three months in

Today marks 3 months since I packed up my life and my cat and moved away from home.

I had to say goodbye to my friends; my family; my home. My life.

It marks three months since I struck out on my own. Three months since I got my first little apartment.

... and made it my own little temporary home away from home. With bright yellow curtains, birds of all shapes and sizes, vintage maps, and things I've picked up from around the world.

And of course, precious reminders of home.

Today marks 3 months since this smalltown girl felt her heart drop at the skyline of the big city.

I wish that I could say that it's been an amazing three months.

I cannot say that.

However. I can say that it's been a learning experience. A growing experience. A crash-course in adulthood, that is for sure.

And a crash-course in homesickness.

I've had to learn how to run a household. How to navigate big city living and traffic. How to balance school + work + a household. How to keep myself and my cat alive. How to quell my homesickness (well, that one I'm still working on).

I cant say that 3 months has changed me. It's made me grow, learn, experience. It's made me become more independent. Maybe 3 months in the big city has even hardened me a bit.

But what I can say without absolute certainity? The one thing I've learned in 3 months:

There's no place like home.

thank you thank you thank you

They are simple words that do not seem like nearly enough.

But, today, they'll just have to do.

Thank you to all of the veterans who have served our country. Protected our country. Protected our freedoms and liberties. Protected our lives.

Thank you to all of the current servicemen and women who are serving our country, protecting our freedoms, liberties, and lives.

Thank you to my baby brother who is now among their ranks.

Thank you.

new york, new york

Oh, how I wish I was here:

Wanderlust strikes again!

I have the urge to stop life and take off to another city.

New York City in particular. No idea where the sudden urge came from. It's kind of like cravings. You don't know where they come from, but you just have to have it. I crave places like people crave chocolate. London, Thailand, and Belgium are the usual suspects for the places I crave. But currently, I'm craving New York. The people, the sights, the sounds, the hustle and bustle.

I'm trying to talk my best friend into going with me over [my month-long] Christmas break, but she's a bit more country than city. I want to see the big tree, go ice skating, see the snow, wear a winter coat, sip hot chocolate, and walk the streets aimlessly.

I suppose that's what dreams are for.

Especially when you're a poor graduate student.

Good thing New York will still be there next December, when I'm finished and have had even longer to talk my best friend into going with me.

Wait for me, New York City.

inspiring wall art

These days, I've been in a bit of an unhappy rut. School, work, the city, life in general has been dragging me down.

When I go home at night, it's my cute little apartment with it's yellow curtains and collection of birds that helps lift my spirits. And while I love every piece of my apartment, it was still lacking something.

Enter these gems:

(these hang in my living room)

(this hangs above my dresser, in my bedroom)

They're from my favorite (despite it being completely addicting and the fact that it sucks money from my savings account constantly) website, etsy. By sparkle power. I've been eyeing them for months, but finally took the plunge and bought them. Thanks to $5 ikea picture frames they make for wonderful (and cheap!) wall art.

They are exactly what I needed.

They pretty up my walls. They inspire my soul. They tug my lips into a smile. They get me through the days when I'm extra lonely and homesick.

They're perfect.

murderer.

Here's the sad, sad truth:

I'm a murderer.

(Don't let this picture fool you. The one that looks green and leafy and... alive? It's just dying a slow, slow death)

It's really a miracle that I've kept myself and the cat alive this long.

I keep holding out hope that these two little plants will revive themselves and be pretty and green once more, but that hopes is rapidly dwindling.

thoughts on being the sister of a soldier

I love my brother more than anyone else in the world.

Anyone.

The night I graduated college (I was deathly ill, hopped on cold medicine and wine from the huge party my parents were throwing for me) he told me he was joining the Army.

I cried.

Three weeks later, I drove him to the recruiters office and saw him off as he headed to Fort Benning for boot camp. His MOS? Infantry.

I cried.

In June (he was home for a short stint in the middle of boot camp due to injury) I went to Fort Benning and watched as my little brother graduated boot camp. It was a proud moment to watch my baby brother who I once made play house with me and had a baby doll named Lee become a soldier.

