Life Update

Life has been busy lately resulting in less posting than usual (but since very few people have found this blog it's okay). DH and I realized that every weekend in February we will be traveling! I know one of my goals for 2015 was to travel more, I just didn't realize I would pack it all into one month!

The great couch issues were ended rather quickly-the repair guy showed up earlier than expected and fixed the couch in under an hour. We are loving our awesome new couch, but we are never home to enjoy it.

Today is our dog's last night of Canine Good Citizen training. Unfortunately our trainer thinks we need to wait before we take the test due to Massey's fears of unknown people which was disappointing. I know it's just a set of letters that mean nothing to anyone but I was still sad to realize that her anxiety is what is holding her back. In my eyes she's come so far with her anxiety, but in the eyes of others she's still too anxious for certain things.

February started off with a back injury for me that laid me up for 2 days which sucked hard core, especially since I don't even have a cool story to tell to go along with it. My back kept hurting until my doctor finally decided to adjust it. That one adjustment made all the difference in the world! Several months of pain simply vanished from that one adjustment! I've never been a big believer in chiropractic care, but the relief I found from that simple adjustment really changed my way of thinking!

I also bought a new car (well a new to me car) which was a huge decision. A post is on the way about that and how I made the decision.

I've been writing a ton lately (Which means I've been neglecting my blog shamefully). DH and I spent Valentine's Day in Kentucky and I found SO much inspiration that the past four days have been all about writing! If I can keep up the pace I should have a manuscript to edit over summer vacation!

I have a post coming about our Kentucky trip and our car purchase so watch for those!

Why My Dog Thinks I'm Stupid

I often think how confusing life must be for my dog. She was plucked from her pack and dropped into a place where everyone spoke another language, the rules were different and she couldn't follow their body language. When they wanted to play they waved toys instead of bowing. There were no wagging tails to help her understand their moods. She lives in a place where she only understands a few words of the language-imagine being on a life long vacation in a totally foreign country.

A lot of times I wonder what she is thinking about different human activities. Sometimes she will look at me with a face that tells me just how strange she really thinks I am. Imagine what watching tv must look like from a dog's perspective-I spend hours staring at a strange box that makes strange noises. I seem to be happy watching the box, but to her it must be very strange.

I leave for 8 hours a day for some place that makes me smell funny (at least according to a dog nose). Twice a day I stand under a stream of water and rub funny smelling stuff all over myself. Sometimes I lay in a tub full of water doing nothing. 

This weekend I headed to my parent's house while DH stayed home to take delivery of some new furniture and do other chores. I have a 4 day weekend and DH has to work so it was the perfect time for a get away. The dog and I left before DH got home from work and she was nuts. She didn't want to get in the car and she spent the first few hours climbing up in my lap and sticking her face in my face (not super helpful when you're driving 75 mph). I finally figured out that she thought I had forgotten DH at home and she was trying to tell me that I had forgotten something. She finally settled down when DH called and I put him on speaker to talk to the dog. When we got to my parent's house she searched all over-apparently looking for him. 

It made me realize how smart she really is and how much she doesn't understand. We can't explain to her that daddy is staying home, but we'll see him on Monday. In her mind everyone should always be together. She is quite convinced that her mommy is just stupid and forgot Daddy at home-and we can't correct that misconception. It made me realize why people always say dogs are starters for children-they share many of the same frustrating characteristics. As a writer I get frustrated when I can't use the tools of my trade to communicate with someone in my life. Even when I was traveling in Europe I could use my knowledge of language (slim as it might be) to detect speech patterns and I could use context clues paired with the few words I knew to pick up on the meaning. I could also read body language to help give me an idea of the direction the conversation was taking. Social norms also help us understand the language of others-when you enter a store and the sales person says something to you you can make the assumption that they are greeting you and offering assistance.

My dog (or a very small child) doesn't have the life experience to figure out what is going on. When I yell at people in traffic (a pretty common occurrence) she jumps up to lick my face and apologize. She can't differentiate my words and realize that I'm not shouting at her, but at the moron going 10 under the speed limit in the fast lane. It's fascinating to realize how much dogs don't understand and that they have a whole language of their own-including body language and social cues. It's fascinating to me to live in such close contact with another species that we can see their society-and it makes me think of aliens (I like to ponder what alien society would be like).

