Hi! I’m Nikki. Sometimes I say inappropriate things…

It’s what I do, apparently!

Last night, I was subbing for a friend’s Bunco group, and I was in the company of pretty much strangers.  I’d played Bunco with a few of them before, but, mostly strangers. 

The hostess’s husband was hanging around for just a bit, before hightailing it out of the bitch-fest (an utter bitch-fest, complete with two gay dudes). 

A few of us were chatting on the back porch, over a smoke, and I commented on the dude’s perfectly manicured lawn. 

He mentioned that it’s an obsession of his, and that we’ve all got ‘em and the lawn is his. 

That comment led to him posing the question, “So, what are y’all’s obsessions?” 

There was awkward silence.

I hate awkward silences, and usually try to fill it, and apparently, will even fill it with wildly inappropriate things, just for the sake of filling it.

I answered, “Porn,” and sipped my cocktail, and took a drag off of my fag.

Everyone laughed, which was the reaction I was going for, and expected, and when that settled, he pursued, “So, what kind of porn do you watch?  What are your favorite websites?”

*Wow…he got me.  I did not expect this!*

At this point, I’ve made myself uncomfortable.  I opened up a can with this guy, who doesn’t know me from Adam, and now I’m stuck.  Now, I realize why I apply social filters to my mouthy ass, when I’m around strangers.  This is why.  To prevent this kind of situation. 

Lesson learned!

I sidestepped, “Uh …ummm…porn’s porn, right?  I was….” 

Backed into a corner (by my own doing) and not really wanting to discuss porn with some strange dude, I did the only thing I knew to do.  I offered my hand, and said, “Hi!  We haven’t met.  I’m Nikki.  And sometimes I say inappropriate shit, just for the hell of it.” 

Movin' on...

I know it's soon, but, my gut told me pretty quick that Tucker wouldn't be coming back...and, after a few weeks, I'm thinking my gut was probably right.

At first, when Jake and the kids started talking about another pup, I couldn't even go there with them. I wanted Tucker, not any ole pup.

Now, I'm starting to visualize finding a Tucker replacement. Yes, that what this pup will be, a Tucker replacement. And I'm sure I will do psychological damage to him, by constantly reminding him that, "Tucker never did that," when the little shit pisses on the tile. Or, "Tucker wouldn't have done that," if the thing chews shit up.

I've been looking online, and the dreaded Craigslist, where, by the way, I'm convinced there are people who are actually half-dog, who post on that site...because I have never in my life seen people get more offended, than if you try to rehome your pet.

We gave a dog away rehomed a dog once, and put ads on Craigslist, because this dog we had pissed and shat in her bed, then ate it, refused to piss outside, and howled like a banshee all through the night wasn't a good fit for our family, and a lady messaged me, and told me that my mother should've aborted me. Her name was "dog dame."

Anyway, bouncing around on that site, I came across post after post for missing weiner dogs. Like 90% of the missing pup posts, were for weiner dogs. Or, so it seemed. I got to thinking, that maybe the breed is a known flight risk, and that I should get a breed that is known more for being...say, lazy, homebody-ish, unmotivated.

Is there a breed like that? Not small and yippy...not large and loping...just a small to medium sized dog that will just stay put.

Especially stay put after I nurse his sorry ass back to health from being hit by a truck, and buy him a ridiculous amount of narcotics, at a ridiculous price, so his broken ass will be as comfortable as possible while he recovers. And, one that, if I carry his ass to pee and poo for four weeks, will be contractually bound to stick around??

Is there a breed like that?

Any advice or ideas?

Give a nurse a break…

As a soon-to-be nurse, I am already feeling myself becoming more sensitive to trash talk about incompetent doctors and nurses.  I understand that there are plenty of actual incompetent doctors and nurses, in the field, but, it seems to me, that people’s expectations for professionals of the medical field are a little off.  A bit much. 

So many look to doctors to fix them.  To heal them.  To make all their troubles go away.  We expect 100% perfection out of a profession, that is run almost exclusively on human power.  No computers to program to ensure consistency.  Even if computers are now used to dispense medications and such, there is still a human prescribing it, and administering it.  Plenty of room for error!

Humans fuck up.  They just do. 

