Running Wildly

My OCD Is Showing

2012-01-30T16:23:00.000-08:00

For the past 3 years living in a new part of town, I have found myself in a routine, driving a certain route to work. Along the way I always drive past a sign that highlights the name of a neighbourhood in town and each time I pass it, I swear I begin to hiss like an angry cat.

Why, you might question? Is there graffiti? Nope. Is it gaudy looking sign? No, not particularly.
What gets me every.single.time is the missing letter. See for yourself.

The stupid R on that sign has been ripped off by kids TWICE now. I notice it because it bugs me so incredibly much every time I drive by. It rubs me the wrong way, like hugging a porcupine. It makes me grit my teeth. The sign is supposed to read CEDAR.... as in the tree. Not CEDA, as in I'm Jenny from the Block. This sign screams "Welcome to the hood, peeps. Fo Shizzel."

I am annoyed by graffiti and have written about that before here. It's a sign of getting old, I know. But when punk kids continually destroy something for no reason other than to be disruptive, I simply have no tolerance. I want to spank those kids with a wooden spoon. (But not really).

To my complete and utter pleasure, I drove to work the other day and came across this!!!!! I swear I heard Heaven's angelic choir singing as my car passed by. I started laughing and said aloud, "It's about stinkin' time."

Why this bugs me so much, I don't know. I guess my OCD is showing. Or my age. Or both. But I am glad the sign is whole again. See how they went and bolted in the R? Hahahaha. Punk kids. Can't get at it.
Now I can go have a big glass of wine and relax. Everything is right in the world.

The Snuggie

2012-01-23T13:21:00.000-08:00

If you've never heard of "The Snuggie" then you either live under a rock, in a cave....or you're dead. And the latter seems pretty suspicious. There really is no excuse for not knowing what a snuggie is. However, if you need a refresher click ON THIS and you can read a previous post regarding what this glorious invention is. Last week I just received my first snuggie from my friend, Nikki after sarcastically lamenting on facebook how I didn't get a snuggie under the Christmas tree. She doesn't know it yet, but this snuggie has changed my life!

The Snuggie boasts being a cuddly blanket with the benefit of having arms, to make life easier....you know, like when you want to sit on the couch and read your ebook. But they forget to tell you the unspoken rule of snuggie wearing: You MUST wear heels with it at all times. Failure to do so will result in any or all of the following: self-destruct/implode into a firey ball of flames, instantaneous sprouting of a beard, immediate development of hemorrhoids. Not that I know from experience or anything. *sputter* So just put a pair of heels on, okay?!?

After a few days of wearing the snuggie whilst reading on the couch, I realized how much more potential the snuggie has. So I began to experiment.

Tired of a drab old kitchen table? Well, spice up your dinner menu with the leopard print snuggie! It catches all your crumbs, is easy to wash and your daughter will continually pet the table calling it "Baby Jaguar."

Out of town guests unexpectedly show up at your front door and you're worried about that big stain on the chair? No problem! Just throw that snuggie on top and VOILA it's a completely refurbished chair! (Now just ignore the comment your guest made about how your house has such 'lovely' 80's decor. They're just jealous).

Oh no! You've forgotten your son's swim suit. But since you're already at the beach, and OF COURSE you carry your snuggie with you wherever you go, simply convert it into a ready-to-go swim suit. Now look! He's ready to go. And look how stylish and HAPPY your kid is!

Having to drive somewhere and your hands are constantly chilled by the cold steering wheel? Have no fear the snuggie is here! Look how your hands stay nice and warm, not to mention how trendy your car looks now.

But don't forget the most important part! Purposely embarrassing your kids by picking them up from school with the snuggie on. They'll LOVE it when you roll down the window, shout their name (while they are standing with a group of friends) and sloppily wave, showing off the beauty that is a leopard print snuggie. Nothing screams, "Hey, kids! I'm a cool mom" more than wearing a snuggie while driving.

Don't you just hate it when your shower curtain no longer works? How annoying! It happens to me all the time. So I just put up my snuggie on the curtain rod and look at the amazing transformation of my bathroom! (But don't tell the curtain it looks like it has post-breast-feeding boobs. You will hurt it's feelings).

And check this out..... a multi use snuggie!!!! Just pull that shower curtain down and wrap that sucker on your head. The snuggie wicks away water so quickly and you'll notice bouncier hair with greater volume! It's a two-for-one deal!

Want to be like all those cool people who have strange looking fuzzy things on their toilet lid? Well, I sure do! And I bet you do too.

Heck, why not make the snuggie your toilet paper too?!?!? I mean, let's be eco-friendly here people.

Run out of diapers? Don't panic. The snuggie can easily be used as stylish yet affordable cloth diapers. The snuggie absorbs more than your average piece of material that is laying around your house and it prevents leaks....most of the time. But what do you expect? You're the dumb @$$ that ran out of diapers!

Let's not forget about setting a major fashion statement. Yes, you can show the world your fashionista side by throwing on a pair of boots or pumps and be ready to part-ay. A skirt, or jacket....you decide! The possibilities are endless. You will be the envy of all your friends if you sport one of these bad boys.

BUY A SNUGGIE TODAY FOR ALL YOUR EVERYDAY NEEDS!

Final Count Down

2012-01-19T14:26:00.000-08:00

*Warning. This post is not for the faint of heart as it involves MUCH talk of girlie bits and periods*

My feet dangle in the stirrups and even still, after birthing 2 kids I cringe with the thought of getting up on that tissue paper covered leather examining table ready and waiting for my gynecologist to do his gynecological thing. My breathing speeds up a bit because I'm nervous. I always am. He tells me to relax and inwardly I'm screaming, "Buddy, YOU try and relax when YOU have someone poking and prodding at YOU!" But I purse my lips with determination and 'grin & bear it' so to speak.

I've had a lot of that gynecological stuff go on in the last couple years but even more so in the last year since I was shown to have severe dysplasia to my cervical cells that ultimately resulted in a LEEP December 2010. I've had numerous complications and issues in the last 14 months that have baffled specialists, so much that I've seen handfuls of them. I've had oodles of colposcopies (which is essentially a high tech pap smear where they look at your cervix with microscope glasses for a much more up close and personal experience), biopsies, blood tests, microbiology swabs, amongst many other things I shant bore you with....all of them coming up with the same conclusion: there is certainly something wrong with my cervix but they can't explain why.

My gynecologist sighs and says, "Yup, it's still the same." And I reply with a discouraging sigh. For over a year nothing has helped, not hormones, not drugs, not herbal remedies. I mentally float off, away from my body entering the mental space where I reason emotions with logic, and have a conversation with myself. I know where this is going. We have tried. I have tried. The medical system has tried. I knew what was coming down the pipe and even had heartfelt discussions about it with my husband. "Well RW," I say to myself, "It's time to accept the inevitable."

My doctor looks at me and asks a question that takes me aback, "What about your quality of life now? Your issues have done nothing but cause you frustration and sorrow." I nod my head in agreement.

Quality of life.

Hmmm. I had never really considered it before. My quality of life evolves around whether my body chooses to work with or against me. The last few years have proven to be more of the latter. This isn't living life. This is a constant state of worry, fear, discomfort, frustration and pain. This is me holding onto something for the sake of....what, exactly? Fear of the unknown? I'm not sure.

"So you think it's time to consider a hysterectomy, right?" I boldly ask. He nods and says, "Yes." Then he continues, "I'll remove your uterus and cervix, leaving your ovaries so you won't have to enter menopause prematurely."

My mind swirls with the idea that at 31 years old I'll be undergoing the removal of my reproductive organs, the very body parts that grew and protected my two children for 9 months within me. After giving birth I felt my uterus shrink back to it's normal size and I would often envision what it looked like after being stretched from housing two 10 pound babies. I remember the sensation of searing pain & discomfort as my cervix would dilate during the labor & delivery process. These are my body parts, my organs that have been vital during the most cherished experiences of my life.......and now I had to accept that they were going to be removed from my physical form, all because they had essentially turned on me.

I pull myself to a sitting position on the examination table and begin to pray silently. Contrary to what most people would expect, I didn't pray that this reality be taken away from me, but rather I prayed words of praise, "Thank you Father that I am at peace with not having any more children. Thank you for helping me come to that conclusion many months ago with a sound mind, peace and no regrets. Thank you that you blessed me with the two most glorious little creatures on the face of this planet. Thank you that I have a husband who will support me through this major transition. Thank you that I have family and friends who will help me in the recovery stage of this major surgery. Thank you for your gift of medical answers even if it's not what I necessarily wanted. Thank you that cancer is not the reason for the removal of my uterus & cervix. Thank you for giving me a chance to be free of discomfort and mostly.....to move forward."

Peace wafted over me and I knew this was the right decision. It wasn't perfect but it was right. I looked at my doctor and said, "Ok. Let's do a hysterectomy." I signed the consent form and drove home to have a conversation with my very understanding husband. Thinking back, I laugh now because my husband responded lightheartedly with, "Well, I dodged THAT bullet." Meaning, he didn't have to undergo a vasectomy. You know, that DREADED very minor surgery (that is basically done a doctor's office, and they sit on a bag of ice for a day) that every man panics about because it involves going near his junk. *insert rolling of the eyes* But no, my hysterectomy would do more than take care of any future birth control issues.

I was given a surgery date of March 14th. That is in less than two months and I'm now at a place where I am relieved with the idea that it's coming up. It's soon but with all my ongoing issues, it will be a welcomed solution. Will it make all my problems go away? Perhaps it will, perhaps not, but I'm between a rock and a hard place now. And my Rock is God, so I'm choosing Him and His perfect peace above all else. I am eagerly anticipating not having to menstruate each month. In fact, I only have two more periods FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!!!!! No more tampons! No more pads! No more embarrassing leaks! No more blood stains. (Sorry boys, if that's too much information for you). I'm excited with this liberating fact.

So we are at the Final Count Down. Two months until D-Day. Here goes nothin.......

1-800-Don't-Mess-With-Me

2012-01-17T10:08:00.000-08:00

"Hewrow?" she says as I hand her the ringing telephone.
'That's right, hunny. Have a goooooood long chat with them,' I think to myself.
And she does. She blabbers away in her 2 year old accent that no one can really decode unless they live with her 24/7.
I'm smirking. Ok, it's really more of a smile. But I love it.
She's having a conversation with the telemarketer.

I've done this for years....letting my kids pick up the phone when I see 1-800 on the call display. It's a sure fire way of ensuring that company doesn't call back. It's just that new ones keep coming and that gets under my skin. Irritating. And so I sick my toddler on them.

I'm not really sure how she manages to keep them on the phone for as long as she does. Her charming personality, I think. It makes me chuckle to listen on the other line and hear some guy say, "Oh, uh huh...........Can I talk to your mom or dad?" She holds the phone with her chubby hands in a death grip as if someone might snatch the glorious contraption from her at any moment and screams, "Nooooooo!!!!! I talk!!!!!" I just keep smiling and she keeps talking. Something about Dora the Explorer followed by a high pitched serenade of the show's theme song.
'Keep goin' hunny,' I think.
Oh, now she's pointing outside telling the telemarketer about the recent snowfall and how her cat doesn't like to get his paws cold. He doesn't have a clue what she's saying, but I'm pretty fluent in her language (for the most part) so I encourage her to keep going with a nod and a smile.

After a few minutes he gets frustrated with the conversation. I don't really understand why because I think it's mind-blowingly riveting to hear about her going pee on the potty. But like they all do, he surrenders in defeat and hangs up the phone. Yes, you CAN get telemarkers to end the conversation first. It just take a little, um, creativity.

I know it's just their job and someone has to do it....but isn't your day so much more fun when you have to negotiate with a 2 year old? I mean, I *love* doing that every day.

A Viral Reader

2012-01-05T10:15:00.000-08:00

I have been flat out on my back since New Year's morning. And contrary to one's assumptions, it's not as a result of a longstanding, insufferable hangover. Rather, my body has chosen to not only embrace the most intense, detestable, intolerable cold/flu virus I have experienced in a long time, but it has chosen to marry the virus and make little baby viruses with it that grow up to marry more viruses and have more little baby viruses (which is pretty close to what viral replication is, but you get the point that this virus is INSANE). It is day 5 and I didn't get out of my PJ's for the first 3 days. When I realized how socially unacceptable it is to drive your child to school wearing a fuzzy robe and slippers, I decided to throw on a pair of sweats. Make-up? Yeesh. What is that?

It was my beautiful son's 8th birthday yesterday and that was the first time I put on real clothes and make-up. Usually I'm a pretty lively hostess but I sat there with my decaf Earl Grey tea and honey while my husband, mother-in-law and neighbour Niki graciously picked up the slack and handed out cake & ice cream to our guests. I mean, the party must go on, right?! In fact, I usually take down my Christmas decorations January 1st so that the 4th can be all about my boy's special day, solely focussed on him.....but this year my husband & I spent the entire birthday morning cursing at the kitten while he effortlessly climbed the Christmas tree as we were attempting to disassemble it. Finally all the decor was put away and I continued to moved about at a sloth's pace in preparation for a little boy's party.

Being sick for the last 5 days, all I've wanted to do was rest and read cuddled up with my fuzzy blanket and a box of tissues for the endless drainage of snot. No energy. So I've read with the baby playing at my feet, blabbering away and periodically looking up at me asking, "Ok, mama?" To which I reply "Ok", but have no idea exactly what I just agreed to. I love to read, always have. Everything from biographies, to parental strategies, to sci-fi novels. I don't know about you but I find it rather frustrating & laborious to get out and find a good book, so a while back I discovered the beauty of E-reading. Innumerable selections of delectable books at the touch of my finger!! I enjoyed a number of different novels on my Kindle and was currently half-way through a 99 cent steal recently recommended to me by a blogger friend, Amy. Anyway, the day went on and things got done....son picked up from school, dinner made and the kids bathed & readied for bed. That was when the baby decided it was high time she took up reading on my Kindle and picked it up to give it a thorough inspection. Before I could reach over to snatch it away from a curious pair of hands, she realized it was a rather boring contraption and promptly hucked it across the room with full force. And as if it were in true movie slow motion, the Kindle flew through the air and crashed on the floor shattering the screen. Mmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyy Booooooooooooookkkkkksss! So there I was, feverish & pale with hardly enough energy to muster up a scold and I had no comforting book to read. Sigh. I think that was the night the kids and I all went to bed at 7pm.

My sweet husband noticed my suffering with this dreadful virus and he thoughtfully went out while the baby & I napped to purchase me a Kobo Touch on for a killer price with all the post boxing day sales right now. Now that I have had both a Kindle and a Kobo, I would recommend the Kobo simply because of numerous features such as: being able to borrow books from my local library on it (in Canada we can't do that on a Kindle for some ridiculous reason), my books are synced with my iphone & Mac allowing for more reading options, that it's a touch screen not requiring me to navigate through numerous buttons, the books are cheaper than with a Kindle and finally, coupons seem to be more readily accessible for Kobo users. That is my professional opinion and I'm sticking to it. :) Happy reading to me.

