inspired me.  And I’m pressing on, for you.

At some point, shortly after writing, I must have looked incredibly morose, because Z asked something along the lines of, “What’s the matter?  Are you ok?”  (Rabbit trail: this is almost exactly the same thing he said to me on a night long before we started dating that opened a conversation that ultimately convinced me I wanted to marry him.)  I couldn’t answer, of course, because as soon as he asked I found myself all teary-eyed and choked up.  It took at least five more minutes of silence and me crying on his shoulder before I finally choked out, “I can’t do anything right.”  This fortunately opened up an avenue of communication that allowed some measure small of closure to come to the car situation (Z: “It’s ok, I’m not mad, it’s a tiny dent that you can hardly see.” E: “…I’ll probably always feel guilty, though.”  Z: “I wish you wouldn’t.  It’s ok.”)

Back to Week #4…so, a week ago Monday was our final day in the Skills Lab.  It went decently.  I honestly don’t remember what the focus was…oh, medication pass in one station, but since we don’t get to do that until Med-Surg at the earliest (still nearly three weeks away) it slipped out of my mind until just now.

Tuesday was…interesting.  We had out Foundations midterm in the morning.  The vast majority (and I’m seriously talking like all but four or five of twenty-nine students) failed.  Which is what you’d expect in a class that’s being taught by THE WORST PROFESSOR EVER.  I’ve only had one other professor I’ve disliked as much as this one, and she’s the lovely lady who turned me off to nursing the first time.  Anyway, after failing the midterm (which most of us expected) myself and two other girls went to talk to the head of our program.  (Did I mention I was elected somehow to be my clinical group’s representative for this semester?  I’m totally excited about it, because I get to be a voice, which is really important right now, with such an awful professor at the helm of Foundations.  Also, it’s good for my future nursing resume…)

After speaking with the head (which went well) we had Pharmacology, where we got our exams back.  That was an ego booster for most of us (67% on Foundations?  WELL, 96% ON PHARMACOLOGY! TAKE THAT!)  After learning about cardiology drugs we had our Conceptual Foundations class, which was let out early so that we could enjoy a pizza party with students from previous cohorts in our program.  That was definitely and energizer, since the other students were sympathetic and very encouraging…just what most of us needed.

On Wednesday, we had our first clinical, which I alluded to in the previous post.  My most embarrassing moment: walking out into the hall without taking off my gloves.  Will never do that again.  I felt overwhelmed and totally inadequate (“Why am I doing this?  I will never be good at this.”  Yeah, that was pretty much the litany going through my brain.)  I am full of fear: fear of hurting my patients, fear of making a grave error on the floor, fear that my instructor will never like me, so much fear.

Thursday?  Ah, my usual day off turned out to be wearying in it’s own way: I studied the morning and early afternoon away, before driving an hour up to see Z (since we wouldn’t be spending the weekend together.)  It was his final night performing in a play, so after working together for an hour or two, we went off to that.  Following the play it was 9:30pm or so and we finally grabbed a quick bite to eat.  I didn’t hit the road until about 10:15pm, which put me back to my cottage around 11:30pm (since I had to stop and get gas.)  Upon arriving back I went straight to bed, since I had a Health Assessment quiz in the morning.

Friday, in spite of the quiz, felt mainly peaceful.  Took the quiz in the morning, enjoyed lecture and lab with a substitute (who will actually be our Med-Surg professor: YAY! SO GLAD TO NOT HAVE THE AWFUL PROFESSOR IN JUST A FEW MORE WEEKS!) and stayed after to practice during open skills lab.  A good day.

I was able to be fairly productive over the weekend and was so thankful for Z’s visit Sunday afternoon.  Eighty-six days (or, two months and twenty-five days) until we get married.  So happy…