Planning Ahead

We've been having a problem lately at my house. I haven't been cooking much lately and there has been a major uptick in the purchase of pre-packaged frozen meals and take-out.

Now, I don't have a real issue with either one of those things, if they make it to my table (or, more likely, on my couch in front of my T.V., because not home-cooked meals seem to not call for the nice family dinner at the table) only once in a while. A couple of times a week is a little much for me, both in terms of my own family values and my pocketbook.

Something's gotta give.

Today is Columbus Day (Or, as I like to call it: Happy Smallpox Day, North America's Indigenous People! Fun Fact: Did you know that between the late 1400's (Hello, Mr. Columbus) to the mid-1650's, the native population in the Americas declined by more than 50 percent? Someone please explain to me why we celebrate this idiot, who wasn't even the first European to discover North America, never mind the first person, period.), so we have the day off. I'm taking to day to throw together some freezer meals. Basically my own version of those lovely, over-salted freezer meals I can pick up at the grocery store.

I've planned for five meals to make ahead of time and one meal where I'm going to make certain components head and then all I have to do is mix some stuff together and throw it in the oven (actually, I could probably make the whole thing and then freeze individual pieces...hmmmm). Okay, make it six meals! So, that means I'll have, let's say, at least three meals that I can just throw in the oven when I get home from work and then steam up some veggies to go on the side.

I've planned on ten meals for the next two weeks. That leaves four meals for take out and family dinners with our in-laws. Not bad, eh? Hopefully having some go-to things in my freezer will make getting us all to the table to eat something that's not vaguely reminiscent of cafeteria food will be a bit easier.

Do you have a tricks to getting a tasty, home-cooked meal on your table most nights (despite being ridiculously busy)?

Note: Please excuse my mini Columbus Day diatribe. I have strong feelings about early colonial decimation of the Americas indigenous population.

It's Time to Party!

Now that we're finally really, really settled into our house, I decided that I wanted to throw a little bash.

I have a few close friends who I've known, for the most part, since middle school (in one case, since the 4th grade, when I first moved to Maine), and as of this year, we're all back in the state and mostly back in the area where we grew up. I knew I wanted to invite my old crew for my first "candle-light supper." Expect something like this:




(Side note: My group of my friends and I started watching this show our freshman year of high school. We assigned each other different roles. I'm Hyacinth, the overly prim and proper star of the show. It's funny how I've grown into that role...Ha.)

Anyhow, I'm in the midst of planning the evening. The biggest decision of the moment is the menu. This is really not going to be anything formal, but I don't want there to be more of an air of sophistication (this is my new term, of late). We are, after all, grown-ups now, with jobs or in graduate school, some of us in serious relationships, or getting ready to make big life changing decisions. While I can't turn down a night of pizza, video games, and Apples to Apples, I want to do something different.

So, this is what I have planned so far:

Menu:
Appetizer - Sweet potato fries topped with pulled pork and cheese with sour cream maple dip
Side Dish(es) -
Main Dish -
Dessert - S'Mores with the bonfire, (there will probably be another sort of dessert dish)
Drinks - Pumpkin Head Ale, Sparkling Cider, Slow-Cooker Spiced Cranberry-Apple Cider

Activities:
A bonfire; a rousing game of Apples to Apples (some habits die hard :-)); Bocci ball

Table Setting:

Music:

Clearly I still have more to plan, and I'll update as a I go along, but I'm really excited about even the little I have here.

I am so pumped for my first grown up gathering!

Happy Anniversary!

I don't think I've been keeping an active blog at the same time my wedding anniversary has happened along, so I haven't had the chance to really share, publicly, anyway, the stories behind how my husband and I met, our wedding, and how we became a family.

(Note: For those not "in the know", DOH stands for Dear Old Husband.)

The Beginning:

3rd date at the drive-in

We met at the end of my April break, my senior year of high school. A friend of mine, who was really determined to prevent me from being single over the summer before I went to college. She set us up on a blind date, something I had NEVER done before and probably wouldn't have if it weren't for the fact that I was feeling pretty sorry for myself regarding the dating scene (which is sad, considring I was only 18) and figured it couldn't get any worse than it already was.

DOH pulled into my parents' driveway in a dark green mustang, in a black leather jacket, his short, dark hair styled. He was the complete opposite of every guy I had dated or dreamed of dated. I wanted him, then and there.

Our first date was very low key. We were going to go to the movies, but since it was a Sunday night and we live in the willywacks of Maine, the movie theater was closed. So, we wound up getting subs at Subway (high class, I know) and renting a movie to bring back to my house (Fever Pitch with Drew Barrymore and Jimmy Fallon--coincidentally, our celebrity crushes).

