The Day We Aced a Pregnancy Test

"Honey," yelled Bridget with a strange, high-pitched shake in her voice that I'd never heard. "Come here! Quick!"

Let me pause for a moment here. As a student of writing, I’ve been told several times that it's a cardinal sin to start an article (or even a blog post) with a quote. There’s no context and it leaves the reader guessing -- a big no-no. One former sports editor put it this way: "Unless Jesus Christ played centerfield, I don’t want to see a quote at the top of your story." One of my favorite professors in grad school: "You can start a piece of writing with a quote only three times in your life, so make them count."

I think he'd be fine with this being one of those times.

I ran toward the bathroom where Bridget waited with a white stick in her hand. Her other hand was over her mouth. It was shaking visibly. "Honey," she said, now in a hushed tone. "Look."  Sure enough, there were two tiny pink lines. Pregnant. Boom. We hugged, she cried (fine, we both did), and we looked at the two pink lines a dozen more times in the next two minutes.

We then started a game of asking "Are you okay? How do you feel?" back and forth. We really couldn’t think of anything else to do. What else do you do when you're that happy?

"Well," I said, "we should still go grocery shopping. We’ll need food."

We walked the short distance from our house and found ourselves at the Star Market around the corner. Together, we wandered aimlessly for several minutes. I picked up some cottage cheese and I hate cottage cheese. She stared at different brands of pretzels for 15 minutes. I got physically lost in the frozen food aisle. It was so real, so scary, and so exciting. Our lives had changed forever within 15 minutes.

Truth be told, we hadn’t been trying for very long. (And we realize how lucky this makes us.) As our friends and family know, we decided to live without much care for six months. We went to Ireland, France, San Francisco, and Mexico. We drank good wine and spent more than a few Saturday afternoons bellying up to our favorite bar (Cambridge, 1) in Harvard Square. We talked about having kids during those six months (we both knew we really wanted them), but like most things that don’t happen tomorrow, the reality seemed far away. We decided winter would be a good time to start.

November came and went, though. We had a glimmer of hope for a moment, but it wasn’t meant to be.

And then halfway through December, the 16th to be exact, those two fateful lines appeared. After the grocery store, we were off to run a 5K in Somerville, a holiday race we’d registered for months before. I don’t remember anything about the actual running of the race, but know that I felt no pain and ran faster than I had in a decade. I'm not sure my feet ever touched the pavement because I was running on air. I crossed the line in 21:31, a 6:56 pace, which, for me, is pretty damn good.

We followed that with brunch with friends. Between bites, we looked incredulously at each other. The look continued for the rest of the day, as we made our way to the New England Patriots game with our friend, Walter. We sat for hours in a misting rain, as we watched what was almost one of the greatest comebacks in regular season history. I cheered loudly, but it was mostly for our news and not the players. When we finally got home that day -- a very, very long day -- and went to bed at 2 in the morning.

"Is it real?" I asked.

"I think so," she said. "I really hope so."

"Me, too."

Pom Poms and Microscopes

There are many things I love about my wife. I love her personality. I love her face. I love her mind. Frankly, there's a lot to love.

And I especially love that she's my biggest cheerleader. 

I don't mean that in the self-centered way you might be taking it. (It's not like I need someone watching my life and constantly telling me I'm doing a good job ... he said, hoping someone likes this blog post.) I mean it in the sense that she's always there for me, which is incredibly comforting. When I fail -- when I come home with my tail between my legs after a basketball game or after a day of work when I just didn't perform well -- she's there with a huge smile on her face and open arms. 

And really, it's a two-way street. I can't think of many things my wife does the wrong way. She's very smart, very pretty, and a very good cook -- at times. She looks great in those silly skinny jeans everyone wears and reads an iPad like no one's business. I support her in everything that she does. Sounds like we belong on a wholesome, 50s sitcom, doesn't it? Like cheesy messenger bag guy and blondie up there, right?  

Here's the thing, though. I think one of the secrets to a happy -- and long-lasting -- relationship is knowing when to put away the pom poms and bring out the microscope. 

Have salad dressing all over your face? Your partner should point it out. Are you being a jerk to your buddy? Your partner should tell you. Should you completely overhaul the presentation for work because it's boring and tedious? Yep, you guessed it. It's your partner's job to let you know.

