My quest for legal residency has hit yet another road block. I am now a legal resident, the fusspot is not. Apparently her birth certificate just isn't new and shiny enough for the courts here.
My beautiful new bike is in the repair shop. Hopefully ready tomorrow.
And in other news, I've taken in a boarder. Makes me feel younger and less responsible to invite a guy I just met, friend of a friend, to crash on my couch for a few weeks. We'll see how this works out.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sometimes my dreams go splat
My friend's pregnancy announcement has really thrown me for a loop (this being the friend with a 1-year-old and a new bump). Partially it's because we were pregnant at the same time. Partially it's because she also has medical issues, and yet everything seems to be pointing in the direction of a take-home baby in 5 months. But mostly just because she's living my dream.
Sure, she got there by a few wild nights at home with her husband. But that's not going to work for me. So if this is what I really want, I need to do something about it. Find a new clinic. Sign up for a domestic adoption info session (obviously we need to talk a lot more about adoption but getting educated is just the beginning and pursuing a dual track (cycling and researching adoption) is obviously the most productive thing to do). Hence the sudden interest in picking a local IF clinic (and any recommendations still much appreciated). The newly-renewed enthusiasm for exercise if not dieting (hence my new toy). And if I were a single (and fabulously wealthy) gal I'd be on the phone making appointments and scheduling my next cycle.
And then sometimes my fantasies go splat. Because JD isn't quite in the same place, to put it mildly. Yes, of course he wants more children. He knows I want a large family and he is ok with that (and I did think about the word choice here. He is "ok" with 4-5 children. Not gung-ho, not super-enthusiastic but willing to trust in my capabilities and to share my vision). But he's living the bachelor life. He has not had to think about finding a babysitter in almost 3 months. When his friend suggests a drink in the elevator on the way out of work, he can go without a second thought. And he does not have to worry about being woken up at 2 am because someone wants to eat. Or 7 am to play. When he felt sick one day, he stayed in bed and ordered delivery for 24 hours. He was proud that he finally found the time to disassemble the fusspot's crib and move it to her bedroom (we're still going to cosleep but it would be lovely if she'd take her morning nap in her own room so I could work at my desk which is in our bedroom). He's proud of a half hour construction job, while I spend at least a half hour ever day vacuuming and mopping to clean up after our food-flinging fusspot. And of course, we have not had much time together. So there's just no way he's going to agree to a cycle the moment I return to the U.S. Maybe after a month or two, but maybe he's right to ask for 3 months together without needles and 7 am appointments and all the related stress.
So while I know what I want, and I know that the only way to get it is to head back to the clinic, seems like real life is going to get in the way for a while. Not real life like work or finances (although those are always a concern, just not the type of concern a few months delay will alter). Real life like paying attention to the needs of my husband. And I need to come to terms with that before I head home for new years. I don't want to spend new years quibbling about start dates for cycles when it really isn't all that relevant yet. I want him to know what I'm thinking, and I want him to assure me that he'll figure out the budget for it, and then I want to spend my trip home showing off my beautiful baby and enjoying the miracle we already have. Not that I've ever had that type of grace in my life, but there's nothing wrong with wishful thinking.
--------------------------
In a completely unrelated thought, if the fusspot fails her kindergarten entrance interview, we'll know why. You know the one where they want to check first and foremost that your child isn't a biter, and then they ask them a few simple questions like what sound does a cow make.
Here's to a little local linguistic diversity. Of the animal sort. Thanks to a new farm animals book and a local version of Peek-a-boo.
Pigs around here don't oink or snort, they stick with the far more sophisticated: knor! (sorry about my technical fail - I can't get it to rotate).
Sheep and lambs are both into accent marks, and of the dismissive type at that:
Cows seem to be practicing for halloween:
Chickens say tok tok. And alligators ... well, read for yourself:
Sure, she got there by a few wild nights at home with her husband. But that's not going to work for me. So if this is what I really want, I need to do something about it. Find a new clinic. Sign up for a domestic adoption info session (obviously we need to talk a lot more about adoption but getting educated is just the beginning and pursuing a dual track (cycling and researching adoption) is obviously the most productive thing to do). Hence the sudden interest in picking a local IF clinic (and any recommendations still much appreciated). The newly-renewed enthusiasm for exercise if not dieting (hence my new toy). And if I were a single (and fabulously wealthy) gal I'd be on the phone making appointments and scheduling my next cycle.
