Merry Christmas, everyone!

Hope everyone had a great Christmas! We really enjoyed our quiet first married Christmas. Since we have just moved, and I have been travelling so much, we decided to stay put and enjoy our first married Christmas alone in our new house. We were so busy, that it was hard to get into the spirit until the week of Christmas, but we did! We had decided against having big presents this year and splurge on our honeymoon. But I did end up getting my husband the PS3 he's been wanting all year, especially since I hadn't gotten him a wedding gift (he got me by surprise there) or even a birthday present (his birthday was 2 days after we moved, and the day we got our delivery from TMO, so we didn't really celebrate it). We had a lot of fun playing Call of Duty together, and watching the first season of MadMen on blue-ray (my gift from him) and relaxing together. We both had Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday off, so it was awesome! Looking forward to this week (we once again have Thursday afternoon, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday off for New Year's).

Hope everyone got a chance to spend time with loved ones!

Prioritizing

Ever since I went back to work full-time, I realize more and more how hard it is to be a dual career couple in the military. I know we face some of the same challenges that other dual career couples face at one time or another; but the lack of choice and flexibility in the military makes it that much harder for the non-military spouse to have a career as well. It's easy to find a job-- but maintaining a career is a special challenge!

It seems that in most modern dual career couples, both the husband and the wife make some sacrifices with flexibility to make it feasible for both of them to have a meaningful career. We don't have that luxury, and it makes it that much more challenging for us to balance our career and family life. Luckily, I have an amazingly understanding employer who's willing to work with me. I am able to work from home in North Carolina/wherever we happen to be at the time, telecommuting to my office in New York City. But the downside is I also travel a lot, which really limits the time we get to spend together. I never thought I'd be living and working in different cities! For example, we moved to NC on December 1st, and I that week off in order to coordinate the move. On December 6th, I was in DC until December 12th; then on December 14th, I left again and was in Boston until the 18th. Until recently, I was due in Atlanta on December 27th-30th (thankfully Santa intervened and cancelled that trip). Essentially, out of the 21 days I've been living in NC, I've only spent 10 of them actually in NC. And in January, February and March, I'll spend more time between New York, San Francisco, Boston, Los Angeles, Chicago and Atlanta than I will at home with my husband. This is not even counting the 6 weeks this summer that I have to spend in New York City.

Another big difficulty is managing not just our family life but our family life within the USMC. My impression is there's almost an expectation that wives are just around to do things (like deal with the movers during a PCS). In civilian world, it's absolutely accepted, and these days, expected for a husband to take a personal day, for example, to deal with the movers 9or the cable guy, or the plumber or a sick child) if the wife has something important going on at work she absolutely cannot miss. Thus far, it seems like the military is far less flexible with things that just come up, and it's just assumed the wife will take care of it. I'm not saying at all that all military wives stay home (quite the contrary; there's actually a larger percentage of military wives who work than civilian wives). It's just that it's expected that the wife's job -- and life-- will come second. I feel sometimes like we've gone back in time, and it's been a HUGE adjustment!



I really want to spend more time with my husband; simple things like having dinner at home together seem like such a luxury. But of course, it's a huge trade-off. My salary allows us a lot more flexibility financially (not to mention. all those student loans I racked up in law school have to be paid off sometime!). And I really like my job a lot-- it's very fulfilling and rewarding, beyond the money. I just wish the people at the USAir counters in Jacksonville and Wilmington didn't recognize me already!

Uncomplicated Stuff Made Complicated (or, Our First PCS Move)

If you've read some older posts, you know I've moved quite a few times. However, my eleven moves since college did not in any way prepare me for our first military move! As usual, I realized how simple things can become enormously complicated when you lose that element of control. This move has by far been the most stressful; it even beat moving into my first real New York City apartment. And I thought that had been the consummate crappy moving experience, since my roommate and I, having spent all our money on the deposits and outrageous brokers' fees, ended up renting an economy car for the day and making over twenty trips total between our respective sublets and our new apartment...and then proceeded to sleep on hardwood floors for a month. Somehow, our fully paid for, full service military move managed to be more stressful.