Now, this is a delicate balance. There are times when you need to bite your tongue and times when you need to just shut up. (I've learned both these things already.) But this balance, I think, is an important step in creating a happy marriage full of trust and love.

So the next time you're sharing an opinion about your beloved one, stop and think for a second: Should I go with the pom poms or the microscope?

The Science of Bridget Bombs

They lurk, quietly, around corners. They often show up in the kitchen, the bedroom, and the family room. And they show up night or day -- they can appear right when we wake up or, much to my delight, after three hours of shoveling.

They are -- drumroll, please -- Bridget Bombs.

What's a Bridget Bomb? Webster's Dictionary defines it as "a discarded collection of items owned by Bridget Kylah Briddon that is strewn about within a living space." In other words, bombs consist of wrappers, single slippers, dirty dishes, unmade beds, and anything else you can probably imagine. (A recent one is pictured above.) They are not so much fun -- for me, anyway.

Now, if you know me and Bridget, you know we're not all that similar sometimes. For example, on your average Sunday morning, I'll get up, go to the gym, take Oscar to Fresh Pond, and go grocery shopping before 10:30 AM. Bridget, on the other hand, prefers rolling over (sometimes twice!) and finding the cool side of the pillow.

Another example: When she cooks, Bridget uses as many pots and pans as possible, and makes sure to use the stickiest substances in each of them. When I cook, I attempt to clean the pots when they are still on the burner. (I sound fun, don't I?)

To put it simply: I'm the neat one. Bridget is the "creative" one.

So, these Bridget Bombs, you might imagine, are a huge, divisive issue. The thing is, though, they really aren't. And it's because of humor. As a married couple, there are many things we see differently, but they don't seem so bad when we add an element of humor to them.

In the early days of our marriage -- the first couple months, which many people say are the toughest -- we hadn't figured out this little trick. Instead, I'd come upon a Bridget Bomb and say, "Hey, can you clean this up? I'd rather not live in filth." Not surprisingly, this didn't go over so well. Now, I go around and make little explosion noises, which makes us both laugh a little. It diffuses the situation for both of us and, to be honest, I really don't know who ends up cleaning the bombs. It really doesn't matter.

Is humor the answer in every situation? Of course not. But sometimes a little alliterative name for an annoying habit can mean the difference between an argument and a smile.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I see a small explosion on the table behind me ...

Debt Free in 2013

Last weekend, Mike and I went out to dinner to celebrate a momentous occasion. Tucking into a plate of tater tots at Cambridge Common, we smiled goofily at each other, utterly giddy at what we'd just accomplished. You see, we had just reached a major life milestone shared by many people of our generation.

What could it be you ask? Did one of us get a big promotion? Did we buy a home? Did we hit the lotto?!? No, friends. It was better.

We paid off all of our student loan debt.

I know, I know. Not really that sexy. But work with me here. Mike and I will never have to write another check send another electronic payment to chip away at the debt we acquired getting the degrees that are now 10+ years old. We no longer have to pay thousands of dollars of interest to a bank. WE. ARE. FREE.

How did we get here? It started, as most things in our life do, with me getting a little obsessed. You see, after an expensive 2012 (our wedding, other peoples' weddings, vacations, kitchen island, not sticking to christmas gift limits, etc.) I started to take stock of our financial health. With no big expenditures on the horizon, what was the best thing to do with the little bit of extra money we had in our accounts at each month's end? Sock it away in an emergency fund? Save or invest it so we could buy a place? Contribute more towards our 401ks? Open up Roth IRAs? Start a college fund for our future children? Go on another vacation? Buy even more Apple products? Up Oscar's treat budget? The options were overwhelming.

My first thought was to see a financial panther planner. And we still may at some point. But I felt like I needed to get a hold on our basic financial strategy before I went to see someone who will likely just want me to invest my money. So I did a lot of Googling. And looked at savings interest rates. And retirement calculators. And home prices in our area (which was painful to say the least). And college costs in 2033 (perhaps even more painful). But none of that gave me any direction of what to do when. Then I went to brunch with a friend who mentioned she was attending a financial planning class based on Dave Ramsey's philosophy about paying off debt. And I was intrigued. So, I ran home from brunch, downloaded his book on my Kindle, and read it straight through.

