Life as we know it...

Don’t tell my husband I blogged this…

2012-01-24T14:28:00.001-06:00

I’m sick. After about a month of trying everything that my nursing textbooks taught me on how to rid fluid from one’s ears, I gave in and went to the doc, yesterday.

I have a double ear infection.

And apparently, I’m a two year old.

Steroid shot and antibiotic shot in the ass yesterday didn’t yield an overwhelming result, and I started a round of antibiotics today, still feeling crummy, grouchy, running fever, can’t hear worth a damn, ear hurts like hell, stressed to the max about this semester, a million things to do, and not one iota of energy or gumption to do even one of them.

So, what is a grown ass woman who feels like shit and is alone in her home to do?

She texts her husband and whines to him.

*It’s confirmed…I’m two years old!!*

Me: Don’t feel better, my love. Still running fever. Even with Tylenol all day. I need you to nurse me back to health.

*I even added one of those little sad face crying emoticons for effect…like this one *

And the compassionate, caring, empathetic, Nightingale-ish husband of mine, texted me back:

Him: I’m on my way home now, stopping by to get dinner. Don’t worry about that. Get in bed, I’ll be there soon. Would you like a shake? Or, some ice cream? Anything from the pharmacy? I love you more than life itself and it almost makes me ill to know that you’re not feeling well. I’ll give you a massage after I do the kids’ homework with them, and run you a bath. See you in 30 minutes. My nursing techniques are invasive as hell!

Men…they think that “thing” of theirs is the answer to everything!

And, yeah…please don’t tell my husband I blogged this!

Question…

2012-01-12T01:11:00.001-06:00

Who has two thumbs…and in exactly four months from today will be a graduate nurse, with one silly little test in between her and a big old “R-to the mutha-fuckin-N” behind her name?

Any guesses?

No?

Give up?

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----

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Somebody pinch me…I must be dreaming!!

DFO…

2012-01-06T14:15:00.001-06:00

A quick Google search may lead you to believe I'm speaking of Dungeon Fighting Online.

I’m not.

Last night, after I dropped the girl off at karate, with an hour of solitude to myself, I drove to Walmart. So interesting, my life is.

As I was cruising through the parking lot, I noticed an older lady sitting in the parking lot, against a light pole, her older husband standing next to her. No one else was with them.

She was a DFO, in uncommon medical slang. She’d “Done Fell Out.”

My newly instituted nursing instincts kicked right in. Something’s wrong, this lady and gentlemen are alone…I should see if I can help.

I’ve avoided this type of situation previously. Like in the MD’s office the other day when a lady began an asthmatic sounding coughing fit…I sat idly by, and let the ladies and gentleman in the scrubs take over. Surely they were more apt to handle the situation, than I.

This time was different. It was Walmart. No one else was around.

I quickly parked the truck and ran over to the couple, just as an employee had come out with a manager in tow.

I knelt down beside the woman, and the words spilled from me, without even thinking, “Hey…I’m a nursing student, what’s going on? How are you feeling?”

Without waiting for a response, I reached down to grab the lady’s wrist to do what little assessment I had the tools to do, checking her pulse. She was wet. Clammy. And was visibly shaking, and said, “I think my sugar’s low. I just came from the doctor, and it was low-ish there. I just don’t feel good.”

She seemed to know where she was, where she had been, and had knowledge of the situation, so her cognition and level of consciousness were in tact.

Damn…this nursing shit works. I had assessed her LOC without asking her, “Can you tell me your name, DOB, why you’re here.” Way to go college education.

I asked her if she was diabetic (she was) and where her glucometer was. She didn’t have it on her…so, with the employees and her husband there to keep an eye on her, I ran in to get her some juice, and told her to stay put.

$2.32 later, I was back with two boxes of apple juice. As I was opening them, I continued talking to her for further information. “Are you dizzy? Do you feel lightheaded? Do you have any other issues? Blood pressure?”

To which she answered, “Oh, honey…I have lots of issues. Blood pressure, diabetes, you name it. I just got out of the hospital.”

The lady began sipping on the juice I gave her as I replied, “Well, we all have issues, ma’am…I have plenty. Do you want to hear the short list?”

We laughed and the lady continued to sip the juice. I noticed dried bits of saliva at the corners of her mouth, and asked her husband to go get her a water bottle, that she may be a bit dehydrated, too. He took the scooter that the manager had brought, inside to do so, while I, and the employees sat with her. Watching her finish off one juice box, and start on another.

She was talking a bit more. Sitting up a bit straighter, and we began to chit chat about what she was doing there. She was picking up prescriptions.

“So, your sugar was ‘low-ish’ at the office…did you eat when you left there?” To which she replied, “No.” “Do you have a snack in your purse?” Again, “No.” Without thought or planning, I began to teach. “I know it can be a hassle sometimes, and seem unnecessary, but, it might be a good idea to keep a snack in your purse, and carry your glucometer with you. Might make you feel more comfortable to manage this while out and about.”

She nodded (I’ll take that as a “patient physically expressed understanding as a response to my intervention” and put that on my care plan!), not breaking strides in sips of her juice.

I let silence ensue while she finished the second box, and it hit me. I was just a nurse. I totally nailed it. I looked for nonverbal and physical signs of what was going on (clammy skin, shaking, dry saliva at the corners of her mouth) for possibilities of what was going on…and followed up with appropriate questions to further assess the situation.

It felt good. Knowing for that moment…that I had successfully assessed and intervened on this woman’s behalf, and it was working.

Then, as if the heavens were acknowledging my thoughts feeding my now inflated ego…it hit me again. This time quite literally. On the back of my hand as I reached for hers to reassess her clamminess.

Bird shit. Right on the back of my hand.

For the first time in my life…I was shit on by a bird.

Fine. Fine, universe…I get it. I’m not a doctor, I’m not a savior…hell, I’m not even a nurse yet. I hear ya.

In response to the universe’s sign from above, I said, “Ma’am, why don’t you call your doctor back right now since you just left there, and tell him what’s going on, just to be safe. I’ll feel much better if you do.”

She nodded, said that she was feeling better, and we (all four of us) hoisted her into her scooter so that she could pick up her scripts.

Dually noted, universe…I’ll keep my ego in check while I practice from now on, thankyouverymuch…please don’t send anymore falling defecate to remind me. I get it.

On second thought…maybe it was a different message from the universe. Maybe it was the old “no good deed goes unpunished,” that the universe was trying to send.

Either way…consider it heard!

Up…

2012-01-05T12:28:00.001-06:00

The kids are growing up…

The One Who Knows Everything still does and if he could just convince his teachers that he knows everything…everything would be perfect in his world. It’s nice being able to reason with him a bit more these days, and we’re carefully embarking upon the beginnings of the teenage years.

The One Who Doesn’t Say Much…well, she needs a name change around here, because that little thing has come completely out of her shell, and while she is still our most level headed, even keeled child…she’s definitely not speechless anymore.

And last, but not least…The One Who Gets Away With Murder…yeah, he’s still the spoiled baby of the bunch with the most tender heart, and we’ve learned to celebrate the little (or not so in this case) victories with this child. We’re just happy that we haven’t lost or broken him in his eight short years with us!

It’s so amazing to me how different they are from one another. We’re learning as parents of older (than babies) children to respect their differences, and parent them differently accordingly.

I was discussing this with an older couple we’re friends with (childless, I should add), recently, commenting just how differently I have to parent each of our children, and how tough it is, sometimes, to be different parents (the parents they need) to each of them.

His childless self, with his grand, romantic, bulletproof ideas of parenthood said, “What?!? That’s awful that you treat them differently. You should be the same parent to each of them. That’s going to be tough for them.”

Not faulting him for his ignorance and inexperience on this particular subject, I replied, “No, I can’t talk to Jack the way I talk to Avery…he would crumble and cry. I can’t treat Avery like I treat Lily…he would take the inch and go ten miles. I can’t treat Lily the way I treat Jack because she needs so much more emotionally than he does and so much less, physically. I treat them individually, based on their needs. If they’re worse for that, then sobeit, we will just have to see.”

I used to stress so much more about how they were going to turn out…now, surprisingly, my husband does all that worrying. I’m fine to sit back, roll the dice with them, see what happens, as long as everyone is happy and healthy at the end of the day…then, by God, let’s just have a good time.

And I just hope that I don’t have to change their names to “The One Who Thought He Knew Everything, Pissed of the Wrong Person, and was Beaten Mercilessly,” “The One Who Wouldn’t Shut Up, So Now She’s the Lonely Weird Cat Lady Who Lives Down the Street and Talks to Herself,” and “The One Who Actually Did Get Away With Murder, is Now on the Lam, Missing from Our Holiday Gatherings.”

Meh…if I do have to change their names to those above…I just hope they’re happy!

Waxing nostalgic…

2012-01-04T09:44:00.001-06:00

Last semester, we did our Pediatric/Obstetrics/Newborn/Neonatal Intensive Care rotation for clinicals. It was the moment in this journey of mine, that I had most anticipated and simultaneously, most dreaded.

My complicated pregnancy, my first born’s emergency delivery, his six week stay in the NICU, and several subsequent stays in PICUs during medical crises and his transplant surgery…right up to my boy’s death…all centered around hospitals. I revisited all of these settings during my third semester of nursing school.

It was as difficult as I’d feared it’d be…but, it was more.

My rotation through the Neonatal Intensive Care began, and the twangs of pain were barely there. I was in RN mode and I’m learning to play that part quite well (yes, after three semesters it still feels like a part I play, rather than a part of who I am…I wonder when that will change). The nurse I was working with, impressed with my comfort level in the NICU and knowledge of the equipment, asked if I’d been in a NICU before. I shared Joey’s story and after the usual “I’m sorrys,” that follow, she said, “Hey, there is a gastroschisis (the birth defect my boy was born with) baby in that room right there. His nurse is great…I’m sure she’d let you work with him today.”

She introduced me, and I followed the nurse into the gastro baby’s room. His bed was filled with toys, stuffed animals, and balloons were tied to the ends of his bed. Pictures of his mom and brothers hung from one of the sides. It looked much like Joey’s bed did. When you spend so much time in a hospital, you start to make it look like home. This little one had been in the NICU since birth, and he was over 2 months old.

I chit chatted with his nurse as she fed him…a feeding of the same formula that Joey used to take. A gentle formula, easy for babies with gut issues to digest. The little guy with the same exaggerated round cheeks that my boy had, and same short, stocky body (all side effects of the IV feedings that sustain these little guys while their bowels rest after surgery) was a bit fussy after his feeding and his nurse had work to do, so I offered to sit with him for a bit.

I knew it was dangerous, and tried to brace myself for it…but, I had no idea what I was about to get myself into.

She handed him off to me, left the room, and I was alone with the little guy…my arms in my lap, my hands cradling his head, so I could look at him, and talk to him.

Exactly like we’d held our boy so many times…on the cold hard plastic chair that was provided for weary parents to bond with their babies…

Now that he was close to me, the smell hit me. So funny how a smell can bring back memories so quickly…much like a song. It was the perfect mixture of Neocate formula, hospital tape and tubing, and that fresh baby smell that catapulted me instantly back almost fourteen years.

He smelled EXACTLY like my boy.

In my mind’s eye, his dark skin began to fade a bit, and for a moment, he began to look like my boy. I soaked it up…I let myself go there. I had to go there to see if I have what it takes to make it in this field with this painful past. I felt myself spiraling, spinning…out of control almost, to another time. A time that until this moment, was a faint and fading memory.

A smile spread across my face…and I felt myself become lost in this moment. It was comfortable…it was warm…I didn’t want it to end. I closed my eyes and bathed in the memory of my boy, enhanced by my surroundings.

It was sublime.

As my eyes began to burn and I felt the tears welling up, I was brought swiftly back to reality. I thought about putting the baby down, and running. Running to the parking lot, letting the swell of emotion go in a big old ugly cry, calling my nursing director and telling her that I couldn’t do it, and heading home, confident that I’d given it a good old college try.

But…I didn’t. I couldn’t let my past paralyze me…I had to keep moving forward.

“Swimming, swimming…just keep swimming…”

I inhaled one last time, put the baby down, settled him into his swing, and walked out of the room.

No tears fell, my shoulders were back, my chin was up…I had work to do. Patients to care for. Parents to support and teach. Things to learn from my nurse. Paperwork to do.