On New Year's eve we had some friends over and one of them asked me why nurses never seem to get sick. I laughed and explained how we are constantly being exposed to an influx of germs so our immunity is pretty well established. That being said, I also explained how nurses may not get sick very often but when we do.....look out.....because we go down hard. If only I knew the irony of that conversation and how I would be killa sick the very next day.

Anyway, keep well my friends and don't forget to wash your hands. As for me, I intend to read "The Hunger Games" trilogy and eat something more than just a piece of fruit the whole day. Wow, best diet ever. *kidding*

Reliving Emergency New Years

2011-12-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

I quite simply cannot say it any better than I did last year, so I shall post this yet again. Have a wonderful and SAFE New Year's my blogland friends.

EMERGENCY NEW YEARS
-By Running Wildly

Twas the night before New Years, and all through emerg, all the patients were stirring with drunks on the verge.

The IV's were all hung on the poles with such care, in hopes their dehydration would soon become rare.

The elderly were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sleeping pills danced in their heads.

The docs in their scrub tops and I in mine too, were ready to take on the drunks two by two.

When out in the hallway there arose such a clatter, and I sprang from the nurse's station to see what was the matter.

Away to the stretcher I flew like a flash, Screamed out a "CODE WHITE" and restrained them so fast.

To what did my wondering eyes should appear, but a drunkard who'd OD'd on *something* with no fear!

With a little ol' Haldol and eight muscular aids, I knew in a moment we were preventing a raid.

More rapid than eagles the crazies they came, I heard triage whistle & shout and call them by name,"On crazy, on druggie, on chest pain and vag bleed, on vomit, on sepsis, on x-ray and I-just-peed. To the beds of emerg to the patients of all, now go away, go away, go away all!"

The patients didn't listen to triage's words and they came not in singles, no, they came but in HERDS.

So to the department those patients they went, with backpacks of booze, cigarettes and 'odd scents.'

And then in a twinkling I heard in the hall, the prancing of crazies demanding it all.

As I drew in my head and was turning around down the hallway more chest pains came in with a bound.

Their skin oh so paley and short of breath, too. I knew it'd be a long night through and through.

Nurses spoke not a word and went straight to their work, inserting IV's although patient's arms would jerk.

We laid a finger aside of our nose, and wished our patients would smell like a rose.

Instead, we held our breath hard and treated them well. And gave them a meal with a fancy call bell.

At the end of the night away they all flew and new ones came in, because that's what they do.

I walked out the door and I drove out of sight saying,

"Happy New Years to all......and to all a good FRIGGEN night."

My Focus

2011-12-27T12:45:00.000-08:00

It's Christmas day and I pick her up and hold her close to me as I walk down the hallway to put her down for a much needed nap. She rests her head on my shoulder. I rock her just a moment and breathe in her scent because I know these moments only last a short time and soon, will only remain a distant memory of days gone by. She wraps her arms around my neck and releases a deep sigh, a sigh of relief, of comfort, of trust. I am her safe place. When she deeply sighs in my arms and her little body relaxes, I feel my pulse slow to match hers and I smile to myself. I hope I am always her safe pillar, a rock of strength she can come to rely on no matter what challenges life holds. I am her mother and I will be there for her, to dry her tears, to hug away her insecurities, to whisper encouraging words that will empower her to change the world.

He wakes up and the sun hasn't even risen yet. He looks at the twinkling tree with gifts gently placed beneath the branches just calling out his name. Instead of screeching toward the tree at the speed of light he stops, walks over to me while reaching for my hand and says, "Good job on all the wrapping, mom." I wasn't expecting that and all I could do was kneel down and hug my sweet son while saying, "Thanks buddy." He is so incredibly thoughtful and tenderhearted. He is so conscientious of other people's feelings and it warms my heart like none else. He wakes up his baby sister and before he even goes to pick a gift for himself he selects the gift he got for her and gingerly delivers it to a very sleepy-eyed little girl. I look at my two kids loving each other in such an obvious way and I breathe a silent prayer, "Thank you Lord for covering all my parental mistakes with your grace. I am so blessed." Christmas this year was at the peak of it's magical essence with my son. His eyes lit up and were ignited with a passion for giving and of course receiving. He hugged me so tightly after each gift opened and I kissed the top of his head while saying, "I love you. Merry Christmas." As he grows older I intend to be very purposeful with my relationship with my son. I want him to always know I am there to love and support him no matter what choices he makes. His presence in my life will always be my present. That is all I want.

After 11 years my heart still beats faster when this man looks at me with his gentle, loving expression. This Christmas was about the kids and we didn't exchange gifts by mutual choice. But I didn't need to receive a gift in order for my heart to feel full. In fact, I found my heart merely exploding as our daughter would pick up and heavy Christmas gift and look at her daddy saying, "HELP. I can't do it! I too small." So daddy would swoop in to save the day helping his little girl lift her gift and unwrap it ever so gently. When our son brimmed with excitement as he opened his presents, my husband & I simply looked at each other and smiled. That's what it is all about. He is my comfort and my rock of security. I love waking up and sharing Christmas morning with this man. He has blessed me with two beautiful children and for that I will be forever thankful.

This is my family now. Right here.....The four of us. This is where I focus all my energy and attention on. They are my everything and I will forever & always choose them above all else. They are the perfect components that together, make this family a beautiful masterpiece. With God's guidance, I will do whatever it takes to ensure I will walk this journey of life by their side. Everything else pales in comparison to that.

2nd Annual RW Favorite Things

2011-12-21T10:45:00.001-08:00

Well my friends, since the Oprah show is no longer running and thus not participating in the "Favorite Things" episodes......naturally, I feel compelled to pick up her slack. And so here is my 2nd Annual Favorite Things: blog version.

1. Komodo Dragon Blend Starbucks Brew

It is common knowledge how much Running Wildly loves her coffee. In fact, I actually think I would die without it. No word of a lie. I am the first to admit I am completely addicted to my morning *cup* of joe (which turns out to be one really large cup that actually measures half a pot...but come on, who's counting) and if I were stranded on a desert island this Komodo Dragon coffee is the only thing I'd wish for. Forget fire or food....I.need.coffee. This delicious blend is a strong, bold brew that awakens your tastebuds and calls out for you to enjoy your day with coffee in hand. Have it black or as a double double and I guarantee you'll thank me for showing you the light that IS this coffee.

2. Oral B Professional Care Smart Series 5000
After you've enjoyed your Komodo Dragon cuppa joe and you can barely stand your own coffee breath let alone actually have a conversation with another human being, you can pick up one of these bad boys. I have tried numerous different toothbrushes, electric & manual, Sonicare and no-name brand and this toothbrush is by far my favorite. There are so many cool features to this Oral B toothbrush I'm not sure where to begin: it tells you when you are applying too much pressure while brushing, it has a timer that signals in increments of 30 seconds when you've brushed for a total of 2 minutes (which is dentist recommended), it boasts 99.7% removal of plaque from hard to reach areas (however I'm curious to know exactly how that 0.3% is calculated) and it makes my teeth feel smooth. Fuzzy Slipper feeling on my teeth BE GONE!!!!

3. Visalus Protein Mixes

A little known fact about me is that I really don't each much meat. In fact, I very easily could be a vegetarian and think nothing of it. The only thing is, I do not have enough protein intake in order to have a balanced, nutritious diet. I've known this for a long time and so I have tried numerous....and I do mean NUMEROUS protein powder supplements. Each one I've bought I chug down while gagging my brains out. I drink them because I have to, not because I like to. So when a friend of mine, Ariane told me about a company Visalus and how "good" their protein shakes were, I was skeptical thinking how I've heard that before. But in the end I had nothing to lose so I ordered a bag from her and let me tell you, I have been made a convert! I am not exaggerating when I say that this protein powder tastes like vanilla cake mix. For the first time in my 10 years of drinking protein supplements I actually *enjoy* drinking it....and I don't gag. I cannot express to you how much of a miracle this is!!!! So bottoms up, people!

4. You La La Couture Petti Skirts

My daughter is really very girly. She likes to paint her nails and push around babies in a stroller. She shrieks out "PINK!" when she sees the color and is just as loud when she catches a glimpse of something purple. Moreover, she likes to wear skirts....and not just any skirts, she likes to wear "swishes." Swishes are what my daughter has affectionately nicknamed the petti skirts my sister has a natural gift & ability to create. She has a knack for beautiful color schemes and sizing the skirts for kids from birth right up into their teens. Her website You La La Couture boasts gorgeous creations of purses, hair accessories, skirts among many other accessories and I *love* the petti skirts. They make my shoe-loving, hand-bag-appreciating-self get all googley eyed with girlish wonder. My daughter has somewhere in the realm of 6 or so of these petti skirts (along with innumerable hair blossoms) and I can't seem to stop.my.addiction.

5. Starbucks Christmas Ornaments

Being *slightly* anal and borderline OCD, which most nurses have to be in order to function, I have a Christmas tree that has only gold and white ornaments. I will not have any ornaments on my tree that are any other color. Just thinking about mixing up the color scheme makes me itchy. So I'll admit I am rather particular about my ornament selection and if it doesn't match, well, I simply will not so much as touch it with a 10 foot pole. Starbucks has come out with little glass ornaments and to my complete and utter joy, they were WHITE, thus being completely appropriate for my tree. I hung them on my tree with love and adoration, while breathing deeply knowing my tree remains a picture of perfection of gold and white. *If you touch my tree you will die* Hugs & kisses, and Merry Christmas. ;)

6. The Help
Unless you've been living under a rock or in a cave this past year, you've likely heard about "The Help." If you are looking for a good book to dive into, I'd highly recommend this one as it is such a delightful read. I devoured it in a matter of days and then promptly drove to the movie theater the very next day to watch the movie. Good book, good movie. I was completely satisfied all around.

7. Open Wine

Finally, if you are looking to try a new wine for Christmas dinner this year, being a complete wine lover myself, I'd be the first to suggest a delicious bottle of Open. I'm featuring the Merlot and Cab-Merlot blends here, but all their wines are mouthwatering. Open wine is from the Okanagan Valley here in BC, Canada so I'm excited to plug a local brand. But rest assured this is by far the best wine I've tried this year. It is full-bodied and punched with a fruity, savory flavor. Just try it and you'll see. I guarantee you won't be disappointed.

It's True

2011-12-19T12:40:00.000-08:00

Just keepin' it real for ya, folks.

Unconditional Love

2011-12-11T23:33:00.000-08:00

Upon meeting them it would be mere blasphemy after the fact to say you don't remember them. They have about them a presence that will touch your heart, touch your life and encourage you to evolve into a better human being. I have had no greater blessing than the love of two people I admire more than anyone else in this world: my in laws. It seems tragic, really that I should call them something as simple as my "in laws" because in reality they are so much more to me than a simple terminology. They are comfort, they are security and they are the picture of love and acceptance.

Right from the beginning I was welcomed with open arms into this family that shared such a tight bond of uncompromising love. When I was dating my husband I remember being breathless with humility as I walked into their home to find my name on my very own stocking hung with affection on the fireplace mantle. I looked over old photos and listened to past family memories.....of a family I was yet to become part of. Even then I felt accepted and loved.

They love my husband. They came first, as he was their son. They encourage him to follow the path of his dreams and give him advice along the journey. I can vouch for the fact that, as a grown man he honors their name with his integrity, wisdom and strength he undoubtedly attained from their influence on his life.

They love my children. More than anything else, this touches me. When they graciously agree to watch my babies while my husband & I work, I return to pick them up and see nothing but a picture of complete unabashed adoration. My daughter sits on grandma's lap while she is read an invigorating story of Elmo being potty trained while my son sits beside a captivated and cheering grandpa as he plays a game on the ipod. My kids hardly blink when I walk down the hall calling their name. "Hi mama," my daughter says in greeting, "I stay at grammas. Ok mama?" Even though I worked a hard 12 hour shift and haven't seen my kids that day, I smile inwardly thinking how blessed I am to have children who LOVE going to their grandparent's house. I remember loving being at my grandma's that much as a child and I cannot express enough how my heart melts with the idea that my children have that same experience.

For any mother out there I'm sure you can speak the same testament: you love me by loving my children. However, what then, when you are loved as individual....as you are? It's incredible. It still takes my breath away when my mother in law tells me with tears in her eyes that she loves me for who I am and not what I do, or for the things I've accomplished. She loves me for me. And that moves me in ways I've never experienced. Tears stream down my face as I write this. All I can say is, as God is my witness I have never been more blessed than to have married into this family. I know what it feels now to be loved unconditionally. I have had a taste and it is life changing.

Like

2011-12-08T17:09:00.000-08:00

I like a good, full-bodied glass of wine complemented by a really good meal. I like a good book that takes me away on a fantasy adventure, far far away from reality and the pressures of this world. I also like a good movie that leaves me with the feeling of a warm heart on a winters day. I like a long soak in a bubble bath. I like a strong cup of coffee first thing in the morning, strong enough to sprout hairs on my chest, as soon as the birds begin chirping that it is time to start my day. I like a mean martini at the end of a long 12 hour shift, one that calls out for me to put up my throbbing feet and rest if even for just a few moments.

Today I was reminded of how much I like a good run....you know, the kind of run when it's sunny outside but cold, cold enough to keep you at a comfortable temperature although you are sweating your guts out. I love running when the air is so crisp I can see my breath create little white puffs as I exhale. I bundle up and my heart is racing. It's such a stark contrast, such a polar opposite...but I love it. I love the solace, the beauty of the scenery and the endorphins rushing through my veins. I look forward to running in the winter.

I was nearing the end of my work out this afternoon when I rounded a corner to take a short cut down an undeveloped road. It was just me and the wide open empty road, my feet rhythmically pounding the ground with each step. Then suddenly one of my favorite songs blared from my earphones and my heart sped up just a touch with excitement. One of the other things I like is a good TV show. I don't watch a ton of it but when an interesting show presents itself, I really enjoy watching. I found this with each season of The Sing Off. The Sing off is a show where A cappella singing groups compete for recording contracts and I have watched all 3 seasons with breathless wonder and intrigue. I recently downloaded a truck load of the show's songs onto my ipod so when the Pentatonix song "Born To Be Wild" began with its signature deep bass beat, my running pace instinctively picked up. I began shouting the song at the top of my lungs and that was when the music overtook me......I had a full-on dance off with myself in the middle of the road. I shook my booty and sang without abandon. I rocked like I had never rocked before and it was sheer awesomeness. Best.Run.Ever.

I finished off my run with a walking cool down and smiled the whole way home. Yup, there are lots of things I like and if I can allow myself to enjoy them in that very moment more often, well, the world will be a better place.

Movember

2011-12-01T11:28:00.000-08:00

December could not have come any faster. Seriously. I was counting down the days. And it's not because I was eagerly anticipating Christmas.....no, it's because of that bloody Movember.

If you are not familiar with Movember, well, basically it's a cursed thing men do to torture the people they kiss all in the name of charity. Men (and really, any women that can pull it off) grow a moustache for the entire month of November to raise awareness and donations for prostate cancer. It's great in theory......until after 11 years of marriage you find yourself staring at a prickly upper lip for the first time.