Full disclosure...some of the stress was brought on myself. I admit it! We had to check in by December 3rd. My husband graduated TBS on November 4th. In between that time, we also had the small matter of our wedding on November 20th, and decided to take a honeymoon the following week. Suffice to say that we flew back from Mexico on November 28th in the evening, only to have the movers show up at our apartment at 9 am on November 29th to start packing. Yes, you read that right.

As you can imagine, our apartment was pure chaos. Just to give you a snapshot, we had an entire room (formerly my office) devoted to wedding gifts and random boxes and other stuff (ranging from scuba gear to boxing and rock climbing gear to an actual, stand behind bar) that we never found room for in the tiny Virginia apartment. Our living room was lined with guest welcome bags left over from the wedding. Our closet was a complete disaster. We barely had time to unpack from Mexico, do the 5 loads of laundry that needed to get done, and pack a suitcase of essentials to take with us in the car before the movers started throwing our stuff (literally) into boxes. I ended up spending the entire day making sure the packers didn't accidentally pack things we needed to take in the car (like my work files and laptop and my husband's Alphas and a set of cammies, just in case the shipment got delayed) and trying to convince them to pack things they weren't authorized to pack (apparently-- even though in all of my moves, I've never encountered this issue-- they couldn't transport liquor or wine. A small issue when your husband has a bar and you have a Honda Accord to transport you, your husband, your cat and all your stuff that won't go in the moving truck the 363 miles between the old duty station and the new one).

Sidenote: If I never hear another mover use the words "I'm not authorized to do that, ma'am," it will be too soon.

But the bulk of the stress was definitely not caused by anything within our control. Ever since the unfortunate economy car move, I've hired movers. Usually, we've had at least four guys working. This time-- you know, because everything involving the military makes so much sense-- we had 2 guys show up. Yup. They sent two guys to pack an entire house. Oh, and detail --- they said they should finish packing, inventory, and loading the truck in 5 hours! As the morning wore on, I could tell the movers were concerned. One was still packing up our kitchen, and the other the office (a.k.a., the storage closet).  They still had our bedroom and the closets to pack up, the living room, the bathroom, and all the furniture to deal with, not to mention the inventory portion and loading the truck. They were also running out of boxes! It was outrageous-- they'd done a walk-through!

After we had three additional workers and loads more boxes show up, the long day finally wrapped up-- around 6 pm!  Of course, after the movers left, my husband and I found that they'd added some extra stuff to our take with us pile-- all of our cleaning supplies, our iron, a giant pack of toilet paper, and, inexplicably, our scuba gear. So now we had to get 4 boxes of booze; two sets of scuba gear; a giant pack of toilet paper; a plastic bin of cleaning supplies; a bucket; a swiffer; an iron; the cat's gear, including a litter box for the road; two suitcases; a tote bag of important papers; a large cooler containing the contents of our freezer, including the frozen top tier of our wedding cake; 3 garment bags of uniforms; two adults; and a cat in a carrying case in our Honda Accord. Yeah, it was as comfortable as it sounds!

To be continued...

Craziness!

Hello everyone,

My apologies-- it has been a very long time, I know! I started a new job with a  lot of travel; we got married and went on a fabulous honeymoon; and my husband graduated from TBS! Oh, and we had our first PCS move to Camp LeJeune. We're now in our third home this year-- needless to say, it's been a crazy, crazy year! And I don't see things slowing down for the foreseeable future, either.

But I'm going to stay on top of Suits to Boots! Promise!

It's the most wondeful time...

Those of you who know me, know I'm not very into sports.  And that's probably the understatement of the century. I have no clue what's going on in the NBA finals, who's playing in the Superbowl, and I don't even understand what the World Series is. But, I'm absolutely obsessed with the World Cup.