Two weeks later, he left home once more, headed for Washington state.

On September 11th, I watched the ceremonies and remembered the day vividly. But it was different. I thought of my brother who was soon heading off to fight a war that was brought on by that day.

I cried.

A couple days later, my brother left for Kuwait. I told him not to be hero.

I cried.

Weeks after he arrived in Kuwait, he went to Iraq. Despite how much things have calmed down in Iraq in recent years, there are still reports of bombings. Reports of deaths and injuries.

And my brother is in the heart of it all.

For my mother, every phone call could be a report that my brother has been injured. Every knock on the door could be someone coming to tell her the worst has happened - that my brother has made the biggest sacrifice for his county.

I worry about his safety every single day. The fear and worry is more than I imagined it being. I do not watch the news and try to avoid the headlines in the newspaper, but the concern I feel for my brother is ever-present.

The fear that if the worst should happen, I am the one who must plan his funeral. And that thought is terrifying.

How could it not be? He is the most precious thing to me. The most loved, the most adored.

We are opposites. Completely and utterly. But he's the other half of me. He has everything I lack.

The other day at work, a nice old man came in. I asked him if he was in the Army (because of his hat) and he said yes, retired. I told him that my brother was in the Army, too. He asked where he was stationed. I told him Iraq.

This is what he said to me: Tell him I said thank you. My prayers are with him. And thank you for sacrificing him.

I cried.

(I am not a crier).

photo: kuwait

grad school: a visual

This is what graduate school looks like.

Especially when you are miles behind on a [huge] project that is due in 6 weeks. And things like 1023, 990, budget, outcome reports, bylaws, and incorporation articles keep popping up. Things that you haven't the slightest idea how to do.

The glamorous life this is not.

not pictured:
-my dwindling sanity
-the inordinate amount of stress i feel
-the rest of my apartment that looks like a bomb has gone off
-the copious amonts of diet coke helping me through it all

i know a girl, she puts the color inside of my world.

On a quick trip back to the homeland, I met with my very pregnant friend Lindsey to take some maternity pictures of her (she only asked me because I'm the one with the fanciest camera).

I've never done a photo shoot before, but it turned out great. It helps that Lindsey is very photogenic and thrilled about bringing this little girl into the world, so it comes across easily in every (all 275) picture I snapped.

Meet Lulu.

Lauren (picked by yours truly) Elaine is due January 19th and I cannot wait to meet her.

The only payment I required? Feeling Lulu kick. Which was, hands down, one of the coolest things I've ever felt. It's pretty amazing thinking that a tiny little human is twirling and twisting inside of your best friend's stomach. And that in just a few months she'll be with us and grow into her own little person.

The entire time I was with Lindsey, I kept repeating "I cannot believe you're really pregnant." She shared the same sentiment. It is just exciting and amazing to think that one of my best friends will be bringing a child into this world in a few short months, making me an [honoary] auntie.

I am thrilled about little Lulu. My bank account however? Not so thrilled.

But who can resist cute baby girl shoes?

giving in

I'm beginning to realize that it is nearly impossible (for me) to attempt to keep any healthy habits during grad school. Exercising and balanced diets fall by the wayside as I attempt to finish assignments or commute 40 minutes to a job that sucks the soul from me on a daily basis. So, I've simply decided to embrace it.

Yes, I may get fast food after standing for 8 hours at work and being yelled at by rude guests all day and repeating the same things a million times over. And yes, I may not squeeze in a run because I have to finish reading for class in the time I'm actually home to do so. Maybe my apartment often looks like a bomb went off in it because I'm too busy rushing out the door at 6 in the morning and don't get back for 16 hours.

Instead of being mad or disappointed in myself because I just had to have a Diet Coke at the end of a particularly bad time, I'm simply going to embrace it all. Because at least I got up and tackled that bad day and survived. Nor am I going to get too terribly upset if the scale inches up a couple of pounds because I went to McDonald's instead of cooking something healthy because I am so sick of standing after an 8 hour day of work.