I moved on from that moment that I would’ve loved to have remained lost in forever…confident that I’m going to make one helluva nurse!

Breaking the ice...

2012-01-03T23:48:00.000-06:00

You know how it is when you have that family member that you haven't talked to in forever? When you've been meaning to call them, but, life just keeps getting in the way. And that phone call keeps getting put off until tomorrow. And tomorrows turn into days. And those days, to weeks. Then, you start feeling guilty because you haven't called in soooo long, so you put the call off even longer. The weeks? They quickly turn to months. And before you know it, you haven't called that family member in forever, and you feel like the biggest dirtbag. "And Kevin, if you feel like a dirtbag...it's probably 'cuz...YOU'RE A DIRTBAG. Just say it...'I. Am. A. Dirtbag!' Own it."

Well, friends, I'm a dirtbag blogger.

Consider this my phone call to break the ice, and end the silence.

"I'm good...how have YOU been?"

Everyday he’s shuffling…

2011-10-27T16:02:00.001-05:00

On Monday, he’s shuffling. Tuesday? He shuffles. Even on Wednesday…he shuffled…

♫ wiggle – wiggle – wiggle – wiggle – wiggle… ♫

♫ YEAH! ♫

Every gosh darn day…the boy’s shuffling!

Halloween is going to be a blast this year!

It’s been 2 months and 7 days since my last post…

2011-10-20T10:45:00.001-05:00

And I’ve just fallen off the wagon. I could go on and on with all the things I was doing, rather than blogging…but,…well…on second thought. That’s exactly what I’ll do. But, I’ll do it in pictures, so as not to bore with you a ridiculous diatribe about how crazy busy we’ve been. Deal?

We’ve been crazy busy…I know I said I wouldn’t bore you with that…but, it’s the truth. Cold hard truth. We’re busier than we’ve been. Things are going as smoothly as they’ve ever been. People in the house seem as happy as they’ve ever been. Well, strike that…MOST of the people in the house. Actually all the little people in the house are happy. Us big people are stressing the fuck out. Jake’s arms ache from stretching things so much to make ends meet, and Tuesday, I almost committed homicide. My clinical professor pissed me off so badly that all I could do was cry. I had to release the anger inside, and since murdering your clinical instructor is frowned upon in the nursing program…I had to cry to let it all out. Like a little bitch. For four hours. AT CLINICAL!!!! Oh well, at least the bitch is still alive. Unless she was struck down by lightning during that storm the other night…which I swear I didn’t pray to God for. I still don’t pray. If I did, I may have prayed for lightning to strike her a little bit. Just a little…just enough to singe the hair right off her head, and maybe fry some of the bitch out of her.

Dude…I digress…sorry….

On with the pictures!!! This is what’s been happening for the last two months and seven days…

We’re finding cheap ways to entertain the family…

Our biggest boy broke his arm. At a skate park.
He doesn’t know how to skateboard…hence the broken arm!

All the monkeys started school…

Including me…

By the way, did I tell you that I almost murdered my clinical instructor, but, instead cried like a bitch? If I could change one thing about myself, instead of crying like a bitch when I’m angry, I would be instantly given the most perfect recipe of wit, and snark, and truth without cutdowns, delivered to my brain then my tongue to unleash on the object of my anger. Instead…tears, puffy eyes, red nose, sniffling…yeah…that just SCREAMS, “You’re a shitty instructor, and one day I’ll be your boss and fire YOU’RE sorry ass!”

Again with the digression…

This one kicks ass on the football field with his BFF. We call them “Shake and Bake!”

This one plays a mean trumpet. We call him Dizzy…

These guys are all a year older…

Us girls are going for our black belts. Lily in Tae Kwon Do, me, in Nursing…

This one is playing fall baseball…

And this one spent a night in the hospital. He developed a nasty infection from a bug bite that he’s allergic to, and he had major swelling to his family jewels. The docs were worried about his boys, so they kept him overnight. His boys are fine now, and my boy is back to his old self!

That’s about it…we should be caught up.

I’ve missed this place.

Happy Friday’s Eve!

Six Word Saturday…

2011-08-13T11:52:00.002-05:00

♫♫ Sittin’ on the docka the bay… ♫♫

♫♫…wastin’ tiiiiiime… ♫♫

A letter…

2011-08-11T22:04:00.001-05:00

Dear Medical Assistant at my Doc’s office:

I got your message. Thanks for letting me know my test results. Since I’m getting ~~old~~ older, I was actually a bit worried about this last scraping of my cervix. Well, the scraping of the half of a cervix that was left after my poor, tired, uterus was removed. The remaining half that was too mangled and twisted and wrapped around my bladder to be removed. That old thing.

Side note: I bet my uterus looked rad. It was probably all graffiti’ed up, there were probably bean bag chairs in the corner of it, Christmas lights strung throughout it. That’s what I bet the inside of that puppy looked like. Hendrix and Marley posters lined the walls of it. I just described my first dorm room, insinuating I gave birth to pot smoking college kids.

Anywho…your message…

Yeah, this is what you said, and I quote, “Yes, this is So-and-So from Dr. So-and-So’s office, with your pap smear results. They initially came back abnormal, so we sent them for further testing, and they came back normal. So, we’ll see you next year. Thanks and have a good afternoon.”

So, bottom line, my mangled mess left over from my baby maker is normal. Normal, right? Couldn’t you just have left it at that? I’m getting ~~old~~ older. I don’t need to hear shit like my shit was abnormal. Hearing shit like that, scares the shit outta me.

You made my ears start ringing and my head start pounding…and MY FUCKING HEART JUMPED UP INTO MY FUCKING THROAT FOR A SPLIT SECOND! Was it really necessary to deliver the new that way?

That was rhetorical. No. No, So, and So, it wasn’t. Next time, a simple, “Your test results came back normal,” will be fine, alright? Ya dig?

Thanks again, and I hope YOU have a great afternoon. You know, unless a medical assistant tells YOU that YOUR shit is abnormal!

Until next year, when I hop back in the stirrups again,

Nikki

Old and drunk...

2011-08-10T10:04:00.001-05:00

You know you're the former when this song is blaring on the way home from the bar..

and you know you're the latter, when you're screaming the chorus, windows down, flinging your arms, directing the line, "IT'S NONE OF YO BIZNESS," at a deer, literally, in headlights in your driveway!

I had a damn good night out on the town in their small town in MD with my brother and sister-in-law, for my birthday; old, drunk, and all!

My lobster…

2011-08-07T21:58:00.001-05:00

♫ Joy (pump it up, pump it up)…and Pain ♫

♫ Like sunshine (what else, what else), and Rain ♫

We’ve seen it all in our marriage, and I can easily say that I love him so much more today than I did 13 years ago, when I said “I do,” in that tiny little chapel on Las Vegas Blvd. I can’t take all the credit for breezing through the past 15 years with this man. Rob Base sang it best (again) when he sang…

♫ It takes two to make a thing go right…It takes two to make it outta sight… ♫

Man that rapper knows a thing or two about love!

Happy Anniversary to my lobster!

End of the summer…

2011-07-26T15:54:00.001-05:00

It’s the end of The One Who Knows Everything’s summer. He know a lot, but, he didn’t know that it’s not a good idea to climb the tallest skate ramp, and attempt to skate down it, when you’re not an amateur or professional skateboarder. Especially so, when you’re hardly considered a skateboarder of any kind, or at all.

He broke his arm (a buckle fracture on the distal end of his right radius, about an inch from the epiphyseal plate…to be exact and use my big, fancy nursing terms!), a cast was placed, and his fun in the water has come to an end.

His broken arm did not, however, put an end to his monkeying around, as evidenced by this little gem…

Not the sharpest tool in the shed…

It’s actually amazing that this is the first broken arm in our household!

Boys!!

Soaking it up…

2011-07-20T18:49:00.001-05:00

Been busy soaking up time with these guys, before this glorious summer break ends…

Damn it feels good…

2011-07-13T15:38:00.001-05:00

to be a planksta!

Are you a planksta?

They come in all shapes and sizes…

There are even wannabe, gonnabe, plankstas…

But, there’s nothing like a true hard hitting O-G planksta, like this one…

So, are you? Are you a planksta? If so, I wanna see how planksta you really are.

A first…

2011-07-11T23:12:00.001-05:00

We haven’t had a first around our house in a long time.

Well, I did have Crown Royal for the first time the other day, and was subsequently more intoxicated than I’ve ever been in my life, but, I’m not talking about me.

I’m talking about the kiddos. FirstS are few and seriously far between these days. Haven’t been hit with anything new in a long while.

Until today.

It caught my eye in my peripheral vision of The One Who Knows Everything’s profile as we watched TV this afternoon. I grabbed his chin, squished his cheeks and pulled his face to me for closer inspection.

“Is that a zit?” I said.

His brother and sister were no where within earshot, but, I could still see a bit of embarrassment on his face.

“NO!” he shouted as he pulled his face away from me and covered the pimple on his chin with one hand, as his face reddened.

“YES IT IS!” I shouted back, and said excitedly, “Let me see it. Awwww…you’re growing up, Dude. I need to call Dad. Oooh…let me take a picture of it and send it to Dad.”

With that request, he jumped up off the couch and ran from me, swinging his arms with no regard for his brother, who happened to walk into the room at just the wrong time, and who happened to get knocked to the floor. The One Who Gets Away With Murder fell to the floor in a dramatic heap, wailing, as the bigger one slammed the bathroom door.

This was enough activity to pique the girl’s curiosity, and she came out of her room and nonchalantly said, “What is going on?”

I quickly comforted Jack and coaxed Avery out of the bathroom. I sat him down on the couch, and tried to explain, “You’re growing up, kid. This is the first of many zits you’ll have. And I’m your mother, and you’re sorely mistaken if you think that between now and the time that you’ve navigated safely through your teens, that I won’t tease you once, twice, or two thousand times. That’s just how I am. Besides, it’s just a zit.”

Having calmed himself down and having just heard the tail end of my monologue, Jack added insult to injury (his brother’s, not his own), busting into the room, yelling, “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT WAS A ZIT. I KNEW IT. I TOLD HIM LAST NIGHT HE HAD A ZIT, AND…AND…HE KEPT SAYING, ‘No…it’s just a blemish,’ OR WHATEVER. BUT, I KNEW IT. AVERY HAS A ZI-IT, AVERY HAS A ZI-IT. AVERY HAS A ZI-,” but, he was interrupted by a hard shove, and Jack hit the ground before he could finish the word zit!

Ave stormed off again, slammed another door, and the little one was in another dramatic heap on the floor. Wailing. Again.

Just as nonchalantly, never letting the chaos of our house get under her skin, Lily said, “Really? This is all about a zit?”

I tried to calm Avery down, apologizing for teasing him, but, encouraging him to grow some thicker skin rather quick like. I warned him of the numerous zits he’d have and the hair that would begin to emerge soon, and all the fun stuff that puberty would bring, and that a little ole zit and his mother’s excitement over it, was nothing to get upset about.

I promised to be more sensitive to his feelings, he promised to stop slamming doors, and use his words, instead, and Jack promised to punch Avery in the face if was shoved to the ground one more time.

It was my prepubescent boy’s first zit. Although he wouldn’t let me take a picture of it, it looked exactly like this…

photo from HERE

Not that you’ve never seen one before. But, I have never seen on before on the face of one of my children. Another milestone for the books.

A first.

I sure as hell hope both of us handle the next one a little better!

A night to remember…

2011-07-10T22:34:00.001-05:00

As we stirred this ~~morning~~ afternoon from a few hours of slumber, to The One, I said, “Oh, man…I had fun last night. I think I was a little tipsy.”

The One replied, sarcastically, “Uh…do you have a new tattoo this morning?”

This image flashed into my head…

and I looked down at the small tingly place on my right thigh.

I said, “Why, yes. Yes, I do have a fresh one.”

The One responded, “Then, yes. Yes, I’d say you were a bit tipsy. At least.”

They are so totally addictive!

Addict…

2011-07-08T12:00:00.001-05:00

I get lost on this website for hours. Literally…hours!

And I’m eagerly awaiting the release of it’s app for Droid, much like a crackhead might wait for a text back from his pusher. Not that I know what a crackhead feels like, per se…but, you know. What I imagine he might feel like.

Anyway…alls I was trying to say is that I love Pinterest.

Small town, USA…

2011-07-05T12:39:00.001-05:00

I love our little town.

