Good lookin’ out, Mom…

The only thing more inappropriate than reading about a company making an attachment that will turn a child’s gaming system into an interactive sex toy…

Is your mother sending you the link!  Thanks for the heads up, Mom!!  ;)

Gold, Guns, Girls…

Guns…

My boys got a PS3 for their birthdays, and they are wrapped up in those damn shooting games.  Call of Duty, Modern Warfare.  One or the other.  Or both.  Or, are they the same thing?  Whatever it’s called, I don’t like it, really…but, apparently, my vote didn’t count. 

Girls…

You didn’t hear this from me, but, The One Who Knows Everything is now learning a few things about girls.  He has a girlfriend, whose hand he likes to hold on the bus!  Fuck me runnin…I’m gonna be a grandmother before long, aren’t I?!?

Gold…

I got nothing for gold, just the fact that I dig this song, and thought it was a clever title…

An unfinished post...

I found this post in my drafts, and completely forgot to post it.  In fact, as I looked back through my blog posts, I didn't post much about our week in Destin.  We had fun.  So much so, that we're planning to go back next year.  That's the gist of it, really.

Well, that, and this old, unfinished post...

Every evening in Destin, as our family splashed in the pool for the sixth consecutive hour, sunburned, salty, tipsy (at least Jake and I were) and tired from a whole day of soaking up the sun, families would parade by. Dressed in their best. Hair fixed just right. The kids and the husbands of this endless stream of families, wore obvious scowls.  They were likely less than thrilled about having to get gussied up for pictures on the beach.  The moms walked by,with a purpose, leading her family to their misery.  They wielded their cameras, their minds focused on getting that perfect shot of their families on the beach.

I've been that mom. I've been hired by that mom. I know how those pictures turn out.  It ain't pretty!

A short amount of time would pass, and upon their return from the shoot of doom, I could see the frustration in the faces of the mom's as they made their way off the beach with their fighting children and angry husbands.

I won't lie. I thought I need that perfect shot, too.  Every day I'd warn the kids, "Tomorrow.  Tomorrow, we're going to get out of our bathing suits and get a good family pic on the beach.  You guys owe me this.  I made you people, this is the least you could do!"  I even brought my tripod!

Night after night of watching the" pissed off picture taking mom parade", I decided that "perfect shot" just wasn't worth the trouble!  Well, that, and that after so many RedBull's and vodkas by the beach/pool, a girl can get pretty unmotivated.  And drunk!

I decided that relaxed pics were the way to go with my crew.

Here's the "perfect" family shot I got of my family at Destin...

This is the "perfect" shot, of my kids on the beach...

And Ave even manned the camera, so that Jake and I could cheese it up...

They're PERFECT, if you ask me!!

The Constitution…UPDATE!

I was sitting down to study, and somehow ended up on Facebook. 


I honestly don’t.  Know.  How!  I swear!  I plead the Fifth!!

I stumbled across my friend’s status that said, and I’m paraphrasing, “OMG.  I just found out that my kid learned about abortion in school last year, from his 4th grade science teacher!!”


Is this covered somewhere in Rowe vs. Wade?  That fourth graders shalt not be taught about abortion in  school?  I was under the assumption it was!!

I went on to read the comments, and I’m paraphrasing again, but, upon further investigation, her child reported that it was actually taught in Social Studies, and that the teacher explained, “that it (abortion) was wrong, because it would be killing one of God’s creations.”


Hold the frickin’ telephone!!!  I know this one’s covered somewhere.  It should be filed under the “Separation of Church and State” bit that’s always being thrown around.  I mean, how’s a faithless heathen like me, supposed to raise their children without the Lord, when they go around preaching it in our public schools??

Last night, an hour and fifteen minutes after I’d put the little dear to bed, I opened the door to my boy’s room.

“Hey,” I whispered.  Loudly.  Loudly enough to wake him if the answer to the next question was no!  “You awake?”

Sleepily, he said, “Yeah…what?”

I sat down on his bed and told him I had a question about the fourth grade.


I’m pretty sure that the Statute of Limitations for the actual event that inspired this questioning had long past, and everything I learned from this interrogation would never hold up in a court of law, because of this.

I asked him if he’d ever been taught about a pregnant woman having the baby removed from her belly if she doesn’t want it, or if he’d heard the term abortion.  I asked him if he’d ever been taught about God in school, or if any of his teachers have ever said anything like, “That would be wrong, because that would be like killing one of God’s creations.”

He answered all of my initial questions with a sleepy, “Nuh-uh,” and those started to make me feel a bit better that he wasn’t being preached to with my tax dollars.