I'm sure there are many reasons my dog (or your dog) thinks I'm (or you) are stupid-what are some of the ones I missed?

Better Living Through Unnecessary Medical Care

I will freely admit that I am a tad bit of a hypochondriac (DH would say I'm just raging insane-but that's open for debate). When I was growing up my mother would never take me to the doctor-for anything. When I was in middle school I fell down the steps chasing our dog and tore a ligament in my knee. I spent the next week participating in gym class and walking all over school before my mother believed me enough to take me to the doctor. She was pretty embarrassed that she had waited so long (hi mom!-I told you I would get revenge-well here it is). To be fair when my mom fell down the stairs a couple of years ago she actually broke her foot (like swollen, bruised and could feel the bone moving) and she never went to the doctor.

My parents were responsible and loving parents (so no calling the cops or anything), but they understood that I was a tad dramatic so they took my I'm dying claims with a grain of salt. DH still hasn't figured out how panicky I am, so he totally feeds into my crazy. Last year I personally spent $4000 on medical bills and spent months in and out of various doctors. At one point I was driving to a podiatrist 3 hours away from my home because I didn't like the responses I got from any podiatrist in my hometown. I had been having a ton of foot pain in a foot I had previously had surgery on and not one doctor believed me that there was something wrong. They all thought that I was gunning for drugs rather than a solution. Until I finally had surgery in college my foot hurt every single day for as almost 10 years-which was dismissed by every single doctor except one. After an MRI and being told that I would just have to live with pain I hightailed it back to that doctor. After months of tests we discovered that I had an auto-immune disease that was probably causing a large part of my pain. Now that it is being treated my pain is getting better (without narcotics thank you very much!). I do know my own body and sometimes I'm really right-but other times the crazy just kind of takes over.

Case in point: Sophomore year of college I woke up with a large lump on my eyelid. There wasn't any pus or any thing so where did my mind immediately jump? I decided I had eye cancer and rushed off to student health accordingly. The doctor seemed to have trouble keeping a straight face as I explained that I had eye cancer and would probably need chemo. This was the same doctor that was tasked with dealing with me previously for swine flu (probably not), severe flu (also not severe, but was given IV fluids just to shut me up) and several other ailments that were deadly at the time.

He took one look at my eye and calmly stated that I had a stye on the underside of my eyelid. He told me to wear my glasses until it popped on its own and to stop sleeping in my contacts. I wasn't convinced and left the doctor in a huff-"How could he be so insensitive to my fears?" I raged at my mother on the phone as I begged her to book me an appointment with the nearest oncologist.  Luckily my mother has had tons of experience talking me down off ledges so she convinced me to wait a week until starting my cancer regime. She also talked me into applying a hot towel to my eye to speed up the process. A few days later the eye cancer was gone and once again my mother was right.

All of this leads back to my emergency room visit I alluded to a few days ago. I woke up on the Sunday before school started with a ton of back pain. For once my crazy didn't really kick in and I laid around in bed on a heating pad all day. Basically I used it as an excuse to get DH to rub my back and to not do any Sunday chores. I didn't call my mom all day (which is super unusual) because I felt so terrible. I knew I had to go to work the next day so I was really hoping I would feel better. DH spent most of the day shoveling snow without realizing how terrible I was feeling. When I finally decided that I should probably be seen by a doctor all the walk in care clinics were closed. Instead of rushing off to the ER I made the smart choice to call the on-call doctor to see if it could wait until the next day-he said we should come in.

When I can actually make smart health care decisions or when I wait to go to the doctor I usually wind up to be actually pretty sick. When I have the time and mental abilities to come up with my crazy scenarios it's usually something that's no big deal. I fully expected that this would actually be something serious-my back was really killing me at this point. I've had some pretty bad injuries and this was worse than anything I've ever experienced. It was right in the area of my kidneys so I totally expected a kidney stone or something like that.