In spite of my deep longing to be an Austinite, to be a part of the the downtown, city life, I have to acknowledge my love for our sleepy little village on the outskirts of the suburbs.

I especially love it on weekends like this one.

When we visited a nearby, family run firework stand/used car lot/family farm. It’s run by a good ole boy, his little lady, and their teenaged boys who know everything about every single firework they sell. A knowledge that completely impressed my teenage wannabe boys.

I pass by this little stand/car lot regularly. Sometimes several times a day. That kind of regularly. I love looking at this sculpture that sits near the road, although, I’ve never known what it is, exactly.

It looks to be old, and maybe like it’s missing some spokes, but, it’s always piqued my interest. During the school year, we pass by this place daily taking the kids to and from practices, and as we passed by all those evenings the sculpture never stood out.

However, this week, I guess I passed by it for the first time, in the evening, in the months of late June, early July. And this week, I finally realized what the thing actually was…

It’s a metal and fiber-optic sculpture of a firework, exploding in the sky. I talked to the owner when I asked if I could take pictures, and she commented, “You should’ve seen it when we first got it…it was gorgeous. The wind’s done a number on it. It’s seen better days, but we’re proud of it.”

Picnic tables lined the property and locals sat and chatted with each other and with the owners. Kids popped firecrackers on a slab of cement…

the smell of sulfur filled the air, the sky was illuminated with flashes of color…

mosquitos and moths buzzed overhead…

and the air was heavy with heat and humidity.

That night was the very definition of summer…

The very definition of America…

I love our little town.

Happy Independence Day!

Punks…

2011-07-03T00:16:00.001-05:00

Not this kind…

(photo from HERE)

Instead, the girl and I used this kind…

(photo from HERE)

To make this…

Y’all have fun!

Enough...

2011-07-01T09:56:00.000-05:00

Enough with the sentimental, patriotic, Rainbow Brite posts, already. Time to get back to your regularly scheduled blog...

(photo from HERE)

I love Pinterest!

Martha frickin’ Stewart…

2011-06-30T20:23:00.001-05:00

I hope everyone has a great 4th!

Sometimes...

2011-06-29T16:15:00.000-05:00

A pot left on the kitchen counter to dry, is just as entertaining as a funhouse mirror...

And sometimes...

2011-06-28T08:42:00.002-05:00

The dog dresses inappropriately for the season...

but, we love him anyway!

Sometimes...

2011-06-27T17:14:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, people on Facebook drive me up the frickin' wall.

Like when they post purposefully vague statuses, like, "I can't believe this is happening again," or the like, and when their friends offer support, and say things, like, "Is everything okay," they reply back with, "Can't talk about it on Facebook." Or something like that! Drives me insane. THEY BROUGHT IT UP ON FACEBOOK...but, then, they can't elaborate on Facebook. So, why not leave it off Facebook?

I hate when people bring drama to Facebook. Really hate it. Which is why when I saw this status, I cringed. Until, that is, I read my "friend's" friend's comment!

Sometimes...I frickin' LOVE Facebook!!

Waxing nostalgia…

2011-06-27T15:25:00.001-05:00

Posting pictures of these boys…

Reminded me of these boys…

Man…sometimes I almost miss them…

Six word Saturday...

2011-06-25T11:46:00.000-05:00

"Today, I'm really missing the beach..."

As seen in NOLA…

2011-06-23T23:03:00.001-05:00

Damn, I love that town!

Things I know now...

2011-06-22T10:45:00.000-05:00

Alternately titled: ~~The shit I wish I'd known then~~! Motherhood should come with a manual!

I learned a new mom trick the other day, and I thought I should share it. I feel it's my duty to share it. If you already know this mom trick...THEN WHY THE FRICK DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!?

How I came about discovering this one for my mom arsenal:

We decided last minute (as we do so often) to leave Florida on Friday night rather than Saturday morning. My husband is a beast. When he gets it into his head to make that trek, he just does it. He drives his sleeping family across five states and the treacherous back woods of Louisiana...all because he'd rather wake up at home, than go to bed for a few hours at our destination with a daunting drive in front of him.

We threw our weeks worth of things together, stuffed them in the car, purchased a couple five hour energy shots, and headed down the coast of FL for Tejas.

Immediately, The One Who Knows Everything started asking, "Mom, where's my Ipod?"

*Guess he doesn't know EVERYTHING, now does he?!?*

I told him that in our haste to leave, I'd put it in a bag. Unfortunately (for him...not me) I didn't recall which bag, told him to go to sleep that we'd find it when we got home.

Fast forward twelve grueling hours, (well, from Jake's perspective, anyway...the kids and I slept the whole way, so it wasn't really all that grueling for us), and my love safely delivered us home. We grabbed our pillows out of the car and all stumbled inside for a few hours more of better sleep.

I treasure my sleep. I spent many years with those rugrats in the middle of the night, and now that they are more or less independent at home, I tell them that something must be bleeding, burning, or broken if they dare wake me up!

With that threat, Jake and I retreated to our room.

*Yes, I said threat. Another mom trick. Threaten your children with anything you can think of. Follow through on just enough of the threats (preferably the harmless ones that do not involve threats on their lives) so that they fear them all.*

I woke up from my morning nap just a couple of hours later to find our huge rolling suitcase that we'd taken to the beach next to our bed. I was puzzled. I hadn't remembered unloading it. To boot...in the car, it was buried beneath three sets of golf clubs, five beach chairs, three umbrellas, ten hats, five other duffles, and a bag of Frosted Flakes. I def don't remember unloading all that!

*Yes, I said "bag" of Frosted Flakes. This is yet another mom trick. Buy cereal by the giant, off-brand, bagful, and teach them how to make their own bowls ASAP. Preferably before the age 6. Maybe earlier if they have younger siblings they can feed for you!*

As I walked into the living room, I noticed the ice chest from the truck was in the kitchen. I didn't unload that either, and my dear husband was in a well deserved coma!

Intrigued and confused I went around to the kids' bedrooms and to my surprise, found each of their bags in their respective rooms!

WHAT IN THE HELL WAS GOING ON?!?

Using my innate mom detective skills, I bypassed the girl, who, while obedient, taking initiative is not the little dear's modus operandi. I skipped over the little one, as I didn't think he could physically manage the deed, and went straight to the big one.

"Avery! Did you unload the car?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

In disbelief, I went to the car and saw that everything, save five beach chairs, had been unloaded. Even the three sets of golf clubs were safely tucked away in the locked garage.

*WTF?!?*

I came back inside and praised the boy. I went overboard praising the boy, for, he'd saved his father and I from the task. The kicker? No one had asked him to do it! He did it on his own.

*WTFF?!?!? (that's 'what the fucking fuck' in case you haven't seen that one!*

As I glanced back over my shoulder to take another gander at my most favorite child of the day, I noticed that he was playing a game on his Ipod.

In an instant, it came together. The little punk had unloaded the car because he wanted to find his Ipod. In another instant, I realized the genius of my inadvertent hiding of his Ipod.

That Ipod was buried in one of many bags in the back of the truck. Deep beneath the layers of our 9 day vacation, and that boy had to dig through it all to find it. He didn't want to unload the car, he had to in order to find his favorite thing.

*Meh...whatever works!*

The mom trick: If you want your kid to do a chore, take his favorite thing, and hide it within the chore that needs to be done. If his room needs to be cleaned, hide his cell phone behind that pile of shit in the corner that's been there for two weeks. If the laundry needs to be folded, tuck his Ipod into a pocket of one of the bottom-most pair of pants in the dryer. If the dishwasher needs to be unloaded, hide the Playstation controller beneath a bowl on the top rack.

Just so you know, your kid may try to outsmart you, simply search for their phone/Ipod/controller, and skip the chore. Easy fix. Make them do the chore, then, hide it again and again, until all the chores are done and your child knows you mean business!

You're welcome! ;)

Battling Brothers on Bourbon Street...

2011-06-21T10:33:00.000-05:00

I took a break from behind the camera, and gave my niece her first lesson in photography.

Lesson #1: Keep shooting, no matter what. Sometimes the best shots are caught between the shots!

Case in point:

This is the face my children make when I ask them to get together for a picture...

It actually started out well...

Until Ave squeezed a little too tight...

It's all fun and games until someone gets put into a choke hold...

More pouting ensued when I yelled, "You guys are causing a scene on Bourbon Street, and that's pretty darn hard to do!"

Jack called his brother an idiot...

Strike that...a stupid idiot...

It's really hard not to laugh at a dude high on mudbugs, with a blue mohawk, verbally assaulting you...especially on Bourbon Street...

A silent threat from the little one, using his eyes as his weapon this time, rather than his tongue!

Working on total mind control at this point, I think...

Success...the little one made the big one fear him...

And he was quite proud of himself...

And, yes...on our way to the Emerald Coast, we took a detour to The Big Easy, and walked our children very quickly in the light of the day down Bourbon Street.

I found myself saying, "Eyes forward...keep moving...fast," over and over.

Jack said, at the end of the day when asked what he thought about Bourbon, "I saw a lot of boobs. And a butt. And beignets are delicious!"

While this may have been Lily's last trip to NOLA (she hated the city...she is not her mother's child!), I don't think it'll be Jack's last. Dude was lovin' it!

Fear...

2011-06-08T10:02:00.000-05:00

I will be on the beach in Destin on Saturday...and I'm terrified.

This sums it up...

www.nataliedee.com

Bartender...

2011-06-02T17:11:00.001-05:00

"Mom! I know what song I'm singing for the school Talent Show next year," Jack shouted from the other room.

"Good, Buddy. I'm glad you finally came up with one. Let me hear it."

In his sweet 7 year old voice, he sang, "Bartender...I really did it this time. Broke my parole for a good time...When I got home it was 6am. The door was locked so I kicked it in. She was trippin' on the bills...I think she was high on some pills...."

He interrupted his own singing with, "Wait...Mom? Can I say sing about beers and being drunk at school? Cuz that's what this song's about."

"No, son. You can't sing about beer for the school Talent Show."

The child is 7! SEVEN!! We are so screwed!

Rollin...Rollin...

2011-06-01T14:29:00.000-05:00

Rollin' down the river...

Jake and I took off over the holiday weekend, to float in a tube, bask in the sun, and kick back a cold one, or two.

Or ten.

Or fifty.

At least.

It was a rather uneventful trip. Aside from the high speed police chase, the run in with a giant, burly ogre of a man at the tent space next to ours, nearly drowning from exhaustion while swimming down river, against the up-river current of the wind, all the while hauling the drunken members of our party, and embarrassing myself in front of Skip Ballard, the cussin-est man in South Texas.

Yeah...other than all that...it was a dull weekend.

And I can only hope that the rest of the summer can measure up to the kick-ass beginning of it!

Hey you...

2011-05-31T22:00:00.000-05:00

You're not supposed to be in our bed...

Yes, YOU...

Don't look at me with those eyes...

Look how cute your nose is...

Fine, I won't tell Dad if you don't...

A conversation in the waiting room...

2011-05-11T14:26:00.000-05:00

With only one exam left (that I could get a 0 on and still have a B in the class), I've been able to wear my mom hat a little more often lately. Surprising enough...it still fits.

Today, the little one had to go to the doctor (kid's mad allergic to bee stings, and fell on a stinging insect yesterday...today? cellulitis!). It was kinda nice having one on one time with the boy. We jammed to his favorite songs and chit chatted.

I was standing at the counter, paying the copay, when Jack came up behind me, and said, louder than I would've liked I might add, "Hey. Mom. I know what a queeth is."

Thinking that surely my ears had deceived me, I asked for clarification from my youngest boy, "I'm sorry. I couldn't hear what you said. You know what a what is?"

I had asked for it, and even louder than before, my boy said it much more clearly this time, "A QUEE-FTH."

I quickly questioned, "OOOO-KAY...yeah. Where did you hear that word?" As I tried to don my best poker face, and not make a huge deal out of it.

"From Josh. I know what it is." Then, he just stood there smiling at me with this 'cat that ate the canary' kinda look. It was like he was enjoying watching me squirm. Like he was fucking with me. Hazing me on my first day back on the job.

And squirming I was, and he continued, "Dad says that we can use words that we know what they mean. So, can I use it? Cuz I know what a queefth is."