I went on to explain why I thought those things were a big deal.  That talking about abortion with a fourth grader is not cool, and that talking about God in public schools is never cool.  I explained why, and went into a little spiel about that good old “Separation of Church and State,” and the difference between public and private sectors.  He relayed comprehension of our conversation, when he asked, “So, is that why my cousin who goes to private school can have classes like Bible, and we can’t, and he doesn’t have to take the TAKS?”


I should add, those standardized tests are straight from the Devil.  And if the Devil is actually a fallen angel, then where is the “Separation of Church and State” there, huh?!?  HUH?!?  HUH!!!!!

I told him that he was exactly right, and that I appreciated him talking to me about this so late, and listening, and sorta answering my questions.

I wrapped the ill-timed conversation up neatly, with a, “Did your teachers ever talk to you about sex, or anything like that?”

Even in the dark, I could see the kid blush as he said, “UH…Nooooooooooooooo!” 


At this point, the conversation had clearly gotten waaaaay too weird for him, and my boy plead the Fifth!!

I tried to explain that he would be learning about it very soon, and that I had learned a lot about it while studying to be a nurse (and banging his Dad…which, I appropriately left out!), and told him that if he had any questions about it, he could surely come to me! 

He said, “Nah…I think we’ll learn that stuff when we’re in high school.  Like, when we’re Seniors, or something.”

I kinda laughed and said, “Ooooooooh no, Buddy.  You’ll learn about it A LOT earlier than that!!”

Curious, he asked, “Why do you say it like that?”

“Oh.  Just.  You will.  I just know it.”  I stammered.  Then, I plead the Fifth, thanked him for his candor, and kissed him goodnight. 

Again!

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::UPDATE:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Good news!  They were not teaching/preaching about abortion and God at our school!  Yay!!  I don't have to raise hell!!  My friend emailed me, telling me that she talked to her son a bit more, and was able to get more of the story, and it was actually in church that he learned about abortion!  Which I find a bit ironic...go figure!!  Reason # 246 why we don't go to church!!  I'm kidding...kind of...

Ned’s dead, Baby…Ned’s dead…

So, I was in skills lab today, and we were practicing vital signs.  It was a real gas, I tell ya. 

We took turns pretending to be patients, then we’d switch, and we’d get to pretend to be nurses.

Right now, that’s all this feels like…pretend.  Like an elaborate game of dress up!!

This morning, I was pretending to be the patient, and Ned, a fellow classmate from the Middle East (I don’t really know if/why that’s relevant, but, just imagine his thick Middle Eastern accent, it makes the story cooler!) was palpating my brachial pulse. 

Don’t tell my husband, okay?

Ned was palpating, I was kicking ass at my role, laying in the bed…and after several minutes longer than it should’ve taken my dear friend Ned, he said, “Nikki, I think you have too much adipose tissue.  I can’t feel your pulse.” 

Using big words and a fancy accent, I was pretty sure Ned just called me fat. 

I snatched my arm from Ned, and said, “Excuse me?”

He said, “Adipose tissue.  On the inside of your arm.  There’s too much.  I can’t feel your pulse.”

By the by…we’re talking about the inside of my elbow people!!!  Probably the skinniest part of my body!

Half joking, half wanting to rip Ned’s trachea out of his nuchal area )if we’re using our big nursing words, and all!!), I said, “Yeah…I heard ya, Ned.  And I dare you to say it again!” 

We all laughed, because that’s what girls do when dudes call us fat, we laugh.  It’s so we don't cry.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, my Tale of One Fatty gets worse…

After lunch, Ned was trying to hear my blood pressure and asked the instructor to listen with him to make sure he was doing it right.  Cool.  I’m still kicking ass, laying my fat-elbowed ass in the bed, pretending to be the patient. 

Ned fumbled and struggled to hear my pressure (are we sensing a pattern here?  Maybe I’m not fat…maybe Ned sucks!  I wish…) and the professor shut it all down, and in front of an audience of six, said, “Wait a minute.  Maybe it’s the cuff size.  Let’s measure.  Maybe we need the bigger cuff.”

My blood pressure, had Ned’s ass been able to correctly assess it, shot through the fucking roof!! 

“Really?  Really?  This one’s good.  Please don’t go get the fat-girl cuff,” I said, desperately.

The professor tried to make me feel better, with, “Oh no.  It’s not a fat girl cuff…it’s an adult X-Large cuff.  Some people just need bigger cuffs!”  If I was grading her attempt at comforting me…she would’ve gotten an F!!!

Right there on the pretend hospital bed, in the pretend hospital room, with a host of pretend nurses around me, while pretending to be a patient (a fat one, apparently), I died a little!