Our relationship quickly developed from there. We were "official" only a day later and soon spent every waking moment together. With the exception of my Senior Prom (Worst. Prom. Ever.), we were unseperable. We spent the summer between my graduation from high school and the start of college driving all over Maine and New Hampshire, exploring beaches, hiking, nearly drowning at Frenchmen's Hole in Bethel (yes, I really did almost drown, though DOH thinks I'm exaggerating).

Frenchman's Hole--Yeah, weird name

The Engagement:

August came along and I was due to head off to college. DOH and I went out for a drive, destination unknown. Around sunset, we arrived at Sebago Lake State Park. It was quiet, the buzz of summer visitors had died down and we were practically the only people around. We wondered over to a picnic table and sat down to enjoy the sun setting over Sebago Lake. I put my hand on his leg, near the pockets and felt a lump (don't worry, this stays PG). Within seconds, I was patting him down.

"You have something in your pockets!" I was saying, getting excited. We had talked about a ring, but I didn't think...
He pulled out a box.
"It's empty," he said. "I was just keeping it in my pocket to, you know, practice hiding it for when, you know..."
I bought it...but not completely.
"Aw, c'mon! Is it really empty?" DOH just smiled.
"Go ahead and look."
I opened the box.
At some point during my shrieks of joy and tears, DOH got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.
Of course,  I said yes.

The In-Between Time:

While the time between our first date and engagement was short, the time between the engagement and our actual wedding was about four times as long.

At the very beginning of September I went off to college, an hour away from DOH, who was working security at a tampon factory. (I only mention this, because the BEST joke comes from that; his mom asked him one night how he got that job and he responds, "Oh, I had to pull a few strings." His mom totally didn't get it, but everyone else in the room died laughing. So funny.) In hindsight, I'm impressed our relationship made it through that year. While we saw each other a lot, we didn't see each other as much as we had been. College was a new experience for me and I wanted, to, well, experience it. More than that, I wanted to do well and was determined to focus on my school work. DOH hadn't gone to college and got most of his impressions of what it was like through the college parties that he'd crashed as a teenager. The trust level between the two of us was not at its strongest.

But since we made it through that first year of college, I know our relationship came out stronger, and we learned so much about each other and how our relationship needed to work. We came to trust one another more, to relax about things that really weren't worrying about, and that if you try to give someone a hickey on their eye it WILL look like a black eye (not cool, Husband, not cool).

After a school year and May term of living on campus, I decided I'd had enough (I'm not a person who should have to share space with another girl--they bug me way too much). DOH and I decided that we wanted to get an apartment together. It was becoming ridiculous, the driving back and forth, the gas and time wasted, the stress of conflicting schedules. We knew we wanted to be together, we were engaged, and damnit, I just had to do one more thing to tick my parents off (they really do love DOH...now). So, we moved in together, decided to bump up our wedding date for the following summer rather than the summer after I was due to graduate (so, to 2008 from 2010), and in July of that year (2007), found out I was pregnant with Lizzie.

Becoming a Family:

There are so many stories surrounding my pregnancy and the birth of my daughter, from the reactions of our families (or how DOH grandmother can practically sniff your and tell you if you're pregnant. I was maybe three weeks along--Does that even count?--and she called it), to how DOH did not believe me when I told him that I thought I was pregnant ("You're on birth control!"), to how utterly and completely unprepared we were to become parents...and how wonderful it has been. There is too much to say to really capture in one blog post (and to keep a reader's attention), so let me leave this part of our story with these pictures (and please note, that because we were completely unprepared for the arrival of our daughter, we TOTALLY FORGOT TO TAKE A FAMILY PICTURE OF BOTH OF US WITH HER!)

So, our daughter was born in April, 2008. Four months later, DOH and I tied the knot. While we could have gotten married before our daughter was born, we felt that we had planned for an August 2008 wedding and, damnit, we were going to have one. Besides, I really didn't want to have a wedding while I was pregnant. I felt like it sent the wrong message (like that we were getting married just because we were having a baby).

Our wedding, the day we're celebrating today, was the most amazing day ever. We got married at my parents' house on a gorgeous sunny day. I came to the wedding on a boat. Our colors were white and pink. We had tons of hydrangeas everywhere. My husband looked perfect. I felt great. The people who shaped our lives came and shared the day with us. The local Lions' club catered. It's event that both sides of our family are still talking about.

I still cannot think of a day that I fully enjoyed and loved more than that day. Obviously the day of our daughter's birth ranks really high, I was so drugged out of my mind (emergency c-section) that I couldn't fully enjoy the event. But on the day of our wedding, I was there completely and totally, and so was my daughter. So it's really like the best of both worlds, right?


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And the theme from The Love Boat was TOTALLY playing.