Luckily, the copay was paid, and I dragged Jack back to our seats where we could have a more discreet conversation. I asked, "Really? What is it, then?" More than half hoping the boy was bluffing, and had just heard an interesting word, and repeated it without knowing it's true connotation.

Much to my surprise, my boy told me exactly what he knew a "queefth" to be. And he was right. He ended his graphic description with an eager, "So? Can I say it?"

"No, son. No. I don't care what your Dad says. You can't use that word. Not at the age of 7. You're too young to talk about things like that. Maybe when you're older. Now, it's not appropriate. I don't want to hear that word from you, deal?"

He nodded, played some Angry Birds on my phone, and after just a few minutes, asked, "Hey, Mom?"

Bracing myself, I said, "Yeah, Buddy?"

It was a good thing I did, because my youngest one even leaned in for this one, and said, "What's a N-I-G-G..."

I cut him off this time with, "WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?!"

"On Dad's iPod this morning. When I was in the shower. It was on a song," he explained.

I was short with him this time, and said, "It's a hateful word. One that I don't want you to use, ever. Got it?"

He pressed, "But, can I sing it?"

"NO! You can't sing it, or say it. Fuhgetaboudit. Now can we please be quiet?"

After only a few, far too brief seconds, he said, "One more question..."

Terrified, I readied myself for the next colorful little quip that my boy had questions about, as he continued, "Who's Bill Murray?"

I could only come up with another question to answer his, and simply said, "Dude...just who in the heck have you been hanging out with?"

He laughed, and the nurse called his name. To completely extinguish any future curiosity of his, as we stood up, I said, "Ope...that's you, Buddy. I hope they don't give you a shot."

That'll teach him to fuck with me, if that's what he was doing. Even still...it was good to be back!

A prayer...

2011-05-10T22:34:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I've prayed. I'd say now's as good a time as any...

Dear, Baby Jesus. Cute little bundle of joy. Apple of your God-Daddy's eye. But, I bet you weren't the apple of your Earth-Daddy's eye at first. I bet he was a little sore that your momma'd come home knocked up when he hadn't even tapped it yet. But then, when you turned out to be the Messiah and all...I bet he was cool with it.

Anyway.

Dear, Jesus, hear my prayer of thanks. Thank you, for, it is from you that all blessings flow, and lately, I've been blessed. In no particular order...

1. Thank you for the pharmaceuticals that have helped me through this semester. Yes, baby Jesus, in case you didn't know, I started popping happy pills again. Just for a little while. Until school's done. Maybe until the kid's are through the teen years. And then, maybe just until the kids are out of the house. Then, if I've been on 'em that long, I might as well stay on them till they kill me, you know. Anyway, thanks for those. They're a big help.

2. Thanks for Jake. He's incredible. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was a son of yours. Heaven sent that one is. He's been amazing at picking up the slack I've been leaving behind for the past nine months. On top of it all, I have been neglecting my wifely duties, if you know what I mean, and that boy has still stuck around. Fool is spruuuuuung! Thanks for that. A lot.

3. Thanks for Goldfish crackers, popcorn, peanut butter, cereal and milk. Without that manna you sent for your people, my poor neglected children would've perished, as my ass has not been in the kitchen in months. Literally months. I actually forgot how to use the microwave oven the other day. Had to have the kids show me how to use it.

4. Speaking of the little shits...thanks for them, too. They're great. Even though I call them little shits. You know I'm just yanking your chain. Precious little gifts, they are. That little one is a little high maintenance, and he whines a lot...but, he's freaking cute and funny as hell. That girl one is a life saver. She's been the little mom for the last nine months. I need that one around. If I didn't love them all equally, she'd be my favorite. And that big one...well, damn if he isn't turning out to be pretty fucking cool. Oops...sorry. Freakin...I meant freaking cool. He doesn't drive me nearly as crazy as he used to. I guess what they say is true...absence makes the heart grow fonder. Isn't that what they say? Are you, "they?" Sounds like something you might say.

5. Thanks for my family and friends who have given me so much support these last nine months. I don't deserve 'em...but, I'm so glad I got 'em. They've been a huge encouragement to me, and I've needed that. Oh, man...~~LORD KNOWS~~, YOU KNOW I've needed it. Every single one of them are the bomb.com, Jesus.

And you are, too. Still wish you'd show me a miracle to clear some things up...water into wine...walking on water...me finishing nursing school with a shred of my sanity left. Something. Holla back when you can. I love you. A-men.

Use-tuh...

2011-05-10T09:54:00.000-05:00

I use-tuh think I was smart...then, I started nursing school.

I have one test to score an 83 on today and one I have to show up for on Thursday...then this bitch is done!

Until August.

God help us all come August!

A conversation in the car...

2011-05-03T16:12:00.001-05:00

While I'm not spending enough time with my children these days to have entertaining conversations with them, I am spending enough time with my friend, E-Money, on our way to and from school. We have an hour commute. Each way.

Yeah...ya heard! And the only thing that makes sitting through six hours of lecture more enjoyable...is driving for a full hour to get to that lecture, and another full hour between that lecture and the comforts of home.

Luckily, E-Money and I live close to one another, so we're able to car pool some of the time. Even luckier for me...E-Money happens to be my kinda chick.

Today, we had one of those conversations, that, when we played it back in our heads and aloud, I was like, WTF?!? It went a little something like this:

Me: I'm ashamed of that work I turned in last week. My last paperwork for the semester, and it was illegible. Is that a word?

E-Money, in her infinite wisdom: Yes, it is. Like dirigible.

Me, in my very finite wisdom: What the fuck is dirigible?

E-Money: A Zepellin. The Hindenburg.

We were at a stop light, and I was able to look at her in the face to see that she was not fucking with me, and I said...

Me: I don't know these words. Could you please define dirigible with a word that I may know the definition to?

Ya see...right now, this pea-sized brain of mine is chock full of crazy nursing knowledge, and it seems, as evidenced by this very conversation, that some of the more common knowledge things that I used to know, have started to spill out. You know...to make room for my mad nursing skills.

Because, what I was thinking, was...

Me: Hindenburg...what does the Charles Hindenburg case have to do with dirigible? Oh yeah...that Hindenburg baby died. Didn't a dingo eat the baby?

At this point, I mistakingly let this dipshit thought slip out...

Me, aloud: Didn't the dingo eat the baby?

E-Money, as sweet as she is, humored me, or pitied me, as it turned out, and laughed as she said: WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?

Me, feeling smart and shit: You know. The Hindenburg kidnapping case. It was the dingo. The dingo ate the baby. Don'tcha remember?

And for the record...yes, I was doing the accent, and all...

Me, continuing to display my ignorance: You remember? They made a movie about the Hindenburg case, and the dingo ate the baby. What does the case have to do with a dirigible?

E-Money, trying to keep up with my verbal diarrhea and atrocious accent: A dirigible is a blimp. A blimp. You mean Lindbergh? The Lindbergh kidnapping case? A dingo didn't eat the baby. The body was found close to their house. Where did you hear about a dingo?

Me, wondering if I should call Fox News with a break in the Lindbergh case, but quickly realizing my error, stupidity, and having confused myself more than ever: Oooooooooooh....yeah, Lindbergh. I thought dingos ate his baby.

E-Money, laughing hysterically at this point, no doubt at my ridiculosity: You mean, dingos? Like, wild dogs? No. There are no dingos in New England.

By this time, we were out of the car, and walking back into our classroom, all the while I was concurrently Googling, "Did dingos eat Charles Lindbergh's baby?" I said: But, weren't the Lindberghs camping in Australia when the baby went missing? And...you know...dingos.

Yes...I swear to God on high that the Google history on my phone, when you start with, "Did di...," will auto-fill, "Did dingos eat Charles Lindbuegh's baby?"

And as I found out Iwhile finishing my search in the bathroom stall, that I had confused the fictional movie, A Cry in the Dark, with the real life kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby. Admitting my mistake, I conceded with the following text to E-Money, and perhaps, the oddest text message I have ever sent...

"Nope...dingos didn't eat Lindbergh's baby."

It's official...I'm losing my ever lovin' mind!!! Thank God my psych rotation was in the beginning of the semester...they definitely would've committed me if I showed up at the State Hospital, mumbling about dingos, Aborigines, blimps, and Lindbergh's baby!!!!

Fuck me runnin...this semester needs to end...STAT!!!

Be careful what you wish for...

2011-04-29T17:40:00.000-05:00

Be careful what you wish for...isn't that what they say?

It's been over a month since my last blog post. :(

I so wish I had some quip to recount of a conversation with my youngest boy. My conversations with them these days are condensed to, "Good morning. Let's go. Did you eat? Are you hungry? Fix yourself something to eat. I'm leaving. See you when I get home. Do you have homework. Time for bed. I've got work to do."

I so wish I had pictures to post and campfire stories to tell of our latest camping trip and misadventures. We're hoping to get to camp some this summer while I'm off...so maybe that will come.

I so wish I had some passionate rant to rave about...high upon some soapbox of mine, simply because my mind had settled on some thing to think about. Some thing that really didn't matter one shit from shine-ola, but was fun to bitch about, nonetheless.

Sadly, I don't. My mind is muddled with care plans, and diagnoses, and interventions, and needles, and drugs, and skills, and shit, and piss, and exams, and deadlines, and due dates, and looming state boards, and becoming a grown up, with a real job...no, a career, and lines to walk, and t's to cross, and i's to dot, and my carefree days to miss.

Alas, in two short weeks, I will be halfway through this mission of mine.

I think I can see a tiny glimmer of light at the end of this tunnel.

It's either that, or just a neon sign along the way that's flashing, "Be careful what you wish for, dipshit!"

Hindsight...

2011-03-23T20:34:00.000-05:00

Photo from HERE

I'm one of those people who, when there is a shit ton of stuff stacked in front of me to do, I shut the frick down. I can't make to-do lists, because the list is too daunting, and I quit before I even begin. When the house is a wreck, instead of tackling one room at a time, I get overwhelmed, and I don't do shit.

It sucks...it's not an efficient way to be.

As much as I remind myself to take one day at a time with this nursing school gig...I have a really hard time not seeing all of the next 2.5 semesters worth of days, all piled on top of one another. And you know what? If you pile up a shit ton of mole hills, you know whatcha get? Well, it's not exactly a mountain, but it sure as hell looks like one.

I don't do well with mountains. I like my mole hills few and far between. So few and far between that they can never be misconstrued as anything remotely resembling a mountain.

You know what else?

Who's bright idea was it to get off the happy pills just a few short months before starting nursing school? Idiot! If I met that person in a dark alley...I'd...I'd...score her some happy pills. That's what I'd do!!

Hindsight....

Two thumbs down...

2011-03-13T17:32:00.000-05:00

A movie review.

We went to see Hall Pass today, and even though the trailers alluded to the idea that a week off of marriage for a 30-something suburban dad might not exactly be what he expected...I had no idea this movie was a chick flick. None. It had some of the ingredients of a Hangover type flick...raunchy comedy, sexual obsession, T&A, drugs, boys gone wild, full frontal male nudity of two different peni, varying in shade and size.

Those parts of the movie, I enjoyed. The crux of it? Notsomuch.

Totally unrealistic. Too unrealistic. The Harry Potter movies were more realistic that this flick. These dudes got a week off of marriage. What did they do? Went to have ribs at Applebees. Played a round of golf. Joined a gym. Talked the talk without walking the walk of all the tail they wanted to pursue over the next seven days. That's it?

Really?

I just happen to cohabitate with a 30-something suburban dad, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what would really happen if he was given a week off from marriage, with no rules, limits, or consequences. I can say with 100% certainty, that not once would he go to Applebees.

You know what he absolutely would do? He would round up a few good men, hop a plane to Vegas, and ride off into the desert in search of "strippers and cocaine."

But, noooooooooo...these douche-nozzles couldn't close the deal. They decided that their wives were too important to them, even though they had a hall pass.

I'm sorry...I ain't buying it. I call bullshit. I will go on the record to say, that if given clearance by the control tower to land their plane in ~~any old runway but mine~~ a strange and exotic runway...a HUGE majority of hot blooded American, 30-something suburban dads are gonna land that plane, take off, and land it again. And again. And again.

The rationale behind my assumption? The wise words of one six year old little boy sum it up quite nicely, I think..."Boys have a penis...and girls have a brain. Right, Mom?"

Yeah...two thumbs down from me!

A story that is likely untrue...