Today, in Nursing School, I learned how to take a blood pressure, but more importantly, I learned that the inside of my elbow’s are fat, and if you’d like to assess my blood pressure, you’ll have to locate the largest fucking cuff you can find!!

And as for Ned?  Ned’s dead, Baby…Ned’s dead!!

Public School…

No, this is not a rant on the standardized tests, and that I think they are utter bullshit. 

Nor, is it a rant on the poor overworked, underpaid teachers who have to jump through the state’s hoops, while simultaneously keeping parents happy, and children engaged. 

No.

It’s about what our kids are exposed to at public school. 

While the uber-conservative Christians may worry about what nonsense my faithless offspring may spew…I tend to worry about the vice versa. 

My oldest son came home from school singing a little rap song his friend had taught him.  It went something like this…

“I am an Afghan rapper.
A suicide bomber. 
Just like Osama,
But, you can call me Obama.”

I tried to explain to my son that the rap was ignorant, rude, and most importantly, disrespectful to our President.  I let him know that I understood that he meant no harm by repeating what his fried be spittin’, but, that before he blindly followed along in an ignorant rhyme, maybe next time he should inquire about it first.

I know this was tough for my kid.  Because he doesn’t see his friend as mean spirited, disrespectful, or ignorant…but, it was a lesson hopefully learned. 

This isn’t the only time my kids have repeated things they’ve learned at school.  A few times they’ve told me that they have been questioned about their religion, or lack thereof, and that “friends” of theirs have assured my children that they would have a seat in hell, since they don’t have a seat in a pew on Sundays. 

Awesome!!

I’m a faithless heathen, teaching my children to appreciate and respect their friends faith and differences, but, because of the nature of Christianity, and it’s “Jesus’ way or the Hades-way” mentality…and our geographical location smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt…my children are not afforded a reciprocal understanding. 

If there is one thing that I cannot stand more than someone damning another person to an eternity in hell, it’s A CHILD spouting off his parent’s political and/or religious agenda to his peers (For the record…I’m not talking about lovingly witnessing to his friends, I’m talking about the, “na-na-na-na-na-na…you’re going to hell,” bullshit!). 

I don’t know…I heard recently from a zealot in a forum that Obama was really Osama…and he had surgery to disguise himself and take over America!

In that case, sing it with me, now…

“I am an Afghan rapper.
A suicide bomber. 
Just like Osama,
But, you can call me Obama.”

This, my friends…

is why I will NEVER cruise!!!

Jake showed me this video, and I told him, “Yeah, fool…I’m not dumb.  That’s EXACTLY why I will never get my happy ass on a cruise ship!” 

He followed with, “Whatever, eventually you’re gonna have to.”

I reminded him of the fat dude in the stripy shirt being tossed about like a rag doll, and the dear woman in all black who looked to be unconscious after she slammed into the pillar!

I’m not cruisin’…there is no fucking way, after watching this!!

P.S.  I haven’t laughed this hard since the Shake Weight commercial came out!

Repertoire…

This is all that I have in my repertoire right now…

BOOKS…

FOOTBALL…

OFFSPRING…

 
MY LOVE…

 
SLEEP…

 
It seems this is all I have time for, these days. 

But, really? 

What else is there? 

Statistically speaking...

I think statistics are bullshit.

Even statisticians think that statistics are bullshit.  When I took the class a couple of summers ago, the first thing I was told was, "This semester, you're gonna learn a shit ton of numbers, formulas, and odds...and it doesn't mean anything, because anyone can manipulate any statistic to mean whatever they want.  So remember that after you spend 30 minutes trying to solve one statistical equation...the numbers can be unreliable."

With that intro to the course, I wondered why in the hell, it was a pre-requisite to the nursing program.

Today, as I sat through the lecture that concluded my second week of the program, they ran a few numbers by us.

86%...

That's the percentage of the 58 students in the class that will complete the program, and graduate.  Of the 14% that don't graduate, most of those will not be academic failures, rather, they will be people who quit.  Who give up.  Who have a change of heart.

Another number...99.9%.

That's the percentage of those who graduate, who will pass the nursing boards within two years.

Pretty sweet, huh?

Those are numbers that I can hang my cute little paper nurse's hat on!!  Those are numbers, on which, I can hedge a bet!  THOSE are some statistics that will perk my ears!

After a terrifying first week, and a shaky second week...NOW we're talking!

Even if those numbers and data are manipulated to give us nursing students, who are shaking in our ugly ass scrubs, a false sense of hope and security...I DON'T CARE!  I don't care if there are outliers in this data, or the study was conducted by a biased researcher!

 I needed to hear those numbers today!!

After today, I heart statistics!