 Now:
Not much has changed over the last three years. Sure, locations, jobs, ages have all changed, but what is the most crucial has stayed the same. Our love for one another, our commitment to be the best parents we can possibly be, and our desire to constantly improve ourselves and our marriage. We make an interesting pair--it's sort of like a continuous episode of the odd couple.

Sometimes I wonder how this relationship can really work and other times I marvel at just how perfectly we fit together. Regardless of where we've been geographically or emotionally, I've always been excited to see what is around the next corner for us. And now, we're at a point where we've rounded the bend. We're settling down into our marriage. Sure, there are plenty of twists and turns ahead, but for now, there is a little stretch of road before us and I can see all the wonderful things that are heading our way.

A Wonderful Christmas Time

Yes, you read that title correctly--I'm thinking Christmas.

I know it's a loooong way off, and in order for the holiday to go off in the way I'm picturing it, a few things need to happen between now and then that haven't quite transpired (like me having a job that pays in the moneys rather than kisses), but I've always enjoyed Christmas, and for me, it's never really too soon to be thinking about it (except for on December 26th--then I just want to sleep for about a year).

We've tentatively decided to do Christmas at our house. In the past we've spent Christmas Eve at my parents, slept over, done Christmas morning with them, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the day running around like chickens with their heads cut off, visiting DOH's mom's family, then his bio dad's family. It's a lot of work, lugging a ton of stuff, and it's never quite as enjoyable as it was prior to baby (when our presence was less in demand).

We usually go to DOH's aunt's house for Christmas dinner, which has always been nice for us, but she has expressed a desire to discontinue this tradition (and I can't blame her, it's a lot of work). When she came to check out our new house a few weeks ago, she said, "Oh, well, Kirsten, you can just have Christmas here!" I wasn't sure if she was serious or not, but after a follow up chat via Facebook (Thank goodness for modern technology--otherwise I'd have had to pick up a phone! :-) ), I found out she was.

And so it was decided that we would be in charge of Christmas for DOH's side of the family.

So, while it's lovely and balmy and sunny outside, a long and lush summer stretched out before us, I do, in some small corner of my brain, have sugar plums dancing in my head.

When I Grow Up

I want to buy this book:

Because someday, I want to be that (a domestic goddes...not the cupcake). I don't know why. Up until the last couple of years I've had no desire to be good at any of that housewifey stuff, like cooking and cleaning and entertaining and raising vaguely normal offspring. Nor have I shown any sort of proclivity towards those sorts of things. I'm not neat, I'm frequently too impatient and/or absent minded to really cook anything overly complicated, and I'm quite possibly a very crap mum.

Yet, here I am, oggling recipes on Martha Stewart, where one meal would probably cost me the same amount I spend on a week's worth of meals.

Must be the cute aprons:

Anthropologie

Sunburns, Gift Certificates, and a Total Lack of Motivation

Okay, let's start with the "Total Lack of Motivation" part, because I can't even seem to motivate myself to write something!

I graduate in (*counts on fingers*)... five days. A lot of my little senior pals who are not education majors have much of this week off, having managed to escape finals or lucked out with the odd take-home or paper (I say "lucked out", but I suppose it's all relative. I'd rather be hunkered down in the library basement than sitting in a high school classroom at the moment--and you can see by the fact that I'm blogging how much my dedication has wavered...granted, I don't teach during second period). No, I have obligations for the rest of this week that require my physical presence here, in this classroom, doing...stuff (I actually plan on spending the next three days eating cookies and playing Apples to Apples with my juniors).

However, there is nothing to be said for my mental presence in the classroom, which I can say has been lacking since...(I don't want to say March, but) January. Okay, slight exaggeration, but when you can count on one hand how many more days you have left to your undergraduate career, you start to feel a bit flighty. You also can't spell exaggeration. I've spelled it wrong twice now. Yay for spell check! BTWs, it's double g's, not double r's.

So, if I'm not here at the lovely area high school (mentally), then where am I?

Me, daydreaming. Yes, that is my classroom and motivational poster 

using an iceberg in the background.

Location #1:My dad's boat
We lucked out with a uber gorgeous weekend (hoping and praying we get this next weekend), so I spent Saturday raking and ripping the life out of my garden at the new house (which sound really horrible--I actually just cleaned up some spaces--I will be posting pictures after graduation, when I have my life back) and sitting on my dad's boat. Yesterday we shipped out from my parents' house at one end of a gorgeous lake in Maine and boated down to the other end of the lake, roughly seven miles away, got lunch at a restaurant (the novelty of being able to "park" your boat at a restaurant and then going in to eat will never be old to me), then boated home. I came back very crispy, but very happy.