2011-03-06T17:46:00.001-06:00

For argument's sake, and those pesky patient privacy laws, this story is likely untrue.

Long absences around here mean only one thing...I'm eyeball deep in the shit of old men who have lost the ability to 1) control their bowels and bladder, or 2) have lost the sensory perception to be able to tell that they have lost control of their bowels and bladder.

Truth? Being eyeball deep in the shit of an old man who has lost both of those abilities, is the most intimate moment I've shared with anyone on this planet, for as long as I've been on it.

He was helpless, he was incapable...I was not. He was apologetic, and humbled...I comforted him. And wiped his aged ass. It was disgustingly beautiful. Something I still don't quite understand, really. Odd.

The dude repeated over and over, "This is disgusting...I don't know how you do this...they're not paying you enough." To which, I wanted to say..."Dude, I'm paying them for the opportunity to do this, believe it or not!" But, what I said instead was, "Hey...it's okay. Everyone poops. I'm sorry that you're not able to get up and take care of this yourself. I'm happy to help you, sir."

That relaxed him a little, and he reminisced about his younger, glory days, as my classmate and I rolled him side to side, cleaning him up and changing his linens. It was nice.

I had dreaded this moment since I'd started the program. In fact, I'd made it through my first semester without a "code brown," and was beginning to think that I could possibly make it through the next three unscathed. That wasn't the case, and I'm glad for it. I learned far more about being a nurse while wiping the ass of that old man, that I ever will from any textbook. And felt more like a nurse doing it, than I likely ever will starting any old IV.

I'm really starting to think I got the chops for this gig.

You know...if any of that story were true.

Just me...

2011-02-21T13:38:00.001-06:00

Is it like this at any of your houses?

Pic from here

No?

Just mine?

Alright then.

Nevermind...

The greatest thing…

2011-02-14T16:13:00.001-06:00

The vertically challenged dude with a lisp said it best, in Moulin Rouge…“The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

To Love…

Friday Flashback…

2011-02-11T16:11:00.001-06:00

Remember the days before digital music? When there was a song you loved…you listened to the radio for HOURS…literal…HOURS with your index finger on the record button, and your middle finger on the play button…and you waited until it came on the air. God help you if you had to pee. Or had to go answer the phone that was attached to the wall!

No youtube or itunes to get your music fix…uh-uh. You had to work to hear the songs you loved.

And if you wanted the lyrics to those songs? There was no quick Google search. You would play a bit, write what you thought, rewind to clarify or verify, then move on. I’m glad rappers used to rap slowly, unlike they do today…I’d have never been able to figure the lyrics of today’s rap, with old school methods. No way…

Maybe you don’t remember this shit…if not, your mom’s calling. Isn’t it past your curfew?

I’m kidding…I’m almost to the bitter point about my age. Being in class with 21 year olds who, when asked if they’d seen Men In Black (because we have a teacher who talks like one of the characters), answered with, “Like…OH.EM.GEE. I was, like, seven when that came out. Bwahahahahaha…”

Bitch…

Anyway…I didn’t mean to go there…

Here’s one, specifically, that I remember spending hours writing down the lyrics…

Have a Friday!

Intriguing…

2011-02-09T17:23:00.001-06:00

Yesterday, I spent the day on the psych ward of a local hospital. Voluntarily, for close observation. FOR THE PATIENTS.

I went to be a fly on the wall, and a to give my pathetic attempt at a mental health exam as a part of my psych rotation. Not as a patient. This time, anyway!

It was…intriguing.

That’s the best word I have to describe it.

I went in terrified. I absolutely dreaded it. The only perceptions I had of what a psych ward might look like, I’m ashamed to say, came from Hollywood. Little bits and pieces of movies about mental hospitals, and state institutions over the years.

I hoped that my perceptions were wrong, and that Hollywood had inaccurately portrayed that population that I knew so little about, but, I had little else to go on.

It turns out…Hollywood pretty much nailed it. It seemed as if they had crafted the characters with mental illnesses after some of the very patients I visited yesterday. That part…was eerie.

I have to admit, and I’m not proud to say, that while I was on the floor, I was anxious. No. Scared. Our professors had shared with us the “worst case scenarios” and how to keep ourselves safe, and what to do in an emergency, or should an incident occur…which only heightened my fears, once my perceptions were confirmed.

My head was on a swivel the entire time I was there. I was flipping through the pages of the “therapeutic communication” that I’ve learned so far in this program, for the appropriate things to say. And the things to definitely NOT say.

I was on high alert for seven hours…and left there wondering how the nursing staff works in that same state for twelve. So much so…that while I was pumping gas, after I left my clinical, I found myself looking over my shoulder, and watching the man at the pump next to me, for signs of escalation and agitation.

But, one part of the experience, I was not prepared for, came throughout the hours after leaving the hospital.

I was given a glimpse of a world that I didn’t really know existed. I realized how much I take my own mental health (however much or little I have, depending on the day) for granted…because it’s a helluva lot more than these people were afforded. And I’m fortunate for that.

I can’t imagine being trapped inside my own head. I can’t imagine my thoughts moving so fast that I can’t control, contain, or coexist with them. I can’t imagine my mental instability burning the bridges to every last relationship I’d ever had. I can’t imagine feeling completely cut off from the world…from reality.

Those things? That I can’t even begin to imagine for myself? For the patients I visited yesterday, those things are their daily suffocating reality.

The feelings that surmounted in me, the more I thought about my day, surprised me most of all.

Compassionate…empathetic…intrigued…

Six Word Saturday…

2011-02-05T05:00:00.001-06:00

After being snowed in for four straight days (IN TEXAS!!!), Jenga may not be the best way to beat cabin fever, but, it is one way!!!

“From the loser’s point of view!”

AND…

“From the winner’s point of view!”

Losin’ it…

2011-02-04T22:36:00.000-06:00

We’ve been snowed in here for the past four days. In Texas. SNOWED IN. FOR FOUR FRICKIN’ DAYS!!!

It’s craziness. In the beginning, it was exciting. We were all like, “Oooooooo…ICE! It’s so slippy. Look, I’m slippin’!” Right up until Jack slipped and fell and I’m pretty sure was concussed. It’s all fun and games until ~~JACK~~ someone gets a concussion!

We drank coffee until we ran out of sugar, and we ate until we ran out of toilet paper.

On the third day, signs of the beginnings of the stir craziness began to emerge. It was then that we decided, “eff the coffee…we need vodka!”

Day four, the snow came. As Texans, we do not have waterproof winter gear suitable for a romp in the snow. Since this is true, the other 50,000 Texans who live in the vicinity of our WalMart don’t have proper attire either! They were out of everything waterproof, so I had to get creative. I donned my children in my latex gloves from my school skills pack, placed their warmer gloves on top…layered them over and over…slapped a toboggan (i’ve heard that you northerners slide down hills on your toboggans…but, down here in the south, we wear ours on our heads!) on their heads…and released them back into the wild. It was glorious…as was the two hours of peace that ensued while their were only adults in the house!!

As for Jobin…

he’s handling the snow fairly well. He actually likes to run through it, in spite of his unfortunate anatomy, and his man parts dangling into the drifts of snow. He likes it.

But, he’s been a bit stir crazy, too. He’s been chasing his tail (literally) for the past few days. He flies around the kitchen at mach speed trying to burn off as much of his energy as he can.

And just now?

Just now I rewarded the furball with his first taste of peanut butter, slathered on a chew toy, and laid out for him to enjoy. He was silent for a good thirty minutes as he lapped up every last dollop of his delectable treat.

When he was done…I heard the jingle of his collar and the clicking of his claws as he headed my way. He nudged my bedroom door open, and jumped up on my bed. He came straight over to me, grabbed my arm with his front paws, and began to hump me (his first official hump I might add), with lipstick out and all.

He’s either lost his ever lovin’ mind….or he was ever so grateful for my generosity in bestowing him with his first taste of the peanut butter.

In the case of the latter, Jobin, dude, you’re welcome. Any time. Just please…PUT. AWAY. THE LIPSTICK!!!

Around the corner...

2011-02-02T23:03:00.000-06:00

Here's where we are with our oldest.

He knows about sex. Not because I told him. Because he heard it on the streets, and he and I had a little confirmation conversation, in which he schooled me on the subject. Or, at least, what he knew about the subject...which was pretty much everything.

Awesome!

He knows about homosexuality. He knows that it's a controversial issue...and he knows that I think people are either born that way, or they're not. He knows that he likes girls because he just does...and seems to understand that if he liked boys, instead, he wouldn't be able to control that, really. He knows that it's not cool to tease his friends about being gay...because, well...so what if they are? He knows that it's a sensitive issue, and that some people believe that being gay is a choice, and that that choice will send them to hell. He also verbalized confusion over that belief when he said, "why would someone choose to be something that people would tease them for and that would send them to hell?"

He may not know it all, but, he does know a lot!

He knows a little about the beginnings of love. He's learning the rules...he's gathering information, and he's testing the waters. He's learning to play the game, as evidenced by this conversation...

Him: So, Mom...boys don't have to flirt with girls, right?

*Because, you know...the kid knows everything. His questions are not questions, they are statements!*

Me: Well, that's not exactly it...

Before I could stammer around any longer...

Him: We just have to be awesome...and the girls flirt with us, right?

Unfortunately, his father overheard this treasure and solidified his ideology with a high five. This boy who's already got it figured out, is even beginning to get physical in his budding relationships. He held hands with one of his first girlfriends, and his current girlfriend of almost two months? Well, the other day, he kissed her on the cheek. The best part of that story...is that he rushed home and called me to tell me all about it. I loved that he wanted to talk to me about it, and felt an overwhelming sense of pride.

Not pride in the fact that my boy is swapping spit with the fairer sex...just that he's growing up. We've grown pretty comfortable in our parenting roles lately, and we are due for a new challenge. And yeah...it's the teenage years that are just around the corner, and while I'm not certain about too much of what lies ahead...one thing I do know for sure, is that it most definitely will be a challenge.

Bring it...

This and that…

2011-01-28T15:22:00.001-06:00

This one thinks he’s human…

And that one thinks he’s a dog…

Go figure!

Princess Consuela…

2011-01-27T17:52:00.001-06:00

A couple of days ago, I was meeting up with the ladies in my car pool. We were heading to the state psychiatric hospital for our clinical orientation. That part of the story is neither here nor there, really, except that's it is here (I'm going on Tuesday of next week)...and I'm ~~fucking scared~~ a bit apprehensive about the whole thing!

Anyway, it was a chilly morning, I had my big pea coat on, and as I was getting into my friend, E's car, I noticed a tag hanging out of my pea coat pocket. I reached into my pocket that was quite full of something that was attached to the tag, and this is what I pulled out...

That’s a thong. A dude thong. A Christmassy, elfy, (complete with jingle bells) banana hammock, if you will!!

Actually, my compadres hadn’t seen me pull it out of my pocket…but, my hysterical laughter caught their attention. Then, the red velour and jingly bells on the banana hammock caught their eye.

When I could catch my breath, I had some ‘splainin’ to do…

“You see…what had happened was….we do this Chinese gift exchange during Christmas, and sometimes there are gag gifts. And this particular gag gift was attached to a GINORMOUS bottle of vodka…”

See…

BIGGEST. BOTTLE. EVA!!!

“…and I wanted the vodka to put into my Red Bull, so I got the vodka, and by default, Jake inherited a banana-hammock. And I was planning on ditching the thong, but, then, had a thought, that it might make a really great Christmas card, if I could talk Jake into putting it on. So, I thought I should keep it. So, I stuck it in my pocket. In my pea coat pocket. And there it stayed. ”

I should really be more careful about where I keep Jake’s banana hammocks!!

Where do you keep YOUR banana hammocks?

Gangsta…

2011-01-18T22:13:00.001-06:00

The new pup has adapted well, and he’s one of the family now. He fits right in. He’s not near as “alpha-dog” as Tucker the Fucker was, and is a bit more obedient. For now, anyway.

Our biggest struggle with Tucker and the thing that led to his disappearance, was his disregard for boundaries. He would bolt out of the front door, and no one could catch him. And the mistake we made with him, was allowing all the neighborhood kids to chase him. Tucker thought it was a fun game to run the streets, and watch the idiotic bipeds try to capture him.

Jobin Todd (yes, we gave him a fancy middle name, too) isn’t allowed out of our front yard. Simple verbal commands, a stern, “NO,” the snapping of our fingers, and a bit of cheese as a reward for staying in the yard, and returning inside on his own, is all we need to keep this little guy in our yard.

