third year lessons: part 1

I think I've mentioned this before, but the first two years of med school are strictly book learning. Third year, the student becomes part of a team of doctors who actually diagnose and treat patients. The courses are split up into different rotations, such as OB-GYN, surgery, psychiatry, etc.

Y just finished his first rotation, Pediatrics, which he went into with a mixture of fear and hatred towards children. He came out of it with an appreciation for kids and 1 sillyband.

He also started making pancakes. In shapes. You don't do that sort of thing unless you are under the influence of kids.

I've learned a few things so far during third year that I think are imperative for any med school spouse to know:

1. White coats throw up. It looks like this:

2. Med students don't like it when you call their short white coat (the coat that indicates that they are students) their Doctor Costume.

As in, "Hey Y, you forgot your doctor costume at home". Or "Hey Y, is the doctor costume fairy going to clean off the shelf?"

3. if your med student spouse is anything like mine, his common sense started slipping away the moment he started studying for his MCAT. I'm here to tell you it will not return. Y can recite the American Academy of Pediatrics recommendations for appropriate flotation devices backwards and forwards, but that didn't stop him from sneaking up on my 6 year old nephew, who can't really swim, and throwing him across the pool.

But if there was ever anything wrong with my nephew's reflexes, Y would be on it, thank goodness.

4. A positive to nights on call: The less amount of time the alpha male is around, the more likely the dog is to hang out with me.

But when the hard working student doc wants to sleep after he's been on call, Ike's loyalty is obvious:

5. At some time during the med school process, you will reach a point when talking about med school becomes a form of torture. Third year was most definitely when I hit that milestone. But more on that later.

Other med school spouses are documenting their experiences here. Theirs are probably much more insightful than mine, but, if you haven't noticed, I'm better at Ike pictures than I am at insight.

the truth about walking the dog; accidental nerd glasses

When I was in college, newly initiated into the world of Adobe Creative Suite, one of my first assignments was to copy a magazine cover.


I was hooked. My poor friends got fake Cosmo covers for their birthdays for the next few years. In my free time, I made fake US Weekly spreads. I was, to be honest, super cool.

See that barcode? That's how you know it's authentic.

When I saw Who What Wear the other day, I knew I had to revisit my old pastime.


My husband doesn't know this, but when I tell him I took the dog for a walk, I mean that I put on my wedge heels and walked around our backyard.

My favorite part of my dog walking outfit, other than my mime shirt, is my accidental nerd glasses. I buy my glasses online at Zenni Optical because I can't take care of my things and they cost $15.

The downside is that the frames look a little, um, smaller on the screen than they do in real life.

Since we're discussing old pastimes, and teenage/college me never had a MySpace, I feel like I should get to do a MySpace -esque picture of my nerd glasses. Because that's people who wear nerd glasses do.

life moves pretty fast.

Is it just me, or does everyone have that moment where you sit up suddenly -- mouth open Macauley Culkin style -- and think "Holy crap. That quote, from Ferris Bueller? The one that everyone has listed under 'favorite quote' on their Facebook page? IT'S TRUE."

I have that experience about once a day.

I can't believe we've already lived here over two years and Y is already halfway through with school. It can't possibly have been that long since he stood on our front porch, Batman lunchbox in hand, ready to take on his first day of class.

I swear there was a Batman lunch box. Smart guy, that Y, not allowing any photographic evidence of it.

I also can't believe we're feeding Ike adult food. When I look at him I still see this:



And to top it all off, Bob outgrew his Anthropologie costume.



Does anyone else feel like just yesterday you were a kid playing with American Girl dolls; or maybe a naive college kid shopping at Forever 21 like it was going out of style?


Right. I actually was doing both of those things yesterday. But you know what I mean.

conundrum: not just our favorite wine

The other day, I tried to define "conundrum" to my nephew. He seemed genuinely interested in learning what it meant, and thoughtfully guessed whether it was a negative word or a positive word. I was impressed - he's six, and for a second the only way I could tell was the bright blue ice cream smeared across his face.



Looking back on the conversation, it was probably a totally normal one to have with a child that age. Still, I was in awe of his thoughtfulness, and I think I know why: my intelligence litmus test is whether or not my usual student can tell the difference between a bone and a bear.



It's no wonder I'm now convinced my 6 year old nephew is the next Stephen Hawking, considering how smart I think my dog is. I was so excited when I realized that Ike had figured out who Y was. For months while Ike sat staring out the window that faces the street, I would tell him, "Y's home!" whenever Y's car came down the street. If Ike wasn't at the window when Y pulled into the driveway, I would call Y's name and watch the dog race for the window to watch the car approach, tail wagging. I was so proud - he knew our names.