Location #2: The local nursery--garden variety
The tradition in my family has been you do something vegetation/outdoor related for the mom's in your life for mother's day. For example, this year, we got my mom a gift certificate L.L. Bean so she can put her Adirondack chair jealousy to bed and get a spiffy reclining one to go on their porch, thereby winning the sweet seat competition she and my dad seem to have been having for the last 12 years since they moved into the new house.

In previous years, both my mom and I have been gifted plant life. It was also the go-to gift for both my grandmothers when they were still living (both possessing great green thumbs, something I hope to inherit and hone--I'm really loving the alliteration here, aren't I?). Anyhow, when this year came around, DOH asked me what I wanted. I was torn. What we really, really need is a new vacuum cleaner, but funds are tight and my mom has promised me her old one (we're getting a lot of furniture and appliance hand-me-downs lately--something I am not complaining about). So, my second option was plantlife (per usual). I told DOH I really wanted to get some potted plants to put in the little planters that are on the front portion of our porch at the new house. They're these adorable little bird houses that are open at the top and you're meant to just slide in your little potted plants. Each time I think of these cute little features (I will post pictures ASAP, promise), I immediately envision Christmas time and little sprays of greenery coming out of these. But for now, I want some cute potted plants. I'm thinking these:

Geranium (a classic)

Pansy (love these, but I can't help but think of those talking flowers from Disney's Alice in Wonderland).

Hydrangea (my favorite flower of all time, but I'm not sure if these can be potted, really). 

 Location #3: Next Saturday Morning
I keep thinking about that moment when I accept my empty diploma case (explained, sort of, here), shake the many hands of the important professors and upper university echelon, and saunter off the stage, having completed my undergraduate degree (my next few posts between now and Saturday, and probably just after Saturday, will likely repeat that whole "completed my undergraduate degree" phrase a whole bunch--feel free to start the drinking game now--that's three shots already, by the way--I know I've started).

Saturday, while less important academically than my aforementioned portfolio presentation, it's still a big day, an exciting day, and probably one of the last days I'll have for a while that are about me and a celebration over what I've done. I know that sounds totally narcissistic and horrible, but it's how I feel. I like getting positive, pats on the back kinds of attention, and I packed a lot of that into the last five years, between my high school graduation, the birth of our daughter, our wedding, the purchase of a house, etc., etc. We've pretty much done everything most adults do over several years in about four (not counting graduating from high school). So, graduation is my last hurrah for just me, at least for a while (there is graduate school and all that good stuff).

All this leaves me in a pretty tough position. I need to be here, school, until Thursday (though we'll see how Thursday goes since a bulk of my students will be MIA at a college fair). After that, I'm as free as a bird. But Thursday feels so far away.

It's a Big Fricking Deal

In ten days, I graduate from college. I could go on about what a significant moment this is, how proud of myself I am, how hard I've worked, blah, blah, blah.

Yes, graduation is great.

But let me tell you about my portfolio.

All education majors (and I'm one of those people) has to put together a Standards Portfolio. To be certified to teach in the state of Maine, you have to meet the "Initial Standards for Certification" (seen here, if you're really curious...and I know you aren't). My education program guarantees us eligibility to to be certified to teach by the time we graduate from college. In order to fulfill that guarantee, we have to create the Standards Portfolio that documents at least twenty artifacts (two artifacts per standard--there are ten, if you didn't figure that out already) showing how we've met each standard.

This is a lot of work.

Making the actual portfolio doesn't actually consist of a lot of effort, just a ton of time (like, a couple of days worth of time--if you're smart, you spread it out over a week or two). What does take a lot of effort is creating the artifacts. Now, you aren't going to create a bulk of your artifacts (or any, really), just to put in your portfolio. Example, all my artifacts are products from the units I wrote, student products from lessons I planned and wrote, workshops I attended, research papers I wrote, websites I created for student use, all the analysis I had to do for a separate project I completed earlier this semester (which was the most hellish thing I experienced--you plan a unit, you teach it, you collect data, you analyze all that data, you literally write hundreds of pages about every little thing you did with you students, why, and what the repercussions were), etc., etc., etc.

So, the point is: It's a lot of work.

And yesterday, I presented my portfolio, as well as other projects I've completed, to professors, other education students, other college students, my family, and any other person who wanted to drop in and listen to me (I should note that I wasn't the only one doing this; there were several of us who all presented yesterday). And you should know, portfolio presentations are a big deal for us education majors. We have an exit interview first, where our supervisor basically signs off on our being able to graduate (it's rare that people don't get signed off during their exit interview, because they normally know their in deep trouble before they get to that point, BUT it's still nerve racking). Then, after your exit interview, you're given a table in one of the dining halls on campus where you set up your portfolio display (so, your portfolio, student work, candy to entice visitors, review sheets, pretty decorations, etc.). And then you wait for people to show up and you talk non-stop for about three hours.