The more time you spend in a hospital, the more you realize how common medical mistakes can be. 

In Joey’s short life, there were a few major mistakes made with his care. 

I noticed on ultrasound that Joey’s herniated bowel looked different than it had the week before.  The doc said it was nothing, in spite of my arguing.  Turns out, it was something, it was the bowel twisted on itself, and beginning to die.  I can’t help but wonder if it would’ve been different, had the doctor realized what I was seeing. 

In the grand scheme of things…it’s moot.  Mistakes happen…something was missed that may/may not have made a difference.

When he was three months old he was scheduled for a routine central line change.  The night before, when the nurse hung his TPN and lipids (his IV feedings), she mistakenly hung a paralytic anesthetic that is often used in the OR, to put patients to sleep.  The surgeon found the mistake the next morning when he saw us in pre-op. 

A mistake that could’ve killed my son at three months old, but didn’t.  Mistakes happen.

Then, when he was nine months old, just after transplant, he was in for another central line change.  One of the very well respected, transplant surgeons,(actually, the head of the department) did the procedure.  She nicked his lung, placing the line, and his lung collapsed.  It wasn’t evident until he was out of surgery.  To make matters worse, his body kind of freaked out, and went into DIC…which i don’t completely understand, but, he basically lost the ability to clot.  After surgery, transplant, and a collapsed lung, the ability to clot is pretty imperative. 

He bled out of of every single opening in his body.  Every wound he had, every healing scar, was oozing blood.  The site of the recent chest tube placement, to save his collapsed lung, was pouring blood.  The ICU nurse enlisted me to help put pressure on the bleeding sites, to try to get a few more hands to help.  They couldn’t work fast enough that night, no matter how hard they tried.  She was pushing huge syringes of blood into his body as fast as she could to keep his count up.  They encouraged me to call Jake, to let him know that his boy was dying. 

All of this stemming from a tiny mistake in the OR. 

In the grand scheme of things…it’s moot.  Mistakes happen, and he died two months later, rather than that day.  For which, I am thankful. 

Anyway…

I think what bugs me most, is that when some people (not all) do get that healing that they were expecting the medical profession to deliver them, they, then, give all the credit to God.  They sings his praises, and claim that the doctors and nurses were mere pawns in his game.

Which is cool…that’s  a mighty fine perspective, but, in the same breath, please don’t badmouth those same “pawns in his game” for a mistake that they might’ve made, or a diagnoses they might’ve missed. 

I know I’ve got a long way to go with this, and I’m sure my thoughts and feelings on the subject will evolve, once I’m a member of the team, and see things from the inside, looking out, but for now, I say…give a nurse a break. 

I’m sure I’ll need it!!

Things are gonna change…

I can feel it. 

With nursing school quickly approaching, there have been some changes going on in me.  I can feel perspectives shifting, and it’s kinda hitting me that I’m about to grow up and get a job.  No, a career! 

I’ve been able to keep this totally public blog, attached to my totally full name for a couple of years, without any concern that some pissed off asshole at work will use something I say against me, and have my ass canned. 

The cool thing about being a SAHM, you can’t really be fired from your position.  I mean…I guess I could.  I could be like the idiot in Florida, and post pics of my baby with a frickin’ bong, but…yeah…I’m not that dumb!! 

Anyway…I don’t know what to do. 

I think it’s going to be hard for me to leave my adventures as a Student Nurse completely off of this blog.  And then, of course, there are those pesky HIPAA laws that I will have to abide by. 

I guess I could always anonymize, and go from there.  Or, start a whole new blog.  Or, privatize this one. 

Ugh…I don’t know what to do. 

Is it possible for me to be a Student Nurse by day, a foul-fingered blogger by night, and never the twain shall meet? 

I just can’t see that happening.  Because I know that if I work a shift in the ER, and some drunk mother-fucker comes in with a flashlight stuck up his bum, and spins a tale about an unfortunate misstep in the shower, when I know good and well, he was just trying to get his jollies, and got himself into a pickle…I’m gonna wanna tell it!! 

**For the record…this story may, or may not be true.  It was a little tale I heard from a former classmate, who was an EMT!!**

What is a blogger to do?

Missing...