Grad school + working full time just don't equal a super healthy lifestyle for me right now. I wish that I could find a lasting groove in those habits, but currently, I find it difficult to even get 5 hours of sleep a night.

This is a challenging time in my life. I know that I will probably never have to work as hard as I am working now, so I need to be giving myself the ability to let some other things fall by the wayside. Like my effort to abandon Diet Coke or run 5 times a week.

I do believe that exercising and eating right is an important part of life and maybe I should make it a priority right now, but that stack of readings for class Thursday night and a 10 page proposal due in 6 weeks and an entire semester-long project that has yet to be started and the bills that need to be paid have to be more important than running 2 miles and eating my greens for dinner.

Right now, survival [+ paying bills and getting my masters] is key, everything else has to take a back seat.

this boy.

Is my hero.

photo: kuwait

the single girl's survival guide

I have actually acclimated to living alone better than I thought I would. It's definitely not as scary as I imagined it would be - especially when I'm in a new town where I don't know a soul and the only people who could rescue me are 3.5 hours away.

My one downfall is that I have an overactive imagination that sometimes gets the best of me. I have my moments where I swear there is a murderer hiding in my closet, a intruder just waiting for me to come home, or a ghost just waiting in the wings (or, in my case, watching Cartoon Network at 4 in the morning, but that's another story...).

So, I have a few precautions in place to make sure that I'm no one's victim (well, except for the ghosts, I'm not sure, exactly, how you defend yourself against that).

1. Pepper spray + keys.

When I get home late at night from work or just when I'm uncomfortable in a situation, I have one finger on my pepper spray. It was a gift from my friend's grandma and I keep it on my key chain for those just in case moments. The keys can also be used if you put them between your knuckles so that if you try to hit someone, you've got a little extra defense.

2. Phone.

I always have my phone on me. I keep it beside my bed at night, too. Just in case. It makes me feel safer knowing I always have it on hand. If there are any moments where I doubt my safety may be in jeopardy, I already have the first 2 digits of 911 dialed. Just in case. I'd rather be safe than sorry.

3. Locks.

This one's pretty common sense - but I keep my doors locked at all times. Latch and all. And I always look out the peep hole if anyone knocks.

4. A weapon.

This is an extremely bad example of a weapon. But, a hammer is all I have to defend myself from possible intruders. A baseball bat of golf club would be ideal so that you can remain as far as possible from someone. I don't believe in getting myself a gun because it would probably cause more harm than good in my case, but even having something as small and ordinary as a hammer makes me feel a bit safer living on my own. I keep it next to my bed. Just in case.

5. A scary attack animal.

Well. 4/5 isn't too bad.

this is how you know...

... you really need to do dishes.

Eating ice cream out of the carton with a measuring spoon.

In my defense, I am a full-time graduate student with a full time job that takes up 50 hours of my week, so taking 30 seconds to clean wash a spoon seems like an exorbitant amount of time.

the very newest obsessions

I have mentioned before that I have a somewhat obsessive personality. I fall in love with things (not people - things) pretty quickly and it just takes off from there. These newest obsessions of mine are all things that help to make me happy. And during this time in my life, that is exactly what I need.

Yellow is the new pink. I am obsessed with the color - especially in the form of my new curtains.

They make me happy every time I look at them.

Other new favorite colors include: gray which speaks to my melancholy mood. Especially gray in the form of this cardigan from Old Navy.

And blue. But not just any blue. The color-of-my-eyes blue. They are a gray-ish, teal-ish blue that I'm just starting to appreciate. I have long envied my brother's beautiful blue/green eyes, but I'm beginning to embrace my blue/gray eyes.

Other obsessions include: This song by Owl City. It makes me happy. My favorite lyrics are a soc hop beneath my bed / a disco ball is just hanging by a thread. They speak to happy memories with those two things: a soc hop and a disco ball.

Also, this show. And my new goal of seeing this musical. I am asking for tickets for Christmas, you should too.

Those are my happy obsessions. I'll take just about anything these days to make me happy.

hometown identity crisis

"Where are you from?"