It's exhausting, but it's also cathartic, because you get to fully express for the first time just how hard you worked and how much you loved it over the course of a semester. At this point, you feel confident in what you do and proud of yourself and ready to take on the world of education on your own. It's a great feeling and it's fun and for most of us education majors, it's a way bigger deal than having your name announced, grabbing an empty diploma holder (our university doesn't mail out our diplomas until July, so we just get an empty holder on graduation), and standing, briefly, before a sea of anonymous faces.

Yes, graduation is great and is intended to be a celebration, but portfolio presentations is a chance for us ed. majors to shine and to show that we deserve to be graduating (and in many cases, graduating with some sort of cum laude--magna in my case). I am looking forward to graduating in about a week and a half (!!!), but I sort of feel like I've done it. And that's a pretty big fricking deal.

Whoa.

I went to the new house this weekend with my mom and we walked around the yard for a bit, trying to figure out what the different plants that were popping up were, and deciding what work needs to be done.

Holy fuzzibuns there is a lot of work to do.

While there is a lot of gorgeous plant life beginning to crop up (pictures at another time--maybe next weekend?), like peonies (YAY!), roses, tulips, and bee balm (my favorite flowers), the garden has not been tended for a couple of years and there is a lot of much needed raking, cutting back, and just plain old weeding and plant removal that needs to be done. And besides that, the stone walls that surround the property (so charming) need to be fixed up a bit along with the brick walkway coming up to the front door.

Granted, some of this stuff can be accomplished by DOH. He made quick work of the stone-ringed fire pit this weekend and did a great job, but he's not much of a gardener. And while I'm not much of one either, I think I have more ambition to become one than he does. Which means much of this work will fall on me.

I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. Though much of my undergraduate work will be done after tomorrow (I can't believe I just wrote that--whole other post going on there), I don't have this endless amount of time to work on the gardens at the new house between now and when we move in. And though I don't expect to have everything done by the move in date (that would be stupid, considering how much we have to get done inside the house before we do actually move in), I want to get started as soon as possible, because I want to have a good sense of what everything looks like when it's decently groomed so I know what I want to keep and what I need/want to go. Plus, I am planning on (who knows if this is what will happen) having my graduation party in July at the new house. I'd like everything to look...nice (read: perfect).

Of course, I'm putting too much pressure on myself (something I am really excellent at). It's not like it's imperative that I get all my gardens in perfect order now (or any time soon or...ever). But I want to get started. I want to do it all. But it's so much. And I'm feeling overwhelmed by it, especially when I think of it in conjunction with all the cleaning/painting/fixing/spending of money that we have to do. It's enough to bowl a girl completely over.

This whole house buying thing, while totally awesome, is also a lot of work (if you weren't already of aware of that fact). I'm thinking some lists are in order (the cure for all things overwhelming--thank God for stickies on my computer).

Free Stuff

If I have one piece advice for anyone, it's don't turn down free stuff. More specifically, if you're driving to work in the morning and you pass a some white metal patio furniture that could look sooo cute with a fresh coat of paint and some cute cushions AND that will fit in your Ford Taurus, you damn well pull over (even though you're already running late) and lug the goods into your backseat. You should also switch out the Taurus for a truck so you would have been able to fit in the free desk that was sitting there, too. You may have to see if it's still there this afternoon and drag to your apartment before you pick up your daughter from daycare.

Best advice you'll ever receive.

When You Want What Everyone Else Has

Another friend of mine announced via Facebook that she's pregnant. I'm so happy for her. She and I are a rare species--dedicated moms who are balancing being wives and mothers with being full-time education students. She has a little girl who's about a year younger than Lizzie and from all appearances, is doing a great job. I am totally thrilled for her.

And almost nauseatingly jealous.

I have wanted to have another baby since Lizzie was about six months old. She was just so...perfect. Who wouldn't want to try for perfection again. And I always knew that I didn't want my kids to be as far apart as my brother and I are (six years). While there was never a problem in the age difference between my brother and I (we're actually pretty good buds), I always wished I had a brother or sister closer in age to me and therefore wanted that for Lizzie. At this point that doesn't look like it's going to happen and it makes me sad.

And almost completely nauseatingly jealous of my friend who is already having her second. It makes me feel even more like there is no reason why we shouldn't have another. Her husband is in the same line of work as mine. They have bought a home, too. She's not even graduating this semester, but has more school ahead of her, yet she is having a baby. And while that might seem to be a lot for a young couple to take on, she's not the type to go into anything lightly. I have no doubt that she and her husband will go through this life change admirably.

