Am I a bad wife?

I have been feeling a little frustrated lately, and would like some reassurance that I am not a horrible wife, but with school and Weston working all the time my patience is starting to wear thin! I know that the reason he is gone all the time is for us and our future family, and so we can have a wonderful life for the years to come, but I miss him like crazy!!

It's so hard to go all day not seeing your husband, then when you finally see each other, it's only for a short time. Before you know it, his nose is in the book and then it's bedtime! Even when we first got married, I didn't see him as much as I would of liked because of his internship out at the INL.

It's hard on me. I feel like I'm alone most of the time, even when he is here with me. It seems like he doesn't have time for me, because school is the priority. I'm sure that's not how it is, but that's how it seems to me. Sometimes I feel like we saw more of each other when we were dating than we do now. I just want my husband back when I can have his undivided attention. Sadly, I don't see it happening for another year or so...UGH!

Like I said, this is all for us, but it's hard on me. I have a hard time dealing with it. Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I'm the kind of person who needs someone with me all the time. I hate being alone, and need constant activity and communication with someone, and I don't get that now, what with school and work.

I'm not looking for a pity party here or anything. Just needed to get out how I was/am feeling. There are many women out there who go days without seeing their husbands or longer. I envy those women who can do, because Heaven knows that I would never be able to do it. Is it too much to ask, to want to spend more time with my husband? I hope you all don't think I'm a bad wife, but I honestly can't wait for the day I have my husband back!

"Eleven" by: Sandra Cisneros

In my school social work class, our teacher read us this cute little story, and I wanted to share with you. Hope you enjoy!

What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. You open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are---underneath the year that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is.

You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It taks a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you Eleven when they ask you. And you dno't feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is.

Only today I wish I didn't have only eleven years rattling inside me like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box. Today I wish I was one hundred and two instead of eleven because if I was one hundred and two I'd have known what to say when Mrs. Price put the red sweater on my desk. I would've known how to tell her it wasn't mine instead of just sitting there with that look on my face and nothing coming out of my mouth.

"Whose is this?" Mrs. Price says, and she holds the red sweater up in the air for all the class to see. "Whose? It's been sitting in the coat-room for a month."

"Not mine," says everybody. "Not me." "It has to belong to somebody," Mrs. Price keeps saying, but nobody can remember.

It's an ugly sweater with red plastic buttons and a collar and sleeves all stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope. It's maybe a thousand years old and even if it belonged to me I wouldn't say so.

Maybe because I'm skinny, maybe because she doesn't like me, that stuipd Sylvia Saldivar says, "I think it belongs to Rachel." An ugly sweater like that, all raggedy and old, but Mrs. Price believes her. Mrs. Price takes the sweater and puts it right on my desk, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out.

"That's not, I don't, you're not...Not mine," I finally say in a little voice that was maybe me when I was four.

"Of course it's yours," Mrs. Price says. "I remember you wearing it once." Because she's older and the teacher, she's right and I'm not.

Not mine, not mine, not mine, but Mrs. Price is already turning to page thirty-two, math problem number four. I don't know why but all of a sudden I'm feeling sick inside, like the part of me that's three wants to come out of my eyes, only I squeeze them shut tight and bite down on my teeth real hard and try to remember today I am eleven, eleven. Mama is making a cake for me for tonight, and when Papa come home, everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you.

But when the sick feeling goes away and I open my eyes, the red sweater's still sitting there like a big red mountain. I move it to the corner of my desk with my ruler. I move my pencil and books and eraser as far from it as possible. I even move my chair a little to the right. Not mine, not mine, not mine.

In my head I'm thinking how long till lunchtime, how long till i can take the red sweater and throw it over the schoolyard fence, or leave it hanging on a parking meter, or bunch it up into a little ball and toss it in the alley. Except when math period ends Mrs. Price says loud and in front of everybody, "Now Rachel, that's enough," because she sees I've shoved the red sweater to the tippy-tip corner or my desk and it's hanging all over the edge like a waterfall, but I don't care.

"Rachel," Mrs. Price says. She says it like she's getting mad. "You put that sweater on right now and no more nonsense."

"But it's not---"

"Now!" Mrs. Price says.

This is when I wish I wasn't eleven, because all the years inside of me---ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one---are pushing at the back of my eyes when I put one arem through one sleeve of the sweater that smells like cottage cheese, then the other arm through the other, and stand there with my arms apart like if the sweater hurts me and it does, all itchy and full of germs that aren't even mine.

That's when everything I've been holding in since this morning, since when Mrs. Price put the sweater on my desk, finally lets go, and all of a sudden I'm crying in fron of everybody. I wish I was invisible but I'm not. i'm eleven and it's my birthday today and I'm crying like I'm three in front of everybody. I put my head down on the desk and bury my face in my stupid clown-sweater arms. My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I can't stop the little animal noises from coming out of me, until there aren't any more tears left in my eyes, and it's just my body shaking like when you have the hiccups, and my whole head hurts like when you drink milk too fast.

But the worst part is right before the bell rings for lunch. That stupid Phyllis Lopez, who is even dumber that Sylvia Saldivar, says she remembers the sweater is hers! I take it off right aways and give it to her, only Mrs. Price pretends like everything is okay.

Today I'm eleven. There's a cake Mama's making for tongith, and when Papa come home from work we'll eat it. There'll be candles and presents and everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you, Rachel, only it's too late.

I'm eleven today. I'm eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I were one hundred and two. I wish I were anything but eleven, because I wish today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see it.

That's the end of the story, I hope you all enjoyed it. Update on ours lives soon to come, promise! :)