So I figured if he was gonna grow a moustache the entire month, well, so would I. And I was shocked at how full and dark mine became. My best work yet. And Yes, I'm thinking of keeping it.

However, if I keep my moustache that means my husband will keep his. And that is simply not a feasible option for all parties involved. So I'll be shaving my face today and will be gleefully handing a razor to my husband the moment he walks in the door from work.

Goodbye Movember. I won't be giving you another thought.

Early Tree Badness

2011-11-26T09:55:00.000-08:00

So apparently this year I am on the ball. I have sent out my Christmas cards, finished my Christmas shopping as of yesterday......and I just put the tree up. Usually I wait until December 1st to put up the decor but I'm working the first few days of December, so I thought I'd get ahead of the game. Go organization!

Last year I was really worried about the little lady getting her grubby little hands all over the tree and I wrote this post about it. She's not nearly as interested in getting into stuff this year as she was the last, so my son & I eagerly put up the tree together as we traditionally always have and got to enjoy the twinkling lights. We reminisced about our old cat, Kitty who loved to sleep under the Christmas tree as soon as we put it up. It was lovely to think of such warm memories until we suddenly heard rustling from within the tree....and then the whole tree began to shake.

Oh yeah.....we have a kitten this year. Remember back in the summer when we inherited 4 month old Prince from the neighbours? Well, he has found his way into the tree and is quite pleased with himself. I swear, I will be shocked & amazed if we walk out of this Holiday Season unscathed. The star adorning the tree top is already crooked and I have a sneaking suspicion I am going to find innumerable broken ornaments. Sigh. It's like having last year all over again where I'm thinking of creative ways to block off the little creatures from stirring up trouble.

Is it too late to change my mind and take down the tree? Oh man.

Old

2011-11-21T14:25:00.000-08:00

Do you remember being a teenager and thinking that people in their 30's were sooooo ooooooold? I do. The fact that my mother gave birth to me when she was 33 years old was *gasp* incredibly ancient. And now that I'm 31 I find that kids who are teenagers are seriously punk @$$ kids who annoy me a lot of the time. I outwardly shake my head at the sign of graffiti and tsk in my head when I see drunken 20 year olds walking the streets. I like to be in bed by 1030pm and I appreciate music when it is softly played. When did this happen?!?!?!

I put an IV in a kid who was 20, (so we are talking just over 10 years age difference between us) and his IV bled a little bit onto the stretcher. Usually I can get the IV all fixed up before the blood spilleth over but I guess I was just off my game that day. I apologized and said, "Oh dear. It's looks like I'm Buffy the Vampire Slayer." And he looked at me with a blank stare. It was awkward. Then I realized. "You have no idea who Buffy is, do you?" He shook his head. *Slap hand to forehead* Then he said, "Interesting how we have completely different social references." I felt even stupider.....and old. But I quickly got over it and realized my new reference was going to have to be something from the Twilight series....which might be a challenge considering I never read even one of the books nor watched anything more than a trailer of the movies.

So is this how people in their 60's & 70's feel towards me? That I'm just some know-it-all punk @$$ kid?!? I suppose it gets handed down to all generations. I know my 7 year old son is shocked and amazed that I actually remember when the internet first came out. Oh the dial up sound....I mean, that makes me ANCIENT. But then think about my grandma who is in her mid 90's and she lived on a farm that had no electricity and they rode horses for transportation because they couldn't afford a car. She was born in 1919. How incredible it must be for her to watch this century pass by and things like microwaves, computers and energy efficient light bulbs become a staple to every day life.

Although I realize the age gap when talking to a younger generation, the truth be told I feel conflicted. Outwardly I have grey hair that requires heavy duty hair color and wrinkles around my eyes that compliment my laugh lines. I am aging. But at the same time I still feel like I'm 19 half the time. I have pink or purple or the current turquoise streaks in my hair. I like to bounce on the bed with my kids and dance in the living room to Salt n' Pepa songs. I like to make people laugh but I also like people to see the authentic side of me. I have abdominal skin that has stretched from having huge humans to a point that would make me a running candidate for my own freak show circus extravaganza and my 'ladies' have merely gone concave from breastfeeding. Strategic dressing and push up bras are now my reality. My body is aging and I can actually SEE it progress with each year we get professional photographs done. I was seriously dumbfounded to compare this years to last. Stress of this past year REALLY took a toll on me and I am. aging.

But that being said, I have to say that although I still feel young at heart and my physical body is choosing to age despite what I've been kindly asking it to do, I really wish to be cognizant about my choices as I age. I have a young daughter who I wish to set an example for and for myself, I wish to be proud of the aging process. Yes, I use an anti wrinkle cream around my eyes (which doesn't do diddly squat, mind you) but I will not be getting botox or plastic surgery. I want to age gracefully on the inside and out. Easier said than done, I suppose.....but that's my goal and I'm gunning for it.

Fiss Yips

2011-11-16T23:04:00.000-08:00

"Yips, Mama!" she calls out in my direction, "Yips!"

I know what she is asking for so I rummage through my purse and pull out the tube of chapstick lip balm, handing it over to her. "Lips" is a very special thing my daughter has with my father-in-law. It's a unique act of affection where grandpa asks if she wants 'lips' and she replies with a nod and an unabashed, "Yes!" He then pulls out the chapstick from his pocket and gently glazes her pursed lips with the balm. But that's not even the best part. The most heart warming part is where she keeps her lips puckered and when grandpa asks, "Are they sweet ones?" she patiently waits for him to kiss her. Grandpa falls back onto his stuffed leather chair in a very dramatic fashion reinforcing how special she is to him and smiles as he says, "Yup, they were sweet."

That is "Lips" and it melts my heart each time grandpa develops that special something with his granddaughter affectionately nicknamed, "Snooks." And so I assumed she wanted to play Lips with me.

I gave her the tube of chapstick and she pushed my hand, "No, mama! YIPS!"
"This IS lips, sweetie," I replied. Then she spoke more specifically so that I'd understand, "Mama, Fiss Yips." Ahhhhhhh. Yes. Fiss Yips. I knew what that was.

Fish Lips.

It is our thing.....you know, that one thing you do special just for that one child. With my son it was (and still is) butterfly kisses. He has the most delectably long eye lashes that would make any woman green with envy and they simply call out for butterfly kisses from mama. So that is our unique, special act of affection that is shared between just the two of us. And with my daughter, well, it's fish lips.

I am assured a giggle every time as I suck in my cheeks and make my lips wiggle like a fish going, "Glub, glub." She loves it and I relish seeing her eyes sparkle as I morph myself into silly mama.

Fiss Yips. It's our thing. And I hope it always stays our thing....even when she's old enough to annunciate the words correctly.

Photos courtesy of Katy Hersey.

On Death

2011-11-09T12:07:00.000-08:00

It could be the grandmother of 4 driving to the grocery store for a jug of milk, who gets hit by a careless driver. It could be the young father in his 40's on his death bed, ravaged by pancreatic cancer that had revealed itself just 2 weeks earlier. It could be the mother holding her teenager as she watches her child pass away from a drug overdose. It could be the healthy 50 year old man who clutches his chest while he experiences the massive heart attack that will take his life that very moment.

Death. It is all around me in the critical care settings of the hospital and I find myself face to face with it on a daily basis. Death. It's a difficult subject that makes people squirm with discomfort. But the irony of that is that every single one of us will die. Every one.

Over the years of constant exposure to death, I find that it has lost it's ability to intimidate me. The sting of fear that hovers over death doesn't seem to have the same grasp on me anymore. In fact, I find that death can actually be very spiritual and very peaceful. Yes, it can be very tragic and earth shattering.....but I suppose that all depends on the circumstances surrounding the event. Even still, as a medical professional who is with you and your family during times of death, I make a sole purpose of making the experience of death as peaceful and calming as possible. Sometimes in very tragic situations that is very difficult but if you are willing I will hold your hand and I will cry with you. I will hug you and assure you with confidence that you did everything right. I will do whatever I can to bring you peace and closure as you step through the experience of entering the afterlife or watching your loved one pass away. And you won't know it, but I will silently pray. Constantly. And believe it or not I see in a very tangible way how your demeanor changes and how your breathing slows as peace envelopes you. I will stroke your forehead and whisper encouraging words to you. I will ensure you are clean, warm and comfortable. I will do this for you if you are in my trauma bay in the emergency department or if I am your nurse in the ICU and family members just made the incredibly difficult decision to end life support measures. I will be there for you.

To tell you the truth, I think about death often. There are times I think about what I'd do differently if I were to die today.....or what I'd do or say if today someone I loved passed away. But the thing is, we don't know when we are going to die. We can't control that. And that leaves me to do one thing and one thing alone: surrender. I find it relatively easy to surrender my own life and say to God I'm at peace and I'm ok to go whenever He sees fit. However, it is insanely difficult for me to surrender my children. I want them here with me forever and ever. But again, I cannot control their fate. So I choose to say, "God, you know I don't want them to die. I know I could not bear it...but they are yours. You only entrusted them to me for this lifetime, I do not own them." I know without a doubt that if something ever happened to my children God would have to lift me and carry me because I would not be able to do it on my own. And I trust wholeheartedly that He would. So today I'm choosing to surrender, yet again.

Death changes people. It changes families and friendships. Death even changes the nurses who care for you. It changes your outlook on life and helps you to reevaluate your future. Although death makes most people uncomfortable to think or talk about, sometimes we need to in order to get a clearer vision. And I don't think there is anything bad about that at all.

Jem

2011-11-05T18:29:00.000-07:00

If you are in your late twenties, early-ish thirties then you would very well remember the existence of Jem in the 80's and perhaps like me, the mere mention of her name makes your heart beat a little bit quicker. Jem.....ahhhhh. She was outrageous! Truly truly truly outrageous.

Jem was a cartoon show that rocked the airwaves for an amazing three seasons. The premise of the show was that Jem and her band of girlfriends would transform into a group of super-powered rock stars called Jem & the Holograms, fighting the very evil Misfits. The show was so popular toy companies joined the bandwagon and made a Jem doll for those of us little girls who loved loved loved her. With her big 80's pink hair and blue eyeshadow, not to mention the KILLER 80's outfits, well, its was obvious just how bodaciously radical Jem really was.

Check out a Jem doll complete with cassette tape!! Remember having to grab a pencil to wind up the tape when it was pulled off its reel? Those were the good ol' days. And to actually get a cassette with your doll, well, that was pretty much a jackpot right there.

My sister & I had a few Jem dolls of our own and I distinctly recall the beautiful doll's flashing red earrings. She also had abnormally large feet of which frustrated me as a child because I couldn't interchange my Jem shoes with my Barbie shoes. In those days that was a full-on crisis.

I haven't seen anything resembling Jem or the Holograms in decades so when I walked through the aisles of Costco the other day, I stopped dead in my tracks and made a high pitched squeal when seeing this:

It was like flash back to the 80's all over again. My husband heard the commotion and walked over to what I was looking at while pointing and merely doing the 'potty dance' with excitement. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. I couldn't convince him of The Brilliance that was Jem. He didn't understand at all. I couldn't break him. At $50 for 11 discs I just couldn't justify it, so instead of purchasing the boxed set I took a photo with my iphone. Sigh.

I came home with full intention of writing a blog post about my stellar find at Costco but found myself researching photos and videos of Jem instead. I was reliving my youth. Then, the unimaginable happened. I was looking at images of Jem dolls and wayyyyyy in the back of the photo I noticed a Hologram doll still in the box who had my daughter's name on it. I began screaming and my heart was beating out of my chest. MY DAUGHTER WAS A HOLOGRAM!!! She was a famous rockstar from the 1980's. But most importantly, how had I missed this pivotal piece of information?????? I was blindsided by this news and the word 'excited' doesn't even do it justice to how I felt. My life was complete. I could die a content woman.

Had I known this information my baby girl would have had a different Halloween costume......but there is always next year. Now that my daughter was part of a major cartoon television show, perhaps I could justify the purchase of the 11 disc boxed set. Hmmmmmmm. And then I could have a girl's night. All my friends who loved Jem & the Holograms as much as I did (and apparently still do) could come over dressed in our most excellent 80's attire and watch the shows. Yesssssssssss. That is absolute brilliance.

But this time around we are about 25 years older and able to drink martinis instead of just chocolate milk. It's a win win situation all around.

AKA the mother of a famous rock star,

Ordinary yet Extraordinary Halloween

2011-10-31T16:47:00.000-07:00

I'm not much in the way of a decorator for Halloween. I can pass on the skeletons and RIP tombstones but I like the holiday just the same, simply for the sake of dressing my kids up and sneaking some of their hard-earned candy. I carved my two pumpkins with precision and they are lit up out front while hundreds of trick-or-treaters pass by. Our community is swarmed with kids and I like that we all congregate together for the sake of seeing big toothy grins on our childrens faces.

It really is just like any other ordinary day except for the fact that the kids are wearing adorable costumes while cavities are trying to brew away in their pearly whites. However, it is extraordinary at the same time. We visit GG (great-grandma) and I see the incredible twinkle in her eyes as she hugs the next generation of her lineage. Then we head over to see grandma and the kids are as goofy as ever. Rather extraordinary, no?!

The ordinary comes out when the little lady outstretches both arms up at me while dressed like Cookie Monster and screams, "Mama, DANCE!" So I pick her up and we sway together while she giggles. We do this on a daily basis.

She's more interested in the special moments than wearing her costume and I relish in it. The little boy kissed me shyly as I dropped him off at school today and throughout the day I thought about how extraordinary it is that my 7 year old will still do that. He won't hold my hand while the he trick-or-treats but I still smile as he sees his friends and runs off ahead. It's a good day. It's ordinary and extraordinary all at once. And I've got lots of photos to keep the memory alive.....

To Cry or Not To Cry

2011-10-22T10:30:00.000-07:00

I distinctly recall a conversation with my instructor during my pediatric rotation in second year of nursing school. "How can you deal with all these sick kids, while some of them even die..... and not cry with the family?" I asked. My instructor looked at me and replied softly with something I'll never forget, "How could I not cry with them?" For some reason that blew my mind because I had an image in my head that nurses were 'Professional' and 'Stoic' and therefore they should not show emotion for fear of breaking that professional boundary. So when my instructor realized my emotional struggle with the pediatric patients I cared for, I was somehow released....given permission if you will, to show my emotional sense of empathy.

I've written before about pediatric patients being my kryptonite, bringing out my most potent empathy because, put simply, they break my heart. But that doesn't mean as a nurse you can be a blubbering idiot when caring for patients because then you are not productive nor helpful to them. I have cried with patients and their families before, allowing them to see tears slip down my face simply because I empathized with their emotional struggle and felt their pain. But it wasn't until we euthanized our cat two days ago, that I *really* got it. I was on the receiving end of that empathetic response and it made me realize the power of being real and 'in the moment' with patients.