You see, while I don't think Dave and I would get along personally (socially I suspect he leans further to the right than I'm generally comfortable with), we do have a shared hatred of debt. And paying interest. So his philosophy really appealed to me. You can read about his 7 Baby Steps here.

He outlines a clear plan to what he calls "Financial Freedom." Doesn't that have a nice ring to it? His path to this financial freedom can be a bit extreme, so I can't say we are following his plan to the letter. BUT, we did take one big step which put us in position to make the big student loan payoff. We sold Mike's car. And we took that money, and some savings, and we made the last payments on our loans. We decided to prioritize paying off debt over everything else. And I gotta say, it feels good.

Next step for us is paying off my car, which we are hoping to do in the next 6 months. Turns out you have a lot more money when you aren't making two student loan payments each month! Then, once we are completely debt free (in 2013!) we'll start our emergency fund and then start saving for our own little house or condo (Well, maybe. But that is a debate for another blog post. Is buying a house worth it anymore?)

It feels really good to be digging our way out of debt. And it feels even better to have a clear plan. So while 2013 won't be as exciting as our 2012, I think it will set us up for a better future. So here's hoping the sacrifice is worth it. I think it will be.

I Sold My Car Today

For the first time since I was 16, I am officially carless. There's not a single piece of heavy machinery registered under the name "Michael Briddon" in the state of Massachusetts. No, sir. No ride. No wheels. No whip.

I sold my Nissan today at 10:30 AM as part of our new plan, hatched by my beautiful wife, to pay off all of our debt in 2013. This chunky transaction is going to help me annihilate the rest of my college and graduate school loans. In a word: Boom. In four words: Take that, higher education.

What's amazing is how fast it all happened. On Tuesday, Bridget suggested a creative, aggressive financial plan she'll be discussing in an upcoming post. On Wednesday, we had a family meeting. On Thursday, I agreed.

And just like that, we committed to becoming a one-car family.

We opted to go to CarMax, which I highly recommend if you are looking to get rid of your vehicle. It took exactly 74 minutes from the moment we walked in the door to the moment we walked out with a check in hand. We met with a nice guy named Rob, someone drove my car for two miles, and we left with 500 dollars more than I expected. (They even returned the Explosions in the Sky CD I'd left in the player.) It was that easy.

As we drove away in Bridget's, er, our, car, I expected to feel a moment of panic. Didn't I just give up my freedom? What if I wanted to drive across the country next weekend? What if we got a huge fight about turning the cable off and the only escape was the open road? None of those thoughts, though, gave me pause. Instead, I was excited about paying off my loans and taking another giant leap toward a better financial future.

Plus, there were these reasons:

• We live in Cambridge and every mode of public transportation is minutes away on foot. 
• I was really sick of moving my car for street cleaning. (I'll never forget the day I came home and panicked because I thought our cars were stolen. Two hundred forty bucks later, I had them both back. It wasn't the best night of my life.)
• I don't have to pay an excise tax anymore. I don't really know what it is anyway. Do you? I mean, sure, I could Google it in a few seconds, but I'd rather just be ignorant on this one. Stupid excise tax. 

Are there risks with having only one car? Sure. It could break down. We could get in an accident. We could both want it some Saturday afternoon. But I think the benefits far outweigh the detriments and it's the right decision in the long run.

Just don't tell 16-year-old Mike. He'd think it was a dumb idea. 

The Art of Daily Communication

I was sitting at my desk at 11:45 AM this past Thursday. By all measures, it had been a fine and typical morning in the life of an editor. I had just done an interview, had polished up a couple documents, and was about to get ready for an afternoon meeting. Something didn't feel right, though.

Then it hit me: I hadn't heard from Bridget yet.

Now, I know what you're thinking: Ugh. Where's the back button on this damn browser? I don't want to read this sappy prose about how this insufferable couple talks to each other every 10 minutes.

Don't worry; that's not my angle. Well, not completely.