One day, we decided to test Ike's knowledge. When we were both at home, we called out Y's name. Ike's ears perked up, and he ran for his window. My heart sank - Ike didn't know his best friend's name, in fact, he thought "Y" was the name of what he did all day - sitting by himself, gazing through the window, waiting for something to happen.



How will this affect our precious child dog? Will years of having a best friend who he basically defines as an empty void turn him into an angry adolescent dog who gets into trouble? Has he already become our worst fear? Take into account exhibit A:

In case you don't know, that is a paper cutter. Main use: scrapbooking. Other uses: beheading symbolism.

Are we already missing the signs? What does this mean?

This, dear nephew, is a conundrum.

Just married...Okay, not really.

Today, I'm guest blogging for the website She Just Got Married...because talking about your wedding never gets old, not even a year later.

http://www.shejustgotmarried.com/blog/2010/08/celebration-of-love-and-traditiona-jewish-wedding-ceremony

a message

This weekend, I came home from the gym to find this:


At least it wasn't a shoe.

Why didn't I think of that?

Y comes home almost every day complaining about how so and so in his class has never heard of [insert historical political figure here]. I usually nod, agree with him, head straight for Wikipedia, and spend the rest of the night feeling stupid at my lack of knowledge, so humor me for a minute while I pretend like I'm smart:

Anyone who knows me can vouch for my tendency to get bossy when it comes to grammar. It's a random habit -- I'm not really a perfectionist in any other aspects, but stick an apostrophe where it doesn't belong or misuse a homophone and you will most definitely hear about it from me.

And him.

That sounded menacing, right? Right? Well... it's not exactly true. Unless I'm close to you, I won't point out your mistake. I'll probably just post about it on my blog. To be honest, there isn't enough time in the day to rectify all of the spelling and grammar errors on signs and buildings around here. While in DC, staying on Georgetown's campus, I climbed onto a campus bus and saw a sign that said something like this:

To ensure your safety, please watch your step as you climb aboard the bus.

My heart almost stopped -- not only was the sign written in a complete sentence, the ensure/insure homophone had been used correctly! A sign at home (on our not-quite-as-prestigious-as-Georgetown campus) trying to convey the same message might have looked like this:

watch "STEP" on bus

Don't even get me started on the random quotation marks. Y snapped this picture the other day, just because he knew it would make me mad. So romantic:


The reason I bring this up: I just found an article about a guy who traveled around the United States correcting errors on signs, (apparently, he didn't find an excess of mistakes in any one part of the country, which I find hard to believe) and wrote a book about his adventure. I have three thoughts on this:

A) That is awesome.
B) Why didn't I think of that?
C) They'll give anyone a book deal these days, won't they?


Anyone else out there have a pet peeve that they get overly sensitive about? My other pet peeve is the sound of someone eating a banana. GROSS.

Joan Rivers is Amazing.

CTFD, twitter.

on gifts and (monocles)

People think Y and I are odd. For starters, we enjoy driving across the country. We bake our own pizza dough. We carry reusable bags to the grocery store, which has attracted the attention of every employee at SuperTarget and pretty much made us ST celebrities. We don't celebrate Valentine's Day. (Or Christmas, for that matter, and if I had a nickel for every person that's said to me, "Wait- since you're Jewish, does that mean you don't celebrate CHRISTMAS?")

I say this because it seems like every married blogger I follow is showing off their 1 year anniversary gifts. I wanted to play, too, but I felt like I needed that disclaimer. Unless of course, it's perfectly normal to receive a card shaped like Michael Jackson's white glove.

Not that the card isn't one of the top five gifts I've ever received (#1 being Samantha).

Sorry, Y, none of your gifts could top my velvet-hat wearing, pink coin purse toting, Victorian friend. (Just so you know, I wrote that sentence before I found the picture. I have Samantha's accessories memorized.)

The shiny glove's purpose was to commemorate the 1 year anniversary of not only our marriage, but the two weeks we spent driving around Ireland, unable to escape from the endless Michael Jackson tributes (the Irish took it much harder than we did).

We exchanged gifts at 2:30 a.m. after our anniversary, after we got home 4 hours later than expected from New York (thunderstorms in Dallas, 2; DandY travel plans, 0). Since I was practically delirious at that time, I'm not sure if I ever properly thanked Y for his gift, and would like to do so now in our favorite mode of communication.