I had said my good-byes to Kitty while petting her and bawling my face off. Then came the waiting.....which seemed like an eternity.....when in all reality it was just a few minutes. I was sitting on a brown brown leather couch in the waiting room with my two kids running around touching all sorts of things they weren't supposed to. But I felt numb. Sitting there just waiting for my husband and the vet to leave the room where they had spent the last short while ushering Kitty out of this world into the afterlife, only to come and inform me that it was done. So when they came to the waiting room and my husband's eyes were red & swollen with tears I knew. The tall, beautiful gray-haired vet approached me gingerly and said so softly as she looked me in the eyes, "It went well and very peacefully." With those words I covered my face and sobbed. I sobbed and sobbed. After I composed myself, I looked up at the kind veterinarian and saw she had tears welled up in her eyes, sliding down her own cheeks. In that moment I knew she *got* it. Her tears showed me that she understood Kitty was the first pet I had ever owned and put down. Her tears made it apparent that she recognized Kitty was my baby before I ever had my own two human babies...she was there first, she paved the way. Her tears reflected an understanding that even in death my cat deserved dignity & respect. Her tears made me feel as though she empathized with the heartache I felt. And that made me feel validated. Maybe that's the main piece right there: validation. Her tears gave me permission to grieve. I honestly will never forget that the 'professional' doctor of veterinary medicine cried after she euthanized my cat. It was such a wonderful, heartfelt gesture I will forever cherish.

It might seem strange that it took my cat of 13 years to die in order for me to acutely understand this whole empathy phenomena but I'm walking away from that experience with a whole new outlook on my own nursing practice. Empathize. Care. Cry if you must. But most importantly, I wish to show my patients that I *get* it. I want them to know that I appreciate the situation they are going through because they too, deserve to feel validated. It helps facilitate healthy grieving.

So this leaves me wondering something. To all of you out there, my readers, my friends. Have you ever experienced a medical professional empathize by crying with you or your family? What did that do for you along your journey of grief? And to you nurses out there...what are your beliefs about crying with patients? What do you do in your own current practice?

Kitty

2011-10-20T12:33:00.000-07:00

I honestly never thought this day would come.....the day I would write the words, "Today we put Kitty down." I have tears of heartache & love pouring down my face as I type each word. Our family cat, our sweet girl named Kitty.....the cat we stole from our neighbours 13 years ago, the cat we had before we ever had children, the cat who chose us, passed away so peacefully at the vet this morning with my husband, ever so gently stroking her fur as she entered the spirit realm.

The last 2 weeks my husband noticed she had stopped eating & drinking, thus wasting away to a mere skeleton of herself. After unsuccessfully trying to get her to eat, we took her to the vet and discovered she had irreversible liver failure. The only way she could live was if we syringe fed her every 3 hours for the rest of her life. She cried in pain when we touched her belly and it broke our hearts to see her failing to thrive. So today we chose to let our sweet Kitty go. We loved her enough to release her from the clutches of pain & suffering even though it shatters our hearts into a million pieces.

We had last night to spend with her, loving on her and telling her how much she would be missed. The baby didn't have a clue but my son was acutely aware of what was happening. We all cried together and grieved our loss last night as we said good-bye. We took photos and wrote special notes reminding us of the irreplaceable role she played in our lives.

She was 14 years old.....that's almost 100 in cat years, so we are peaceful that she had a good life filled with love. We buried her in our front garden, in a little white box with the love notes we wrote last night.

She was part of our family and she will forever remain as that. I believe there are animals in Heaven and I look forward to seeing my cat again one day. We are deeply grieving today but at the same time we begin our healing journey.

Goodbye Kitty, Kitty, Oh so pretty. We love you.

Simple Moments

2011-10-18T06:25:00.000-07:00

It was dark, nearing 11pm and the house was quiet except for me being the only one still awake. I yawned and decided it was time for me to turn in so I walked down the hall to my son's room just to peek in on him. I wondered to myself if my kids would ever know that I checked in on them every single night before I fall asleep....and I have since the day they were born. I walked a little closer and heard his rhythmic breathing. Softly, I brushed the hair from his forehead making way for the perfect spot to gently kiss his face. I smiled as he didn't so much as flinch. He's always been my solid sleeper since day one and I've often told people that if a helicopter were to land in his room he'd still remain sawing logs. His ability to sleep through anything amazes me, especially since I am the lightest of sleepers and I awake to my husband turning on the bathroom light. I gingerly traced the outline of his cheek with my hand and whispered, "Night buddy. I love you." I closed the door and headed over to the little lady's room.

Slowly, ever so slowly and *quietly* I opened her door. I purposely ensured the house was dark so as to prevent any light streaming into her bedroom. On my honor I swear, I was completely silent. I tip-toed over to her crib, applauding myself at a quiet job well done and suddenly she sat up erect in bed. "Hi mama," she said in a half-asleep stupor while rubbing her eyes. I cursed under my breath and wondered what exactly I did to stir her awake when I was soooo careful to be silent. Contrary to her brother and taking more after her mama, she is my light sleeper. Simply opening the door can awaken her. The helicopter landing in the little boy's room next door would wake her making her think it was time to party with a capital P. "Back to sleep, baby," I said softly. I could only make out her silhouette from the moonlight peaking between the window blinds. "Mama," she continued, "I pooped." I chuckled out loud as I knew I couldn't leave the poor girl laying in her own poop. I shuffled around her room in the pitch dark gathering supplies to change her and I found myself thankful I had spent so much time in that dark room because I knew exactly how to maneuver around any obstacles without a second guess. I changed her in complete darkness and I found it interesting how easily it came to me. I was a pro and had done that many times before. In fact, I could change the baby and the bed linens in the dark all while holding the baby on my hip with one hand. Not to mention the juggling, dancing and singing that I also do at the same time. Now THAT takes talent.

Once the change was complete I looked at my daughter with the moon highlighting her angelic face and Shirley Temple ringlets caressing the nape of her neck and she asked so sweetly, "I rock-a-bye?" A smile parted my lips and I picked up my not-so-little 32 pound two year old knowing exactly what she wanted. I sat down in the overstuffed glider chair and she rested her head directly onto my bare chest, listening to the beat of my heart. I rock-a-byed my baby girl and without her even asking her usual, "Scratchy, mama, scratchy," I began to scratch her back. We rocked back and forth and back and forth. In the dark I whispered prayers of thanksgiving that I still had those precious moments to rock-a-bye my baby. I thought about the hundreds of hours I had spent rocking my two babies in that glider chair, stroking their heads, kissing them and thanking God that He blessed me by being a mother. When her breathing slowed and her little body became completely relaxed I knew she had entered dreamland, so I rocked her just a few minutes longer, drinking in the moment and then I headed off to embrace my own slumber.

3:00am came and I was awoken by a little hand touching my arm. "Mama," I heard my 7 year old boy say, "I'm having bad dreams." I lifted up the duvet and felt a rush of warm air hit my face. That's the best part about being in bed, so warm & comforting under the covers and yet so cold outside in the room. "Come on in, I'll pray with you." So I wrapped my arms around my son and prayed for peace and protection. Usually that suffices and with a repeat good night kiss, the little boy would be off to his room again. But not tonight. "Can I have a sleep over?" he pleaded. I glanced over at my husband who was in his own snoring bliss and I looked at my boy, "Ok, slide in between daddy and I." He smiled widely and thanked me. Oh my sweet boy. If only he knew how much I loved putting my arms around his little frame and pulling him close. I held him until he fell asleep and I laid there, then wide awake myself but was filled with gladness that I realized the window of opportunity where he would actually *want* to jump into bed with us was ever closing. Soon I wouldn't be the cool mom. Soon I wouldn't be the girl he turns to. Soon he would rather stay in his own bed when he has nightmares. So I took the opportunity to comfort my son and as he slept in my arms I prayed one simple thing, "Oh, please help him to feel loved by me."

These are the simplest of moments that make my heart feel full & content. I often find myself filled with gratefulness that God allowed me to mother these two little people and I am honoured to be chosen to be part of this elite group. I wish to remember the beauty of these simple, heartfelt moments and etch them into my memory forever.

Mine

2011-10-15T10:58:00.000-07:00

This is my motto these days. MINE MINE MINE. Everything is mine.

Yes, the whole entire box of Cherrios is mine and thus I shall take it for myself and dump it on the floor. Because it is mine and I can.

And that bag full of shredded paper? Well, that's mine too. And since it is mine I will christen the floor with the whimsical confetti while enjoying every blissful moment. Then as soon as my mom finds me, I will pretend I had nothing to do with the mess by promptly cleaning it up. That mother of mine, she's not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She'll never figure it out.

My brother's books are all mine. Especially since I claim them for my own so I can color all over them and rip the pages out. Oh, and his shoes are mine too. Because I want to wear them and I don't care if he has to go barefoot. He's just plain selfish. He must never forget that everything is mine.

The yogurt you are eating is mine and I will make sure you know it. Your expensive make-up brushes are mine and if I so choose to, I will dunk them into the toilet and you will like it. Your cell phone is mine and I will make you give it to me. The beer you are drinking is mine too. You freaky adults lie to me saying I can't have that beer but I AM smarter than you. You see, when you leave your beer on the table I will appear out of nowhere and grab that bottle with two hands & take a big swig before you even begin to shriek, "Nooooo!" Yeesh. You silly silly adults.

MINE MINE MINE!!!!!!!

Don't even bother trying to keep something from me....because it is mine. Repeat after me: EVERYTHING IS MINE.

Suckers.

My Thing

2011-10-13T10:26:00.000-07:00

Mucous is my 'thing.' You know, that one thing that really gets you every time. Every nurse....or every person, for that matter....has a 'thing.' For some dealing with vomit is your 'thing' and makes you upchuck yourself, for others it's seeing & smelling poop that leaves you running for the toilet. I've had a gigantic man pass out in front of me when I started an IV on his wife....yup, it was the sight of blood.

So everyone has their 'thing,' and mucous is mine. Well, except for my own or my kid's because, well, I am immune to those. They are like water to me. But make me deep suction a tracheostomy and watch me dry heave over and over again. I can deal with fecal matter smeared all over a person as they rolled around in it or cleaning up chunky vomit or an arterial bleed gushing right in front of me.....but mucous......yick. YICKY yick.

Sorry, but I couldn't resist this Googled image. ;) Did I get my point across??

I've developed myself a cold and I began dripping snot yesterday. So much I called in sick to work. I talked to my supervisor over the phone and realized my voice was so low I sounded like a man.....either that or I had a really low, sexy voice that could easily employ me at one of those chat lines answering phones with a sultry, "Hhhhhhhhi there big guy. What are youuuuu wearing?"

Feelin' a bit better today after a solid 10 hours sleep but still thinking this is a brilliant idea.

So it appears the flu season is among us. Remember to wash your hands, people.

Burnt Toast

2011-10-05T10:21:00.000-07:00

"Breakfast is ready," I call out and the kids scramble to the table. I put out the eggs, toast and orange juice and gingerly handle the hot toast fresh from the toaster. "Awwww mom," my son complains, "You burnt the toaaaaaasssst." I take a look at the newly toasted bread and see that it is a little on the dark side. Not charcoalish persay, but certainly burnt. So I plunk in a new batch for the kids and I take the burnt toast and begin scraping the black into the sink. Scrape scrape scrape. It reminds me of an etch-a-sketch where you can just shake.....or in this case, scrape away the mistakes. I take the deformed looking toast and slather on some homemade plum jam from grandma and take a bite. "Grosssssss, mom," my son says. But I just shrug my shoulders. Eating burnt toast. It's what mom's do. We give our kids the best and take the worst for ourselves.

I remember when I was younger setting the table with the clean dishes from the dishwasher only to hear, "Ewwwww, grossssss," from my sister as she picked up her fork and discovered a little left over piece of hardened food on one of the prongs. My mom responded, "Oh come on, it's CLEAN dirt," and everyone at the table made a disgusted expression on their face. Mom sighed and traded her clean fork for my sister's dirty fork, chipped off the hard left over bit with her fingernail and proceeded to eat the remainder of her dinner. I'm not so sure about it actually being 'clean dirt' but I'm pretty sure the idea of preventing a cataclysmic event by taking one for the team is not a new concept in the world of motherhood.

Without a second thought we buy our kids new jeans when our own jeans are 4 years old, so thinned out in the arse you're afraid to bend down for fear of showing the world your plumber bum. When you sit down to eat your lunch and your 2 year old (who just ate her own entire lunch) decides she wants to have some of yours, you happily share. Then you realize she ate all but 2 bites of your lunch and you need to make a whole new meal for your still grumbling tummy. Another time you finally get 30 seconds to hop into the shower which happens to be your only *alone* time of the day and you hear thundering steps down the hall with a shrieking baby, "I commmmmmme in!!!" She's already naked by the time she begins pounding on the shower door with her little fists and you smile as she makes your alone time become a new found play time. You make meals you don't particularly care for simply because your kids love it. You sit and watch Sponge Bob reruns with your son instead of engrossing yourself in the latest Grey's Anatomy. (Ok, so you PVR it instead). You let your kids have the last of the chocolate milk even though you have the fiercest craving for chocolate.

If eating burnt toast is what it takes to see them happy then that is what you do. You would Do. Anything. for your kids. Because you are their mom and you love them more than any poetic words could ever describe. But what's interesting is that although technically it is 'sacrificing' it doesn't feel like that because you gladly put your children first. Gladly. You are acutely aware you are second rate for the rest of your life and oddly enough, that seems absolutely perfect. Completely and utterly perfect.

Just Shy of a Dozen

2011-09-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

It's been 11 years.....

11 years sharing my life with a man who makes me smile, who loves my children and who loves me. 11 years....just over a decade, just shy of a dozen. A sort of 'in between' year, one that I'm glad to be celebrating today. It hasn't always been easy. No siree. Marriage is a roller coaster ride of ups and downs, flips and curves. Some of which are so great and you feel exhilarated while others leave you so low you begin bottom feeding with the plankton. But in the end you still come together as one, committed to the journey and you find when you come out the other side, not only do you love your spouse you actually still *like* them too. I am proud to be this man's wife, and I am honored he chose me.

Dancing In The Minefields

By Andrew Peterson

I was nineteen, you were twenty-one
The year we got engaged
Everyone said we were much too young
But we did it anyway

We bought our rings for forty each
From a pawn shop down the road
We made our vows and took the leap
Now fifteen years ago

We went dancing in the minefields
We went sailing in the storm
And it was harder than we dreamed
But I believe that's what the promise is for

"I do" are the two most famous last words
The beginning of the end
But to lose your life for another I've heard
Is a good place to begin

'Cause the only way to find your life
Is to lay your own life down
And I believe it's an easy price
For the life that we have found

And we're dancing in the minefields
We're sailing in the storm
This is harder than we dreamed
But I believe that's what the promise is for

So when I lose my way, find me
When I loose love's chains, bind me
At the end of all my faith, till the end of all my days
When I forget my name, remind me

'Cause we bear the light of the Son of Man
So there's nothing left to fear
So I'll walk with you in the shadowlands
Till the shadows disappear

'Cause he promised not to leave us
And his promises are true
So in the face of all this chaos, baby,
I can dance with you

Adrenalin

2011-09-28T23:00:00.000-07:00

You don't know what adrenalin is until you have sat down for your first break in 12 hours and 5 minutes into your amazing sit-down you get a phone call, "Um, you need to come to the trauma room NOW. There is an imminent delivery." You run down the hall that appears to be a corridor the length of 60 football stadiums and you enter the trauma room only to have your arms outstretched for the newest delivery of that day in 2011. And the fact that the delivery went smoothly with nothing amiss with either the mom or baby.....whew. Oh those little infant cries. Incredible.