The ER was slow, but I really didn't care until I got back to the room. We got triaged and taken back and then we waited FOREVER for a nurse to show up. Once she had taken vital and a urine sample she swept out and we were left alone for another hour. A PA shows up and explains that they had run some tests and I didn't have an infection-they wanted to order a CT scan to check out my kidneys. She also stated that she would get me some pain medication since at this point I was white as a sheet and writhing around trying to get comfortable (quietly so I didn't make a scene of course). We agreed and she left-it was another hour before the nurse came back to start my IV-and she didn't bring the promised pain medication. She did a great job getting the IV in quickly as I squeezed my eyes shut (I don't have a fear of needles, but I do pass out at the sight of blood-I can handle animal blood just not human blood-yes it's odd). DH asked very politely if she could get us a bandage or a wrap to cover the IV so I didn't have to look at the blood in it and she said she would. I was taken away for my CT scan shortly after that which went well and was over quickly. They used the strange dye that makes you feel like you're peeing yourself.

Just a warning for anyone who has to get the contrast dye-IT REALLY WILL FEEL LIKE YOU'RE PEEING YOURSELF! I was told this multiple times and I didn't really believe them. I was more focused on the fact that they told me it would make me feel warm-I was freezing to death so that sounded like a welcome side effect. The very nice radiologist came and got me from my room to take me for the CT scan. It was super embarrassing to be rolled through the waiting room in my hospital bed while wearing my super revealing hospital gown (that I hadn't let DH tie so he could rub my back). Of course one of my former students was in the waiting room with his family-he seemed to get a good laugh out of it. When we got the room I correctly assumed that I should lie on the table by the machine and went to get up-at the same time the radiologist reached out to help me up and he managed to totally grab my boob!

The poor guy turned bright red and I'm pretty sure he expected a screaming fit and a lawsuit. He seemed a bit taken aback when I made a VERY terrible joke (that I won't repeat) and started laughing. He apologized about a million times, but it wasn't that big of deal. When he injected the dye I was still giggling inwardly and then all of the sudden I was peeing myself. I shared this with the radiologist and he assured me that I wasn't. By this point crazy anxiety brain had taken over and I was convinced that I did pee myself.

Once we were done he rolled me back to my room and I still felt a little funny from the dye. The first words out of my mouth when I rejoined DH? "The radiologist grabbed my boob-can you check and see if I peed myself?" DH is actually a good sport (and a GREAT husband) because he checked and confirmed that I hadn't made a huge mess and he cracked up at the story. It took another few hours, but I finally got my pain medicine (3 hours after I was told I would get it and 30 minutes before we were allowed to leave).

So what was wrong? I was having an allergic reaction to a new medicine that I had started taking for my autoimmune disease. The shot of morphine they gave me before discharging me made me totally drunk, but didn't touch the back pain. It wasn't until I had skipped 2 doses of the medicine before the pain started to go away-no matter how many muscle relaxers and pain pills I took.

My lesson from all of this is a surprising one-my mother was RIGHT. It feels like every time I go to the doctor for one thing the medicine or the procedure causes another thing. Medical care is like the Domino theory except with ER visits instead of Communist Governments. My mom has a theory that if you never go to the doctor you never get sick. I think all my illnesses have come about from exposing myself to germs and medical care. My goal for 2015 is to avoid as much medical care as possible since if I get any sicker I'll probably die and that would be unfortunate. Is there a name for a hypochondriac that avoids medical care (besides lunatic)?

A Capital Idea

DH and I made a resolution to attempt to eat healthier in 2015. Neither of us are overweight, but our diet is more suitable for a broke, college student. Actually our diet is worse than when we were actually in college because at least in school we had meal plans. When we didn't feel like cooking it was pretty easy to walk to the nearest on campus restaurant for a quick meal-my college was really pushing healthy eating when we were there so our options were usually moderately healthy. Both DH and I are pretty decent cooks, but I hate doing it. After working 8-9 hours the LAST thing I feel like doing is standing in the kitchen. DH just doesn't have the skills to plan ahead so we actually have food in the house so he usually gets stuck trying to make dinner out of stale cereal and lunch meat.

