Oh dear glob they are bubbling up…and they ain’t no female, pms-y kind of hormones either!
My sweet boy, my beautiful son is 11 years old and the hormones are starting to bubble up. No, they aren’t a raging, rolling boil…yet. But they are just at the boiling point and…
I’m not liking it.
I have survived four girls through the transition of child to stinky pre-teen to raging adolescence. This can not possibly be hard for me anymore.
I’ve got this.
I believed that.
I truly did.
I thought wrong.
Oh my goodness! My sweet little boy suddenly is one big gloomy, grumpy, irritated, annoyed person and he is directing that flood of emotions at me…complete with heavy sighs and eye rolls.
What indeed, son. We both are wondering what right now. Although I have to confess that my “what” is actually a three word “what“.
Then this comes on.
Oh my darling boy! Not a day goes by where I am not reminded just how fortunate, how so damn lucky we are…
Yesterday was one of those days. My heart breaks for another family, another amazing, brave and strong one like you. So I close my eyes and cry hot tears while I offer up a quick thanks for you…and say a prayer for the other. Then I say thank you for these hormones that are just beginning to bubble up to a boil because I get to experience them…again…with you.
Mother of FIVE children, Mima of two gorgeous babies never wanted to be a mother.
Then I fell in love…HARD. I got married and a few years later the stick turned blue and OMG, I was going to be a mother! Yes, after a brief moment of “oh crap! I’m going to be a mother!!” I melted all over the place because I was going to have a baby…I was going to be a mommy!!
And the first thing someone told me was you’re going to be so fat! Hollie was told the same thing years later…by the same person. I didn’t believe it. Neither did Hollie. But yeah, I did get big…as a house…at least in my mind…while I was pregnant. Good god, who knew one’s belly could stretch THAT much without the skin ripping. But nine months or a little more later after the birth of that beautiful baby who made me as big as a house, I was wearing clothes I wore before I was impregnated. Except for bras. People tell you that your boobs will never be the same again and of course you don’t hear that because who is going to hear such negativity but it is true. Your boobs will never be the same again. In my case, I went from pre-pregnant barely an A cup to a C cup. Funny how I finally got the boobs I always wanted but now I didn’t want them. Take note your mileage may vary, er your boobs will be different after having babies but might not end up like mine.
No one ever tells you that you will never, ever want to go to the bathroom ever again after you push out a nearly nine pound (in my case the first time) human being out of your body…they also don’t tell you that you will likely poop when pushing that human out of your body…at least you don’t hear people telling you that…at your baby shower…at church…in the supermarket. So when your post-partum nurse comes in and happily suggests that you get up soon after birth and go to the bathroom you are thinking “OH HELL NO!!!Did you see what just came out of my now bruised and swollen bottom?1?! That human nearly ripped me apart!!! I am never going to pee or poop ever again!!!” What you don’t realize is that you kind of, sort of predicted your own future…you will never be able to pee or poop ALONE, in private without someone wanting to talk to you right now.
Somehow you manage to pee and poop and survive sleepless nights and cracked nipples and vomit and potty training temper tantrums and snot…so much snot. And if you are a fool, like me, you forget everything everyone told you and that you have lived through and you do it again, and again, and again. At least I was able to go to the bathroom with no trauma after Daniel was born. Eventually, you get to the point where that precious human is ready for school and you think, “Hurray! I am going to be free!”
You foolish, foolish mother!
There’s the school drop-off and the pick-up and the PTA (that just might judge you and reject you) and T-ball and soccer and homework…so much homework. You thought you were done with math homework…heh-heh. The added bonus is that small human who changed your body and disrupted your bathroom habits and sleep yet you adore because you are the center of their universe replaces you! You, my dear, are no longer the center of that child’s universe…and you never, ever will be again. There will always be a teacher or a coach or a best friend who they will worship before you. Yes, you were told this. I’m telling you this now. But you won’t believe it.
Just you wait.
Then when you finally have adjusted to life with a school aged child and all that comes with that even managing to eek out some time to yourself something else happens.
You thought pooping and peeing right after giving birth was traumatic.
You are knee deep in stinkiness and emotions and anger and eye rolls and heavy sighs and slamming doors and closed doors and on and on and on. You are also, clearly, the dumbest person on the planet…EVER. Wine and the fact that god made these children cute so you wouldn’t kill them are the only thing that gets you through this period. Take note if you have three teenagers at one time in your home you will need LOTS of wine. Trust me, I know. You are certain that you (and your child) will never survive this time and of course you don’t believe it when your friends with adult aged children come along side of you and promise that you (and your child) will survive and you might even be smart again. If you are really lucky, you will become the wisest person they know…the one they tell their young adult friends to talk to because you are the smartest person they know. They also try to tell you that when that child of yours turns eighteen and is an “adult” you are not done…that you will NEVER, EVER be done. Yeah, they tell you that but you don’t hear them, which is why you foolishly post on your Facebook page how you can’t wait until your little darling’s eighteenth birthday because then you will be done and free at last.