And then sometimes my fantasies go splat. Because JD isn't quite in the same place, to put it mildly. Yes, of course he wants more children. He knows I want a large family and he is ok with that (and I did think about the word choice here. He is "ok" with 4-5 children. Not gung-ho, not super-enthusiastic but willing to trust in my capabilities and to share my vision). But he's living the bachelor life. He has not had to think about finding a babysitter in almost 3 months. When his friend suggests a drink in the elevator on the way out of work, he can go without a second thought. And he does not have to worry about being woken up at 2 am because someone wants to eat. Or 7 am to play. When he felt sick one day, he stayed in bed and ordered delivery for 24 hours. He was proud that he finally found the time to disassemble the fusspot's crib and move it to her bedroom (we're still going to cosleep but it would be lovely if she'd take her morning nap in her own room so I could work at my desk which is in our bedroom). He's proud of a half hour construction job, while I spend at least a half hour ever day vacuuming and mopping to clean up after our food-flinging fusspot. And of course, we have not had much time together. So there's just no way he's going to agree to a cycle the moment I return to the U.S. Maybe after a month or two, but maybe he's right to ask for 3 months together without needles and 7 am appointments and all the related stress.
So while I know what I want, and I know that the only way to get it is to head back to the clinic, seems like real life is going to get in the way for a while. Not real life like work or finances (although those are always a concern, just not the type of concern a few months delay will alter). Real life like paying attention to the needs of my husband. And I need to come to terms with that before I head home for new years. I don't want to spend new years quibbling about start dates for cycles when it really isn't all that relevant yet. I want him to know what I'm thinking, and I want him to assure me that he'll figure out the budget for it, and then I want to spend my trip home showing off my beautiful baby and enjoying the miracle we already have. Not that I've ever had that type of grace in my life, but there's nothing wrong with wishful thinking.
--------------------------
In a completely unrelated thought, if the fusspot fails her kindergarten entrance interview, we'll know why. You know the one where they want to check first and foremost that your child isn't a biter, and then they ask them a few simple questions like what sound does a cow make.
Here's to a little local linguistic diversity. Of the animal sort. Thanks to a new farm animals book and a local version of Peek-a-boo.
Pigs around here don't oink or snort, they stick with the far more sophisticated: knor! (sorry about my technical fail - I can't get it to rotate).
Sheep and lambs are both into accent marks, and of the dismissive type at that:
Cows seem to be practicing for halloween:
Chickens say tok tok. And alligators ... well, read for yourself:
Friday, August 28, 2009
Super pissed
I just wrote my husband an e-mail reminding him to look at our credit reports and see what these collection agencies are doing to our credit.
Oh? Hadn't mentioned our financial woes?
That's because we don't have any. Our only debt is student debt which we are rapidly repaying, we are actively saving for future fertility treatments, and we keep six months living expenses in an accessible bank account (aka our future house fund. And yes, I realize we are incredibly lucky to be doing so well given the economy and our student debts. We try to live frugally, and it is easy to prioritize when the prize at the end of the tunnel is a chance to grow our family). Back on topic.
So why the collection agencies? Hospital billing gone awry.
Six months after the fusspot's birth we got the first collection agency call. Two hours on the phone had at least made clear what was going on: the hospital misbilled one of my bio-physical profiles, forgot I had insurance, and just for kicks botched the address on the bill (but only that bill because I received the co-payment bills from the 8 or so other BPPs and paid them immediately). That's right, when I called they had 2 different addresses on my account - one of which was totally bogus. But also a working phone number and e-mail and of course the collection agency got our address right on their first try. And yet ... the hospital won't put in writing that they misbilled us, the insurance agency will never put anything in writing, and the collection agency couldn't care less if the bill was written in error. This is one of my greatest frustrations with American insurance: the refusal to put anything in writing. You hear over and over again "this is not a guarantee of future payments" and "we cannot evaluate your coverage until we have the bill in hand." Obviously there are plenty of procedures which I might have delayed/skipped (including weekly biophysical profiles given my risk factors) if I knew they weren't covered, but that information is just not available to the consumer.
Needless to say, it's easily worth paying an extra $200-300 just to get rid of the damage to our credit, even if the insurance agency (Aetna for that matter - largest insurer in the U.S.) admits on the phone that they ought to cover this bill entirely when it is coded correctly (and the fact that they can see that I had this procedure weekly in the third trimester and the rest of them were covered makes it pretty apparent).