By obsessed I mean...I watch as many games as I can (definitely every single Brazil game, and as many of the others as my schedule permits); I keep track of who won each round (I used to have a chart pinned to my office wall; this year, I downloaded the handy iPhone app...I like it, but it's not the same); and definitely by the quarter-finals, I have more than one horse in the race, and am enthusiastically cheering for or against whoever is playing.  Another thing-- watching soccer with me is incredibly irritating. Especially if you're not as into soccer as, say, the average Brazilian. I have been known to throw things at the TV during a bad play, and there's definitely a lot of screaming going on. Needless to say, World Cup summers are my favorite.

I can actually remember every single World Cup I've been alive for (with the exception of the 1982 World Cup, but as I was only about 4 months old at the time, I think I get a pass). In 1986, I remember my parents dressing me up in a Brazil uniform and cheering with my little sister (who did not possess a cool Brazil soccer uniform like me, and instead wore my dad's local team's jersey). I remember watching all the games with my dad. In 1990, I got my first introduction to watching more than one team. I was in Mexico staying with friends, and we watched both Mexico and Brazil games. In 1994, my family was relocating the U.S. during the World Cup, which was also in the U.S. My dad, baby sister and I arrived in Memphis on the 4th of July, and the U.S. was playing Brazil that same day. I remember watching the game in our temporary rental house with my family, and thinking it was a very apropos game (Brazil won, and went on to win the World Cup later that month). My family actually moved into our new house before our furniture arrived...and all we had in the house was a mattress each, a TV hooked up to ESPN so we could watch the World Cup, and five plastic chairs (my baby sister would just crawl around, usually wearing a jersey from whatever team we were rooting against as a mock diaper).  Ah, 1998. The year Brazil lost to France in the finals, in France, 3-0. It was devastating. I was in Brazil for the summer...and I don't like to think about that day. In 2002, it was the summer after my freshman year of college.  The games were at ungodly hours of the day, and I remember my grandpa, who was in Memphis for the summer, waking us up at 5 a.m. to watch. It was worth it too...Brazil won again.

I have to say 2006, though, is by far my favorite World Cup to date. Even though Brazil lost. I was in New York, and other than the years I was in Brazil, it's probably the year where there was most enthusiasm for the World Cup. As in, I could go to a bar and there would be actual other people there watching, too! It's also the year I started dating my better half. He's a World Cup enthusiast himself, and so we started watching games together and eventually, started dating. We joke that our first date was the World Cup finals. He'd asked me where I was watching, and when I said I had no plans, he invited me to watch with him, and to bring friends. I brought my roommate, my two sisters and my cousin who was in town...so he met practically my entire family in one fell swoop.

I feel as if exciting things just happen to me in World Cup years. I mean, look at this year-- my life has done a complete 180 from last year. 

So yay, World Cup year! Now, excuse me...I have to go prepare. Brazil plays at 2:30 today.

It's Not About Me

I've been having a hard time with this move, in many ways. I just haven't adjusted as quickly as I usually have when moving to a new place. Usually, I'm exploring and figuring out what my new area has to offer, and quickly integrate myself into the new place. But, since I've been in Virginia, I've pretty much just kept to myself.

I was trying to figure out why yesterday.  I went into DC for work in the early evening, and I realized that it was only the second time I'd been into DC since we moved. Oh, and the first time? It was to deliver some paperwork (again, a necessity), and I literally just went straight where I needed to go and back. I really couldn't figure out why I hadn't explored more, and then it hit me.

It's because this move wasn't about me. Every other time I've moved (well, as an adult, or at least since I headed off to college), it's been because I chose to go there. I moved away to Nashville to go to the college I chose. In the summer when I went to New York, it was because I wanted to go to New York, and it was so that I could intern at Time Inc. When I went to New York for law school it was, again, to go to my first-choice law school and because I wanted to live in New York. When I went to London during law school, it was because I was going to intern there, and because I wanted to see what it would be like to live there. When I went to Buenos Aires during law school, it was so that I could study law there and practice my Spanish and get to explore a new city. Lots of "I wanted" in that paragraph!