And I honestly think we, DOH and I, could do the same. But DOH wants me to get a job and then he says he'd consider having a second baby. Well, isn't that a bit counter-intuitive? Education is not a career field where you can waltz in for a year then leave to have a baby and then expect to get your job back. When you are starting out in education, you are literally under probation and a school district can choose to not renew your contract if you sneeze the wrong way. As a new teacher, I don't want to give my employers any reason to not renew my contract, especially in such a competitive job market. DOH just doesn't seem to get that!

So, it leaves me in this position. If I get a teaching job next semester, or even a job in a school district working as an Ed. Tech. or something of the like, then that means I will go through the '11-'12 school year not pregnant, likely watching several of my friends get pregnant, feeling painfully jealous and unhappy. Hopefully I will feel comfortable enough in my district to get pregnant over next summer (2012) and have our next baby in the spring of 2013. That's two years away.

That's two years of watching people get pregnant and have babies. I don't know if I can do it. In addition to all that, Lizzie will be five, which is just as big a distance as six would be, in my book. And there goes the fulfillment of having two kids close together. Of course, we could have a third kiddo, but we don't if that's something we want yet.

I'm feeling a little bit desolate at the moment. I know, in my head, that having a baby right now isn't right for us. But in my heart, and I tend to listen to my heart quite a bit more than my head, for good or bad, I really want this. Of course, though, there is a big difference between right and want, and part of being an adult is acknowledging that difference and following through in the correct way.

But it's so hard.

Kids These Days

I'm a huge lover writing prompts. While I like choosing my own topics, I also get a kick out of challenging myself to write something different every once in a while. I feel like it's strength training for my brain. Anyhow, I signed up to recieve the weekly writing prompts from Mama Kat (see the button on my side bar if you're interested, too). This week there was one calling people to write about "something students should know these days." This felt particularly poingant considering I'm student teaching this semester. Anyway, here goes.

This is probably going to be more serious than I want it to be, but when I think of things kids should know these days, I get pretty practical. And while you might think I'd be biased towards something like writing a cover letter or being able to read and understand the newspaper (being an English teacher and all), what I think every student should know these days has to do with math.

When I was a senior in high school I was very concerned about getting into my "top tier" school, which was, in my case, Emerson College in Boston (I got in, by the way). I knew I would need good grades, a relatively strong SAT score, and that my transcripts would need to show a student who challenged herself academically. When my senior year rolled around and I had a choice between not taking any math courses, taking something "easy" like senior math or personal finance, or pre-Calculus I did the only logical thing a paranoid kid who was desperate to get into a good college does--I took pre-calc. Even though I had applied to Emerson as a writing and publishing major. Even though, if I had a good average in all my high school math courses, I wouldn't have to take math (and taking pre-calc would likely ruin that chance) if I went to Emerson. Even though I knew it would make what was supposed to be a fun and easy year really, really miserable.

But I went to pre-calc faithfully. It was the only class besides my AP Literature class (which I loved) that I didn't skip on a regular basis. I learned to determine the area of ellipses and how to write a proof and how to graph random shit on a computer. I learned that I could receive extra credit by bringing in whoopie pies to the teacher. I made a lot of whoopie pies. I also learned that pre-calc was a complete, utter, and total waste of my time.

It was getting close to the end of the year and I had been accepted at all the colleges I had applied to, so I was feeling a little...exhausted...when it came to pre-calc. We were working our way through a particularly difficult and monotonous proof when finally I raised my hand and asked:

"Mr. Morgan, when are we ever going to need this?"

Mr. Morgan, bless his heart, stopped writing something on the board, looked at me, confused, and replied, "I just said that you'll need this to do your homework for next class and--"

"No, when will I ever need this in my actual life?"

Mr. Morgan pauses then looks at me, knowing what I'm after. "What are you planning on majoring in at college, Kirsten?"

"Creative writing."

"Yep, you'll never see this again."

I like telling this story, and I have a bunch of times, for a variety of reasons, but this is the first time I'm telling it to make this point: I shouldn't have been in that class. For one, it ended up not mattering. I got in to Emerson, and I don't think they took a second glance at the fact that I was enrolled in pre-calc. The university I ended up going to didn't give a damn that I took some high level math class--they were just glad I could add and I ended up enrolling in a Math 100 course my freshman year to get the math requirement out of the way. (See, after all that, I still had to take math!)

For two, two years after taking that math course, I was a new mom and living off-campus with my fiance (now husband). And we didn't know jack-shit about household finances. Sure, I could solve proofs and graph lines on a computer, but could I make a budget? No. Could I figure out what our mortgage would be if we bought a house? Nada. Could I write up a grocery list, figure out sales tax, and actually add everything together without having to use a calculator? Absolutely not. It has been an uphill battle, these last few years, trying to figure out how to do all that in the thick of the battle. It's like learning to shoot a gun in the middle of a firefight.