When we lived in our old house (that was actually in a real town with restaurants and everything) we ate better (since there were restaurants). When we moved to the boonies we were comforted by the fact that our town had one restaurant. A week after we signed the contract on our house it burned down and we were out of dinner options. I discovered that I'm pretty awesome with a slow cooker and we did okay.

I've been having some stupid health issues lately and healthy eating is something that actually might help with that. I saw on Pinterest a recipe for making a whole roasted chicken and veggies in the slow cooker (Link: http://www.food.com/recipe/crock-pot-whole-chicken-33671) and I decided to give it a whirl. DH and I had great success making a turkey in November, so I figured chicken would be just as easy. I changed the recipe since I didn't have half the ingredients (a pretty typical thing in my house) and made a lemon pepper chicken type thing (with Kalamata olives since that seemed to go well).

All went well with the actual cooking of it until it was time to carve it. Carving things is DH's job since I tend to slice my finger along with the actual meat and he doesn't really like eating pieces of his wife's fingers mixed in with his dinner. I curled up on the couch while he happily wielded the big knife and ensured that his carving technique was perfect (and that when we finally ate dinner an hour later the chicken would be ice cold).  The dog begged for scraps (and was rewarded with a whole bowl of chicken juice that she would later puke up all over the living room) and DH and I continued our conversation.

We were thoughtfully discussing terrorism and the attacks on Paris and our thoughts on gun control. Our conversation was smart and thoughtful. We both have genius level IQ's (even though it may not seem like it sometimes) and we are both well-read so our conversations tend to lean toward the intellectual. We are on opposite ends of the political spectrum, but we can have polite debates (at least most of the time). Keep all this in mind while I tell you what happened next.

I was delivering one of my monologues (this happens pretty frequently) on some obscure piece of French history (I believe I was discussing the Revolution) when DH interrupted me. In my book interrupting me during anything is a cardinal sin and DH knows this very well. His incredibly important idea? "I wonder if any company sells wishbones?" When I shot him a look that meant shut up and let me talk he interpreted it as tell me more (he's not very adept at reading facial expressions). He continued with "Think about it-they could make so much money especially if they already sell chicken since it doesn't cost them anything. They could probably make $2.00 if they sold them on Amazon. It's pure profit". He has since decided that we are starting a chicken wishbone business, so if anyone is interested contact DH for all your needs (wishbone related)!

My takeaway from all this-while DH is a genius his mind works in an incredibly strange way. He also listened when I spent an hour discussing digitalis poisoning and stabbing people with icicles, so I have to tolerate his brand of crazy. True love=tolerating the other person's baseline level of crazy.

What was I thinking?

DH left today on a boy's weekend trip. Since the weekend was going to consist of looking at farm equipment I wisely made the decision to stay home with the dog. This choice also makes me look good so I can leave town next weekend without guilt-he really owes me one!

I had planned a relaxing spa day today and I was going to do absolutely nothing! Unfortunately my type-A took over and I spend about 5 hours stripping our house of Christmas decorations. It felt good to have it done (even though DH weaseled out of helping again-I'm pretty sure he does this intentionally).

My spa day was wonderful-at least until the masseuse burned me with a hot towel-I still have a nice burn mark on my shoulder.  I left totally relaxed-except for the slight burn. However, I've developed quite a high tolerance for pain and injury since I seem to do some sort of deadly injury to myself about once a week, so no harm done.

After I got home and had dinner (and took a shower to rinse off all the sticky oil) I jumped right into my next project. Over Christmas I went on the hunt to buy a new iPod since my 8 year old iPod Touch had finally died (probably because I left it in my car for two years). As I was trolling eBay I discovered that the iPod classic came in a 160 gb version and I was sold. I had already loaded all my music on it (all 15 gigs of it) so I decided to finally begin the task of digitizing my CD collection.

