My Husband the Exotic Animal

Matt just started his final term of MS2, and he we are so ready to be done with the classroom portion of medical school. With less than 8 weeks left, this is the last stretch before Matt starts clinical rotations, or "the fun part," as we call it. For the most part, I've been supportive. Reminding Matt of how fast the time will fly, and chanting "you're almost there, you can do it" repeatedly. Some days I dream of hiding his textbooks, deleting firecracker and Qbank off his phone, and kidnapping him to a warm beach. Unfortunately, that's not realistic, at least not until June 24th (yay Hawaii!) My reality now, that I have recently embraced, is that I'm married to an exotic animal...the kind you have to go to the zoo to see! 

Matt does love bananas... 

My husband the exotic animal, lives in the zoo where he studies, sleeps sometimes, eats, and studies some more. On most days, I only catch glimpses of him as he grabs lunch and heads out the door to school. Like visiting a zoo, you can only see the exotic animals through glass. Even with exhibits designed for guest visibility, Matt's quiet studious behavior makes it seem like he's not even here most of the time. Like any small child, I want to tap on the class (more like pound on it) to make the animal be visible. I want to make him look and notice me! Instead,  I keep my hands to myself and obey the zoo signs to not disturb the animals. Apparently, it's in his best interest, or so I've been told. If I'm lucky and patient, the zookeepers will let me feed him. At least then, I get to be up close and personal for 15 minutes. 

Thankfully, Matt's schedule is more flexible on the weekends so we generally have more than 15 minutes of quality time. Our time together is much more meaningful now that it's limited, and we try to maximize it by turning off technology and being focused on each other. It's not easy, but we're making it work. And with both of us in school next year, I may find myself in the zoo right next to Matt. :)    

Like Mother like Daughter

Growing up, I became quite familiar - if not annoyed, and sometimes angry - with the phrase, "you look just like your mom." Sometimes "look" would be replaced with "talk," "walk," "act," "sound," etc. Ugh. Do I look like a lady in her 50s?! Don't answer that...

Anyways.

Let's flashback to May 2009. During the senior all-night graduation party, a friend turned to my mom (a chaperone) and told her, "wow! I thought you were Sam!" I think my mom was in heaven the rest of the week with that complement - and of course I've never heard the end of that story. 

But all of this is just the backstory, see, with each year I'm realizing how awesome my mom is and I don't mind one bit being told that I'm like her. Now I view it as a complement, and even I must admit, there are a few habits/idiosyncrasies that I've picked up that are exactly like my mom.

However, I did not expect certain events in my mom's life to be repeated in my own. In November 2014, I'm walking to pick up one of the kids I nanny from school. It was a bright, clear, sunny day in West Seattle and I'm looking forward to my time with the kids. I take my usual route under a large tree and I feel a wet 'splat' hit my head. Instantly annoyed with the huge water droplet soaking my just-washed-and-almost-dried hair, I threw my hand up to wipe the water away... and something thick and moist stuck to my hand. I looked at my hand in horror, barely contemplating what I was seeing. What was this brown, slightly chunky stuff on my hand?! 

Ew-ew-ew-ew-EWWWW! 

Bird poop! 

A. bird. pooped. on. MY. head. 

I could barely contain my disgust at this revolting discovery. Once my mind acknowledged the incident, my thoughts immediately turned to my mother. My mother is the only person I know who has also been pooped on by a bird, and on her head no less! Like any rational person who has been told a thousand times over that she is a mini version of her mother, I instantly blamed my mom for this unfortunate event. Not only did I talk, walk and look like her, apparently I was also gifted certain life experiences... like being pooped on by a bird.

Thankfully, my mom has only been pooped on once, so I think I’m good. 

However, now I have to worry about stabbing myself in the eye with a fork while eating yogurt… but I think I can avoid that one by using a spoon. :) 

And if I'm lucky enough to inherit the rest of my mom’s experiences, then I should continue to grow into a Godly, hardworking, loving, forgiving, fun and patient woman who may someday be blessed with a daughter.

I love you mom! Happy Birthday!!! <3