Oh…and, this…

We hired a couple of well trained marksmen to maintain a perimeter while the pup is on the loose. The guns are loaded and these guys have twitchy fingers if that mutt so much as glances at the street!

For the record…I’m kidding. We don’t shoot the dog. I mean, on purpose. We haven’t shot him. Yet. I mean, he may one day be shot on accident. I don’t know. There are no guarantees in our household that you will not be shot by an airsoft gun. .

Actually, there’s a pretty good chance that you will get shot, whether you have two legs, or four. It’s just the way we roll around here. I suggest goggles and a bullet proof vest if you come to visit.

I’m gonna miss this…

2011-01-17T17:10:00.001-06:00

Today…lounging in sweats, my lover’s robe, and furry boots, while watching cartoons with the girl, and surfing the web…

Tomorrow…stressing in scrubs, cramming for tests, and panicking over skills validations.

Damn…I’m really gonna miss this!!

I wish I could just blink my eyes, and it’d me May…

New technology…

2011-01-14T16:57:00.001-06:00

Jake and I got the new MyTouch 4G’s the other day, and I freakin’ love them. I was switching from the iPhone, and was nervous about the switch.

But, dayum, this phone is cool.

We have video chat. Which, at first, I thought was wicked awesome. If I’m being honest, my initial thoughts were sick and twisted and about taking sexting to a whole new level, with my lover. And, you know…just, in general, thought it would be cool to video chat with Jake throughout the day. Because…one might get laid off in these “tough economic times” for having phone sex at work. Even if it is with your wife.

ANY-FRICKIN’-WHO…why did you let me go THERE???

Today, my phone rang and it was Jake for a video chat. I was sitting here at the desk. Fucking around on facebook and BlogFrog. Doing nothing productive.

I reached down to answer the phone, and I panicked.

Oh shit. He’s gonna see that I’m just sitting here in the office. I should run to the kitchen and pretend that I was cleaning it. No…I should run to the laundry room. I’ve actually done a load today, this could be that load. No…I’m supposed to be taking it easy from my oral surgery. I should run to the bedroom and lay down.

AAAAAAAAALL this shit ran through my head in the instant that I looked down to see the video chat request.

Lucky for me, this new technology has a few kinks to iron out, and it doesn’t work all that great. He couldn’t see me. I called him back and I couldn’t see him. So we just gave up.

And the kitchen is still dirty. And the laundry still needs to be done. And I’m still fucking around on the computer!

A valuable lesson…

2011-01-11T20:49:00.001-06:00

So, you’ve heard me bitch and moan about kids these days and their video games. If you haven’t heard me bitch and moan about how ridiculous I think video games are, these days, you can go here, and here.

A brief synopsis of what I bitch and moan about…

Kids are so spoiled and I’m always harping on my kids about how, “when I was a kid, we couldn’t save our progress in a video game…if we wanted to win, we invested blood sweat and tears…if our mom’s called us to dinner, we started over…and…and…AND…we beat our video games with 3 lives. THREE!!!”

These rants always go right over my kids’ heads and they look at me blankly, wait for my raving to come to and end, then they play their silly games.

Well, yesterday, on our snow day, I found a download on our Wii for the ORIGINAL Super Mario Brothers. The first one. That we grew up on.

I was stoked. For $5, I was able to download the full version of the game, and afford my children a glimpse at what I’m always talking (read: bitching) about, when I play their games.

The real deal.

They hate it. They think it’s stupid. They’re completely uncoordinated at the 2 dimensional play, with no back track and a limited number of lives. They are frustrated by it. They don’t understand how to find the hidden blocks and tricks, and they have very little patience for the game.

And I couldn’t BE more thrilled about it!!

I’m thinking about not letting them play their games that pretty much beat themselves…until they are able to beat this game…a REAL video game!!

Muahahaahahahahahahahahaha….

Finally!!!

Love, true love, and marriage...

2011-01-09T22:41:00.000-06:00

Mawage is wut bwings us togedder toooday...

Photo from here.

I was talking to the fiance of a good friend last night on the subject of marriage.

My marriage happens to be the thing I'm most proud of in my life, so I'm always happy to discuss the subject.

Jake and I have a great marriage. We just do. We set it up that way, and neither he, nor I would have it any other way. We have an amazing understanding of one another. I have patience for him, where I don't have it for other people in my life. Respect and communication are paramount in our interactions and the basis of our relationship.

The bottom line of our marriage...we'd just rather be happy. We'd rather laugh than fight. We'd rather snuggle than give each other the cold shoulder. And we'd rather use our tongues for kissing, rather than lashing each other with them.

And truthfully, neither one of us considers it work...and wouldn't dream of considering it "hard work," to make these choices.

Last week, I was involved in a discussion on another blog about whether or not, marriage is "hard work." I tried to explain to the droves of women claiming that marriage was "really, really hard work," that it didn't always have to be. I just wanted people to know that a person's marriage doesn't have to become the overused cliche, "the old ball and chain." It doesn't have to be a battleground. It shouldn't be a battleground, it should be a refuge.

I explained that I love and respect my husband more than any person in the entire world, and that I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. That he is the most amazing man I know...and he deserves all the happiness in the world. Not only that, but, it's my privilege to be able to contribute to his happiness on a daily basis.

And I know for a fact, that Jake feels the same way.

Are you nauseous?

Do you believe me?

You should.

But, the people I was discussing the subject on this popular blog and forum didn't believe me. They called me a liar. They called me delusional. They said I was too blind to see that my marriage wasn't really all that I thought it was. They said if my marriage was all that I said it was...then, it must be so boring to be me. And my personal favorite...one person said that I must not have had tough life experiences that have challenged my marriage. That marriages are easy when life is easy...that I should just wait. That one day my life would get tough and my marriage would get miserable.

Bwahahahahahhahahahaaah!!!

That one was a good one.

At first these comments really bugged me. I let them under my skin. But, then, I realized these comments had nothing to do with their opinion of me...just what they were frustrated with in their own marriages.

I'm okay with that.

Because last night, the fiance of a good friend of mine, asked my advice, and sought out my insight on marriage. She said she can see what a beautiful marriage that Jake and I have, and she wanted my opinions on some things.

It was seriously the highest compliment I have ever been paid. It felt wonderful, and it made it totally worth putting up with the harsh words I received last week, online.

And really, I don't say these things about my marriage to toot my own horn, to brag, or to boast...I just know how safe and wonderful, and peaceful I feel in my marriage. With my husband. And everyone deserves the same.

And I'm really glad that my good friend and his fiance seem to have found it for themselves, too.

Saturday morning…

2011-01-08T11:02:00.001-06:00

Love a lazy Saturday.

This is what we’re doing…

Cooking breakfast (at 11am!)…

Hanging out online…

Killing zombies…

Basking in the sunshine…

Icing my aching jaw (I had a tooth pulled and implant placed yesterday!…Like those glassy eyes? I do!)…

What are you doing?

♪♪Dirty bit…♪♪

2011-01-01T20:43:00.001-06:00

Listening to the Black Eyed Peas (rather than eating them…because, ewwww!) today, to ring in the new year!

Happy New Year to you all!

Notice I didn’t say “Happy New Year’s”…

*New Year’s what exactly, now that we’re not talking about it’s “Eve” anymore?*

or “Happy New Years”…

*B’cause, thank god…these years only come in one at a time, last I checked!*

Nope…just plain ole, “Happy New Year” Mo-Fos!

Pressing…

2010-12-31T12:28:00.001-06:00

It’s just after noon on this Eve of the New Year, and our house is a buzz with the beginnings of cabin fever setting in for the children, as their excitement over the break from school is waning.

These are some of the questions that I have been asked this morning and/or asked myself.

The daily dealings in our household…

1) Why does the dog continue to shit in the house? *Really, Jobin? Really? What is the effing problem, dude?*

2) Will he ever learn? *Jack was easier to potty train than this furball!*

3) How did I allow us to run out of toilet paper? *Napkins, good toilet paper, do not make!*

4) How do we tell if the hamster is a boy or a girl?

5) Now that we’ve Googled the procedure, who is going to be the one to check? *Measure the distance between his butt-hole and his sex-hole? WTF? Definitely Jake…*

6) Have we caused a sexual identity crisis in our rodent, by calling him a girl for a year, if he is indeed a boy? *Yeah…probably not.*

7) Are we ready for the pubescence that is about to hit our household with our eldest child? Will he survive it? Will we survive it? How will we survive it three times over? Are there enough pharmaceuticals to be prescribed to deal with this upcoming trying time? *Yeah..probably not.*

8) What’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner? *Are cereal, goldfish, and popcorn suitable meals, because I’d rather be sleeping!*

9) Can I eat the trifle that I made yesterday, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? *Yes, I made a trifle. I’m all kinds of fancy and sophisticated!*

10) Did God die? *Jack is quite the theologian, and loves to question his father and I on religion. I always feel like it’s a test when he asks me…and I always feel like I fail. Is Jack Jesus?*

Seriously? I’m exhausted already!!

Happy Holidays…

2010-12-23T12:09:00.001-06:00

I didn’t do a Christmas card this year!

I know…ridiculous!

It’s my favorite part of the season. The only thing I look forward to about Christmas, and I didn’t do it.

I have been seriously bummed about it. It was a combination of me being too busy with school, and then, too busy with photo shoots (read: working on other people’s Christmas cards)…with a big fat helping of Jake being too scared that this year’s card wouldn’t be good enough!

We cracked under the pressure, and didn’t do one.

I was whining about it on facebook, and one of my buddies challenged me to whip one up real quick. This is what I came up with on the spot…

Merry Whatever-it-is You Celebrate!!

Ghosts from Christmas past...

2010-12-13T05:00:00.002-06:00

This one was written two years ago when I had much more time on my hands. More time...but, the same amount of stress.

Huh...an epiphany. I should quit my bitching!!

Merry Christmas, dammit!

I'll spare you all a video of me singing this little ditty...Christmas is stressful enough already without you having my singing voice ringing through your ears this holiday. You'll have to sing these lyrics yourself!

On the 1st day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…a migraine that could bring a mammoth to his knees!

On the 2nd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…two dozen houseguests, and a migraine that would bring a mammoth to his knees!

On the 3rd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…three feuding children, two dozen houseguests and...DRUGS...I'm going to need drugs for this headache!

On the 4th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…four holiday parties, three feuding children, two dozen houseguests and a migraine that would bring a mammoth to his knees!!

One the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…FIVE OVERDRAFT CHARGES…OMG, seriously? Are you F-ing kidding me??, four holiday parties, three feuding children, too many people to feed, and a migraine!!!

On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…six hours of sleep, FIVE OVERDRAFT CHARGES, four holiday parties, three kids that won't SHUT UP..., two dozen houseguests, and a labotomy...that's what I need for this headache!

On the 7th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…seven days on a beach…oh wait, no…I dreamed that...F$&*...six measly hours of sleep, five overdraft fees...looks like we'll be having this for dinner instead:

four holiday parties, three annoying children, two dozen houseguests, and a migraine!!!

On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…eight strands of lights, seven days on a beach...I wish!, six hours of sleep, five assholes at the bank, four holiday parties, three feuding children, two dozen houseguests and a migraine that would bring a mammoth to his knees!

On the 9th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…nine thousand gifts to wrap, eight strands of lights that never work, seven days on a beach, six measly hours of sleep, all those overdraft fees, four holiday parties, three feuding children, two dozen houseguests and a headache...for the love of all that is sane and good...WHY AREN'T THESE DRUGS WORKING!?!

On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…ten TV specials, nine thousand gifts to wrap, eight strands of lights, seven days on a beach...yeah right, six measly hours of sleep, five overdraft charges, four holiday parties...”oh yeah, good to see you, too…how are the kids?…could you show me where your shotgun is!?!”...three awful children, two dozen houseguests and that horrible, horrible headache!

On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…eleven pairs of pajama pants, ten TV specials...that clay-mation abominable snowman FREAKS ME OUT:

nine thousand gifts, eight strands of lights, seven days on a beach, six hours of sleep...i need more sleep, five...F#$% F#@% F#%#, four holiday parties, three little rugrats, two dozen houseguests, and a migraine!