This time, I'm not talking about the dog, who, by the way, is still missing. I'm in the anger phase now. Pissed at the little shit for getting out and running away. Was he not happy here? Did we not give him all that he needed? Food every time he even looked at his bowl, water, narcotics when he was hit by a truck! Walks, cuddles when he wanted them, he even slept in our beds!!! We shared our beds with that little fucker, and it still wasn't good enough!

Anyway...

While we were in South Texas for the blog party, we decided to spend Sunday at Schlitterbahn. I've lived here my whole life, and have always wanted to go. And it was a blast...totally worth the wait. Well, I don't know if it was worth 30 some odd years of a wait...but, it was worth some wait!

Usually, when we go to a crowded place, I give the kids a rundown of the rules, and what to do if we're separated. For some reason, I didn't do it this time...maybe I assumed they would remember my warnings from the past.

Halfway into the day, we were having a blast. The tube chutes were so much fun, and the kids were loving it, and were old enough and good enough swimmers, that I didn't worry about them getting knocked off of their tubes, like I would've if they were younger.

We were trying to find a particular chute, and we were trekking through the hot pavement of the park, and we changed directions pretty quickly. Jack wasn't paying attention, and we were completely unaware, that he kept walking, when we didn't.

A couple of minutes passed, and we noticed that Jack wasn't with us. It was a July weekend at probably the most popular waterpark in Texas. It was packed!!

We told Lily and Avery to sit down in one spot, and to stay there, while Jake and I circled the area looking for him. We told them to watch for their brother, catch him if they saw him, and hold onto him, that we'd be back.

He's like a frickin' wild animal, that child!!!

Jake and I were circling, to no avail. Minutes were passing, and with each one that did, I could feel my heart quicken. After about ten minutes, which seemed like ten hours, I started to lose my shit a little bit. I was nauseous, my heart was pounding, the thoughts that were going through my head were awful!

Fifteen minutes in, I was in full on panic mode. My shit was officially lost, and was asking strangers if they'd seen a little boy. My little boy among thousands of other people's little boys.

Just as I was at the breaking point, and I was about to morph into the mother that you see on the news, with makeup all over her face, not able to stand on her own, crumbling in her husband's arms, screaming and pleading for someone to, "FIIIIND MY BAAAAAAABYYYYYYYY," I looked back to Ave and Lily, and there they sat with their brother.

The little shit was fine.

That surge of emotion, that, had my boy not been standing there, would've come out in a wave of desperate tears, instead, dumped on my boy, in a fit of anger.

Jake, who had made his way back to the checkpoint, too, said, "See, here is he is, Mom...he's fine. You okay?"

My eyes slanted, my teeth clenched, and my head all but spun around, as I said, "NO...NO...NO...I'M NOT FINE!!! JACK, I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE. I THOUGHT I WAS NEVER GONNA SEE YOU AGAIN. NOW, I'M NOT HAVING FUN. IF ANY OF YOU KIDS, WANT TO MAKE SURE YOU MOM DOESN'T HAVE FUN...GET LOST. THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO DO TO RUIN THE FUN!"

As I type it out now, I realize it was mean, and irrational. Which, was exactly how I was feeling. At that moment, there was nothing rational happening in my body. I was FUH-REAKING OUT!!!

I calmed down a bit, but didn't speak to anyone for the next hour. I decided after my irrational tirade, that it was best if I kept my big mouth shut, for a while!

Later, when my body's systems were purged of the adrenaline that had been coursing through it, I pulled Jack aside. I said, "Do you think I'm mad at you?"

He said, "Yes," with his head hung down, eyes averted from mine.

I explained, "I'm not buddy. I was scared. I was worried. Moms don't like it when we can't find our kids. It scares us really, really bad. I love you so much, and I was so worried that I wouldn't find you. It would break my heart if something happened to you. I'm sorry that I yelled at you. I shouldn't have done that. We cool?"

He answered, "Yeah...but, if you feel so bad, maybe you should buy me an ice cream."

I said, "Sorry, dude...nice try," and I gave him a hug, and we went on about our day, resuming the fun that we were having before the incident.

Something so rare…

Last night, as I was working on some pictures, Jack came to me, and asked to sit in my lap.  Thrown off by the question, a question I hadn’t heard in AGES from one of my children, I obliged. 