Yes, I know a lot of people learn how to do these things before they have children, those so called "responsible adults." Well, I didn't have that chance. Life happens. And life happens to a lot of people, and they are unprepared. Consider the wealth (no pun intended) of financial woes people and this country are facing these days--it's becoming more and more important people, even elementary and middle schoolers, never mind seniors in high school who are about to be thrust into the "real world," to understand the importance of money and how it works.

If there is anything that students should be required to learn about in school or in life, it should be about personal finance. It shouldn't be an option, it should be required, because when you are out on your own, knowing how to appropriately use your money isn't an option, even if some people think otherwise.

Dream Jobs

As I write this, I'm sitting in a Junior English class, listening to presentations (the one I'm currently listening to is on music therapy--really cool). I'm a student teacher. I'm graduating with a Bachelor's degree in Secondary Education, with a concentration in English. I'm going to be a teacher, and that really excites me. I love kids, but I have a soft spot for those between the ages of 11-19. They're fun, smart, and are so interesting (and the know they are).

But I have another passion, too.

You see, my dream job is to work exclusively with teen and/or underprivileged moms. The reason? Well, for one, I was a teen mom. I was nineteen when I got pregnant with my daughter. I was also, in turn, somewhat underprivileged, because most 19-year-olds aren't rich, and we had to rely on some social services for a bit. However, I was very lucky to have an extremely supportive family and fiance (now DOH).

For two, I love pregnancy and infancy. I don't think I quite realized how much I loved it until I was pregnant and had my daughter, but over the last few years this has become one of my huge passions. I find pregnancy fascinating, from the physical, spiritual experience, right down to the science of it all. And infants. My goodness--they are amazing little creatures. They are equally completely helpless and in total need of their parents, yet amazingly resilient, filled with all these different in-born abilities, everything from their little reflexes that protect them if they fall or wind up in water to their automatic ability to suckle.

Which leads me to the whole dream job thing. I want to be a midwife, and a midwife who works specifically with teen/underprivileged moms. What does this mean, after my five years of schooling to become a middle/secondary teacher? It means, at some point, at least two more years of school (and possibly more). It's not something I'm looking to do right now, but in a few years, perhaps after I'm done having my babies. There is a midwifery school in a town next to the one I grew up in (the very place I intend to deliver my next baby). It has an excellent reputation and provides students with a two year track to becoming a midwife. I may also just go all in and become a nurse, then go on to become a midwife.

In the mean time, while I'm teaching (possibly starting over this summer), I am going to begin the process to become a doula (a woman who helps other women through birth, pregnancy, and the post-natal period). I love the idea of being there as a support, to help a woman through her birthing process and the early days of caring for her newborn. I'm starting to really feel like it's something I'm meant to do.

I just love all things baby (about the same amount as I love teenagers). I love talking about breastfeeding, making your own baby food, cloth diapering, baby massage, all that good, hippy fun stuff that is so good for you baby and the world around your baby. And while I am absolutely not a proponent of teen pregnancy, it's something that happens and in order for those young woman and their babies to find success is for them to have a healthy, happy pregnancy and a support system, and not every teen girl has access to that. I want to provide both the health and emotional support, and I think I can do that. It's something that excites me.

And shouldn't we always do something that excites us?

Gettin' Me Some Religion

I can be a bit irreverent when it comes to religion. I think I came out of the womb a spiritual person--I've always enjoyed thinking about God (in whatever manifestation I was comfortable with at the time) and taking time to think about the wider world and universe I inhabit and why I'm here. Very deep stuff. And while I've had my periods of total disdain for church or even Christianity in general (I spent a couple of years as a Wiccan), I'm finding a strong desire to rejoin a religious community.

DOH is Catholic. I was raised as a Protestant. And while we aren't reenacting scenes from Northern Ireland, we definitely have different views on certain things. I'm also pretty freaking liberal (I was also a self-proclaimed Communist around the same time I was a Wiccan--I'm sure you can imagine how excited my parents were). I don't do well around people who are so absorbed by their religious views that they can't function in the wider, non-denominational world or get past the fact that there are, in fact, other people who believe differently, and, guess what, they probably aren't going to burn in that fiery, bad place for believing differently.

But the point of this post isn't to get too religious. It's to talk about the fact that I, for the first time in a long time, really want to go back to church. I've been hankering for a place where we can go to worship and be a part of a community as a family,  and with this move coming up in June, I figured it's a good opportunity to find a place to go.