You don't know what adrenalin is until you have a patient on the cardiac unit deteriorating before your very eyes and you have that 'gut feeling' that this person is super sick....so sick they need an in depth look from an intensivist's eyes. You remember throughout nursing school your instructors talking about that "gut" or "intuition" but you never really figured you had enough years of experience to trust that intuition/red flag feeling. But for whatever reason, you knew this was the patient you needed to advocate for. And after 8 hours of assessments, charting up the wazoo and numerous phone calls and consults.....the patient was FINALLY admitted to ICU. Yes, your gut was right and it feels incredible.

You don't know what adrenalin is until you have a patient come into your emergency bay with a nail stuck in their eye. Yes that nail ricocheted from the nail gun off the wall and directly into their eye. Being a curious nurse sort, you think it's actually pretty awesome......and of course you want to take a good look at it. And to your utter amazement that patient's eye was completely saved and they retained full vision. Incredible.

You don't know what adrenalin is until you move one patient out only to receive a new 'fresh' patient who had just had a cardiac arrest while being triaged in emergency by your best friend, Stacey. Yes, the quick thinking genius she was, your BFF knew something was up when the patient was speaking and suddenly complained of feeling unwell.....and then went pulseless. Your BFF began CPR immediately and called for a code blue. The patient was then revived with defibrillation within seconds and sat up talking. What's more incredible is that patient who was saved by your BFF, then came to you on the cardiac unit....and you had the pleasure of treating the patient and their family with all the love and compassion you could muster up. Later that shift your BFF came to see how the patient was doing and the 3 of you got to have your picture taken together: the reviving nurse, the patient and the continuing care nurse. So rewarding. Such job satisfaction. So incredible.

You don't know what adrenalin is until you have a young patient who has been in ICU for quite some time, explain to you that they are concerned for their future with regard to the cancer they have. You sit down and answer all their questions and dispel all their worries. You feel your heart rush with gladness as your realize your words made an impact to change the trajectory of their life. Words. Information. Gentleness. It's so simple and yet so overlooked. But so powerful and incredible.

Being a registered nurse is so incredibly rewarding it merely takes my breath away. I couldn't imaging being called to do anything else.

Loo Crazy

2011-09-23T16:00:00.000-07:00

"YAY MAMA!" she says as she wildly claps for me. "Good Gurl. Good job!!!"

I get all excited and my pulse begins to race. It is wonderful to be cheered for with such vigor and enthusiasm.....

.....then I realize I'm sitting on the john takin' a tinkle.

Yup, it's full-on hoopla with confetti and bonbons in this house when anyone goes pee. We are in to full potty training mode and I'm not gettin' out much these days. Can ya tell?! But you know, these things are important and require a great deal of consistency and dedication. We are at place where every second word is regarding body functions followed promptly with a bribe. Yes, we do treasure boxes here. And if you poop, well, you get serious prizes. And we'll call just about anyone on our contact list simply to inform them of your 'business.' Isn't that exciting? I know. I know. I hear that a lot.

Remember when your weekends were all about hanging out with your friends and having fun? Well, I'm about having fun, hanging out with little baby bowels. Yup. I said BOWELS. You go ahead and be all jealous now. And just know all I can think about is how unfair it is that I don't get any prizes for goin' to the loo. Perhaps I should be changing things around a bit, and perhaps I should consider getting out every once in while....

31 is Good

2011-09-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote a little facebook message to my younger sister, the one who is a decade younger than I. And through a Freudian slip, I wrote something along the lines of, "Ok, so I'm 21 now..." when the truth of the matter is that I'm 31. Weird. When did that happen? I feel like I'm a 31 year old woman trapped in a young 20 something mindset. (I'd say 20 something body, but really now, the baby making machine I've been proves to show otherwise).

So it happens to be my 31st birthday. Not a milestone number by any stretch of the imagination. And what's funny is that I keep on forgetting it's my birthday. I distinctly remember playing with my *other* younger sister (now keep up because I am one of 7 children) and we'd play Barbies for hours on end. I'd play the part where I was the older sibling who happened to 'forget' that it was my birthday...meanwhile in my 11 year old mind set I'd think to myself how utterly ludicrous it was that someone would forget their own birthday. I mean, seriously...with all the presents and parties and such. Well, fast forward a few decades and here I am. Up until yesterday I actually forgot it was my birthday. Call it what you will, but I blame my aging mind. And the reality of the situation is, the older you get the more "in between" birthdays don't count. Meaning, only milestones seem to draw attention...both for friends & family as well as yourself. 30 posed for a huge celebration, ushering in a new decade. But 31 is a little lack luster with only me sitting here relishing the fact that I have earned yet another year. I am here a year older, hopefully a year wiser with more love to offer. That is all I can hope for.

Amidst all this I have realized something in the last year. I am comfortable in my own skin. I actually like who I've become and I'm proud of the things I've accomplished in numerous facets of my life. I'm one of those people when you meet me you either love me or you hate me....and I'm ok with that. It's the way I am.

At 31 my nights are earlier.....but I calm myself with a 2 year old resting her head on my chest while I gently rub her back and whisper "I love you's." At 31 my mornings revolve around getting a handsome little boy off to school where he learns new things only to come home and share his enlightenment with his mama who loves him so much. At 31 I've been married for a decade to the man who fathered my children, (and those children happen to be complete clones of him) and when my hand slips into his, I know I will be perfectly alright. At 31 I have friends who know me better than many of my own family members. At 31 I've drawn closer to the family I've been adopted and accepted into....meaning my in-laws.....more than I ever thought possible. At 31 I am content and pleased. I am happy in this moment because I am where I am supposed to be. And it is good.

Yes, it is all good.

Make A Difference

2011-09-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

If you've read my blog before you would know that I am a person who feels very compelled to give to people in need whether it be taking the homeless guy a subway lunch, giving Christmas gifts to a needy family, buying new shoes for single moms leaving abusive relationships, bringing school supplies to children when we go on vacation to third world countries, or sponsoring kids through World Vision. I feel very strongly that if you have the means to give, then you *must.* Not just that you should, you MUST. Because there are so many people in the world that need help, both at home & abroad.....and turning a blind eye because it makes you uncomfortable is well, unacceptable.

Recently I've had numerous discussions with my son regarding the famine happening in Somalia right now and he's expressed wanting to help. Here we are in our cushy little North-American homes eating our food to the point of obesity and going about our days dismissing the idea that there are mothers on another continent having to make a choice of which child they should "save" and which one to let die from the famine. There are babies taking their last breath in their parent's arms. Fathers are dying as they go out to seek food & aid for their family. Generations upon generations are passing away, and why.....because of something we take so much for granted: Food and clean drinking water.

Does this make you uncomfortable to read? Good. Because if it didn't you should be worried.

So today I made a choice to make a difference. I know I often struggle with making monetary donations to organized charities because you never know where the money is really going and you have to have faith it's going to the right places. But really, what matters is a giving heart and I believe God will take care of the details. The reason why I'm writing this post is simply to poke at your heart strings and ask that you donate to the Somalia famine through any Canadian charity by Sept 16th and the Canadian gov't will match your donation dollar for dollar. It's a win win situation. If you can only give $5 or $10, then please do it.

Please click on THIS LINK HERE for more information. Come on my Canadian friends, let's make a difference!!!

Baby Gaga

2011-09-12T09:53:00.000-07:00

She is singing at the top of her lungs....something that sounds like a techno remix of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and I begin laughing. "KRINKLE KRINKLE WIDDLE ARRRRRRR, UPPA GAGA ORLD A EYE..." I begin laughing even harder as soon as she says, "Gaga" and she giggles in response to my reaction. She is apparently incredibly pleased with herself.

I then begin a very serious conversation with my two year old. ;)

"Are you singing Lady Gaga?"

"Uh huh," she says. I know she has no idea what I'm talking about.

"How's your poker face?" I ask.

She points to her face.

"Ya, that poker face."

"Good," she says.

And I reply with, "Glad to hear it. As you were then, Baby Gaga."

Completion

2011-09-08T14:59:00.000-07:00

It was a few months back and I found myself sitting down having yet another deep discussion with my husband. "So, the doctor has said we can finally start trying for a third," I began while swallowing hard and looking at my husband. Not to get into gory details but I've had a number of complications from the cervical LEEP procedure I underwent in December post cervical cancer scare and I had patiently waited months for the green light to go ahead. There it was, the big medical permission........and for some reason I didn't feel any exciting fireworks exploding.

My husband had never hid his feelings, "You know I'm done," he began gently. He said that as soon as our daughter was born, "But we can try for another baby if that's what you really want." REALLY WANT. For the first time ever in my life those words echoed in my head and seemed haunting. I even felt a bit of panic rush up into my throat from the pit of my belly.....and I was confused as to why. I was SO certain I wanted a third baby and had said so since the beginning of time. It was just always the reality: we were going to be a family of five, no questions asked. So why the hesitation now? I didn't know.

I spent that evening and the following day doing some deep reflection and spending a lot of time in prayer. Why the sudden change of heart when all along I always thought I wanted another baby? It was never in question. But when push came to shove, I was getting cold feet. And not just cold feet.....my feet were frostbitten and nearly falling off. My soul felt as if it were in turmoil and swirling around like a tornado only to end my misery by spitting my body out on the dirt like a rag doll.

The next morning I awoke to a quiet house and I took that time to enter into solace. I prayed trying to gain some sort of clarity of the situation I had suddenly found myself in. I wanted understanding and craved wisdom and insight. During the stillness of that morning I looked deep into my heart and allowed myself to consider something I never thought required considering.........'perhaps I did not want to have a third baby after all'. Suddenly a wave of relief and peace rushed over me and I breathed a deep sigh. I had said it out loud and now the universe was witness to it. My soul was still in that moment and I felt the ever slight whisper of The Spirit calm me with a melodic, "You are wholly complete with two. They are your blessing."

With that I began to weep. I cried buckets of different emotions, relief at not having any more children but grieving that I'll never place my hands on my growing belly ever again. I mourned that I'll never smell the intoxicating scent of my own newborn's head but excited to actively witness my two children's growth and development here & now. I was saddened that our family photographs will never have an added little person to them, but at the same time I felt so incredibly content that it was just the four of us. My husband entered the room and found me surrounded by a puddle of my own tears and he approached me tenderly. I didn't have to say anything because he simply wrapped his strong arms around me and I wept uncontrollably. He held me together, all my broken pieces and stroked my hair. He let me cry because he recognized that was the beginning of my healing journey.

Slowly but surely over the next while peace and contentment rested upon me and settled into the foundation of my soul's identity. I no longer looked at pregnant women thinking I would one day experience that again. I looked at other people's babies being genuinely happy for the addition to their family and not wishing I had that for myself. It was a complete 180 degree mind shift and it certainly took some adjustment. But the best part was that I found myself wrapping my arms around my son while reading his bedtime story and breathing prayers of thanksgiving that God chose for him to be my only boy. And at night when I rock my daughter, holding her in my embrace and singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," I kiss her forehead as I am grateful she'll be my baby for all of eternity.

We are complete. We are done. (Well, 99% done I think). We are a perfectly rounded family and the sands have sifted making the truth of this foundation incredibly settled. Certainly there is always the possibility that God is saying, "Just not right now," but for now we are content & beyond blessed with the children God has given us in this lifetime. It is now time to enjoy the next stage of this journey.

Royal Prince Visits

2011-08-27T12:27:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago I began to notice an increased frequency of a little kitten showing up in our yard. As the days passed, I soon discerned the kitten was our neighbour's cat, from 2 doors down. I'd wake up in the morning, open the front door and see this kitten sitting underneath our large yellow sunflower as if he were just waiting.....anticipating that my kids would immediately bound outside to play with him. We learned his name was Prince, and thus Royalty began to infiltrate our lives on a daily basis.

My son would trod over to the neighbour's and request (with batting eyelashes) to have Prince over for a 'play date.' They obliged and the kitten would spend hours swatting cat toys, playing with yarn, letting my baby lock him into odd spaces and making my kids giggle with glee. Once my daughter started calling him "Pizza" because she couldn't annunciate the word "Prince," I knew the kids were falling in love with this cat....and I was worried for their little hearts.

Play dates became a common occurrence over the next few weeks and then the inevitable happened. "Mama," my son asked sweetly last week, "Can Prince please have a sleep over? Plllllleeeeeeeeeaaaassseee?" I stopped for a moment and realized I was experiencing deja vu all over again because over 10 years ago we stole our neighbour's cat and that feline has been our family pet ever since. I saw where this 'sleep over' business was going. My red flags were wildly flapping in the wind. However, the Prince himself was slowly but surely finding a way into my heart and when the neighbour's agreed the 4 month old kitten could indeed have a sleep over, I knew I was a gonner.

"Sure, Prince can go over to your place," the teenage neighbour girl began as I stood with my son flanked at my side, "He'd just be sleeping outside anyway." I began to prod the teen, "So he's primarily outside then?" The idea of this little kitten being an outside cat broke my heart. She nodded her head and explained how she had brought Prince home without her parent's permission and they were looking to "get rid of him." The look of horror on my son's face couldn't fool anyone. The idea of Prince leaving our lives forever was breaking his heart at that very moment. I looked at my boy and then at Prince's owner and said, "Well, before you get rid of him please come talk to us."

The sleep over went well with Prince never leaving my son's bed. They became inseparable. My little buddy had found his own new little buddy.

The following morning Prince's owner knocked on the door and asked how the cat was over night. I assured her it went splendidly and that Prince even remotely got along with our other inside cat. Then the teenager suggested something I had already seen written in the stars, "Do you guys want to keep Prince? I think he likes it at your house better than ours." I looked at my son and smiled. My husband & I had discussed how well Prince blended into our family and the thought of him being brought to the SPCA and euthanized made us nauseous. So from that unforgettable day on, Prince belonged to us. We purchased him a flashy new red collar and he is extremely content being part of our family. So with Prince being our third cat, I am officially becoming That Crazy Cat Lady.

It appears I am now related to royalty. For the record, autographs will be signed at a nominal fee.

Make-over for the 'Girls'

2011-08-21T14:06:00.000-07:00

We were in the grocery store and the cashier was ringing up our purchase while she looked at my son and said, "You must be getting excited about going back to school soon. Are you going to go buy school supplies today?" My son slyly looks up at me and I nod at him. "Yes," he says, "We're going to get me some pencils and stuff. But first, my mom has to go buy a BRA!"