I've discovered that between 1998 and 2009 I fell into some sort of strange vacumn where my usually impeccable taste abandoned me. The first two CD's were JaRule and Nelly-I was a white girl from the suburbs why on earth did I think I was cool? After listening to a few of the songs again I realized that I TOTALLY get why parents get so upset about their kids listening to this type of music. All the stuff I didn't understand in the 8th grade I get now. I'm quite glad I didn't take life advice from this music or I would be a VERY different person. I remember thinking I was a gangster back in the day-now I look back on my middle school self and think about building a time machine so I can punch her in the face. I want to tell her "In no way did you look cool strutting by the lifeguard station blasting a song about a drive-by shooting in your one piece TYR swimsuit-you looked like a complete and total idiot. No one thought you were a gangster-they thought you were mentally insane".

Does this mean I'm actually grown up now? (Oh wait-I'm still enjoying my collection of gangsta rap....along with some Conway Twitty thrown in-now people just think I'm insane)

The Suburbanite Version of Crack

As a stuffy, uptight person (and responsible grown-up) I can safely say that I don't consume drugs-except for the fun suburbanite version. No, I'm not talking about the ever so prevalent Ambien and Xanax (my dog needs the Xanax more than I do)-I'm talking about the siren song of overpriced pet products.

I tend to hit Petco and our local pet boutique like most people hit the grocery store. Apparently I eat less than other people, but my dog has more junk. Tuesday I stopped off at Petco to stock up on a few more cheap rawhides on the after Christmas sale. While I was perusing the options I came to the brilliant conclusion that I should do my Christmas shopping for next year and save some money! I danced around the clearance section delighted with the prospect of saving some cash. $150.00 later I was a lot less smug and the sizable cargo area of my SUV was full. Since I was at Petco I did earn 5% back and combined with my other ridiculous purchases of late I had 2 five dollar off coupons today! 

Last night was our first Canine Good Citizen class (the first step in earning my dog her therapy dog certification)-this marks the third obedience class we've taken (which means we've spent over $300.00 to train our dog). The problem isn't that my dog is stupid or that we don't put in the work-I work with her on her skills daily and she's smart as a whip (which is such a stupid expression). In fact she's often too smart for her own good. She knows EXACTLY what she is supposed to be doing-she just doesn't feel like doing it. When she's on her game she is the perfect dog. Trainer #1 (who honestly wasn't very good at his job-just goes to show that you shouldn't pick the dog training place that advertises on the gas station billboard) was convinced that there was some food product that would distract my dog from pulling on her leash and attacking every small, furry animal in a 20 block radius of our walking route.

We tried every high value treat in the book and nothing could beat the feeling you get from chasing a squirrel at 60 miles an hour down the road (bonus points are awarded if your mama is bouncing along the other end of the leash like a rubber ball shouting!). Last summer I was trapped in an orthopedic boot when the dog decided to run away from home. I was wearing a bathrobe and walking with a particularly snazzy cane (it glowed in the dark!)  I let her out in the unfenced portion of the yard for just a few minutes and she of course took off after a rabbit. She careened across the street and cornered the rabbit in the neighbor's flowerbed (which has more odd concrete lawn statues than flowers) and proceeded to knock over several of their decorations and bark her furry little head off (she doesn't want to actually eat the bunny-she just wants to be its friend-and chase it). I came running after her waving my cane with one hand and a handful of tasty roast beef in my other-she ignored me as I limped after her and continued to bark at the bunny. At this point the neighbors came outside-I would be remiss if I didn't mention that we had lived in our house for a year and half at this point and never actually spoken to our neighbors (What? I'm just not very social) so this was our first introduction. The roast beef didn't work to lure her from under the bushes while trying to make social chit chat (more like what the heck are you doing chit chat) so I resorted to physically pulling her out and carrying all 60 pounds of her back across the street. Once we got inside she morphed right back into her alter ego (Perfect Dog) and gobbled up the roast beef.