So, this is really the first time that I've gone somewhere not because of something I wanted to do, or for an opportunity for me, but because of somebody else's opportunities and career. When we first talked about moving, I was only concerned with being closer to him. We talked about me staying in New York for the duration of TBS and Naval Justice School and just moving at the end of all the training, but we didn't want to be long distance for that long. So we moved.

I really didn't think much of moving. After all, I'd adapted to plenty of other places before, and had never had any trouble. Sure, I'd loved my life in New York. But I figured, we were close enough to DC, and Alexandria itself is urban enough that I'd feel right at home. 

I've been trying for days to figure out why I haven't adapted, and it has hit me. It's because this isn't about me. For once. Ahhh, I guess I'm growing up and figuring out what marriage and adult relationships are all about. I guess it's not going to be about just me anymore. And that's something else I'm adapting to.

PS-- please bear with me...I'm experimenting with layouts and photoshop and all that good stuff, trying to make the blog pretty! Let me know what you think.

Girl Talk

I was in New York on Saturday for my new, part-time, work from home job, and took the opportunity to stay on Saturday night to have dinner with my girlfriends.  I really miss my New York girls-- they're all smart, dynamic, professional women, and we always have a great time. I miss having a group of girls I can talk to about life, work, etc.

This past Saturday, we were talking about work. Two of my good friends are in MBA programs and have just started their summer internships, one is at a sort of crossroads with her career, and then there's me.  Ever since I left the world of corporate law, we have had many, many discussions about what I want to do next, where I see my career/life going, etc. They asked me how I like my new job, and I was telling them how much I love it. I love working from home.  I love it that my  schedule still gives me time to take care of the house and work out and volunteer, and that I have the flexibility to accompany and fully support my Marine.

It feels weird to say this, but I've been realizing more and more that I really, really like staying at home.  I never thought I'd be a woman who enjoys being at home all day, but lately, the thought of getting an out-of-home job has been stressing me out.  Good thing, I guess-- I have realized that it is really hard to have a "traditional" career and be a military wife at the same time.

For starters, there is the total unpredictability of it. We have little idea where we will be stationed when he's done with training.  That makes figuring out my next career move sort of difficult, obviously.  And even once we know his duty station, there is the fact that the USMC can change its mind at any time, and send him wherever they need him most, whenever they want. So, even if I find a great job I really like, there is always the possibility I'll have to leave.  At this point we have made a commitment to the USMC (well, he made the commitment to them; I made a commitment to him, though).  Until he's out, his career has to come first.

This is an interesting turn of events! I never, in a million years, thought I'd be here. I always thought my career would be equally as important as my husband's, and that I could never, ever, happily put my career on the back burner.

I have been feeling guilty, though. Like I'm wasting my first-rate legal education, and slapping feminism on the face at the same time. Saturday, though, my friend was telling me how she read a study at business school saying that a high percentage of women with MBA degrees end up leaving the corporate world and not going back.  I've been searching (to no avail, so far) for a similar study showing attrition rates of women with JDs. She was also saying how, if she were engaged or married, she wouldn't think twice about leaving her career behind.

This has gotten me thinking the past couple of days. I know that I'm much happier now than I was while I was working in an office everyday. I'm not bored, like I thought I would be. And, when I think about the women I knew who are very successful (and who had been solely dedicated to their careers), all I can think about is how I used to look at them and think, "I hope that's not me in ten/fifteen/twenty years."  Of all my girlfriends, I can't think of one who wants to be those women, either.

So, what's going on? Is it really that our generation has realized that, contrary to our mothers' generation's belief, that women can't have it all? Or that having it all is exhausting? Or is it as simple as choices? As in, given a choice, most women would pick a healthy family life over a career?  The thing is, though, I still don't think its politically correct for a woman to say she doesn't want a career. We're still expected to want it all. But what if we don't?

It's Official!

I'm a Marine-wife-to-be! We got engaged last weekend! I'm still a little in shock (and incredibly excited!) I took a break from staring at my beautiful engagement ring long enough to post this. The adventure continues...