*Blink*

I didn't see that one coming. But I suppose that's what I get for explaining the whole run down of the days events to him before we even left the house, "Ok, we're gonna go get some groceries, then we'll quickly buy a new bra....for me, not you.....*grin* (followed by the little boy rolling his eyes) and then we'll get your school supplies." He cheers loudly and we hop into the car. Fast forward to the grocery store where he decided to bestow upon the poor lady knowledge that my "girls" needed a make-over via new undergarments. The lady simply laughed and turned a bit red. I wasn't embarrassed at all because I've heard my son say much worse things that would cause the general population to curl up in fetal position and cry, so I simply agreed and said, "Yup, I'm gonna buy a new bra today." He rolled his eyes again and sighed loudly.

I haven't bought a good fitting bra since I stopped breastfeeding in February and the last one I purchased was a nursing bra. Not quite sure why I haven't ventured to get a new, better fitting bra....but I do know the 'ladies' haven't been too happy about it. They prefer to be in the stationary, upright and locked position, none of this bouncing around business. And rest assured, it's not like there's a whole lot of bouncing happening because I really don't have a whole lot to bounce around. The only time the girls ever come out to play is when I'm pregnant or breastfeeding....so let's just leave it at that.

After many a bra fittings and a little boy painfully sitting in the waiting area (as most of the male species would rather poke their eyes out with sharp objects than to wait in a lingerie store) I finally got myself a new bra. That fits. And it is wonderful. I feel like a new woman. Next time I suppose I'll be more careful about what I tell him.....for fear he'll mention to strangers that I need my bikini line waxed. Now that's not awkward at all. ;)

Birthday Girl

2011-08-12T11:54:00.000-07:00

When I discovered I was pregnant with my daughter, I was breathless with wonder and honoured the Lord would bless me in such a way. We had tried for a baby and finally, 5 1/2 years after our beautiful son was born we were going to add another little human to our family. I was beyond elated.

My belly grew and grew to an impressive size for a person 5' 4" weighing 125lbs. My belly was massive and in my 9th month I looked like I might explode at any moment. I felt my baby's head low into my pelvis and high under my ribs.....making me suspicious I might have yet another large baby. My first was 9lbs 2.5oz and this time my midwife stated I'd have an 8 pounder. I figured I could sneeze out an 8 pound baby so I held onto that hope going into labor.

Finally, I went into labor with my second baby. She was born ON her due date August 12th, exactly 2 years ago today. Only 4% of the population is born on their due date so even from the very beginning she was showing the world how special she was. But the most impressive thing was her size. The predicted 8 pound child decided to come out the size of a 3 month old weighing 10lbs 7oz. And yes, I had her completely naturally without drugs.

The first few weeks I stared in awe of her often whispering prayers of thanksgiving and telling her often, "I'm so glad you are here." Because I was. So so so glad she came to me as a gift. Her presence in our lives gave us a sense of completion, one of each and I felt blessed God would choose me to mother a boy and now a girl.

Two years later I still tell her all the time how glad I am that she's here. Before bed we have a snuggle in the rocker chair where she lays on my chest and listens to my heartbeat. If only she knew it beats for her. I was so used to seeing my son grow and wanting to be just like daddy, wearing fire gear, matching hockey jerseys and asking for the same short hair cut as his idolized father. But now, I am still getting used to the idea of having my own little clone who wants to be just like me. She calls her skirts, "Swish" because that's exactly what she does when she puts them on. She watches me apply make-up and begs for me to powder her nose or put lotion on her hands. She feeds her babies and teddy bears yogurt and proudly lifts them up when she has put "SHOES!" on each of her dolly's feet. You should see how her face lights up when we paint our toes matching colors.

But her curls....oh my. They take my breath away. I wouldn't dare cut her hair for fear the beautiful curly cues might disappear. I think I'd be devastated.

Is it possible to love a human more than your own life? I think so. I've done it twice. My children are the best thing I've ever done. They are the masterpieces of my life. I look at her and am so incredibly thankful, grateful and humbled to be her mama. I look back on the day of her birth 2 years ago with fond memories and I know in another 2 years from now I will look back with even fonder memories of the times we are living today.

Happy 2nd birthday my sweetness. I'm so glad you're here.

Belonging

2011-08-10T20:40:00.000-07:00

Well hello there. Ya, I'm talkin' to you big fella. Yes, you.

I like how you get your "people" to tell me how much you appreciate me and how glad you are that I'm around. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when The Powers That Be thank me for coming to you. Yes, you. You know what I'm sayin'.....I'm all up in your grill, High Acuity/ICU. You and I have been having a ravenous affair for just a short time and to be completely honest, I'm falling hard for you.....more every single time I step foot on to your unit.

Emergency and I have had a long standing relationship for many years now. Although I feel much loyalty to my old flame ER, I have to say, I am drawn to you and your hypnotic ways. I hear your whispers in my ear sweetly cooing, "Here you only have 2 patients and you most often get your breaks." Oh, my new Beau, I LOVE how you give me super sick patients who are on inotropes & pressors, IV lines galore through triple lumen CVC's, who have tubes coming out of every orifice known to man, who require ART & CVP monitoring, who have the capacity to crash on me at any moment in time, who have hemovac drains, are on hemodialysis and Bipap. Yes, yes, I know emergency has those things too....but oh, High Acuity, in ER I have 4 or 5 patients and you clearly love me more by giving me only 2, so that things are more a controlled busy and I can be so much more thorough. Less is more. And I love you for that.

I'm saying love a lot.

Perhaps the novelty hasn't worn off but Oh High Acuity, I swoon at the mere sight of you. I am weak in the knees when I walk on the floor. And I love that I've only been on your unit for just a few short weeks and already I'm being pulled over to ICU because apparently the Powers That Be like that I'm from emerg. I'm being utilized and appreciated and valued. It feels so.friggen.good.

More than anything, High Acuity, I love you because I sleep better at night. No really, I do. I actually soundly crash knowing that I am giving the care I have so longed to give my patients....and I have the time to do it. (Except for those days when things are hairy, because regardless, those still come. That's just a reality). I am peaceful and balanced. And most of all, High Acuity, I feel like I am where I belong.

That is it in a nutshell. I am where I belong.

Worst Fear

2011-08-01T19:22:00.000-07:00

All I could see was black. My eyes were closed. I couldn't move any part of my body, not my fingers or my toes, not my arms, not my head or neck. I heard people call my name. I heard sounds that were piercing with clarity and I could distinguish the stricken panic in their voices. I was completely and utterly helpless as I lay there on the cold table. "She's one of our emerg nurses," I heard someone call out. I heard bustling and rushing about but I still couldn't move any part of my body. My eyelids remained glued closed and my hearing was one of the only senses still intact.

I felt them put in IV's as I lay there unresponsive but that didn't bother me as much as what I knew was coming. I felt them cut away my jeans and I heard the collective gasp of all those in the trauma room, a gasp only I could anticipate, "Look......just look at those, those.......legs!" Then something equally dramatic followed, "GASP! Non-matching underwear and bra! Ghastly." I felt ashamed of my current state of undergarment wearing but not nearly as mortified as the fact that I hadn't shaven in over a week and apparently my leg hairs were about 4 feet long, dripping over the trauma table onto the floor like a cascading waterfall. In my unconscious paralyzed state, I was embarrassed and wishing I had the ability to explain, "Honest, I shaved them just last week!" But I knew it would do no good because the length of my leg hairs told the story. Much too little too late. I was a hideous Behemoth.

I heard the doctor, (whom happened to be a friend of mine), suggest to the nurse, (who also happened to be a close friend of mine) to insert a foley catheter into my bladder. My pants were already cut off and I knew I was completely exposed for all the world to see. Although I had already given birth twice and knew umpteenth medical professionals had seen my 'who-haw', in my unresponsive state I was still mortified. Somehow, although all I could see was black, somewhere out of the corner of my eye I could see a HUGE LOOMING cather coming in my direction....and inwardly I was panicking.

I suddenly sit up in bed and shriek, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

*blink* blink*

I then realize I am abruptly awoken from my ongoing recurrent nightmare. My worst fear realized. I sit straight up in my warm, comfy bed and see that the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me happened in my dreams, yet again. Hairy legs, unmatched undergarments and a catheter.....all taking place in the trauma room AT MY WORKPLACE. *Shudder* I cannot express to you enough how much this is my worst fear.

There is something to say for that old wives tail about never leaving the house without clean underwear. Well, in my situation it would be making sure I always have freshly shaven legs. But guess what?!?!?!? THAT NEVER HAPPENS.

I'm sure every nurse has their worst fear....that one thing they would rather die than to present to their workplace with....but seriously, I would curl up in a ball in fetal position if my fear actually became a reality. Please don't look at my hairy legs. Don't judge my granny panties and ugly un-matching bra. And for goodness sake, please do not allow people I work with insert a catheter into me. Just focus on keeping me breathing and leave my girlie bits alone. I'll shave when I get around to it. ;) Thank you very much.

Much appreciated,

Convincing Required

2011-07-27T06:36:00.000-07:00

Some times a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do........and why not talk your 7 year old son into it as well? And why not post it on your public blog so that all people will see your blackmail material for as long as the internet is in existence? Exactly.

And make no mistake, it's been done before. Yes, years ago and you can read about that here. This time it took a little more convincing. But it was still awesome nonetheless.

Mama Is A Ho Ho

2011-07-21T17:22:00.000-07:00

She looks at me coming down the hallway, points her finger directly at my face and shrieks, "Ho Ho! Mama, Ho ho!"

I can't get mad at her that she's calling me a very disrespectful, derogatory term in her 2 year old accent.....because I hold my head up high and know I'm better than that. No, I am not a brazen hussy and I will not listen to a little human calling me as such. I will not be put down. No, I am a strong independent woman and I've been called much worse by better.

As tempted as I am to run and don some fishnet stockings and 6 inch heels to play the part, I simply look at my baby and smile as I get down on my knees. She screams Ho Ho even louder and by then I'm on all fours. Horsey. She wants me to play horsey.

She rides on my back and I take her around and around until my knees are aching. She squeals with delight and it makes my heart sing. Yes, my baby girl I am a Ho Ho. Your very own personal Ho Ho. And dang proud of it.

Changing Homes

2011-07-16T06:10:00.000-07:00

The thing is, I'm working a lot right now. A lot more than usual. Perhaps it's my final hoorah, madly running around the emergency department until I leave in a matter of weeks for a permanent position in ICU high acuity. Or maybe not, because in all reality I never really wanted to leave emergency and I've already prebooked a few shifts in August although 'technically' I won't work there anymore. For this reason alone I have requested no good-bye parties in my name. It would be incredibly awkward for the staff to have a blow out party one night and the next morning there I am with my shining face in the emergency department, "Hi guys. They asked if I could come in this morning."

All in all, I'm working way more than I'm used to and I am feeling ready to work less. Less as in.... thoroughly enjoying all that my half-time position in ICU will offer me. I'm not sure when this happened but I feel an intrinsic pull to be at home more. I'm glad for the break when I'm at work but truth be told, I miss my kids and I think about them all day long. I think the half-time position will reinstate balance into my life and that is always a good thing.

I am rather surprised that I'm feeling quite neutral about taking a new position in a completely different area. I like challenges so the steep learning curve doesn't frighten me much. To tell you the truth, I'm most worried about my new department not feeling like "home." You know, like where you can close your eyes and know exactly which room the incessant IV pump is beeping from. Or when a visitor comes to ask which room is 21 and without hesitation, you can point them in the right direction. I have to relearn where all the equipment and supplies are. I need to get a feel for the floor culture and how the system works. Every shift will involve new introductions and new explanations for why I'm there as: The Newbie. It's all just......new. And I find myself mourning the fact that emergency is my 'home' where it feels familiar and comfortable.....and I will be working less there than I ever have before, that is, if I even pick up extra shifts. BUT, I have to remember that I can't give up on my fundamental beliefs that EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON and there is a reason God has pulled me out of emerg into ICU. I choose to trust that regardless of the fact that I have a very expected, humanly fear of the unknown.

So, here's to inevitable changes and making a new home away from home.

Heart Break

2011-07-10T10:08:00.000-07:00

As a registered nurse in the emergency department I see a lot of things: funny things, silly things, disturbing things and sad things.......all of which impact me in their own unique way. I've written a lot about those experiences over the years but there is one thing that never ceases to shake me to my core. Perhaps because it hits me too close to home: the death of an infant. I've written about my thoughts and feelings in this blog post from a patient we had earlier this year. But as a mother, as a woman, as a human my heart breaks for families when they lose a baby.

Today I came across two different blogs of two different women who do not know one another and they both lost their baby boys this past week. What does a complete stranger say to someone who is in such a raw state of grieving? All I know is that these two women have written words that have penetrated my heart and through a virtual world of computer technology, I have had a glimpse into their breaking spirits.

The first woman, Lori just lost her one week old son on July 8th. Here's her blog.
http://causeitstheworldiknow.blogspot.com/

The second woman had her 3 month old son suddenly pass away July 2nd. Here's a link to her blog. http://littleflowinglips.blogspot.com/

Both are in such raw, heart wrenching states of grieving and reading their words makes me pause to remember that this life is about so many bigger things than just me. My eyes are opened yet again to see other people's painful circumstances. Please read and share some thoughts of encouragement.

Lemonade Stand

2011-07-05T22:17:00.000-07:00

I apologize.....but I have been incredibly busy trying to prevent this human:

....a sweet little thing, who is such a deceiver......

....from ruining any entrepreneurial efforts on the part of this human:

Yes, they may both look so innocent and sweet but let me assure you that they BOTH have their moments. The little boy was trying to make his mark in the business world with the GRAND OPENING of his first (yes, first) lemonade stand.

He has been begging....and no I am not exaggerating....for the last 2 months to have a lemonade stand. To which I quickly retorted with, "Well, I know the perfect person to make you a sign." My little mohawk-haired boy made a phone call to his Papa (my beloved dad) and asked if he would please oh please oh please make a sign to up the ante for the success of his soon-to-be-major-business. So Papa graciously slaved away making a sign for my boy and oh, you should have seen his face light up when he was handed the masterpiece. Heaven.

So, with the weather being delightfully warm I obliged my child with his request. Yes, he could finally put up his lemonade stand.

But curses......I had to stop the baby from completely obliterating any possible chance of success by way of sampling the product to death. (Hence the previous comment about her ruining his entrepreneurial venture).

The stuff was like honey to a bear, moth to a flame, flies to fly paper. Seriously, the lemonade was addicting to her and the screeching that came out of her mouth when I'd take it away was at a pitch only dogs could hear.

But none the less, he persevered successfully luring in customers with his charming ways......and wicked awesome hair cut.

And in the end, even though his little sister nearly drank him out of house & home (wow, that really sounds bad when I write it out) he cashed out with a cool $30.

Cha-ching.

I asked him what he was gonna do with the money from his first day of Lemonade Stand Success and he said coyly, "I'm going to put it in the bank." How awfully responsible of him. Does me proud.

Now I wonder what kind of crazy antics I'll have to pull off tomorrow to get him more $$$$. And for the record, no, this family does not streak during mid-day lemonade rush. It is frowned upon in the suburbs.