This is probably the most asked question where I live now. Most people who live here are transplants. It's rare to come across someone who was actually born and raised here. If they're not from another state, they're from another country. So, the question is a typical one.

While this question is a simple one, I have trouble answering.

I feel as though I grew up in two places. I moved right in the middle of my formative years. Currently, my life has been split evenly between two different states. So, when asked this question, I always hesitate.

Technically, I suppose my hometown would be considered the town I spent the first few years of my life. That small, Midwestern town where I had many great memories with childhood friends. I did many things there that I could never have done in a larger town and I'm so thankful for that. I'm thankful to have had that opportunity, especially in a time when kids spend more time indoors than out and are sheltered from many chances for adventure because of the fear of predators. I lucked out, partly because I was in a small, sleepy town.

But right in the middle of all of that, I was uprooted and moved south. I had to begin all over again in a new, larger town. One that I eventually learned to love as my own. A town that over the years, became home to me.

So, I struggle to answer this question, "where are you from?"

I normally take the easy way out and answer with the town I just moved from. It's more recognizable and involves fewer follow-up questions. Besides, I am no longer a stereotypical Midwesterner. I don't like beer, cheese, the Packers, or cold weather. And I've long since dropped my Midwestern accent.

Besides, most people here in the big city think that the hometown I choose to answer with is all country. They imagine dirt roads, farms and cows where everyone talks with a thick southern accent and wears a cowboy hats. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am from a cultural hub - film festivals, ballets, and operas flock there. There's no end to the fine dining and the beaches (ranking top in the world) go on for miles.

I often find myself defending my town.

So, when someone finds out I'm a Yankee in disguise, I do not offer the same kind of passion nor the same defense of my Midwestern roots. Most people down here have never been to a farm, so I let them believe the stereotypes.

It's still hard to know which answer to give. Stay true to the town I spent the first few years of my life or the town I spent the last few? Go with technicality or passion?

Then I remind myself that home is where the heart is.

And I know exactly where my heart lies.

That makes my answer to "where are you from?" somewhat easier.

the road not taken

I shall be telling you this with a sigh
Somehow ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
--Robert Frost - The Road Not Taken

Choices.

That's what it all comes down to in life - the choices you make. Or the ones you don't.

Often times, you make the right choice and are duly rewarded. Sometimes, you make the wrong choice and you learn quickly of your mistake. And there are times, when you make one of those two choices - right or wrong; black or white - and you never really learn which choice you made. If it was good or bad, right or wrong. You're left to wonder in the gray area.

As a perfectionist (in denial, I might add) choices are hard for me. No matter what I choose, I always think I'm making the wrong choice. It's hard to know - to leap blindly towards the future by making a choice - if you're ever going to pick the right thing.

I put off choosing what I'd be going to graduate school for until weeks before I graduated from undergrad. And the stress that led towards that decision was nearly unbearable. The choices that lay before me were numerous and daunting. All of them with good points, yet all of them with negative points as well.

But then, I finally chose and leapt blindly, faithfully, towards my decision.

Many things went into that choice. My ability to get into the program, the chance to do something good in the world, the belief that I was perfectly suited for the degree. There was also one thing that drove me towards my decision - how absolutely, perfectly practical the degree was.

I realize that most people turn their nose up when I mention that I'm getting my masters in nonprofit management. Most people don't really know what it is and are turned off by the words 'nonprofit' But what most people don't understand that the degree itself, is helpful, not only in the world of charitable organizations, but in every sector. Yes, my concentration is nonprofits, but the curriculum is filled with management courses (even accounting courses).

So, yes, my degree is practical. It's also something that ensures I will be helping people and serving my community and fellow man.

But here's the thing: I'm starting to doubt just how good this practical choice was for me. I often leave class in confusion or tears - sometimes both. After spending 2.5 extra hours after class where I was ridiculed and had a paper torn to shreds by a professor, those niggling little doubts that I chose the wrong thing began to pop to the front of my mind.

Perhaps it's the stress. Or the blow to my ego. Maybe it's everything combined that's making it difficult right now and I'll grow out of it with time. But right now, in this moment, I wish I would have picked on terms of passion instead of practicality.