He hopped in my lap, nuzzled his nose into my neck, and wrapped his arms around me tightly. 

I was instantly taken back to his younger days.  Days when that curly headed toddler would wobble up to me, sippy cup in one hand, blankie in the other, climb in my lap, and just settle into me.  Those are the moments from their childhoods, that I’ll never forget. 

It was such a welcomed bit of nostalgia. 

For, lately, there are too many creeks to explore, trees to climb, things with wheels to ride, friends to play with, video games to beat, and movies to watch, for him to have time to sit with his mom like this. 

The best part…well, the second best part…he had just gotten out of the shower!  So, he was clean…another rarity these days!!

There we sat. 

I slowly began to rock, and soaked up as much of my baby boy as I could, for as long as he’d sit with me. 

After a little while, (could’ve been minutes, or hours, for all I know, I was lost in it!), he lifted his head, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Mom?“ 

“Yeah, buddy,” I replied, readying myself for something insightful and sweet from my youngest boy.

“You smell old!”

Thanks, son…you smell like feet, if I’m being honest!!

Hooters and the house of God…

The other night, we were hanging with a fried who was recently divorced, and had a bit of a nasty custody battle.  I think it's safe to say that most custody battles are pretty nasty...just a guess.

We were chatting, and he was recounting a story when his angry ex-wife called CPS on him, and he had to deal with that shit.

He said that when the worker was questioning him, she asked these two questions, that I find deeply, deeply disturbing...

"Do you take your children to eat at Hooter's, and do you think that's appropriate?"

Which, I find ruh-diculous, but, not near as ruh-diculous as the next question she asked...

"Do you take your children to church on Sundays?"

Really? 

I thought my friend was making this shit up, because I cannot fathom this question really being asked by a social worker, employed by a government agency, in the interest of the protection of children from abuse and neglect.

On the issue of Hooters…can someone please explain to me how taking your child to a restaurant where scantily clad, big breasted women serve you chicken bits...is considered abuse?!?

God made boobs, no?  He placed them right underneath a woman's face, yes?  They were created, to be noticed, am I right?  Well, and they were created to feed babies, but, men diggin’ them the most was a kind of side-effect of that.  Maybe an accidental, or unintentional side effect, but a side effect, nonetheless! 

I digress…

Hooters is simply showcasing God's handiwork, if you ask me.  The place is like an art gallery, for titties.  I bet Jesus himself would eat at Hooters, and before he ate his hot wings, I bet he would pray...

”Dad is great, Dad is good, let us thank him for the boobs...AMEN!”

On the church thing…LAWDY, LAWDY, I don’t know if I even want to get started.  How it is any interest of the city, state, government, or Fire Marshall Bill, hell...GOD HIMSELF, whether mine, or my children’s asses are in a pew come Sunday? 

Alright, I'll give it to you, God may have some interest in that one…but, Child Protective Services?  WTF?!? 

I know that by deciding to not raise our children in church, we are choosing to accept the consequences of that decision.  Like, our children being ridiculed, or teased, or damned to hell on a daily basis.  Those are consequences that I expect, from our decision.  But, something that I am not prepared to face, nor, will I ever be, is arguing with the state on whether or not my decision to sleep in on Sundays, can be considered abuse, and may be used against me in a court of law!!!

I guess it’s not really anything I have to worry with, because I can’t really see Jake, 1) fighting me for custody of our children….or vice versa!!  It’ll be more like, “Nah, you can have ‘em.  Really.  No…you take them.  No fucker, I nursed them round the clock and changed all those diapers…you’re taking them, and THAT’S FINAL!”  And then, I would tell the judge that I’m a prostitute!!  2) using it against me that my kids aren’t in church.  I’m agnostic.  He’s an atheist.  If anyone’s gong to hell, it’s him!!  At least I believe in some kinda God!!

I't’s just another reason that I’m not getting divorced! 

Because if I had to deal with that kind of questioning by the state…me not taking my kids to church would be a non-issue.  The bigger issue in the case against my fitness as a parent would be the fact that I murdered a social worker with her own clipboard!!

Potty humor...

That Jack...the shit that kid says is funny!

