Happy Birthday, Blog!

Well, how exciting is this?! Today is my Blogiversary!

One year ago today, I sat down and created this blog. Since then it has become an obsessive project for me, but I love having something I feel proud of. I guess you could say The Daily Tribal has become my "baby."

Speaking of babies... I thought this would be a sad day for me, since I created this blog the same day that my husband and I decided to have a baby; meaning that today I am one year into trying to conceive.

Surprisingly, I am not all that upset. For one thing, the *trying* part is actually quite fun (hardy har har), the longer it takes to get pregnant the more money we save, and we're slowly paying down some credit card debt that might take a bit longer if we were to factor in child care and all other things baby related.

About two weeks ago, I noticed that this has become more than a baby blog for me. It has slowly evolved into a safehaven for my thoughts and all my crazy musings... and it feels great to be able to share them with others.

So, without launching into a nostalgic mush-fest of epic proportions, I'd like to say: Happy Birthday, blog! And what's a birthday without a sexy cupcake?!

Of Life and Chapstick

I, like so many of my female friends, am addicted to chapstick. If you can push it up a tube and slather it on your lips, I want it.

It was on Sunday afternoon while waiting for my husband to finish getting a haircut that I reached for the green tea mint eucalyptus chapstick that will cure your chapped lips and possibly cancer. It was only $1.95, stacked neatly among the myriad tubes of shampoos and conditioners that the salon sold, why shouldn't I buy it? It seemed like a simple enough purchase. But then I realized that I have so many half finished tubes of chapstick in my purse that maybe, just maybe I didn't need this particular tube.

I began thinking... is this the way we live? The "chapstick logic" can be applied to so many aspects of life: love, sex, marriage, hobbies, work. How many tubes of chapstick can we take on at one time? I suppose that if someone were to be very adventurous, they could take on a ton of different tubes, but would they be able to use each and every tube to its full potential before it expires? Probably not.
In this day and age, we are so quick to take on every little thing that life throws at us. At what point do we say "That's enough! I can't take on anything else. I need to focus on what I already have."?

What would happen if we tried couple's therapy with our significant others instead of filing for yet another divorce or ending yet another relationship prematurely? Would we be happier with one sexual partner than ten? If we actually finished the scrapbook we'd been working on for years instead of jumping to the next pretty arts and crafts project that caught our eye, how well would it have turned out? Would we have been incredibly proud of ourselves and would we have had more of a sense of accomplishment?

Having a purse full of chapstick may seem like a good idea when the tube is sitting so prettily on the counter, coaxing you into putting a whopping $1.95 on your debit card. But once you purchase that tube, you're pretty much stuck with it, and you can only use it for so long before it goes bad and needs to be thrown out. Is it really so hard to stick with what you've already committed yourself to? I bet it would feel better to actually finish one tube, than to throw away the lot of them because you spread yourself so thin that you couldn't finish any of them.

In case you're wondering, I put the chapstick back. I have three or four tubes I'm working through and I think, for now, that's plenty.

Battle of the Sexes

I had it out with my husband today. We sat down at Aladdin's Eatery (they have delicious Dawali wraps) with our Lebanese beers and empty stomachs and, over a period of 45 minutes, we discussed the epic battle of the sexes.
In a daring attempt to test my boundaries, I left the dishes undone in the sink and waited for someone else to do them. After four days of absolute torture - I hate dirty dishes - I caved and did them myself.
"Why is it that I get absolutely no help around the house? How come everyone expects me to do the dishes?" I asked.
"I thought it was second nature to you."
This was probably the most interesting thing I had ever heard my husband say. I mean, I wasn't mad... perhaps I should have been. But I love my husband very much and he's a great man. He wouldn't say something with the intention of pissing me off, so I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Um," here's where I take a very large sip of beer. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Well, I mean," long pause. "It's just that I do physical labor all day. I sweat, I carry heavy things, I don't sit on my ass in a comfy office chair like you. My job is more stressful."
I found this pretty interesting. By now, you may have realized that I use the word "interesting" when I'm looking for a nice way of saying "fucking stupid." Did he really think that his job was more challenging than mine? I always figured we had equally challenging jobs. He does physical labor and my job is mentally stressful. Surely the fifty screaming parents and angry customers I deal with on a daily basis, managing an entire company and its lesson program, could be categorized as a stressful job. Surely, I deserve to sit and watch t.v. after I get off of work too.
The conversation ended friendly enough. Again, I'm certainly not implying that my husband sits around and does nothing all night. He cooked dinner tonight and he will occasionally help by sweeping or mopping. There are battles that I choose to fight, and throwing axes about housework is not something I'm willing to do at the moment.
But it did get me thinking... should my husband be exempt from housework because his job is physically challenging? Should I be exempt from it because I have a mentally stressful job? At what point do husbands feel entitled to be lazy? And at what point should wives feel entitled to some help?

When Time Flies, Where Does It Go?

What an awful blogger I have been. Two months and no posts. Come to think of it, I haven't even read any of the blogs I used to frequent on a daily basis. Life has just been so overwhelming, and not necessarily in a bad way.
I'm always amazed at just how fast time goes by, and not only when I'm having fun. My life seems to just keep flying by and, even through the bad times, I'm shocked at how quickly the days turn into weeks and months and years.
Among the many things swirling around in this proverbial town called Amberville, there was the death of my dog, Danzig, last Sunday. It was one of the hardest things that I've ever had to try and overcome. He was just a baby, getting ready to turn 4 next month. In a fun twist of fate, he was born on my birthday and I used to always refer to him as my cutest gift ever. He died of kidney and liver failure... the vet at the animal hospital said there was absolutely nothing more we could have done for him because it was something that had been happening for a long time, probably since he was born. I felt absolutely awful and helpless, but we did everything we could to keep him comfortable on his last night. We took him home from the hospital so he could be with us in the comfort of our home and we cuddled with him until he died about an hour later.
I miss him so much and I think today was actually the first day that I didn't cry. I know I'll always miss him, but he taught me so much about kindness, patience, love and (with his passing) the acceptance that there are things in life I will never be able to control.
He also helped me to understand that I'm a lot stronger than I give myself credit for. Throughout the entire ordeal, Russell and I maintained the most positive outlook that we could. When they told us that he was doing poorly, we told ourselves that with the IVs and medical attention he would pull through it and he'd get better. When they told us that they didn't think he was well enough for surgery, we told them to keep him at the hospital no matter what the cost and that he'd be ready for surgery soon. When they told us to euthanize him because there was no way he was going to make it, we told them we wanted to take him home so that we could be with him and, perhaps because we were in denial, nurse him back to health ourselves.
At each negative turning point I told myself that I couldn't deal with any more, that I'd become physically ill if I got more bad news... and yet every time poor Danzig was dealt another blow I managed to listen and hope for the best.
Even when we had a funeral for him and we buried him under the weeping willow tree in our back yard, when I could hear my heart beat in my ears because I was crying so hard, I picked up a shovel and helped pour the dirt into his grave. I wanted to do whatever I could to carry some of what was happening on my shoulders. He was my baby, what else could I do?
I wish we could have had Ziggy in our lives forever, or at least for a while longer than we did.
The time really did fly by... and I have no idea where it went.