Why doesn’t anyone tell you this, you wonder?
The thing is everyone told you this. Everyone. They tell you this maybe to prepare you but I think they tell you with wicked delight because they remember just how naive they were back before they became parents…back when they KNEW they would be so much better and never, ever go through any of this crazy joy ride that is motherhood because, for them it would be different. They tell you with a warped, wicked glee that foolish you have no idea what you have gotten yourself into for the rest of your life. You have no clue…no clue at all. Just you wait.
It is a wild crazy and ride.
Thank goodness for the joy…and, if you hang in there, the grandbabies…and the joy of witnessing your mother’s curse upon your child that they will have children someday just like them come true.
Last week under the Big Top it was hot. It was hotter than it usually is or expected to be the first week of May with temps in the 90s nearing the century mark. Yes, I am well aware that in other parts of the country people were shoveling snow…in May!
Unfortunately I can’t control the weather. It is not part of my job description as the master juggler around here…no matter what my kids might think.
Counter clockwise was the overwhelming consensus that a fan must turn in order to produce a cooling wind chill effect by the downward air flow.
As predicted it did not change the thermostat but the living room and kitchen area, as well as the bedrooms did indeed seem to be significantly cooler…oh, and I didn’t have to turn on the ac until the day we hit the century mark last Thursday late afternoon. I liked that. I liked that a lot.
And my circus clowns came home all week to a nice, cool Big Top after their long days at work, school, dance, Krav Maga and Tae Kwon Do.
Saving energy and keeping the Big Top comfortably cool; I win!
Thankfully, by Sunday there was a change in the weather and this week has brought temperatures that are 20-30 degrees cooler along with cool evening Delta breezes. As it should be here in the merry month of May. It is then that my darling husband wonders out loud if we should turn on the ac because he is hot.
Close the blinds and open the windows and let the breezes in, honey. It is only 75° outside.
But I’m hot!
Oh for goodness sake! (opening some windows and closing the blinds to block the setting sun)
Then looking up I notice that the ceiling fan is now turning clockwise.
Did you change the direction of the fan?
Yeah. I changed them all. They’re going in the wrong direction.
Um, no! I checked. They are supposed to be counter clockwise to cool the house more efficiently.
No, they are supposed to be clockwise in the warm months. I’ve got this.
No. Seriously honey, I did some research on this. In order to cool the house more efficiently and decrease our ac usage…AND save on our energy bill, the fans need to be turning counter clockwise. It helps to cool the whole room so we all can enjoy it.
When the fan turns clockwise it isn’t cooling the whole room. It does however seem to create a mini tornado under YOUR chair when you turn the fan up to high.
As it should be.
No, it should not be that way. Look, I’m just trying to save us a little off of our energy bill. It is crazy during the summer months and every little thing helps.
Fine! (he gets the step ladder and proceeds to change all of the fans directions back to counter clockwise)
A few hours later…
You know, I have been doing my OWN research and the direction the fan has nothing to do with cooling the room. It is how the blades are angled.
And so now the fans are turning clockwise…for now.
The moral of the story is it would seem that married couples are always arguing about directions.
It is. This week is mine and every single nurse out there whom you have the pleasure to know…or perhaps the displeasure, because more often than not when you encounter a nurse, a REAL nurse, not a medical technician in your doctor’s office, you aren’t having much fun and likely not feeling well at all. You are probably scared and in a lot of pain and the last thing you feel like doing is making friends or making small talk with a total stranger wearing scrubs.
photo credit: Jackie Smith Barnard
It’s okay. We understand because, more often than not, we meet this way. You or your loved one is critically ill and we are busy saving you or your loved one’s life. We don’t judge. We do what we do because we care. We care a lot.
I imagine that most of you probably aren’t worrying too much about how we look. I mean you are probably scared and in a lot of pain; or you are stressed and worried about someone you love who is scared, stressed, doesn’t feel well and is in a lot of pain. So in spite of some conclusions drawn from March 2012 study of Patients’ Perception of Patient Care Providers with Tattoos and/or Body Piercings that surveyed only 150 patients in a rural Georgia hospital, you don’t doubt our caring, confidence, reliability, attentiveness, cooperativeness, professionalism, efficiency and approachability. No, I imagine that if you are like me as a patient or the loved one of the patient or like my patients’ families you just want the assurance that I am well trained, educated and good at what I do…being a nurse who does care, is confident, is reliable, is VERY attentive, cooperative, professional, efficient and approachable…in spite of a nurse’s tattoos or piercings or hair color that is not natural.