Southern Hospitality

As I'm slowly getting settled in Virginia, (almost all the boxes are gone now! left are only the things I can't find a place for and need help with) I have started actually leaving the apartment and exploring my new area. We've had a series of absolutely gorgeous spring/early summer days lately, which has really helped! I was walking around the other day, and I noticed a few things that struck me as very strange. People--strangers off the street-- talk to you here, and not to yell at you to get out of the way. I have been in New York so long, that I'd forgotten that people did that!

I went for a long walk on Wednesday, down to the waterfront. I brought a book and my plan was to get coffee and read for awhile, maybe get some lunch, and walk back home. On the way, I remembered I was on my last pair of contacts, and decided to stop in at the optometrist on King Street. Ok, new thing I love about Virginia-- the optometrist actually took the time to listen to me! And together, we figured out what was wrong with my eyes during allergy season! She gave me some super cool, extra comfortable contacts that I'm very happy with so far. As I was walking home, this lady crossed the street, and said "Oh, it got cool today, didn't it?"

Not an earth-shattering conversation, mind you. But for someone who spends most of the day with a cat, it was nice. Then I started thinking-- when was the last time someone talked to me on the street, not to yell at me to get out of the way? It's been....awhile!

Yesterday, I decided to once again walk into Old Town and explore a bit. With a bit of a purpose-- there are 80,000 hair salons in Old Town, and I need a haircut, so I figured I'd walk around, pick up some coupons and menus and such and pick a place to cut my hair. I stopped at a coffee shop for a cappuccino on the way, and lo and behold, I sneezed. It is allergy season, after all. The attendants and patrons not only God blessed me, we also then all got into a conversation about how horrible allergy season has been this year, and how we're all glad it's almost over.

I'm about to go on another walk today. It's a gorgeous, warm, sunny day, and I'm going to walk straight across town to check out the CrossFit gym over here. Who knows-- by tomorrow this time, I'll probably have a new best friend.

Virginia is for...Boxes?

So, I am no longer a New Yorker. I now live in Alexandria, Virginia. And it's official-- I may not know my zip code yet, but I did change my Facebook profile.

Moving was...an experience. Don't get me wrong, I have moved a lot. Probably an unnatural amount, actually. And not just down the street, either-- I've been a part of at least two continental moves. My first move was when I was an infant, about five months old. My parents, who had moved from Brazil to Memphis, TN before I was born, were returning home, baby in tow. As a child, I moved three more times-- first, to my grandparents, then to our own apartment, then from our original apartment to a bigger apartment, and then from that big apartment to our house out in the country when I was six. We lived at the house for awhile, but when I was twelve came the second continental move-- back to Memphis, TN.

I remember my mom being stressed about the move, but to me, it seemed okay. Other than the fact that she made me give up all of my childhood toys (with the unassailable argument that no twelve year old needs 25 Barbie dolls plus the Barbie DreamHouse and Convertible), I didn't have much to do. I picked the one toy I got to take (I wanted my bike, was told that was impractical to take along, and ended up with a box of books. So boring. Nevermind that my little brother got to take his motorized motorcycle. I still miss my silver bike) and the rest was up to my mom. We actually got to live in a hotel for about a month, which was pretty cool. Then, my parents, sister and brother went on a trip together for a month, and my baby sister and I stayed with my grandmother in Brazil-- I, because I wanted to maximize my time with my friends, and she, because my father deemed it impractical to take a two-year-old to the World Cup in California. Julia and I always did get the shaft. Even with all that, we beat our furniture and boxes to Memphis by a good month, in any case. My father rented a furnished house for us to fill in the time, which was cool, except that the family in that house, while a family of 6, was a family of 2 adults, one 10 year old, and 3 toddlers/babies. So I spent about a week sharing a loft twin bed with my little brother before my mom had a breakdown and insisted we move to our new house. Where we had, I kid you not, mattresses on the floor; a TV hooked up to cable (it was the World Cup, after all, and no self-respecting Brazilian will do without TV during this crucial time, never mind the lack of furniture); and five lawn chairs. Julia got the shaft again.