But this week JD got a call from a new collection agency. Bill from the hospital were I delivered. 8.5 months after the delivery. The collection agency doesn't know what the bill is about, the hospital has no outstanding charges at all, the usual.
And just to remind us how fragile our "right" to insurance is: we will pay $2600 to insure the fusspot this year. Just the fusspot. Even though that insurance will not cover any appointments, surgeries, etc. here in Europe. We're paying that amount in case something catastrophic happens where the fusspot would require surgery or hospitalization and we'd also conveniently have the time/ability to fly back to the U.S. That's a lot of money for that type of warm, fuzzy, secure feeling that if my daughter gets cancer we'll be able to afford treatment.
And of course so that she has continuous coverage so that if she breaks her leg in five years it will be covered. And yes, I do know a little bit about "being dropped" by insurance. In the midst of my sister's medical problems her insurance company tried to illegally drop her. So between doctors appointments she had to find a lawyer and file a lawsuit, at which point they immediately reinstated her since their action was clearly illegal (no apology though, and she never recouped the cost of the lawsuit). And that from a woman who has been continuously insured by top-notch insurers her entire life.
So I'm pissed at the awfulness of dealing with American insurance, and equally pissed at all of the (largely misinformed) people who seem to think we don't need healthcare reform. And for all those people who think the government is poorly run and "don't want the government messing in their medical care" (as if it isn't already, but anyway) do they not have any sympathy for the 50 million Americans who don't have an extra $2,600 lying around and might have to tell their children we just can't afford to treat your illness?
I have to think its misinformation because I honestly don't know people who are that heartless.
Oh? Hadn't mentioned our financial woes?
That's because we don't have any. Our only debt is student debt which we are rapidly repaying, we are actively saving for future fertility treatments, and we keep six months living expenses in an accessible bank account (aka our future house fund. And yes, I realize we are incredibly lucky to be doing so well given the economy and our student debts. We try to live frugally, and it is easy to prioritize when the prize at the end of the tunnel is a chance to grow our family). Back on topic.
So why the collection agencies? Hospital billing gone awry.
Six months after the fusspot's birth we got the first collection agency call. Two hours on the phone had at least made clear what was going on: the hospital misbilled one of my bio-physical profiles, forgot I had insurance, and just for kicks botched the address on the bill (but only that bill because I received the co-payment bills from the 8 or so other BPPs and paid them immediately). That's right, when I called they had 2 different addresses on my account - one of which was totally bogus. But also a working phone number and e-mail and of course the collection agency got our address right on their first try. And yet ... the hospital won't put in writing that they misbilled us, the insurance agency will never put anything in writing, and the collection agency couldn't care less if the bill was written in error. This is one of my greatest frustrations with American insurance: the refusal to put anything in writing. You hear over and over again "this is not a guarantee of future payments" and "we cannot evaluate your coverage until we have the bill in hand." Obviously there are plenty of procedures which I might have delayed/skipped (including weekly biophysical profiles given my risk factors) if I knew they weren't covered, but that information is just not available to the consumer.
Needless to say, it's easily worth paying an extra $200-300 just to get rid of the damage to our credit, even if the insurance agency (Aetna for that matter - largest insurer in the U.S.) admits on the phone that they ought to cover this bill entirely when it is coded correctly (and the fact that they can see that I had this procedure weekly in the third trimester and the rest of them were covered makes it pretty apparent).
But this week JD got a call from a new collection agency. Bill from the hospital were I delivered. 8.5 months after the delivery. The collection agency doesn't know what the bill is about, the hospital has no outstanding charges at all, the usual.
And just to remind us how fragile our "right" to insurance is: we will pay $2600 to insure the fusspot this year. Just the fusspot. Even though that insurance will not cover any appointments, surgeries, etc. here in Europe. We're paying that amount in case something catastrophic happens where the fusspot would require surgery or hospitalization and we'd also conveniently have the time/ability to fly back to the U.S. That's a lot of money for that type of warm, fuzzy, secure feeling that if my daughter gets cancer we'll be able to afford treatment.
And of course so that she has continuous coverage so that if she breaks her leg in five years it will be covered. And yes, I do know a little bit about "being dropped" by insurance. In the midst of my sister's medical problems her insurance company tried to illegally drop her. So between doctors appointments she had to find a lawyer and file a lawsuit, at which point they immediately reinstated her since their action was clearly illegal (no apology though, and she never recouped the cost of the lawsuit). And that from a woman who has been continuously insured by top-notch insurers her entire life.