Warm Heart

2011-06-23T09:06:00.000-07:00

I recall a time not too long ago when I was listening to a patient's lungs with my stethoscope and I suddenly heard a high pitched yelp accompanied by a rather dramatic lurch on the part of my patient. I knew exactly what had happened. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I apologetically stated, "I know I have really cold hands." Then that patient said something that I've never forgotten, "It's alright. You've got cold hands but a warm heart."

That statement has stayed close to me and I treasure it in my heart thinking about it often. I was so blessed to hear that. And since then, I've noticed there are numerous things in my life that cause my heart to glow with warmth:

My son came home from his last day of school wildly waving about a white sheet of paper. "Mama, for you" he said breathlessly as he handed me the paper. A huge grin immediately broke out on my face as I read what he had written. "I like my mom because she's nice to me. Because she bought a new car for me." Well, it appears that this little boy is convinced the recent minivan purchase was just for him. And what a typical male.....love is expressed by kindness in the form of metal toys.
This warms my heart.

Seeing my daughter sit on her beloved grandpa's lap while he reads her a delightful story book. Her entire face lights up & sparkles when she see him as he enthusiastically shouts her nickname while his arms are outstretched for a big hug, "SNOOKS!" They adore one another and it warms my heart.

Finally, my heart is warm because of the depth of love I feel from my Father in Heaven's blessings. Yesterday was an incredibly busy, insane day at work and as I was rushing amidst the chaos I received my own virtual tropical oasis in the form of a phone call, "Hi, this is the ICU manager. I'd like to offer you a part-time position in the ICU High Acuity Unit." I instantly broke out in a huge smile as I accepted the position. Come August, I will begin working a 0.5 half-time line (1.0 is Full-Time) in an area of ICU (similar to an ICU step down for those of you who know what that means) where I will have two patients instead of the dozens/hundreds I go through in emerg......and I will actually have time to TALK to my patients without feeling rushed. Such a delightful thought. A half-time line is exactly what I wanted and I am doubly blessed that I can still pick up extra shifts in emergency and the cardiac unit. It's the best of all worlds and I am pinching myself to make sure it's still real.

Now I can take these cold hands and warm heart to make a difference in some new people's lives.

Fork In The Road

2011-06-14T09:48:00.000-07:00

I remember when I first started this blog way back in 2006 I had a primary goal of revealing numerous aspects of my life, namely a balance of my nursing journey along with a glimmer into my life as a wife & mother. For the most part, I'd like to say I have successfully attained this balance over the years, tailoring my posts to suit the interests of my two reader spectrums: those in the medical field and those who are not. However, I have to admit that as of late I have failed to do this as the ratio of my posts have leaned more towards the realm of my parental journey but I am hoping to get back on the wagon of chronicling my nursing experiences.

Before I can do that, a few things need to be delicately explained in order to understand my sabbatical from nursing posts. A number of weeks ago our emergency department did a staff rotation change basically where all the nursing positions both full-time and part-time were completely made over and shuffled up. Then, one by one, all nurses were to pick their choice of position based on seniority. What management did not expect was that so many senior staff and some with current full-time positions selected part-time positions. So although I'm by no means at the bottom of the seniority list, by the time it was my turn to pick a position all the decent part-time lines were no longer up for grabs. I looked down at the table with a list of available positions and I couldn't help the tears from welling in my eyes. I was silent as I realized my fate. Then the tears began.....

"This is all that is left to choose from?" I began quietly to my manager. The union representative stared at me while tears trickled down my cheeks and I continued incredulously, "You need to realize I'm now being forced to leave the emergency department because there is nothing left for me." I was completely blindsided by what had just happened especially since I had no difficulty obtaining my current part-time position 2 years ago from having been full-time prior to that. Between tear drops I quickly signed my name beside one of the positions I knew I would never work because working full-time is simply not an option.....my family comes first. I will not compromise the balance, growth and health of my family by working anything other than part-time. But I had to take SOME position or I would lose my job completely. The new positions are set to begin this coming September so I knew I had a few months to apply for another part-time opening somewhere else.

So that leaves me to where I am today. I don't know what the future has in store for me. The way the rotation changes went down was nobody's fault and blame can't be placed....it's simply the way seniority works. And although it bit me HARD in the arse this time, seniority has worked in my favor before. As it stands now I am actively looking for acceptable part-time positions anywhere in critical care areas within the hospital. I have a few months and I know there is always a lot of turn over with the current nursing shortage. I will find something whether it be in the emergency department or outside it. I have complete faith in that.

The beauty of nursing is that I can maintain my title of Registered Nurse and work anywhere in the nursing profession. I don't have to get another degree to work in another department and that is one major thing I LOVE about nursing. It's called job security. Ironic that I'm talking about job security in the same post that highlights my need for a new position, but I truly believe God has a great plan in place and I'm just goin' along for the ride.

The truth of the matter is that Emergency & I have a love hate relationship. I love how incredibly, acutely sick people are there but there are times when that acuity is beyond overwhelming and all you can do is beg for help from other staff and hope everyone just simply keeps breathing. 'JUST DON'T DIE ON MY SHIFT' has become an internal chant I've had to repeat in my head on a handful of shifts in the past. When one patient told me he was going to see 'The Bright White Light', I actually demanded, "If you see a white light, you turn and run in the opposite direction!" I love staying constantly busy in emergency but at the same time that pace makes the department feel like a cold conveyor belt that pumps through patient after patient. I often do not feel a great sense of job satisfaction at the end of the day because I was too busy to have any sort of meaningful conversation with my patients. And that reality makes me feel terribly sad. The one thing I love about where I work is my coworkers. Seriously, I work with the best people on the planet. They are kind and supportive. They listen and help when asked. They are there when you need to vent about your hairy day and hug you on your next shift. I am blessed to be part of this team and the thought of leaving for another area to work with other people saddens me deeply.

That being said, I love nursing no matter which place God plunks me down into. I'm up for a challenge. I am ready for a change should it be presented to me. Who knows, maybe a special surprise is right around the corner......

Distraction

2011-06-06T20:32:00.000-07:00

So sorry....but I've been sort of, uh, distracted with my new-found love & obsession.

THIS.

I have never had a smart phone, that is, until now and my life has been forever changed. How did I ever live without it? It's been a whole of about 5 days and I will never know how to cope without this incredible device.

I hmmmmmed and hawwwwed over the blackberry/iphone debate and found those who owned either mentioned phones were severely loyal to their particular choice. I was worried about the touch screen and loathing the mere idea of texting but after just a few days my little fingers were whirring about on that device like it was comin' outta style.

I thought I was pretty slick driving around with my white iphone on my hands-free device. I cranked the tunes & bopped my head to the song 'Jump' by Kris Kross from my era, and with my freshly cut & colored hair (with purple streaks this time instead of pink. HOLLA!), I rolled down the windows. Why, because I can. It was hot out and awfully humid....no, I'm not complaining because I love it....and although I had a/c I chose to have the windows generously blowing. For a split second I felt like a celebrity or model or some such ridiculousness with my sweet looking smart phone and the wind romantically tousling about my new hair style. Then I was abruptly brought back to reality when I heard a little human voice from the back saying, "Mama. I peed." And I remember I'm driving a minivan.

My Arch Nemesis

2011-05-31T10:12:00.000-07:00

He talks about her while we snuggle and watch Sponge Bob together. "Mom, she thinks I'm cute, yanno. She chases me around at school." I look at my 7 year old son and kiss his forehead, "You are cute, hunny." Not that I'm biased or anything. "I can see why she has a crush on you." He blushes and the conversation quickly turns because that's how things work with you talk with a zero-attention-span boy his age. "Am I allergic to anything?" he suddenly asks.

I see my opportunity and I pounce.

"Yup. You are allergic to girls."

*Smirk*

"How do you know?" he asks.

"Well, when you were born, the doctor told me you were allergic to all girls except the ones you are related to, like me, your sister and grandma." I think to myself how smart I am. ;)

He continues to inquire, "Well, how come I don't get itchy when she touches my arm?"

*GULP*

She has touched his arm. That's it. She's going DOWN.
I am planning a strategy in my head of how I can take down a 7 year old girlfriend when he continues to press, "How come I don't get a rash then when she tags my arm?" Whew. Ok, it was just a game of tag. Breathe. Breathe.

I didn't know what to say or how to back out of that one, so if I remember correctly I simply told him he would be allergic to girls for another 20 years. "Ok," he says, "Then I'll get married when I'm 27." We had a mutual agreement.....he could get married at 27 and not one day sooner. Hmmmmmm, wasn't there a time when he promised me he would never grow up and that he wanted to marry me? Ok, so he was 4 at the time....but OH THE LIES!!!

I drop him off at school and he says, "Dontcha wanna come in and see what she looks like?" Well, of course I do. I want to get a good look at my arch nemesis, the little girl who is stealing my son's heart. We walk down the hallway he points directly ahead, "There she is!" She is tall for her age with long light brown hair and blue eyes. She's a pretty little thing and I swear she was walking in our direction in slow motion, pig tails blowing in the wind just like in the movies where the pretty popular girl owns the hallway while the nerdy frumpy girl sits on the sidelines gawking at the goddess in front of her.

I start to smile as I'm reminded of their age once again as they ignore each other and just keep walking by without so much as a friendly hello. Oh right, they aren't teenagers.....they are 7. Punching each other in the arm means they are going to get married. It's then that I realize I have a few more years until I'll be benched during the competition. So far, I'm one up because I'm his mama and I'm always there. But the time will come when some tall, hair-flowing-in-the-wind girl will bat her eyelashes at him and then I'm a goner. Sigh.

I wish I could steal his heart forever and protect him from future heartbreaks that are inevitably going to come. But until then I'll just enjoy snuggling while watching Sponge Bob and laughing at fart jokes. No matter which pretty girl bats her eyelashes at him, I hope he'll always see that the sparkle in my eyes is just for him.

Mind Reader

2011-05-24T17:59:00.000-07:00

He walks into the kitchen and begins his usual sentance, "Mom, what are we...." his voice trails off as mine joins his in unison and I complete his question matching each syllable with his, "having for dinner?" His eyes get wide and he asks, "Hey, how did you know what I was gonna say?"

I smiled. Then looked to the left and then looked to the right.
"Because I can read your mind and I can always see what you're doing. ALWAYS."

He looks at the stove while saying, "Well then, what am I thinking now?"

I reply, "You're thinking about how much you love mashed potatoes."

It was brilliant. His eyes lit up with wonder and he was speechless...for just a moment.....in utter astonishment. "How did you know, mama?"

"Well, I can't tell you my secret because then you'd figure out how to read my mind. So, just remember this when you are a teenager. I know EVERYTHING and I see EVERYTHING." He laughed and I laughed in reply...... but I was mostly serious. Nothin' quite like having the face of your mother in the back of your mind as you're doing things you, ahem, shouldn't be doing.

This kid's got no idea who he's messing with. ;)
Muwhahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa.

Fashion Trend

2011-05-20T07:22:00.000-07:00

I've never even seen one in real life, let alone actually touched one. I wanted to pet it and once I got a good look at it, I wanted to take it home with me. "Come on, can I, can I, can I?" It warmed me, much like my wine did, and the mere thought of having one for myself made me laugh with a villainous guffaw.

The Snuggie.

I enjoyed a wine & appetizer evening with Pam, Laura & Kelly while sporting Pam's black Snuggie......which is essentially a dyslexic house robe. Thank you, Kelly for making the world a better place with the above *glorious* photo. Once I wore the thing for a while (and of course wearing purple heels in attempt to make myself not feel like such a dork) I realized a house coat would have been more comfortable. My professional critique: the Snuggie does keep you warm, but it kept falling off my shoulders upon leaning over to pour more wine....and eat....but more importantly, when pouring more wine. Besides, you look like a complete nerd and you feel even worse when you wear it. It's sort of like Crocs. No matter the context of you wearing them, you still look like a freak. Unless, that is, you've had a few glasses of wine. Then you feel sexy. ;)

If a few bad words don't make you blush, then you might get a kick out of this Snuggie parody. Happy Friday my friends.

Lego

2011-05-15T20:49:00.000-07:00

And this, Kid, is a perfect example of what makes the male & female human species so different from one another. You beg me to, "Please please please please please," come play lego with you, meanwhile I'm cursing under my breath because what I really wanted was for you to ask to play Barbies or have a tea party. But that pipe dream has yet to be fulfilled in the 7 years you've been alive. Perhaps, sooner than later I'll be able to brain wash your little sister.

Truth be told, lego drives me to drink. The little pieces, the piles and piles of colored plastic cubes that seem to magically transport themselves into the strangest crevasses within our home. But it's the hours of painful piece-putting-together that makes me grind my teeth down to my gums. I have a very creative side with many things but when it comes to lego I throw my hands up in exasperation because I can't seem to think outside the box. You remember that time I took the instructions to recreate your Sponge Bob Square Pants lego set....and it took me 6 hours. I am not exaggerating. Then followed swiftly by a large cold glass of wine and a hot bath just to calm down. I. don't. do. puzzles or Rubik's cube....or lego.

But this time with all the please's and batting of the eyelashes and such, of course I caved even though I'm secretly fantasizing about hoover vacuuming up all the tiny cursed pieces on the floor. In the past I have been known to vacuum up a few legos sporadically strewn about with absolutely no remorse, but not this time. We play together and talk about your day. You tell me about your best friend and how he is going to marry to one of the girls in your class. I find it amazing how 7-year-olds have already found their soul mates. Well, kudos to them. I hope to get an invitation to the wedding.

You soon see the difference between the male/female genetic make-up when I instantaneously go to building a house out of an assortment of lego colors and you go straight to building a plane perfect for bombing my carefully laid out lego home. But I suppose that's what I get for playing lego with a boy. I get all jittery with excitement over finding a little window or door to put in the house and you are filled with glee as you smash any creation you can get your grubby hands on. We laugh and it is fun. I am very intrigued with watching your creative mind as you play with the plastic pieces that make me want to pull my hair out. You love it and my heart is glad. Because although I'd rather melt all the lego pieces together in one big ball, I play with you because I adore you and most of all I love spending time with you.

So, you up for playing My Little Pony's next time? Ya, that's what I thought.

Make-Up Application

2011-05-08T22:02:00.000-07:00

I suspect it went something like this......she broke into my bathroom, grabbed the tube of waterproof mascara and made a run for it to the nearest hiding place. Until she was outed by her brother with high pitched screeching, "MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM! The baby is being baaaadddd!"

I ran to see what was the commotion was all about and I found this:

I immediately told her to march right back inside and wipe off the inappropriate gobs of make-up. And while she was at it, to get dressed in to something less revealing and more age-appropriate. Seriously. Must I actually begin this battle before she even turns two? Yeesh.

Bumper Sticker

2011-05-07T14:55:00.000-07:00

I was strange, I tell ya. How I craned my neck to look at it.....how I squinted my eyes to read the small font. It was strange because usually I don't really pay much attention to bumper stickers, but this one caught my eye. For some reason as I sat at a red light behind the tiny little eco-friendly-looking vehicle, I did a double take of the bumper sticker glaring back at me from a shiny silver backside.

"HORSES ARE PROOF THAT GOD LOVES US."

Say what now?