As for my gift to Y, I made him letterhead...which he had actually asked me to do months ago. I guess it ruined the effect that my first anniversary gift was actually a long procrastinated favor.

When I showed some friends my design to get some opinions on my "manly letterhead" (FYI: Googling "manly letterhead" for stationery inspiration doesn't work), one said she could imagine Y sitting in a big leather chair, smoking a cigar and writing a letter on his letterhead with a quill while Ike sat at his feet wearing a monocle and a top hat.

How funny that she said that, because we love to imagine Ike in that getup -- we're pretty sure that's his alter ego. In fact, when Ike was a puppy, Y even made this:

Y has yet to use his Manly Letterhead, and for his next guest post on this blog, I propose he tell me why via http://www.bureauofcommunication.com.

Samantha picture source: babble.com

north-sick

When we went on our vacation to New York and DC, I realized that other than the constant energy, the H&M on every corner, and the fact that you could eat at a different restaurant every day for the next ten years, there was another reason I loved being out of the South: everyone was rude and no one wanted to talk to me.

Yes, I just listed rudeness as a positive, right up there with the availability of cheap, cute, Swedish clothing and Indian takeout. You have to think about it from my perspective: I am AWKWARD. Every random stranger that asks me how I'm doing is just another opportunity for me to make a fool out of myself -- so I'd actually just prefer if they didn't ask.

Not to mention the pressure I feel, having to ask every single stranger how they're doing. And the disappointment when, time after time, I just hear "fine". That brings me to my next point: why ask someone how they're doing, when no one in the history of time (I've done research) has ever said anything other than "fine" or "good, thanks"?




Also: politeness wastes time. Imagine this scenario, it happens to me daily: you're approaching a 4-way stop. Another car approaches from the opposite direction -- for the sake of accuracy, we'll say it's some kind of large truck with some sort of confederate flag paraphernalia. Perhaps like this:


This vehicle gets to the stop sign a full three seconds before you make your full stop. Even though they have the right of way, they wave you through. This throws you off, since it's not your turn. So you wave them through frantically, because you (okay, fine, me) are OCD and can't handle when the flow of traffic is disturbed.

The other driver is clearly offended that you didn't appreciate their polite gesture, and waves you through again, just as frantically. You both hesitate. Finally you think, "Okay fine, I'll just go" and start to inch forward. Without fail, the other driver has that thought at the exact same moment. You take turns lurching forward until one of you takes the plunge, ending your epic 4-way stop battle, and you (okay, me again) end up being 10 minutes and 7 seconds late instead of just 10 minutes late.



Phew. Can you tell this is a sore subject for me?



I appreciate the effort, South, but I propose we set some rules. First of all, there should be no politeness in driving, other than when I need you to let me in your lane. Secondly, if you don't know me, there is no need to know how I'm doing today because surely you don't want to hear about how my dog rolled around on his back on top of a dead rat in the backyard and then barfed on the couch (true story). And finally -- this one is the most important -- if a girl is wearing heels, you must be within 5 feet in front if you plan to hold the door open for her, because we both lose when you've committed and have to hold the door open for a full minute while I run-walk across an entire room in 3 inch heels and inevitably faceplant.

Look at this cat.

Hey.

See this cat?


oh hai.










Well, it totally looks like my favorite sweater from the 90s.


i also enjoyed pogs.

Rabbit, rabbit!

Due to some unforeseen circumstances that have kept us busy -- including a 29 page paper for me, a month of saving kids for Y, and an entire bag of pressed bones for Ike -- we've neglected to fill you in on the happenings around here. But fear not. Ike hasn't done anything funny, so you haven't missed much.

Okay fine, except for that time he tried to eat 3 bones at once.



And, while we're on the subject, I guess the time he smiled while watching tv with Y was kind of funny.



Oh, and that time he got stuck between our backdoor and pint-size dishwasher. By the way, good job, kitchen designer. Really nice setup you've got here.

Yes, I took a picture instead of helping him. But then I helped him. So it's okay.

Also, I guess Ike's summer foray into bug chasing is kind of cute.



As is his tendency to build forts while we're gone.

But, really, you didn't miss much. Nonetheless, there will be more going on here during August since I have no schoolwork (and Y can hold off on saving children a few days a week to say something ridiculous charming for me to blog). However, when Ike starts getting creative to get me to play with him instead of blogging... I might have to oblige.