So I'm pissed at the awfulness of dealing with American insurance, and equally pissed at all of the (largely misinformed) people who seem to think we don't need healthcare reform. And for all those people who think the government is poorly run and "don't want the government messing in their medical care" (as if it isn't already, but anyway) do they not have any sympathy for the 50 million Americans who don't have an extra $2,600 lying around and might have to tell their children we just can't afford to treat your illness?
I have to think its misinformation because I honestly don't know people who are that heartless.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
at last
Yesterday I boarded a 2:34 pm train on a rather important errand. After about 10 minutes the train stopped, everyone got off, waited an hour or so, were informed there was a fire on the tracks ... so I turned around and came home. 2.5 hours in transit and no closer to my goal.
Today at 2:34 pm I boarded a train and rode 35 minutes to the 2nd largest city in Lalaland. Took a tram, walked a bit and ... picked up my delightful surprise (friend of a friend moving ...). Transported myself back to the train (through early evening traffic I must add, in a city I really don't know particularly well), rushed to pick up the fusspot, lugged said delightful mode of transportation 8 blocks while carrying the fusspot in the Ergo in order to pick up second item (purchased off the local version of ebay).
Because while my new treat has one of these:
I am still a bit too nervous to use it (the last time I really rode a bike was my lovely first-trimester adventure, documented here and here - with lovely photos of my current locale). And I won't even consider it until I find a reliable infant helmet (any suggestions much appreciated) which may require ordering from the U.S., although I am planning to buy a local helmet tomorrow for the meantime.
So thanks to ebay I added this:
Folks, we have mobility!
Today at 2:34 pm I boarded a train and rode 35 minutes to the 2nd largest city in Lalaland. Took a tram, walked a bit and ... picked up my delightful surprise (friend of a friend moving ...). Transported myself back to the train (through early evening traffic I must add, in a city I really don't know particularly well), rushed to pick up the fusspot, lugged said delightful mode of transportation 8 blocks while carrying the fusspot in the Ergo in order to pick up second item (purchased off the local version of ebay).
Because while my new treat has one of these:
I am still a bit too nervous to use it (the last time I really rode a bike was my lovely first-trimester adventure, documented here and here - with lovely photos of my current locale). And I won't even consider it until I find a reliable infant helmet (any suggestions much appreciated) which may require ordering from the U.S., although I am planning to buy a local helmet tomorrow for the meantime.
So thanks to ebay I added this:
Folks, we have mobility!
It really is a wonder I have a blog ...
I always feel guilted into doing computer updates. For example, I just updated Firefox "for security reasons" even though it was working just fine. And suddenly the text/images/everything from the internets is much, much smaller and I can barely read anything on the page. Suggestions?
And if you're wondering how I have survived this long with this level of non-technological-ability, JD usually fixes things. I actually made him set up my blog for me and then promise not to read it. I am that type of incompetent occasionally. Also possibly why I think it's totally reasonable to leave the main lightbulb in the downstairs bathroom (I have two bathrooms!!!) burnt out until a friend comes to visit in just ... well ... 3 weeks or so ...
And if you're wondering how I have survived this long with this level of non-technological-ability, JD usually fixes things. I actually made him set up my blog for me and then promise not to read it. I am that type of incompetent occasionally. Also possibly why I think it's totally reasonable to leave the main lightbulb in the downstairs bathroom (I have two bathrooms!!!) burnt out until a friend comes to visit in just ... well ... 3 weeks or so ...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Realization
Sometimes I wonder if bring up IF so much when talking about the fusspot because I am still processing all of it. Being told that we really have no chance of conceiving on our own, getting so, so, so incredibly lucky on an awful cycle, the pregnancy, the easy delivery, the most-wonderful-baby-in-the-world.
And I realized yesterday it's ok if I'm still processing it all. Twelve months ago we were on our honeymoon. And now I'm living 3637 miles (that's 5853 km, 3160 nautical miles) away from my husband in a strange country. No wonder I don't have it all figured out yet. But thus far it has been a wonderful journey:
Caption: one year ago today.
