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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
That's What She Said
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Sunday
Mar252007

Pray For Us... Or Them... I'm Not Sure Who Will Be Needing It More

Brace yourselves. No, really. Brace yourselves. Are you ready? Because I am about to type the most earth shattering sentence I've ever typed in this blog. Yes, worse even than "In one swift movement I cranked the window down, yanked out my tampon, flung it into the inky night and got back to the business at hand."

Okay. I can do this. I can type this.

We are moving to Utah.

Are you there? Go on, pick yourself up, change your underwear and take a shot of Whiskey. I can wait. In fact, I think I'll pour myself a little somethin' as well. Meet back here in five?

Hey! Blame it on the feta cheese. It's $6.50 at my market! Feta? For nearly seven dollars? Or blame it on my penchant for white trashery. Bleached hair. $300+. How can that be justified? It can't. Especially when you have roots the color of charcoal and you need monthly rendezvous with your stylist if you don't want to look like Tonya Harding or Britney Spears circa 2006.

Serge is 35. I am 30 (on Wednesday!) We want babies. And medical insurance. And money in the bank. And a backyard. Like a kindly grandmother welcoming us to her mountainous bosom, Utah will generously provide all of these things. I have a full-time job. Signed the contract last week. Great hours. Fantastic benefits. Serge will continue with Marah just as he always has. It's an exciting time for his band, in fact. The boys are recording their new record right now. Serge can fly out for that. Can fly out for shows and tours. We'll be able to afford plenty of New York visits. Most importantly, I can ski again we can have a baby. Can hike with Max in the mountains and can go out to dinner without having to work off the meal by doing dishes in the kitchen afterward. Sometimes a quick handjob for the waiter works, but not always. And doing dishes is so degrading!

So, yes. Prepare yourself, Utah. Bake your casseroles, send the missionaries my new address and bow your heads in prayer. The Apostate returneth. There will be no shortage of writing inspiration, of this I can assure you. I've been a faithful reader of Dooce and have memorized how many points I get for properly running over a Mormon with my vehicle. It's a complicated scale involving age and position in the church. But I'm ready. Packing has commenced. The cable guy will be here sometime between 8am Monday and 12pm Thursday. We leave on Friday.

We are excited for the adventure to begin. We have many plans for our marriage and our new life. A major lifestyle change that avails us of the opportunity to expand our family and focus on the important things. New York has been amazing and I wouldn't take back a second of my time spent here. But, I was raised Mormon after all and can only ignore my uterus for so long. It's been throwing tantrums for some time now. If I hold out much longer it may abscond with my fallopian tube. Birthing babies is encoded in my DNA.

But I'm ready. It is an exciting if slightly scary time. I am happier than I have been in a long while. Relieved, actually. Working overnights has taken its toll. It is not for me no matter how much cash you flash. I am looking forward to a relaxing life filled with family, friends, hiking, camping, skiing and all the excellent outdoor opportunities I know Utah offers. Already on the summer schedule? Road trip to Vegas, boating and a white water river rafting trip.

We're going to take our time driving to Utah, trekking through the country, detouring here and there so we can visit America. Just like we did on the way out here. Me and my beloved boys, crammed into the cab of a moving truck, headed into our future.