Lately, I'm finding myself fascinated by how couples communicate on a daily basis -- especially at work. Do they text all day? Are they glued to Gchat? Do they call each other once? Twice? Every hour on the hour? Or do they say goodbye in the morning and hello in the evening?

I, like most of you, I'd guess, have seen all of these techniques in action. There's the couple that talks every day for their entire lunch break. (A little too much? Maybe.) There's the couple that seems more like buddies than romantic partners. (Not enough? Maybe.) And there's the couple that seems to have it all together. (They never do, of course, but appearances are powerful things.)

Obviously, there's no secret sauce and no silver bullets. What works for one couple might be a nightmare for another.

Which brings me back to Thursday morning. After my realization, I texted Bridget: "Morning! How was your drive?" She texted back a couple minutes later: "Good, but I hate traffic. I'm really looking forward to seeing you tonight." I'll stop there and spare you the sugar-coated electronic conversation, but that little daily communication is incredibly important to us. It's not always meaningful, but it's a small way to say, "Hey, I'm thinking about you and I want you to know it."

(For the record, we exchanged four text messages during work and three after work when I went to the bar for a bit. I'd say that's pretty average for us.)

I wondered, mostly to myself, if our daily communication would change after we got married last March. We'd always stayed in great touch during the day, which I thought was a pretty great thing. But I wondered if having more security meant we wouldn't feel the need to check in as much. So far, that hasn't happened. It could, of course, but I secretly hope it doesn't.

What about you? How often do you communicate with your partner during the day?

Three Reasons We're Cutting the Cord on Cable

I had one of those life-changing moments on New Year's Day. I sat, quietly, on our new couch and stared at the TV. And stared. And stared. I was engrossed. In what? I have no idea. It was either a Family Guy re-run or the Pillsbury Groupon Zipcar Magnavox Powerade Ed's Tire and Automotive Supply Bowl between Alcorn State and Simmons College. The point is, I didn't care what was on the screen.

The moment, the question, hit me like a bolt of lightning: Mike, what the hell are you doing?

The next six words left my mouth in a hurry: "Hun, let's get rid of cable." The response, to my surprise, was simple and positive: "Okay." Just like that, the plan was in place. We were going to become one of those families without cable.

We'd had quick conversations before, but Bridget's love of everything related to Real Housewives and my love of sports ended the discussions. This time, though, we're for real. And here are the three reasons why our decision will stick in 2013:

1. We waste a lot of time watching TV. Like a lot of people and a lot of couples, we come home from work (especially in the winter) and mindlessly find the remote. We hit power, make dinner, and settle on something we can both endure. (I've written about this before.) What. a. damn. waste. And it's all because it's easier and it's part of our routine. But between eye-opening books, the art of the conversation, the massive connectivity of the Internet,  the joy of writing, and, of course, our iPads, there are so many more valuable things to do. Will we still watch TV? Sure, every once in a while. We're keeping Hulu and Netflix -- and there are several bars and restaurants down the street when Syracuse has a big game -- but we'll most certainly watch a lot less of the idiot box. And I can't help but think it will make us more interesting people.

2. We won't have to deal with Comcast as much. We're keeping our wireless Internet, obviously, because we're not insane. So we won't be able to completely divorce ourselves from the frustrating world of cable companies, but this is certainly going to make things easier. No more, "Sir, for an extra $34.99, you can have Showtime for 11 days and 10 nights" or "Well, yes, but that was the Triple Play Special. If you want Internet and cable this year, it's going to cost $28 more for no specific reason." Or my personal favorite during those hair-pulling phone Comcast calls, "Hmm, let me see if the computer will let me lock in that rate for you. Oh, it's saying no. This system just isn't playing nice today ... Sir? Are you still there? Sir? Sir?"

3. We'll save about $60 a month. Will we be able to retire early because of our cable chop? No. But $60 is $60. That's a quick dinner out, a photo-to-canvas project, or 1/8 of one of Bridget's haircut. (Just kidding.) With the changes in the payroll tax in 2013, we'll make good use of the three extra $20 bills each month.

Our quest for a better, more productive, cable-free life, is just getting underway. I'm sure there will be bumps and hiccups along the way, but we're excited. And nervous.

Has anyone else done the cable chop? We'd love to hear your success -- and horror -- stories.