Today, he was coming home from his Nan's house, and when the boys walked in the door, Jack, obviously uncomfortable, and walking a little funny, said, "Oh man, I really gotta hurry," and he headed for our bathroom.

The one that I prefer they don't use, because I don't really care for their precious little piss all over the walls of my bathroom. If they wanna piss on the walls of their own bathroom...fine. Whatev. But, I don't like them weilding their urine filled, super soakers, in my bathroom!!

Jake followed him into our room, and said, "What are you doing?"

Feigning an English accent, Jack replied, "I'm off to empty muh cham-buh!"

No doubt confused by the accent, and this new euphemism, Jake asked, "Your chamber?"

"Yeah...muh cham-buh...I gotta empty it." Flipping back to his regular Jack accent, he explained, "You know. I gotta poop."

Proud to be an American…

I don’t consider myself very patriotic, but, today, I felt moreso, than ever!

A kid from our town was killed in Afghanistan.  A kid!!  He was only 19.  I think he’d been out of high school for a year, and was serving his first tour overseas, as a medic. 

Not anymore. 

He’s dead. 

Jake and I were having lunch on the main street of our little town, and flags lined the streets, and crowds were gathered along them. 

We asked a woman what was going on, and she told us, about this fallen soldier.  His body was being flown back from the Middle East, and was being driven from the airport in our town, to the funeral home in the neighboring town.  There was a large processional, and the locals came out in droves, to line the streets, wave these flags, and salute this soldier, who died for our country. 

This kid, who died for our country. 

The processional was about two miles long.  Fire trucks and police officers from every town nearby led the way, and motorbike gangs, from the “Killed in Action” groups, and Patriot Guard Riders, were there to escort their comrade.     

It was incredible. 

I can’t think of another time, that I’ve ever felt anywhere close to that amount of pride in my country. 

Or, in my small town.

And, especially, in a boy, whose body was now in a coffin, covered by our flag. 

It was solemnly beautiful. 

URL to IRL…

Over the past two years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting some of my URL friends IRL. 

Last fall, I met my long time URL friend, Tina, and took pictures of her gorgeous grand-girls!

This January, I met my blog friend, Allie, when we discovered that we actually live right around the corner (literally, around the corner) from each other, and we started playing Bunco together. 

And this past weekend, the family and I travelled to Victoria, to meet a few more of my bloggy friends.  I met Robin, Shannon, and Keely, and hung out with their families for the afternoon. 

It’s always kind of odd for me at first, to meet online friends.  Because, the way I am on my blog, is my unfiltered self.  It’s how I am around Jake and my very close friends. 

When I meet someone new, I’m kind of reserved, and I have all kinds of filters applied to myself.  Like, my fuck filter and my Jesus filter, for example.  Those two filters are only removed for a handful of people, and my blog. 

So, these online friends have been reading me, without my filters.  But, when I meet them in person, the filters are firmly in place.  I don’t know, it’s just kind of weird, at first, because I feel like I’m meeting them for the first time, but, really, I’m not.  Physically, they are strangers, but, really, I know them, and they know me. 

I’m confused. 

Luckily, after a few minutes of chatting, the awkwardarity (I used this non-word the other day, and I liked it!) faded, and we had a great time!  I hope to do it again soon!

Dog gone…

We left Saturday for the Texas blog party in South Texas, and came back Sunday night. 

The whole family ended up coming with me, rather than me travelling alone.  We were only going to be gone for over 24 hours, and the weather has been decent lately, so we decided to leave the dog in the backyard with his bed, and lots of food and water.  Lucky for us, Tucker self feeds very well.

When we got home last night, he was gone. 

He dug out of the yard, and is no where in sight. 

He’s done this before, and usually just hangs around the house, until we get home.  Not this time.

I’m ridiculously depressed about it and fear the worst.  He has a nice collar with his name and our phone number on a tag, and he is chipped.  If someone found him, they would’ve called by now. 

That leaves me to think that he was hit (again) and is dead, or, someone found him, and has no intention of returning him to us, and is keeping him as their own. 

Ugh…I’m pissed at myself for leaving him. 

And I’m sad.

So are the kids. 

I just found a note in Jack’s room that said, “I love you, Tucker.”  He’s been the most upset, since I told them. 

Road Trippin...