In preparation for class last night I has purchased a bag of expensive fancy wheat and corn free treats that smelled like a rotting deer carcass. After the intro and general housekeeping stuff (which I missed half of because I was busy trying to shush my dog, keep her in a sitting position, keep her from attempting to befriend the other dogs and shoot DH dirty looks for not helping all at one time) it was time for a demonstration of our leash skills. DH took the reins, as they were, for this one (since I prefer to experience my humiliation from the safety of my metal folding chair). As they demonstrated Massey demonstrated her complete lack of willingness to NOT choke herself in a quest to smell the other dogs until the trainer handed DH a handful of doggy crack (aka fancy treats). One sniff of those treats and she morphed right back into Perfect Dog. For the rest of class she turned up her snout at my treats and behaved perfectly for the fancy treats. We asked what brand they were and I was tasked with going to the store today to purchase them. We (meaning I) also decided we needed a fancy treat pouch so we could match all the other people in our class. DH didn't understand why we couldn't just use a cheap fanny pack, but a. I'm not sure that they still make fanny packs and b. I must have the fancy matching one so I fit in and make friends! 

Off I went to Petco, which was blissfully empty and quickly found the doggy crack and treat pouch. I should have been in and out in less than 10 minutes and my total should have been $40.00 (ridiculous for 2 items, but that's what happens when you adopt a dog). An hour (and $100.00) later I wandered out in a daze and filled up the cargo area again with toys, treats and a fun calendar for me (50% off!). That's when I realized that I spend more on my dog than I do on myself and she will be munching on $20.00 a tube dog food while I suck down Campbell's soup straight from the can. I think I can safely say that dog products are my crack-and oddly enough I'm okay with that

Cops is for Singles

While we were at my parent's house DH and I binged on cable television. We don't have cable-it seemed like every month the bill increased and we didn't really watch tv too much. We have an antenna for our tv, Netflix and Amazon Prime-plus I buy tons of movies and tv seasons so we're covered on the entertainment front. The only show we couldn't live without was Pretty Little Liars (we can't wait a year to find out who A is-or what A has been up to!), but we're able to buy the season pass from Amazon and see the episode the day after it airs! 

We've been without cable for two years and most of the time we don't miss it. It's a special treat when we visit the homesteads so we binge watch. We spent a whole day watching Moonshiners and I caught up on several hours of Storage Wars. After my parents went to bed DH and I would stay up and watch Cops (we lead an exciting life-right? This is why I suck at blogging). As we watched we noticed something interesting-the commercials seemed to be targeted at a certain demographic.

Each commercial break had several commercial for various dating sites (match, Farmers Only and a few others too inappropriate to post publicly). The other commercials that aired were distinctly male (ads for tools, sports stuff etc). This got DH and I talking-is it only single males that watch Cops? How do the advertisers figure out who watches what? 

Single women are targeted by shows like Say Yes to the Dress (or as I call it "the I'm putting myself into debt for a stupid dress" show), Bridezillas and if you're under 18 Teen Mom. Single men are apparently interested in Cops-why don't they have shows that are wedding themed (like Groomzillas or Say Yes to the Tux)?

My advice for single ladies? Switch off TLC and watch a few episodes of Cops. When a guy at the coolest singles hotspot (Wal-Mart, a bar, some other place I'm not cool enough to know about) decides to chat you up bring up the newest episode of Cops! It's a sure fire strategy! Apparently you don't have to check for the tell-tale tan line on the left ring finger-just ask about Cops. If they are single they'll know all about it-and if they're married they won't. 

I took a highly unscientific poll of all the single guys I know (about 15 of them) and all of them expressed a love for Cops so apparently the advertisers are right. So single ladies, develop a taste in Cops and go strut your stuff! 

Days in my life that I've felt grown up

By all rights and purposes I am a grown up. I can smoke, drink, serve in the armed forces, make decisions for myself and rent a car without the underage penalty. Someone also thought that I was mature and responsible enough to be in charge of 120 8th graders for 8 hours a day. However, I usually don't feel grown up, more like a kid pretending. DH and I lived together for almost 4 years before getting married and for most of that time I felt that we were just playing house and my real home was in my childhood bedroom. There has only been a few times in my life that I've kind of felt slightly grown up. In no particular order:

1. Signing the closing papers on my first house. There is nothing more humbling than signing the papers to owe the bank more money than you've ever owed anybody. My hair was wet from an ill-timed shower and DH was late after getting lost on the way to the bank. I had to go home because I forgot to bring the checkbook and I couldn't find a parking space. 