The point of this week isn’t all about gifts of coffee mugs or badge holders or massages (seriously the BEST nurses’ week gift I ever received…ever!) or dollar store calculators or even free Cinnabons(at a participating Cinnabon near you…the key word is PARTICIPATING Cinnabon). No, it is about you and me taking the time to thank a nurse who might have saved our life or a loved one’s life or who put up with us at our very worst when we were sick or injured. This I try to do. They might not remember me or my family…or perhaps they have chosen to purposely forget me…but I send a simple card reminding them of my hospital visit or my loved one’s and then thanking them for taking such good care of me or my loved one.
Really, that is all most nurses want…just a thank you. Trust me we don’t go into this vocation because we like feeling physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted most of the time or because we relish the long hours and holidays away from our families or because we LOVE bodily fluids that sometimes end up on our scrubs or our shoes and we definitely don’t do what we do for the Cinnabons or the cheap calculators or yet another coffee mug or badge holder or even for the massages…although the massages are super awesome and most definitely appreciated.
Just thank a nurse and tell them that they are awesome because they are!
Parents, isn’t it fun to dress up your little darling children? It is. It is indeed.Oh the oh-so cute little dresses and sailor suits and t-shirts and shoes and hair styles and…if you have more than one darling child…the match-y, match-y siblings look.
A total win! People can totally tell that they are all sisters. And the first born isn’t resentful at all over the fact that she is dressed just like her barely-potty trained sisters because she is a mature, confident third grader and totally trusts her Mom’s fashion choices…like dressing her kids exactly alike.
But it gets better. At least Mom imagines that it gets better.
No, we are not match-y, match-y but we are awesomely Gap coordinated. Weren’t the 90s just too stylish?I think so. Hollie, on the other hand, believes that this is just photographic evidence that her mother dressed her funny on purpose.
Oh, and in case you are wondering, Bill is smiling in this picture. He is smiling on the inside. Don’t believe me? Ask him. He’ll tell you.
But I digress…
Parents, while it is truly, truly fun to dress up our children not unlike the way we used to dress our Barbies…or our GI Joes.
Did boys dress up their GI Joes? I don’t know. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.
Parents, be careful how you dress your babies because it will come back to haunt you with all of your babies’ judgement and angst and bitterness when they are all grown up.
“Every (patient’s) crazy for a sharp dressed nurse.“
Truth be told, being a patient myself a few times, I never really paid much attention to how my nurse caring for me looked. Just do your job and take really good care of me is all I ask. The thing is I have found in those circumstances is the nurses who have cared for me, or my children, as their patient are not only professional in their skills but how they look. Their appearance reflects their attention to their profession…and their personality.
The balance of presenting myself professionally along with a little self expression has been on my mind lately. Ultimately I dress as a NICU nurse for comfort, mine and my patients and their families because twelve hours night or day is a very long time to be on the job caring for tiny human beings and their worried, stressed families. Working twelve hour night shifts as an RN in the NICU, I certainly don’t always look gorgeous…um, actually probably never with my hair twisted up in a bun or a braid and virtually no makeup. But then again I’m too busy taking care of critically sick, tiny humans and supporting their scared, nervous (and sometimes also sick) parents to be worried about whether or not I look good. Yet I do try to look good…or at least professional, as in the “you can trust me I am a professional and well-qualified to care for your precious baby” sense. It makes a difference I believe. I know I would want my loved ones’ caregivers to dress and look professional.
I was more than thrilled to be asked by Uniformed Scrubs to try on and take one of their scrub tops out for a night of “fun” in the NICU. A little sweat (thank you hot flashes!), some baby spit up that might miss a burp cloth or some dried tears on your shoulder after hugging a grateful parent or snuggling a snuffling baby. So. Much Fun. No, really. Fun that my scrubs better hold up to well.
I was given an Adar Scrub Set top to try on. Basic, simple, well-made, side vents, deep pockets…all things I want/need in scrubs. Comfortable too.
Definitely comfortable but I need a smaller size! That’s my fault. I guess I need to see that yes, I am a size smaller which is a win. Hurray for my running obsession and new flirtation with kettle bells! But the true test was yes, these scrubs held up very well to my 12 hour shift of caring for my precious patients, my hot flashes and the little bit of baby spit up that slipped past the burp cloth washed out just fine, thank you very much.
To thank me for trying on one of their featured scrubs, Uniformed Scrubs is offering my readers 15% off their wide variety of brands of fun, functional and comfortable scrubs. Just use the coupon code “true blue” from now until July 31, 2013 to receive you 15% off discount. Pretty awesome!
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the tree pollen count is crazy high which means everyone under the Big Top is suffering with some degree of allergic misery and we are slathering ourselves with sunscreen.
Melanoma is so twentieth century.
What is this thing they call twentieth century, Fallon wonders?