We're heading out, and we don't know exactly where we'll end up.

We'll def stop in Austin. Maybe for a Mexican Martini at Trudy's, or a little slice of heaven at Gordough's. Lily wants to see the capital. Hopefully lunch with some friends.

We're def stopping in Victoria, for a lil ole blog party. Gonna meet Robin, who just might actually be a distant cousin of mine, and I couldn't BE more excited about it!!!

Then, we'll either tube the Comal, or spend the day at Schlitterbahn, on Sunday. I mean, something fun...we just don't know yet!

It's a rolling with the flowing, flying by the seats of our britches, laid back road trip...and I'm stoked!

Y'all have a great weekend!

Children of the corn…

 

She’s having a baby…

My best friend from high school, D, is having her first baby…pretty much any day now. 

 
I couldn’t be happier for her.  She’s going to make an amazing mother.  The baby girl in this baby bump…

has no idea how lucky she is.  Because her mom is probably the most honest, loyal, laid back, organized, determined, and fun-lovingest person I know!

 
Her dad’s not so bad, himself.  He and D make a great team, and I’m pretty confident that they’ll raise up an amazing little girl!

 

I love you, D!  And I CAN’T WAIT to see this little person that you made!!

Biblioteca…

I’ve been purchasing textbooks for the fall, and they’re beginning to pile up.  Like…WAY HIGH!

 
These are the books for just the FIRST SEMESTER of school, and this isn’t even all of them!!  How the hell am I supposed to carry these textbooks around??

Have you ever…

woken up with a Mexican wrestler named “Diablo” in your bed? 

 
I have!!

A snorkeler…

I am not!!!

I’m claustrophobic.  Snorkeling masks, can be a bit, confining.

I have a fear of open water.  Lakes.  Oceans.  Notsomuch of my inflatable hot tub, though!  But, snorkeling usually takes place in open water.

I have a fear/INSANE dislike of my feet touching oogy shit on the bottom of lakes and oceans.  In that oogy shit, is where all the fish hide, that are cool to look at, while snorkeling!

It was a recipe for disaster, but, all the other snorkelers on the beach looked like they were having a great time.  I thought, that maybe, it would be fun to see exactly what was lurking under that beautiful water. 

So, we masked up…

 
Taking this picture, was the best part of my snorkeling adventure…BY FAR!!! 

We headed out into the ocean, and I had to leave the nice soft sandy bottom of the ocean, for the oogy shit, where the fish lurk. 

Naturally, with the oogy shit underneath me, I started treading water, because there was NO WAY IN HELL, I was going to put my feet down.  There might be a barracuda, or an anenome, or an urchin or something.  Or, it might just be oogy!! 

I was treading out there, trying to breathe out of my mouth, but failing, and my hot nasal exhales began to fog up my mask.  So, without putting my feet down, I tried to take my mask off, clear it, and put it back on. 

That wasn’t happening.  I was getting the salt water in my eyes, the mask was caught in my hair, and ripping it out.  I still couldn’t see out of the damned thing…all the while, I was still too afraid to put my feet down, so that I could situate my mask. 

Alas, I had no other choice, but to reach my feet down to the bottom, and my feet landed into a pile of oogy ocean shit.  It was at this moment, that I had, what I assume, was a mini panic attack.

I started hyperventilating.  Still needlessly trying to tread, in water that was only four and half feet deep.  My mask was half on, half off. It was still stuck in my hair.  My snorkel was all twisted and sticking straight up in the air.  I did the only thing I could think to do…I called out to my husband for help!

Bobbing in the ocean, in no real danger of anything, really, I yelled, “Baby?!?  Help!  I’m scared!!”

Frustrated that I was keeping him from enjoying the sea life beneath him, Jake dragged my paranoid ass back to the safety of the sandy bottom of the ocean. 

Other snorkelers were watching us, no doubt thinking that something serious was happening…when really…I was just being a big old spazz!!

Jake tried to talk me through it, but, that was the end of my snorkeling adventure.  Only ten minutes after I had began, I quit. 

I stumbled up onto the beach, tired, a bit embarrassed, my snorkel and mask hanging loosely in my hand, with a hunk of my hair hanging off of it…defeated. 

A snorkeler, I AM NOT!!!