We lived at the same house in Memphis for awhile, and then I went to college with a couple of suitcases. That was 2001. Since then, I have moved at least once a year. I'm not kidding. I moved every year in college. That's 4 times (conservative estimate; I'm not counting the summer I moved to New York or the summer I lived in Brazil, since those were intended to be temporary). Then I moved to New York, into a law dorm. I decided I hated that, and when one of my good high school friends decided to move to New York, I moved out of the dorm into an apartment with her. That's 6 moves. Then, I moved into my own, very tiny apartment (which I technically shared with my sister for a few months). Then, I moved in with my boyfriend. 8 moves. Then, we moved to our first Brooklyn apartment. Nine moves. Then, we moved to our second Brooklyn apartment. Ten moves. Now, we moved to Virginia. Eleven moves. ELEVEN. Since college.

You'd think I'd be good at this by now. So why am I staring at a ridiculous amount of boxes? I can't imagine anyone needing this stuff. I mean, I'm happy to chuck it out the window right now...except my new neighbors might frown upon coming home to a heap of cardboard boxes blocking the driveway.

It's time to leave New York...

It seems that it is time for me to leave New York City. After five years, it's a little hard to believe, and slightly surreal. I moved here right after college. I didn't have one of those romantic post-college experiences, where I packed a bag and road-tripped to the city where I wanted to live, crashed on a friend's couch until I found an apartment and a crappy job (ok, so maybe the word I'm looking for is crappy coming-of-age romantic comedy, but still). Oh no-- I had a plan! I came to New York with an acceptance letter from New York University School of Law in hand, an apartment lined up, and an internship at one of the most prestigious law firms in the country for the summer. I finished my internship. I started law school. I completed two more summers at top Wall Street firms. I graduated law school, took and passed the New York Bar Exam. I started working at one of the aforementioned top Wall Street firms.

During this time I met, and fell in love with, a fellow Wall Street lawyer.

Then came 2009. You know, the financial crisis. All of a sudden, instead of being the couple with a plan, we were unemployed.

I'm not going to lie. It was pretty fun. We went from working crazy hours and seeing each other in the middle of the night when we were half asleep to spending the whole day together. We got the chance to really talk about what we wanted out of life. I got in awesome shape (seriously...I all of a sudden fit into my high school clothes).

And then...he decided to join the Marines. Yup, you read that right. My corporate lawyer-sometimes investment banker-boyfriend decided to join the Marines. I could say I didn't see it coming, but that's not true either. Truth is, he talked about it a lot. In fact, in the four years I'd known him, he brought it up around once every couple of weeks or so, but mostly in a regretful way. As in, "If I knew then what I know now, I'd have joined after college." One October day, we were taking a long walk around Prospect Park, and I asked him-- "Why not now? They apparently need lawyers."

So we did what we do best-- we researched. Eventually, he contacted a recruiter (or, in Corps lingo, an "OSO"). We worked really hard on improving his PFT score (that's Physical Fitness Test, for those of you not familiar, and in the Marines, it consists of a 3-mile run, 20 pull-ups, and 100 sit-ups in 2 minutes). In December, we heard that he had been accepted to join the OCC class at OSC (Officer Candidates' School-- there are a LOT of acronyms, bear with me here) starting on January 15th.

We traveled to Quantico, VA. We said good-bye at the Amtrak station in Q-Town (Marine speak for the town of Quantico- as opposed to the Marine base). We didn't talk for 3 weeks and didn't see each other for 5. The next time I saw him, it was in a hotel room in Washington, D.C. where we spent around 12 hours together. He had a crewcut and cammies and combat boots. I saw him again 5 weeks later, when he was graduating OCS and getting ready to accept his commission.

And now it's April. He is starting TBS (The Basic School) also in Quantico. I still don't have a job. So I'm wrapping up my life in NYC, packing up our Brooklyn apartment and getting ready to move to Virginia. In six months, I have gone from Wall St. lawyer to military wife-to-be. And though leaving NYC is bittersweet and being without a plan for once in my life is scary, I'm the happiest I've been since...I can't remember when.