And I realized yesterday it's ok if I'm still processing it all. Twelve months ago we were on our honeymoon. And now I'm living 3637 miles (that's 5853 km, 3160 nautical miles) away from my husband in a strange country. No wonder I don't have it all figured out yet. But thus far it has been a wonderful journey:
Caption: one year ago today.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Tidbits
I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed by work. Hoping to return to my usual whining/ranting soon. In the meantime, some bullet points:
- The fusspot's sleep is much improved. Sadly part of the solution is one I would have preferred to avoid for another few months. Turns out that she is a stomach sleeper. I have yet to succeed in getting her back into her crib as suggested, and at this point in my single-parenting adventure I will take any shortcut that increases my sleep time.
- The very same baby who gives my breasts the loudest karate yell and attacks them voraciously also happens to be a nature-lover when it comes to other foods. Tonight she gently patted her sweet potato for a good five minutes while I vocalized her precise sentiments, which went something like this "Dear sweet potato. You were a good sweet potato. I realize that you have left the comfort of the cool earth to provide entertainment for me between 6:00 and 6:05 pm while my mother scarfes down her dinner, and I appreciate your sacrifice. I recognize our respective roles in the universe and I respect your sacrifice. And now I will dig both my hands in and fling bits of sweet potato around the kitchen as part of your final rites."
- In other food news, are all these recommendations to give yourself/your constant companion "foods of every color" at a meal serious? Does it matter whether you chose a color for the day as long as you vary the food over a week? We seem to have a serious issue with single-color dinners. Last week we had variations on white: cauliflower, cheerios. Then variations on green: broccoli, grapes. Then variations on yellow: cheese, banana. Then variations on orange tonight: steamed carrots, sweet potato, orange hard cheese.
- The fusspot is entirely self-fed at this point (i.e. no purees, no spoons). But I had still been sticking to the simple, bland baby foods. On Sunday we went to a party and the host had made a delicious curry. It had sweet potatos in it, so I offered the fusspot one thinking she'd make a funny face given the curry on it (seriously, like you wouldn't do the same?). Instead she ate it enthusiastically plus about 10 more pieces and hummus with pepper in it and rice with coconut milk ... so apparently she will (almost certainly temporarily) be a foodie baby. Now if only I could get it together to start cooking again ...
- Best baby-feeding tip ever: put a plastic tablecloth under the high chair. As long as you treat it like table (no walking on it, wash it every night) you can return anything the baby drops without guilt. And I throw ours in the shower at least once a week.
- I went to see a friend's 11 day old baby today. And held the baby. I want a newborn. Oh yeah, and her oldest is not yet 2. 'Nuff said.
- I really need to stop being so judgemental. Having coffee with a professor, somehow ranting about the lack of institutional support for mothers at my university. Said something about how convenient it was that the fusspot was born before her due date. He perks up a bit and says something about how his daughter was a 27-weeker. I immediately try to correct any misperceptions, but it's clear he wants to talk about it. So I made some benign comment about how hard that must have been - trying to give him an opening to talk about it. And he's suddenly like "The NICU? Not a big deal at all." So I write him off as a silly old man who probably both had no idea how dangerous those places are and left the wringing of hands to his wife. It's not until a good 20 minutes later that I realize why he didn't think the NICU was a big deal. Turns out the early delivery was because his wife was sick. And she died before his daughter left the NICU. So yeah, I understand why it wasn't the worst thing for him. I really need to be more cautious about judging people.
- Speaking of non-judgemental, met a lovely woman with a special needs daughter. And it was just so refreshing how completely relaxed she was about it. The type of mother who says, yes my daughter had surgery and needs some special therapy and we truly have no idea what her capabilities will be in the future, but we're enjoying it now. More on this family and visit later.
- Also lovely. Over the weekend JD and I spent a good hour or so on skype while he ironed his shirts (background: we are enthusiastically quirky environmentalists. We are committeed to a large number of very random environmentally-friendly things like not owning a car and recycling, but we also do not restrict things like plane flights which I know are terrible for the environment. So we decided not to use the dry cleaner if at all possible which means that JD irons all of his own shirts. This is considered exceedingly odd in NYC and takes him a good hour every week. Luckily he is convinced that I cannot iron and so has never asked me to help ...). I fed the fusspot and sang her to sleep while JD ironed and ranted about the weather and politics and his friends. And it was almost like being home again. Because even with my crazy commute and his long work hours, we always spend at least an hour talking while he irons during the week. And it's one of those fabulous activities where you are really stuck for a long time so it's ok to let the conversation lapse and have silence for 20 minutes and then start talking again. It just made me think how nice it would be to live with my husband again.