I wish I would have picked the road less traveled.

Maybe that would have made a world of difference.

Or maybe not.

But, for now, I'll just continue to live in the gray area until I know for sure.

the hardest goodbye

This seems to be a season of goodbyes in my life.

Last month, I had to say a series of goodbyes to my best friends. It was the longest goodbye ever. But this week, I was forced to say the hardest goodbye. I said goodbye to my brother before he headed off to war.

I will say that I never thought I'd be sending someone I loved off to war. Regardless of the current climate in Iraq or whether or not I believe this is a just war we belong in (I don't, by the way, it's the liberal in me), this is my baby brother who I've sent off to a war zone where he has the potential to be hurt. Or worse.

I try not to think about the 'or worse' part because my fragile heart cannot handle it.

My brother and I are close. We are 3 years apart (2.5 for 3 months out of the year) and while I am older, I cannot imagine a time in my life that he is not a part of. He's always been there. In fact, one of my earliest memories is of taking him home from the hospital.

And while I could not even begin to guess what his favorite song might be or the last movie that he saw, I can tell you that his eyes are the most lovely shade of blue/green which I am insanely jealous of and his eyelashes go on for miles. I can tell you that he is far more stubborn than I am. I can tell you that he is one of the most generous people that I know.

He is my polar opposite. If we didn't look alike, I wouldn't even think we were related. He is an extreme extrovert. He attracts people everywhere he goes. He's never met a stranger in his life. I admire him for so much that and wish I could be the same.

I call him b-wonder, short for boy wonder. How or why that nickname started, I do not know, it's been what I've called him for so long that the origins have faded. I do remember shortening it to simply b-wonder, sitting around my grandmother's kitchen table and how it's stuck ever since. But it fits. He's my b-wonder.

And now, my b-wonder is off to war.

When I had to tell my brother, my b-wonder goodbye, I told him that I loved him. I told him to be safe. The standard.

Then I told him not to be a hero because he has to come back home to me.

I told him not to be hero because I'm selfish. I need him to be in my life - a constant, permanent fixture no matter how many days or miles separate us - and to walk me down the aisle one day in his uniform.

I told him not to be hero. But the thing is, he already is.

a day in the life: sniglet the cat

The following is snippets from my daily life with this crazy, little 3 pound tabby cat.

6:00 am - Stomp on owner. Meow loudly. Lick owner's face. Announce it's time to wake up!
6:01 - Get pushed off owner.
6:05 - Stomp on owner. Meow. Lick owner's face.
6:06 - Get yelled at.
6:07 - Undaunted. Stomps, meows, licks.
6:09 - Get thrown off bed.
6:10 - Regroup.

7:00 am - Stomp, meow, lick owner repeatedly.
7:01 - Owner finally gets out of bed
7:02 - Get tripped over while owner makes her way to the kithen to feed you.
7:04 - Get fed.

8:00 am - Stomp, meow, lick owner repeatedly.
8:01 - Get thrown off bed
8:02 - 9:30 - Repeat stomping, meowing, licking until owner finally gets up.
9:31 - 10:30 - Follow owner around, getting tripped over.

10:31 - 11:30 - Whereabouts unknown.

11:35 - Owner finds you in the closet, in the corner, behind a box. Forced out of hiding.
11:37 - Owner forces you to play with Max, Violet, and Eloise (the mice).
11:45 - Owner asks for your opinon on her outfit. You dislike it and ignore her.
11:46 - Snuggle with owner.
11:50 - Owner decides to leave you, you smack her in an effort to get her to stay.
11:51 - Owner kisses you goodbye.

11:52 - 4:00 - Sleep in peace.

4:01 - Hear owner's keys. Greet her at the door.
4:02 - Follow to owner to bedroom.
4:05 - Follow to bathroom.
4:08 - Follow to kitchen.
4:09 - 4:12 - Beg for treat.
4:13 - Eat treats.

4:15 - 5:30 - Whereabouts unknown.

5:31 - Reappear. Beg for dinner.
5:35 - Get fed dinner.
5:40 - Reward owner by sitting behind her on couch.
5:42 - Owner takes out the horrible, annoying flashing thing. Starts clicking.

