There is a reason that most of my blogs have been abstract rather than a true blog. I''m struggling right now. After this many years of residency I shouldn''t be, but I am.

I returned home from Ohio on Sunday by waking up in the middle of the night to put two kids on a plane. Returning home always means no groceries, piles of mail, piles of laundry. I spent the day running around like a chicken. Instead of a sweet reunion, DH (postcall) and I had a hell come to Jesus after the kids were tucked in. We basically didn''t see each other last month. We''re both incredibly stressed and have nothing left to give each other. He is tired of me complaining about what he can''t change and I''m tired of giving everything I have for little or nothing in return. He spent two nights on the couch. Effective use of our precious time together, no?

On Monday my day was the usual: load of laundry, breakfast, get three people ready, drop offs, gas and bank, work, etc. I left work early to take DS to the pediatric dentist where I was informed that DS needs a series of dental surgery under general anesthesia. fabulous. After this, I dropped him off at gymnastics and then picked up my daughter. I made dinner, read to the kids, did the dishes, fell over in bed.

This is the point where I have to come clean and admit that I have been coping by reading an copious amount of celebrity tabloids. Seriously: "Have you seen Bleak House on PBS?" uh no. "Have you read such and such new best seller?" uh no, I haven''t heard of it. "What are your thoughts on Iran?" what???? But I can tell you exactly who Paris Hilton is dating and why Nick and Jess broke up.

OMG, what is wrong with me?

Tuesday DH was in D.C.. I had to sneak out of work early again to visit the ObGyn. He suspects my UTIs aren''t UTIs at all but kidney stones instead. He ordered a CT. As an aside, I could also see the interspeciality competition clicking in his mind when I told him that I have been having DH write me scripts, as in: "How typical of a dumb surgeon, just throw the biggest antibiotic at it and hope it goes away". So now I will have to find time to get more tests to figure out why I have back pain and blood in my urine. Talk about massaging my job situation. "Hey, boss, this is when I can be here this month, O.K.?" Not to get ahead of myself, but I don''t want to even think about a kidney stone attack with no husband about.

Fortunately, however, Tuesday night brought a truce on the phone between DH and I. We realize that we are both at our wits end. Our best conversations are always on the phone. In some weird way, they are more intimate. Afterwards, I made the dumb mommy move of taking two hungry kids to SuperTarget to get much needed groceries and a pair of shoes because DS lost his old ones. DD was screaming and shoeless by the time we were done (20 degrees outside).

Wednesday DD woke up with eye crust down to her chin. Pink eye? Again? Oh God no. It took us a month to rid ourselves of this crap in December. That night, I chose to not take DS to karate at the community center. Last time the jackass of a teacher gave 17 out of 20 kids a ribbon for performing "star block" in front of everyone and their parents. DS tried it twice but was admonished to practice more. My son was devastated. I restrained myself from telling this loser what I thought about him. (Mental image: portly middle aged man with a "skullet", i.e. bald with a mullet). Whatever. I consoled myself with girl scout cookies and the National Enquirer.

Today, Thursday, I woke up with a pounding migrane. I''ve been getting these more often. DH is 35 today. He is interviewing at Yale. Currently, I''m reviewing a file for an upcoming Sexually dangerous person, pscyopathic personality commitment proceeding next week. It makes for uplifting reading. I''m happy because my weekend begins soon. My house is dirtier than a fraternity house right now and its driving me nuts.

Tomorrow I''m taking my own advice. I''ve had a party dress sitting in the back of my closet for a couple of months now, like some sad tribute to Ms. Haversham. I''m getting a sitter and going to DS''s school fundraiser party by myself where I''ll probably pour champagne and H''ordeorves (sp?) down my throat in consolation. Interestingly, I have found that driving around town listening to country music can be classified as "not helpful". (Cue: Willie Nelson: "Maybe I never told you, I''m so happy that you''re mine, but you were always on my mind...." To review, country music=NOT HELPFUL!

So now that this blog has turned into a 24/7 pity party with drinks being served, I think that it is appropriate to cut to Prison scene in Bridget Jone''s diary II. This is where all the girls are all talking about how their boyfriends drugged them or beat them and Bridget is like, "yeah that" when her real reason is that Mark didn''t stand up for her. Yes, I complain waaaaaaaaaayyyy to much about a pretty good life. My husband loves me fiercely and we''ve got the two greatest kids on the face of the planet. Things are what they are right now. I''m in or I''m out but I have to quit harping how bad it is. It is only making me and DH miserable and pushing us apart. I have to redraw the lines of expectations and expect nothing from him at all for awhile. Kicking and screaming all the way is not the same as being on board. This family is my life and somehow I''ve got to make this work. Six more weeks until interviews are over. I''ve alluded to this elsewhere, but I really am over the issue of where we match. I just want it to be over. I want some semblance of normality to return with him not working as many hours as possible when he is not flying about the country.

I''ll drink to that.