One the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…twelve bottles of cheap wine…it looks like this is the only way we’re gonna survive this, people...eleven pairs of pajama pants...you won’t see me in sequins or silk…it’s flannel for me, all season long, ten TV specials, nine thousand gifts to wrap, eight strands of lights, seven days on a beach...that's all I wanted...DAMMIT, six hours of not near enough sleep, five overdraft charges, four joyous parties, three nightmarish children, too many houseguests and a headache that will be the death of me!!!

Merry Christmas you guys!!!

Tis the season…

2010-12-12T21:25:00.001-06:00

In the spirit of the season, the kids and I built a gingerbread house together last week…

And boy am I glad we did. Because, having just shot our wad on Friday, finishing up Christmas present buying, we are low on funds, and on groceries.

So tonight, for dinner, my kids had Ramen noodles. For dessert? They ate part of our gingerbread house…

Damn, I love Christmas!

An education…

2010-12-01T16:08:00.001-06:00

I’m not the only one in the family being educated in the healthcare field, as of today.

My son, the 11 year old pre-perv, is currently…like, right now, as I type this…researching the topic of breast cancer. I wrote out a few questions, like, “What is breast cancer?” “How many women die each year from breast cancer?” “Who is at risk for breast cancer?” “What are the best preventative measures against breast cancer?” And, “How do doctors treat breast cancer?”

Now, if my boy still wants one of those DAMNED bracelets, maybe it’ll be for the right reasons.

Wait…strike that. He’s still a hormone infused boy.

I guess, at least, he’ll be a boobie grabbin’ perv, who’s educated on the subject. Offering breast exams, instead of just flat out grabbing them.

That’s something maybe I could live with.

Maybe…

He hearts boobies…

2010-11-29T18:49:00.001-06:00

This is your fair warning…this is a rant!

*climbs up on this soapbox that someone conveniently left here*

Three weeks ago, my 11 year old boy asked me for an “I heart boobies” bracelet that are all the rage right now. One like his friends have. His 11 year old friends. His 11 year old friends who, apparently, have parents that are cooler, hipper, and more into saving boobies than his mother is.

Photo from here.

I answered the boy with a resounding…hell to the niz-o, and later, his father and I had a discussion.

I expressed that I think the “I heart boobies” slogan…for lack of a better word in my vocabulary to accurately portray my feelings…is BOO-SHIT!

BOO-SHIT, BOO-SHIT…BOO-SHIT!

I should rephrase that. The slogan is cute. It’s catchy. My problem lies in the fact that it’s also catchy to the younger crowd. Boys teetering on their “coming of age” who are just starting to find interest in the femalian fun bags, are now finding it cool, fun, and trendy to “heart boobies.”

Don’t get me wrong. I heart boobies. I do. They attracted an exceptional mate for my ass. They fed my babies, and grew them to be healthy and rotund. They make my shirts fit nicely. They don’t cause me trouble. And they’re errogenous, to boot! I heart ‘em just as much as the next gal.

I don’t, however, “heart” that my 11 year old finds it socially acceptable, (because of an inappropriate marketing ploy, IMO), to advertise and proclaim, that he, in all his pre-pubescent glory, “hearts boobies,” too!

BOO-SHIT!!

In this little discussion I had with my “booby hearting” mate, I told him that I thought the slogan and the bracelets, when worn my young boys, was an invitation for sexual harassment. IMO, it opens the door, for a young boy to say inappropriate things, possibly (read: probably) to a girl, with the convenient cloak of “I said it for the cause,” to cover his ass.

BOO-SHIT!!!

I remember pre and pubescent boys. They don’t need any excuses, or green lights, to be inappropriate with young girls. They come up with plenty of ideas on their own to talk about, look at, oogle, and lust after boobies.

They’re male mammals. They have virtually one track minds.

Fast forward to today, and me on this fucking soapbox…

I received a phone call from the Assistant Principal of the school, letting me know that my boy, and some of his friends were threatening girls, saying that they were going to “grab their boobies, because they heart them.”

Am I blaming my son’s misconduct on the campaign for “The Cure?”

Hell no.

It’s my job as a parent to teach my boy what is and isn’t wildly inappropriate. I failed on this one, for sure.

However, I do think that the bracelets did EXACTLY what I expected they would, right under my own nose. They fanned the embers of a fire that will soon enough be raging, amongst those boys. Those boys, just beginning to feel the twinges of becoming young men.

“I heart boobies.”

Innocent enough for you, or I, I suppose. Notsomuch for the young girls who were threatened (thankfully, only threatened, and not assaulted) by my son and his friends.

I firmly believe that those bracelets should be banned in schools. I also think the gimmicks and marketing for something as serious and personal as breast cancer, should be chosen more carefully.

More importantly, I should be a more vigilant parent, and use this as a way to teach him about those bracelets, what they mean, and what “hearting their boobies” means to the women who’ve tragically lost theirs to cancer.

Boys…if they had boobies, they’d understand!

*soapbox dismount*

Thankful…

2010-11-28T22:58:00.001-06:00

Cliché and corny, I know, but, I am.

Thankful.

For these three kids here with me, who, I’m convinced, are the cat’s pajamas. For real.

For the one who’s not here with me who taught me more about life in the 11 short months that I was given with him, than I’d have ever been able to learn on my own…in three lifetimes.

And for The One, who works hard at a job that I know he doesn’t love, nor is he passionate about…so that his wife and kids (whom he is passionate about) can pursue their dreams.

He’s amazing.

So incredibly thankful, I am.

For all of them.

The Age-ed...

2010-11-17T20:06:00.000-06:00

[Image from here]

I haven't thought too terribly much about what kind of nurse I want to be when I grow up. I've always said that I just want to play the field before I settle down somewhere. I don't want to be one of those people who swears that every single type of sick person in the world is the most fun to take care of.

Because one semester in, and pretty much one whole clinical rotation under my belt, and I can almost say with certainty that I don't want to work with the age-ed population.

It has nothing to do with their piss or their shit, either. I can deal with that. Piss and poo is a part of life, and I have no problem managing the biproducts of these patients' bowels.

It doesn't really have anything to do with that "old person smell" either. That doesn't bother me so much. It's funky, and it makes me wretch a little, but, I can handle that. I'm a professional.

It has a little to do with the fact that they will never get any better. That they have seen their "better days" and that it's all downhill from here, for many of them. That's a tad depressing. But, even that isn't something that I get hung up on. I can forget about that. I can even resume my life when I get home and continue taking it for granted. And likely, when I am their age, and some hot shot student nurse is standing over my hospital bed, feeling a twinge of pain over the fact that my glory days are over, I'm sure I might regret that I didn't enjoy those moments of my life more. No matter how crazy, or stressful, or endless they seemed.

C'est la vie...

They can be stubborn, they can be irrational, and they can be improper, but, those are actually my favorite things about the olds.

But, the thing that gets me about them...and what will likely keep me from working with them when/if I have a choice? Is the fact that some of them are the most racist buncha mo-fo's I've ever been around!!

They have no problem saying that they're "used to having colored's take care of them" when the black lady that checked their blood sugar walks out of the room. They see no shame in butchering the Spanish expression of gratitude, "grah-see-us" with their very white Southern drawls. TO THE HALF PHILLIPINO PREGNANT CHICK, WHO JUST FINISHED A TWELVE HOUR SHIFT, SWOLLEN, AND TIRED, AND CONTRACTING, YET, NEVER BALKED ONCE AT ANSWERING THEIR EVERY BECK AND CALL ALL THE DAMNED DAY!!! And they don't think it rude to ask the lady with the badge and thick Eastern Indian accent, "You're not from around here, are ya?" Then proceed to yell, loudly, slowly, and offensively, "DOOOOO YOOOOOOOU EVEN SPEEEEAK ENG-LIIISH?"

They just leave me speechless sometimes!

They are so seasoned, and they tell great stories, they are walking history books, they have fewer teeth to brush, which I totally dig about them, and they've lived circles around my piddly ass...likely earning them the right to say whateverthehell they want.

But, damn. They can be real assholes, the olds.

But, then again, can't we all?

Priceless…

2010-11-16T00:21:00.001-06:00

Tuition: $1500

Time spent away from the family: 40 hours/week

Antacids (likely needed for a developing ulcer related to stress): $5

Being capable and qualified to handle the
piss and shit of the area’s sickest citizens?

PRICELESS!

It’s scary…

2010-10-26T05:31:00.000-05:00

…how grown up this child is looking these days!

Terrifying, actually!

Life saver…

2010-10-25T05:13:00.000-05:00

After coming off my happy pills back at the beginning of this year, I think I’ve adjusted fairly well. No major issues to speak of, but, I have noticed a tad bit of anxiety, as of late.

Rationally, I know much of it is my new schedule, and the stress of school, but, some of the anxiety was manifesting over little shit.

Like cups.

Not just one cup…I’m talking no less than 20 cups, that would be on my kitchen counter by the end of every day.

I SWEAR it seems that my children get a new cup, for every fucking sip of water they ingest! They must, for that is what the evidence shows at the end of every day, when my dishwasher is filled to the brim with a myriad of cups from around the globe.

Some from Dickies barbecue down the street, in all shapes and sizes. Kids cups from Chili’s. Cups from Fuzzy’s taco stand. Cups from Bourbon street that’s original purpose was not for milk. Cups from a Cowboy’s game back in 2002. Cups from Chuck E. Cheese. My favorite cups from Rudy’s barbecue that we collect on our trips to Austin.

All of them would be strewn across the counter by nightfall. While I did, just a smidge, appreciate the nostalgia of it all, the daily plastic trip down memory lane…mostly it boiled my blood.

I would rant and rave like a lunatic, day in, and day out…”ONE CUP…ONE CUP…YOU ONLY NEED ONE CUP FOR A DAY. MAYBE TWO DAYS. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS SANE AND HOLY…ONE FLIPPIN’ CUP PER PERSON! THAT’S FIVE CUPS…I JUST PICKED UP THIRTY-FREAKIN-SEVEN CUPS!! WORK WITH ME PEOPLE!!”

They would listen to me wide-eyed, nod in agreement, and go get a cup out of the cupboard and get a drink of water.

On top of it all…the fights that would break out over one of the any given 37 cups that were on the counter.

“MOOOOOOOOO-OM. He just drank out of my cup!”

“NO I DIDN’T! The little Dickie’s cup is mine. Yours is the big one.”

“NU-UH!! Ave’s is the Fuzzy’s cup, YOURS is the big Dickies cup!”

This would go on for seemingly hours. These cups were causing chaos, and I was at my breaking point. I had to do something to save my sanity. So, I bought these…

Color coded cups. Jack is red. Ave is blue. Lil is purple. There are only two of each. While one is washing, the other is being used.

No more fights. No more fusses. No more eighty seven cups on my counter each night. Now, there are only these three. These three aesthetically pleasing cups.

I’m an idiot for not thinking of it sooner…it’s just that no one tells you that you’re at risk for offin’ yourself over plastic flippin’ cups, when you become a mom!

Back in the runnin’…

2010-10-21T15:16:00.001-05:00

It looks like I might be back in the running for Mother of the Year for 2010. After today, in fact, I’m in pretty good standing.

Jake was working from home today, so we went out to lunch. A friend that Jake plays ball with happened to be there with his wife, so we sat at the bar with them, on a Thursday afternoon, and kicked back a couple.

That doesn’t exactly put me in the running, but, this next part does…

Jake’s phone rang and I noticed that it was the school. Immediately thinking that one of my heathen boys were into trouble, I answered the call.

It was actually Lily’s teacher. Calling for our scheduled phone conference. That I’d forgotten about. Caught off guard, and pretending that I hadn’t forgotten about our appointment, I chatted with Lily’s teacher.

When I hung up, it dawned on me that I’d just had a parent/teacher conference AT A BAR!

At a FREAKIN’ BAR!!

I should start working on my acceptance speech now!!

I don’t care who ya are…

2010-10-19T14:47:00.001-05:00

A big box of rubber penises is funny!

You can dress me up like a nurse, give me a stethoscope, teach me to auscultate, percuss, assess, and administer a transdermal injection…but, if you do it with a giant box of penises on the shelf behind you, I can promise you I’m gonna laugh!

Don’t think you’re above it, until you try concentrating on a lab demonstration with 50 glans penises of various shades staring back at you!!

It’s officially hopeless…I’m never growing up!