For a short period of time this fall, we were attending church at the Congregational church in our current town. I loved it, but services started really early for us (9:30 AM) and Lizzie had a hard time going down to the nursery (she was the only little one there). I also didn't really want to send her there, I liked being together, but I felt a bit of pressure to have her go down, which annoyed me a bit. Overall, though, I really enjoyed the church, but it just wasn't working out. I also figured I didn't want to get involved in a church that we likely wouldn't stay at since we planned on moving after I graduated from college.

The town we're moving to has a few different options for where we can go just within the town. There is a Universalists church which is kind of right up my alley. They have a variety of services that cater to lots of different belief systems, which I love. It's also very liberal and openly supports the GLBT community, which I very openly support. I also feel as though my and DOH's different belief systems (as similar as they are) will both be respected and neither one of us will feel left out.

There is also a Congregationalists church, which I have heard wonderful things about, having had friends who attended it growing up. I think it's a more traditional church, but like most Congregational churches that are associated with the UCC (United Church of Christ), they're pretty open-minded (at least that is what I've found here in Maine). I would have no problem attending this church, and I don't think my husband would be against it either, but then again, it's different from what he's used to (granted, the Universalists church would be, too), and he sometimes has a hard time with "different."

Then there is the Catholic church, which I've actually attended (I was an honorary Catholic there for a bit, as I went to youth group with one of my good friends). I like it a lot. It has a big, active congregation, the kids do an awful lot, and a good chunk of the Catholics in the area go there (and there are a lot of Catholics in Western Maine). My husband would LOVE to go to a Catholic church. I'm pretty certain he'd be really happy if I said I was converting to Catholicism (but that's probably never going to happen). And I would actually be okay going to a Catholic church. Would it be my first choice? No, but only because I don't plan on converting and that status of non-Catholic would probably start to make me feel uncomfortable after a while. But, I would be willing to try if DOH didn't feel comfortable at any other church.

There are lots of other churches in other towns, including the ones our families go to. I don't know that there is anything on this planet, even the salvation of my soul, that could convince me to join the church that my mother-in-law attends (there are LOTS for reasons for this), but I will never say that I wouldn't attend just to visit. My parents go to a Congregational church in the town they live in (and it's the church where I went through confirmation and all that, though the reverend has long since left). I wouldn't mind attending with them, but I think my husband feels the same as I do about attending church with his mom when it comes to going to church with my parents (but for different reasons).

This turned out to be considerably longer than I had intended (and probably way boring), but it's nice to get these thoughts out and organized. It gives you better perspective on where you want to be, and choosing a place of worship, in my opinion, is a decision that needs to be made carefully (I actually think what religion you are or how you feel spiritually is the decision you need to make very carefully).

Sorry if you trudged through this and expected some sort of epiphany at the end--this most was mostly for me, :-) However, if you were curious, I think I'm leaning more towards the Universalists church, though we'll have to actually attend some services before we make a decision.

It's Ours! (Almost)

We finally (FINALLY!) heard back from the seller. He countered our offer (again), coming up just $2,000. We took it.

I cannot tell you the relief I'm feeling tonight (and the complete and total joy of knowing we are going to have a house). While things won't feel completely real until closing and even more so once we're officially out of our apartment and into the new house, I'm definitely chanting the, "It's ours. It's ours. It's ours," chant in the back of my mind. I've been fantasizing about this house since we saw first saw it and now I can really start planning in earnest (look out for a paint color post soon).

And, of course, amongst all my excitement and current brain-shift into full-on nesting mode (similar to what I experienced when I was pregnant), there is the new found anxiety of what it means to be a home-owner. We'll encounter expenses we did not as apartment-dwellers (I don't say this with any disdain, by the way--we've enjoyed our apartments, but have come to a point where it's just not working for our family), such as paying for oil/gas, a presumably larger electric bill, and home and yard maintenance. (I'm sure there are other things that I'm missing, but bare with me, it's just about 11:30 at night and I've been up since 6 AM.) I'm not so much worried about how we will handle these things, because I know we'll do it, but I do worry about the strain. I worry about money. I worry when I have it and I worry when I don't. I worry about how we're going to get it (i.e. how, when, where I'm going to get a job after graduation in May).

This may very well mean tightening our belts more than we're used to and forgoing a few purchases we were hoping to make. It also means I'm forcing myself and the Dear Old Husband (DOH--and yes, it is pronounced "Doh!", as in Homer Simpson's catch-phrase) into a crash course on personal finances. I imagine DOH and I will be spending the next couple of months curled up next to each other with a couple of books on personal finances and my laptop, pursing out our funds to the pertinent areas on a family budget.

But for tonight (what's left of it), I'm just going to enjoy the fact that we have (or will very shortly have) a home. A yard for our daughter to play in, a large open living space to spend time with friends and family in, no crazy neighbors crashing around above your head at 1:30 in the morning, and much closer to where we want to be (figuratively and geographically).