5:44 - Get annoyed.
5:45 - Leave.

5:50 - Owner seeks forgivness.
5:55 - Forgive Owner.
5:56 - 10:00 - Sleep on the back of couch, next to owner.
10:01 - Relucatantly follow owner to bed.
10:05 - Snuggle up next to owner and sleep some more.

It's tough being a Sniglet cat.

thoughts on big city living

The first time I saw the skyline of the city I would be working in and going to school in, my heart sank.

Hello big city.

I am, admittedly, from a small midwestern town (hello sterotype!). My hometown boasts 2000 residents, where everyone knows everyone, and all roads lead home. The epitome of a small town.

When I moved to the town I now call home, where there were 48,000 more people with interstates, roads with a speed limit over 25 miles per hour, a true downtown filled with bars and retuarants, it was what I believed a big (ish) town to be like. It was, of course, much, much larger than any town I'd ever lived in.

My sophomore year of highschool, I boldly proclaimed that I was going to be a journalist. In New York City. I'd write for the Times and live in a cute little loft, walking everywhere in the city in my 3 inch Jimmy Choo's. That was the life. That was my dream.

I was a city girl. No big, open county for me, no small town living. Not for this girl. It was the city life for me.

And then I took journalism and that idea went rapidly out the window.

But I still clung to that long-held idea that I was destined for a big city. Full of life and lights. Not that I'd ever lived in a big city before, but the image was so dramatized and brilliant in my head that I couldn't think of myself anywhere else.

Then, the roots began to grow into the town I now call home and my wings were clipped. There was no need for the hustle and bustle of a big city. I had a home. As big as I believed it to be filled with familiarities and loved ones.

The dream was changed - I dreamt of cultivating the roots I had put down in my beautiful city.

In an attempt to better myself, I uprooted myself and moved.

The town I currently live in is nothing to write home about. The city I work and go to school in, however, is a true big city, on the outskirts of a major US city. Compared to places like NYC, Chicago, and LA, the population is only a drop in the bucket. But to this smalltown girl, it's certainly big city living.

According to the census, there are 180,000 people.

I am quite certain that all 180,000 people are on the interstate when I want to go to work/school/Target.

Four weeks into big city living has me thinking I'll never be acclimated to living in a big city such as this. How anyone could get use to the traffic is beyond me.

The traffic! Oh, the traffic!

I once thought 20 minutes was a long time to get anywhere. My daily commute is double that. If traffic's good. My average speed on the interstate is probably 50 MPH simply because of the sheer volume of cars. I swear that I nearly get into an accident (or two) every day. It is sheer insanity.

The moral of the story? Big city life ain't for me.

eight years later

It was eight years ago that the whole world changed.

Like most moments in history that stand our brighter (or darker, I suppose) than most, those who lived through them remember every last detail. Where they were when they heard (or saw), what the weather was like, what happened in the moments following.

I was in a classroom. I watched, in real time, as the second plane hit the World Trade Center. President Bush was in town. It was sunny. The day passed in a blur of different news channels and talk of war.

The whole world changed. Everyone will tell you that. The darkest day in our history. The greatest attack on America - on our home.

Yet, my world didn't change. My day-to-day life remained the same. The only thing that changed was what was shown on my TV and what everyone talked about.

I have been to New York City - the greatest city - twice.

Both times after that fateful day. I have visited Ground Zero and stood where thousands lost their lives and thousands saved lives. I mourned those lost and celebrated the heroes who rose up. I mark this day each year, every year. I remember where I was, the sunny weather, and the terrifying scenes that followed.

And while this is my home, it never hit home.

Until this day, 8 years later.

Because 8 years and 3 days after the attack on this county - after the planes flew into buildings, towers fell, and people lost their lives to an act of terrorism - my baby brother is headed to war.

A war that begins and ends with that attack on this county, eight years ago.

Eight years later and it finally hits home. It's finally personal.

My brother, like thousands, maybe millions of others, is becoming a hero because of September 11th.