- The fusspot's sleep is much improved. Sadly part of the solution is one I would have preferred to avoid for another few months. Turns out that she is a stomach sleeper. I have yet to succeed in getting her back into her crib as suggested, and at this point in my single-parenting adventure I will take any shortcut that increases my sleep time.
- The very same baby who gives my breasts the loudest karate yell and attacks them voraciously also happens to be a nature-lover when it comes to other foods. Tonight she gently patted her sweet potato for a good five minutes while I vocalized her precise sentiments, which went something like this "Dear sweet potato. You were a good sweet potato. I realize that you have left the comfort of the cool earth to provide entertainment for me between 6:00 and 6:05 pm while my mother scarfes down her dinner, and I appreciate your sacrifice. I recognize our respective roles in the universe and I respect your sacrifice. And now I will dig both my hands in and fling bits of sweet potato around the kitchen as part of your final rites."
- In other food news, are all these recommendations to give yourself/your constant companion "foods of every color" at a meal serious? Does it matter whether you chose a color for the day as long as you vary the food over a week? We seem to have a serious issue with single-color dinners. Last week we had variations on white: cauliflower, cheerios. Then variations on green: broccoli, grapes. Then variations on yellow: cheese, banana. Then variations on orange tonight: steamed carrots, sweet potato, orange hard cheese.
- The fusspot is entirely self-fed at this point (i.e. no purees, no spoons). But I had still been sticking to the simple, bland baby foods. On Sunday we went to a party and the host had made a delicious curry. It had sweet potatos in it, so I offered the fusspot one thinking she'd make a funny face given the curry on it (seriously, like you wouldn't do the same?). Instead she ate it enthusiastically plus about 10 more pieces and hummus with pepper in it and rice with coconut milk ... so apparently she will (almost certainly temporarily) be a foodie baby. Now if only I could get it together to start cooking again ...
- Best baby-feeding tip ever: put a plastic tablecloth under the high chair. As long as you treat it like table (no walking on it, wash it every night) you can return anything the baby drops without guilt. And I throw ours in the shower at least once a week.
- I went to see a friend's 11 day old baby today. And held the baby. I want a newborn. Oh yeah, and her oldest is not yet 2. 'Nuff said.
- I really need to stop being so judgemental. Having coffee with a professor, somehow ranting about the lack of institutional support for mothers at my university. Said something about how convenient it was that the fusspot was born before her due date. He perks up a bit and says something about how his daughter was a 27-weeker. I immediately try to correct any misperceptions, but it's clear he wants to talk about it. So I made some benign comment about how hard that must have been - trying to give him an opening to talk about it. And he's suddenly like "The NICU? Not a big deal at all." So I write him off as a silly old man who probably both had no idea how dangerous those places are and left the wringing of hands to his wife. It's not until a good 20 minutes later that I realize why he didn't think the NICU was a big deal. Turns out the early delivery was because his wife was sick. And she died before his daughter left the NICU. So yeah, I understand why it wasn't the worst thing for him. I really need to be more cautious about judging people.
- Speaking of non-judgemental, met a lovely woman with a special needs daughter. And it was just so refreshing how completely relaxed she was about it. The type of mother who says, yes my daughter had surgery and needs some special therapy and we truly have no idea what her capabilities will be in the future, but we're enjoying it now. More on this family and visit later.
- Also lovely. Over the weekend JD and I spent a good hour or so on skype while he ironed his shirts (background: we are enthusiastically quirky environmentalists. We are committeed to a large number of very random environmentally-friendly things like not owning a car and recycling, but we also do not restrict things like plane flights which I know are terrible for the environment. So we decided not to use the dry cleaner if at all possible which means that JD irons all of his own shirts. This is considered exceedingly odd in NYC and takes him a good hour every week. Luckily he is convinced that I cannot iron and so has never asked me to help ...). I fed the fusspot and sang her to sleep while JD ironed and ranted about the weather and politics and his friends. And it was almost like being home again. Because even with my crazy commute and his long work hours, we always spend at least an hour talking while he irons during the week. And it's one of those fabulous activities where you are really stuck for a long time so it's ok to let the conversation lapse and have silence for 20 minutes and then start talking again. It just made me think how nice it would be to live with my husband again.
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