A prayer...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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.