2. The first night I spent in my first house: the day my then-fiancée (now DH) and I finally moved out of our rental was a freezing cold January day with a sprinkling of snow on the ground. Both sets of parents came to help us move and we took everyone out to Chilis for dinner. That night we announced our week old engagement and after celebrating we returned to our first grown up house. My parents snapped a picture of us standing on the front porch with our arms wrapped around each other. We look terrified and much too young to be homeowners. That night we curled up together in our brand new queen size bed (a gift from Grandma) and tried to adjust to the strange noises that an old house makes.

3. The first day of my teaching career: I was 21 years old and four months removed from the college lifestyle. I had been hired a week before the first day of school and I was woefully unprepared for my first crop of students (I taught 7th grade at a different school from my current one for one year). I stood up before my first class and launched into my first day presentation while trying to keep my voice steady and quell the butterflies in my stomach. It was absolutely terrifying to realize that I was solely responsible for these kids and their success or failure. I was a terrible teacher that first year before I finally learned everything I should of learned during 4 years of college.

4. The day we adopted our dog: I had been begging for a dog for quite awhile and on a bright June day we picked out our sweet puppy. The adoption went quick and before we knew it we were loading her up in the back of my SUV and taking her home. She puked all over the backseat less than a mile from the shelter and it was the first time I'd ever cleaned up anyone's bodily fluids without gagging. After we got home and got her settled in DH went back to town to get some sorely needed dog supplies and dinner for us while I stayed home with the new addition. Once he left she followed me from room to room and I ended up sobbing in the bedroom because I was afraid I would never love her and that I would never be alone again. She was so clingy it scared me, but within a week we were inseparable. 

5. The first time I was sick alone: My junior year of college I got pretty sick and was confined to my apartment for a week. I lived alone and my parents weren't nearby so this was my first time being truly alone and sick. Due to the nature of my illness people couldn't come over so I was really alone. When I was hungry I couldn't rely on mom to make me food, it was up to me to check my temperature, make myself food and keep myself in a steady supply of Gatorade and trashy tv. I lost 6 pounds in a week, but I learned how to take care of myself.

7. Traveling in Europe by myself: Last summer DH had to go to France for work. For the cost of a plane ticket I got to tag along and crash in his company paid hotel room. During the day he worked and I was on my own. I roamed all over the Loire Valley on the train and tried to make myself understood by the locals. My French is atrocious and I had no fallback plan, my cell phone was turned off and I was alone in a foreign country. The most marvelous part of the trip was roaming through Paris alone and eating dinner under the Eiffel Tower all by myself. I gained so much confidence in myself and my abilities to communicate and navigate. Prior to this trip I tended to rely on other people to plan my trips for me (namely my mom and DH) and to take care of me. I had never been to Europe without my mom and she lived in Germany and Italy and speaks eight languages fluently so she has no problem getting around. This trip was the best trip because I made the schedule (or lack thereof) and decided what to do and where to eat. I could sit on a bench reading my book for an hour and watching the people go by instead of rushing to activity after activity. I was able to absorb the true flavor of the country instead of just the stuff tourists see. It was a truly inspiring trip that made me more confident and inspired me to take more risks (my type A personality is totally against risk) and live less of a scheduled life.

Every time I have a new experience (writing my first thousand dollar check, buying a car, setting up a retirement account or writing my will) I feel just a little bit more grown up, it's like it sinks in just a little more that I really am a grown up. You may have noticed that my wedding didn't make the list, I really didn't feel grown up after marriage. DH and I had lived together for 4 years and the wedding was just another day in our life. He makes me feel like a kid (and he acts like one a lot) and he just completes me-it would feel unnatural not to be with him so marriage didn't really change our lives. However, when I look around at friends who are my age (or younger) that are popping out babies I shudder to think that I'm theoretically old enough to be someone's mother (other than my puppy). What experiences make you feel like a "real" adult?