We pulled the trigger…

2010-10-07T14:06:00.001-05:00

We got a new pup. The gaping hole that was left in our lives when Tucker the Fucker ran away could only be filled by another weenie dog. Or some sappy shit like that.

This…

is Joben!

The name started out as a joke. While we were thinking of great names like Capone, Pacino, and Mugsy, we joked that we should call him Joben, from this scene in “I Love You Man.”

We laughed about it, and started calling him Jobes, Jobey, and Joben on his first day with us. The name stuck and began to grow on us.

Now, it’s official! His name is Joben, and we love him!

Good lookin’ out, Mom…

2010-09-29T21:53:00.001-05:00

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…

2010-09-27T00:05:00.001-05:00

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...

2010-09-16T10:01:00.000-05:00

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!

2010-09-15T05:00:00.010-05:00

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…

2010-09-14T15:13:00.001-05:00

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…

2010-09-13T17:53:00.001-05:00

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…

2010-09-09T08:42:00.001-05:00

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…

2010-09-07T21:56:00.001-05:00

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...

2010-09-01T21:45:00.000-05:00

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!

An intimate moment...

2010-08-31T20:35:00.001-05:00

With so many figurative balls in the air right now, I was bound to have to prioritize them, and let a few drop, for the greater good. Unfortunately for Jake, the ball representing our "relations" was the first one to hit the ground upon my re-entry to the college scene.

The other night, Jake broached the subject, "I thought college girls were supposed to be easy."

Whining a bit, I said, "Baaaa-abe, I'm tired. Really, really tired. Being back in class wears me out, and if you ever plan on getting laid again...I'm just telling you now, you're gonna have to get creative."

There was a moment of silence. I tried to hurry off to sleep before he devised a plan.

I wasn't fast enough...

"Wanna play beer pong?"

Well played, sir...well played!

We call her Charlotte…

2010-08-30T20:07:00.001-05:00

The kids have had so much fun with this spider. She’s right by our front door, and she’s helping us to keep the grasshoppers off of our bushes.

The boys want to make her our pet, and they try to feed her by catching grasshoppers and throwing them into her web. They like to watch her do her spindly thing with them, in spite of my warnings that Charlotte is doing just fine without their help, and that they are actually risking destroying her web, in their attempts to help a spider out.

The kids love her so much, I’ve thought about putting her picture up in place of The One Who Ran Away’s!

Reunited…

2010-08-26T21:36:00.001-05:00

A man…

and his remote…

It’s a beautiful thing!!

Football season is starting up, and I would never expect my husband to go without television during the Cowboy’s season.

Never.

Ever.

As of today, we’re plugged back in.

The kids were thrilled. I know they were thrilled, because they house was silent when they got home from school. I mean, silent. We told them that we would keep the cable until the Cowboys’ season is over, then, the plug will be pulled again…and we’ll be part-time cable viewers.

And with that, “America’s team” has three brand new fans this year!

Go Cowboys…our television viewing pleasure depends on it!

When I grow up...

2010-08-25T20:54:00.002-05:00

When I grow up, I wanna be a Nurse Practitioner.

Since my kids older, I thought it would be cool that they get to witness me working hard in school pursuing degrees, a career, and my dreams.

I thought I was modeling for my children, to set goals. To achieve them. And when you do, aim higher, and set new goals.

The sky's the limit.

So, tonight, ~~while hiding in my room, rocking back and forth in a corner, and drooling, after a NINE HOUR LECTURE, today!!~~ while freshening up for dinner, I was a little disappointed to hear this conversation...

Avery said, "Hey, Dad. When I grow up, I wanna be a lawyer...and then, after that...I wanna be the mayor! How cool would that be?"

I heard Lily gasp, and say, "WHAT?!? Why would you want to do all that?? When I grow up, all I wanna do is work at PetSmart!"

Not become a veterinarian. Not become an animal trainer. Not even OWN a fucking PetSmart. She just wants to work at one?!?

**Note to self: When Lily's an adult, and working at PetSmart to help support her family...remember to praise her for following her dreams!!**

Today, it hit me...

2010-08-23T19:33:00.002-05:00

On my first day of nursing school, I listened for hours on the legalities, regulations, and expectations that will be placed on me as a nurse. I learned that this new career path I've chose, I will spend a lot of time, covering my ass. Making sure that my patients are happy. My coworkers are happy. My bosses are happy. And that the Board is happy. It kinda freaked me out.

As I sat and listened, I realized how much I enjoyed the job I've had for the past twelve years, and the people I've worked with.

My boss is lovely. I mean, a dream. I'd totally hit it. In fact, I have. And do, regularly.

I worked as the lone supervisor, while the boss was away, so I never had to deal with pissy coworkers and their drama. I liked being in charge, with no one around to sue me, if I fucked up. In fact, the only people around to notice if I fucked up, were too young to even vote, so they couldn't if they wanted to!

Speaking of those people. The people who I was supervising while the boss was out. They are great. I mean, the first few years that I worked with them was tough. They were demanding, and kind of annoying really, and they cried a lot. And they soiled themselves, and I'd have to clean it. They were pretty immature. But, they've done some growing up, and lately they have been just a pleasure to work with. They didn't care if I was in my pajamas all day, or if I didn't do the laundry correctly, or regularly, or EVER. They never ratted me out to my boss, if I sat around all day doing nothing, but, jumped up five minutes before the Big Dog arrived home, to keep up the appearance that I'd actually done something. They didn't watch my every move, waiting for a misstep. They never complained to any Board. Or, tried to have my license revoked. They were just a real pleasure.

That's all about to change...and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified!!

Are you ready for some football?

2010-08-22T12:03:00.001-05:00

Hell yeah!!

I had a photoshoot, and missed Jack’s first preseason game, but, since he’s been so sick, he wasn’t playing much anyway.

But, I made it in time for Ave’s game, and it was good to be watching some football again!

Ave started at Defensive End, and it turns out the hour of being grilled by the coach at Friday’s practice for not exploding off the line fast enough, paid off!

It all came back to my boy when he was on that football field, and he did great!

He had a sack, or two, and several tackles.

This one…was caught on camera. He’s number 12, in the black helmet.

He sees the handoff for the reverse…

He does not see the block coming and is blindsided by what looks to be a little illegal, helmet to helmet contact…

Avery reported that his lights flickered for a second with this hit, and he had to shake himself out of it, because he knew the play was still going on…

On his way to the ground, he lunges…

He wraps up, all he can reach…

The running back is in trouble…

Avery takes him down, for a huge loss on the play…

Get some, bitch…

Alright…Avery didn’t say that, I did, but, whatever!!

Not what I had in mind...

2010-08-19T21:06:00.003-05:00

So, when I pictured myself in scrubs, this is what I pictured...

This is not what I pictured...

What in the hell???

I'm a nurse in the 1980's!!!

It’s been a while…

2010-08-19T10:57:00.001-05:00

Since my kiddos were sick.

The past year…we haven’t been sick very much at all. I mean nothing. Not even so much as a runny nose.

It’s wonderful when your kids get a little older, their immune systems mature, and they are able to fight off the typical sneezes and sniffles and the occasional doozy of an infection, on their own!

Yesterday, just five short days before the first day of 1st grade, 3rd grade, 5th grade, and the Nursing Program…Jack decided to succumb to the germs, and he’s sick!

Strep throat. An ear infection. Upper respiratory infection. And croup!!!

All at once.

He’s on a double dose of antibiotics, breathing treatments, and steroids, and Tylenol and Ibuprofen round the clock to attempt to keep his fever in check. He should be right as rain, and no longer contagious by the first day of school, though.

But, what about the rest of us?

My head feels funny and my throat is scratchy…and I’m convinced that Lily and I will come down with this crap, come Sunday!! We’re the only ones excited about starting school, and it seems like it would fit that we’d be the ones to be stricken with the crud, forcing us to stay home!!

I know, I know…I shouldn’t be so negative, and I shouldn’t send shit like that into the universe. Hopefully, it’s just psychosomatic, and it’s nothing.

Hopefully, come Monday…I don’t look anything like this…

Some things money can’t buy…

2010-08-17T11:49:00.001-05:00

Designer scrubs…$60

Stethoscope…$80

Textbooks…$350

Realizing a dream…PRICELESS!

My T’s are crossed and my I’s are dotted. I’ve been oriented. I’ve been tested. I’ve served my time, waited my turn, and on Monday…a dream of mine comes true!

I start nursing school.

Until this point, it has just felt like something I’ve been talking about. Something I’ve been planning. Now that I have my equipment, have my seat in the classroom, and have my clinical assignment…it’s feeling pretty real.

I’m really gonna do this thing!!

Metal mouth…

2010-08-14T21:33:00.001-05:00

The girl had her braces put on the day before we left for vacation, and she was thrilled. She even requested that I take pictures at the dentist office!!!

Before…

During (per her request)…

And after…Just look at how fast that gap closed up!!

And…just look at how beautiful my girl is, even with all that metal in her mouth (if I do say so myself)!!

Toes in the sand...

2010-08-13T12:04:00.001-05:00

A toss up...

2010-08-11T20:33:00.008-05:00

It's a toss up as to whether these guys are having more fun hitting the beaches of Destin, FL...

Or, watching cable for the first time in seven months!!!

We've been soaking up rays by day...

and soaking up the boob-tube by night! It really is paradise, just look how happy Jake is to be watching a live Ranger game!!!

The wall…

2010-08-04T10:09:00.001-05:00

I’ve hit the metaphorical wall.

That glorious point in the kid’s summer vacation where they are at each other’s throats, trying to kill one another, and I am at theirs, trying to kill them.

It’s bad. Last summer I was locked in my bedroom with a stack of notecards and a textbook to read, and Jake was running the show. I liked last summer better.

Lily was gone for two weeks at the beach with some of my family…but, she’s the easy kid, so the screaming, fighting, and wrestling to the death didn’t let up at all with only 2/3 of my children at home.

It’s just these boys.

I swear that they are literally trying to kill each other.

Last night, I broke up a brawl. Avery slammed the door in Jack’s face, knocking his tooth loose, and Jack went postal on him, and punched him square in the face. Ave didn’t like that, and went all Ralphie on him. Sitting atop him, swinging wildly, muttering under his breath, while Jack pleaded with him to stop.

We’re going stir crazy, I think.

They’re a motley crew, my three…

And in the best interest of my children’s mental health and physical well being…THEY NEED TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL!!!!!

Pink-eyed...

2010-08-02T14:22:00.003-05:00

Ave has pink eye...

He's sporting the 'stache, for two reasons, 1) like his father, he thinks 'staches are cool, and 2) it takes the focus off of his eye of pink!

When we got back home from the doctor, for fun, and to appeal to the "little boy" in my little boys, I said, "Do you know how you get pink eye, Ave?"

"No," said The One Who Knows Everything, much to my surprise!! He will usually just make something up, to give the illusion that he does indeed know everything!

Channelling this hilarious scene...

I said, "You get it when someone farts on your pillow." To my youngest, I said, "Jack, did you fart on Bubba's pillow, and give him the pink eye?"

Immediately, Jack said, "NOOOOOOOOOOOO...I didn't!!!"

Avery didn't believe him, and yelled, "YOU FARTED ON MY PILLOW?!? You little..."

"HEY! Watch it!!" I interrupted.

Avery, obviously mad, yelled some more, "I'm gonna...I'm gonna...I'm gonna fart right in your eye!!"

With that disgusting threat, Jack leapt at his brother, and a playful riot began.

Arms were swinging, legs were flailing, the two boys were a tangled mess, and over it all were their mutterings...

"I didn't fart on your pillow!"

"Yes you did! I know you did...I have pink eye!!"

"Oh yeah? I'm gonna fart in your mouth!"

"Oh yeah? I'm gonna fart in YOUR mouth!"

Lily and I watched for a few minutes (they are entertaining), but, eventually I had to separate them, and explain that I was just kidding, and that farting on someone's pillow will not give you pink eye.

I don't think they believed me, though, and I think I may have planted a seed, and possibly started a war!!

Note to self: Flip your pillowcase over before you lay down, and/or change pillowcases often, on the off chance that the farts of little boys can, indeed, cause pink eye!!

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

2010-07-29T11:58:00.001-05:00

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...

2010-07-28T15:17:00.002-05:00

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…

2010-07-26T13:52:00.001-05:00

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…

2010-07-23T12:28:00.001-05:00

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...

2010-07-21T08:45:00.003-05:00

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.