Often, bumper stickers represent my crass, sarcastic sense of humor so I can appreciate a cleverly written remark splayed out on a vehicle. You have to laugh at statements such as, "A day without sunshine is like night" or "Be nice to your kids. They'll choose your nursing home." So when I read the bumper sticker on the car in front of me, my inner dialogue came to a screeching halt and made a sound in my head much like THIS.

Perhaps I'm just not as up on my equestrian as I thought I was but I was really very confused. Just how exactly do horses show proof of God's love? And do they somehow show God's love more so than other animals, take for example the armadillo? How about a hippo or a salamander? And if we're going so far as to think that all of God's creation shows love, how about bumper stickers saying, "Quicksand is proof that God loves us" or "Hail is proof that God loves us." Now, don't go gettin' all crazy on me with more creative solutions like, "Leprechauns are proof that God loves us," because everyone knows Leprechauns are not only make-belief, but they are creepy.

I found myself speeding up and switching lanes just so we could meet up at a red light where I could finally end my confusion by rolling down my window and shouting, "What the what does your bumper sticker mean?" But there were no red lights. And besides, I now see that it might have been slightly alarming for a stranger to pull up beside you and roll down their window demanding you roll down yours. It would have been even more slightly alarming if I had then grilled her on the bumper sticker meaning. Hind sight is always 20/20. But come on, it's not as if I would jump out of my car and take a swing at her because of it. My biceps aren't that bulging. I was just frustrated, confused and only slightly volatile. *wink*

I drove to work leaving the little equestrian car alone while continually shaking my head. Sorry, but the statement just doesn't resound to me. Perhaps I'm just not that into horses. However, if a bumper sticker said, "Stiletto heels are proof God loves us," well then...........ahhhhhh ha! I get it.

My Swagger Wagon

2011-04-30T02:45:00.000-07:00

I'm not exactly sure how I got talked into it but oddly enough I found myself standing on the pavement of a car lot awaiting my chance to test drive a 7 seater not-so-uber-cool vehicle. We went to a number of dealerships checking out the newest makes & models of *gulp* the dreaded minivan and there I stood, stone cold faced in front of my nemesis: the Dodge Grand Caravan.
Photos taken from the official Dodge Website

We stood eye to eye, the Caravan and I, and of course I lost the stare-down contest since the minivan didn't blink. Dang it. It had a total unfair advantage. However, it was black and impressively shiny, sporting the latest features in the 2011 model.....but I knew it wasn't to be trusted. I mean, everyone knows you can't trust a black minivan. I took another good long hard look at the vehicle my husband was adamantly desiring. It was practical, he said. Seven seats, lots of leg room, tons of cargo space but all I really cared about in that moment was that my bum was warm within seconds of sitting on the plush seats. Heated seats, ahhhhhhhh. Who ever heard of such a luxurious thing?! For a minute or two I was lost in the heavenly comfort of something so simple because I had never owned a vehicle that promised to warm my arse.

My husband test drove the minivan first. I didn't even pay much attention to how it rounded the corners because I was distracted by all the shiny buttons splayed out on the dash in front of me. "Oooooh, what's this one do?" I asked inquisitively as I touched each knob. But I got the death stare reply from my husband as if his eyes were saying, "Don't touch anything! You break things." But I ignored his glare in the name of 'orienting' myself with the vehicle and I soon discovered that he & I could adjust our own temperatures in the areas we were sitting (which would inevitably save us from future arguments where I demand tropical heat being pumped out and his response would be to roll down the window in the middle of winter). I also discovered that by the push of a button a DVD player would entertain the children during long drives. Why I never had these luxuries in my life before, well, I'll never know.

Then it was my turn to drive. I was just proud that I didn't kill anyone. I rounded the curved roads with ease and gunned it up the hills as only I knew how. I was able to easily adjust my power seats and use the special all-view mirror to keep an eye on the kids in the back seat, bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase, "I have eyes in the back of my head." That's right. Not only am I your mother, but I can read your thoughts AND I can see everything you are doing at all times. *insert evil villain laughter* Although we test drove the minivan and, SIGH, we both admitted we liked the ride, we still walked away from the dealership that day with the idea that we'd purchase the vehicle in a few months later. I was still having issues with my, uh, *cough, sputter* PRIDE.

Which brings me to my next point. When I arrived at work the following day a friend of mine, Eddie blatantly asked me (as only the male species can) what my problem was. Why couldn't I just suck it up and buy a minivan when it was the most practical solution for my family? I told him I was too proud. Then he said, "Well, it's not as if you're single and trying to pick up chicks." True. True. However, I AM big on picking up chicks. I suppose the van allots for more room to pick up chicks. Spacious seating, you know.....always a bonus for chick-picker-uppers.

I came home and had a very down to earth practical discussion with my husband and we agreed it was time to join the band wagon. We just had one of our vehicles in the shop this past week and it seems we are bringing one of the two in on a pretty frequent basis. Enough was enough. So we went down to the dealership yesterday and I picked me up my own version of the swagger wagon. Yes, my friends. I am officially a minivan owner. When I announced it to my friend, Stacey she asked, "So, how's your pride holding up?" I replied that I was dying a little inside. But in all reality that's not entirely true. It's a pretty sleek looking vehicle.....for a minivan.....and I'm super pumped about my new digs to help me pick up chicks. You wanna race? Gimme a time and place. Feel free to come on over and we can park that sucker and watch a DVD. Ya we can.

I never thought this day would come when I would actually say I owned a minivan. True story. But that's ok because you can take the girl out of the party but you can't ever take the party out of the girl.

The Minivan Debate

2011-04-18T20:33:00.000-07:00

Ok, so the thought of a minivan is not so bad. No, no. It's the thought of ME driving a minivan that causes a full-body, rash break out and I begin itching myself with hind legs as though I'm a dog scratching fleas. I start to hyperventilate and choke on my own saliva......but then I calm myself down by remembering that I drive an SUV. I do not own a minivan.

Whew.

I'm not sure exactly when or where I got my aversion to minivans. In fact, I don't really know why either. Perhaps it signifies the idea that I might actually have to grow up one day, and that scares the crap out of me. I remember purchasing our SUV in 1999 just before we got married and my soon-to-be in laws came to help negotiate at the dealership. We looked inside the then one year old white GMC Jimmy and I distinctly recall my mother-in-law opening the back door saying, "Oh good, it's a four door with lots of room for a car seat." GULP. My heart began racing and I think I might have peed a little bit in my pants. The thought of kids at the time was terrifying....because that meant my life as I knew it would never be the same. And that's why we waited almost 4 years to have kids. But anyway, we bought that vehicle and it has been a good method of transportation for us and our growing little family, besides the fact that it has been a sucking black hole of metal that seems to have hoover-vacuumed all our money in necessary repairs. But I think all vehicles are that way. Black, sucking holes.

Reality comes down to this: our cars are old and dying slow deaths. The GMC Jimmy is 13 years old and our *very practical for a family* two door Pontiac Sunfire is 14 years old. That car has been a little less of a black sucking hole, so thank-you Sunfire for being a bit more kind on our wallets. That being said, these days we are in deep discussion about whether or not to have a third child......and if we choose to further expand our family then it will be crucial that we purchase a new vehicle that has more seats. Both our vehicles only have 5 seats and the back seat isn't large enough for another car seat. So apart from giving birth and throwing the newest human addition onto the roof with some sturdy rope, well, we're pretty much having to look at vehicles with 7 or 8 seats. At this point, a 5 seater is a deal breaker.

This brings me to my next point. I am a proud SUV owner. And it seems that all SUV owners are anti-minivan. The only people who seem to love and swear by minivans are those who already own minivans.......and of course, my complete TRADER of a husband. "Minivans are $20,000 less than SUV's," he says to me. I respond, "Well, you can't put a price on my pride."

It was sunny today so we packed up the children and drove to the huge auto mall that carries every make and model just to 'see' what's out there. We are not in full purchasing mode as of yet. We visited 5 or 6 different dealerships looking at my beloved SUV's. We looked at numerous types of 8 seater SUV's and I sighed loudly every time we opened the tailgate. "We couldn't even fit a stroller in here unless the back seats are put down," I sadly stated. A stroller and groceries? Impossible. We found the same thing over and over with numerous makes and models. I was very frustrated. The lack of space was so impractical for us. I felt like we were being punished by the SUV gods for needing those extra back seats.

Sigh.

So my husband suggested, "Let's check out the minivans." Panic panic panic. *barf* I immediately said no. Then he gently spoke, "Can we just look please? I want you to have an open mind." So we did the unthinkable and actually scoped out minivans. *double sigh* We sat in a heated leather seated minivan with DVD player with tons of leg room and enough room in the back for groceries and a stroller..........and perhaps a miniature pony. But it was a MINIVAN and I don't DO minivans. "It's half the price of those SUV's and it's fully loaded," my husband said convincingly. I looked down at my feet and quietly said, "I know." My son was beside himself with excitement about watching the DVD and the baby, well, much to the salesman's dismay she was pleased to be touching all the buttons. Car windows up down up down, horn honk, stereo volume blare. "It's practical for us right now," my husband continued. I began whining like a teenage girl who had just been told to wipe off her gobs of make-up, "But, but, it's a MINIVAN." Whine whine whine.

The salesman looks at me and says, "It seems like you're not real sold on the idea. How come?" I looked at him squarely and said very matter-of-factly, "I'm too proud." He nodded his head and laughed as he suggested, "Well, I can put some yellow flames down the side to make it cooler." Ya right. Now, please tell me what screams "Cougar Mom" more than that?! I'm 30 years old and purchasing a minivan may very well be the death of me. How can you feel super cool driving around a minivan? I just don't get the sex appeal. And yes, an SUV has more sex appeal than a minivan.

I suppose in the name of practicality and affordability I should consider a minivan but this is a really jagged pill to swallow. No matter how much they try to make it seem like a Swagger Wagon, it's sill a minivan. Yes, one I very well may end up driving......BUT it's still a minivan.

Weird

2011-04-14T16:50:00.000-07:00

I awoke this morning and within minutes my husband & I were in our son's bedroom gently waking him with excitement in our voices. "Buddy," I began, "Come, on. You gotta get up. There's a very special surprise for you outside." He tumbled out of bed breathlessly asking, "What is it?"

He ran down the hallway and stood in front of the window. He looked outside and saw this.

I was waiting for awe to brush across his expression and soft words of wonderment to come from his smiling mouth. But instead he said...........

"HOW COME IT'S SNOWING? IT'S SPRING! THAT'S REALLY WEIRD." Then he walked away.

Uh, did I miss something here? It was oddly snowing in APRIL.....here in BC, Canada, in a place where we hardly get snow in the winter......and my 7 year old son was more wigged out by it than excited.

Perhaps he didn't care about the white stuff because he was still half asleep looking out the window but about a half hour later the wheels started churning and he approached me, "Mama, will there be a snow day at school so I can stay home?" I started laughing, "No, hunny. There isn't enough snow for a school closure. But nice try."

Apparently God didn't get the memo that it is currently spring. And just a couple days ago we were wearing shorts & t-shirts on a family bike ride. However, the pink cherry blossom trees sure do look pretty with a blanket of white dripping over them.

Ok, God. That was a good practical joke. But I'm ready for sunny weather and summertime.

Dee-Co-Ba

2011-04-10T16:18:00.000-07:00

For the longest time the little lady has spoken a few syllables that only she knew the true interpretation of. "Dee-co-ba!" she'd say over and over. I wracked my brain and could not come up with anything that remotely sounded like Dee-co-ba. At first I thought she was saying good-bye, but when I asked her to say "good-bye" she happily waved and the words that came out of her mouth sounded nothing like Dee-co-ba.

We have all remained stumped for quite some time now.

So in order to figure out what she was trying to communicate, we'd put Dee-co-ba in many different contexts. We'd point out the window and shout, "Look! Dee-co-ba." And she'd smile repeating the words all while knowing we had no clue what we were talking about. We'd say, "It's time for Dee-co-ba." And she'd look at us like we were a bunch of idiots. She would cry and we'd ask, "What's wrong? Dee-co-ba?" Even still, she'd slyly smirk as though she knew a secret and refused to share it with us.

Today I heard her playing in the living room with one of her dollies. Auntie had previous purchased her a doll that required batteries....and I'm always leery of those kinds of toys. However, this doll was pretty neat. It holds on to a little blanket in front of their face and through motion sensor their arms go up and down as a means to play peekaboo. The house was quiet and from the kitchen all I could hear was the little dolly saying, "Where are you? Peek-a-boo!" Then I heard my daughter reply, "Dee-co-ba!"

DOH *Slaps hand to forehead*

Of course she's saying peek-a-boo.

We have spent much time this afternoon playing peek-a-boo and she is extraordinarily happy that we seem to have decoded her strange language. I wonder what else she is saying that only she knows the translation of. On the other hand, this also means we need to carefully watch what we say because the little girl might come up with her own version of a swear word should one accidentally slip out. Maybe I'll have to start saying stuff like, "Oh, sugar fairies" or "Oh, crackers" or "Shut the front door." Yessssss, it does take two to play this game.

Save the World

2011-04-03T09:04:00.000-07:00

The thing about working in the emergency department is that some days you feel like you are saving the world......but most days you don't. In fact, most days your life intersects with another human being whom makes you want to groan out loud.

"So what are you in for?" The young male patient is notably uncomfortable laying on his side. As his mouth opens to speak I take a glance at the chart and I try to control my inward rolling of the eyes. "Well, a soda pop bottle was upright on the chair and I accidentally sat on it."

Uh huh. I'm so sure.

It takes everything in me not to say, "Dude, you are not the first person to say you've accidentally 'sat' on some large object and you certainly won't be the last. So let's just cut to the chase and be real with me." However, I keep the thoughts in my head and I'm sure the patient knows everyone else is completely aware of how that bottle really got up there. Like really now. I think there should be a sign in the emergency department that states in bold red letters, "JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE AN ORIFICE SOMEWHERE DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD SHOVE FOREIGN OBJECTS UP IT." Because removing foreign objects usually requires surgery and surgery is often not super awesome.

Say that to the 12 year old kid who was dared by his friends at a sleep over to shove the hard candy Nerds into his ear. Ya, that didn't go over so hot either.

However, we also get the other kind....yanno, the hypervigilant type that is paranoid over anything abnormal happening to their body or the person beside them, therefore they *must* go to the emergency department. "My daughter has a fever." I look at the 18 month old who is smiling and chatting away to me. "What was her temperature at home?" I ask. "Uh, well. I didn't exactly check it. She just felt a little warm." Ok, ok, hold it together. We go over a list of symptoms to see if this seemingly 'normal' toddler is showing signs of being unwell such as not peeing & not eating or drinking. "Nope," the mom says, "she doesn't have any of those." The baby doesn't have a fever and all her vital signs are within normal range. She is completely fine. The mom continues, "I think she's teething again. Can you give me something for that?" *Bangs head on nearest wall*

Or the patient who comes in to be seen by the emergency physician for......and I'm not exaggerating.......an itchy eye. Yes, that is an emergent situation. It's true, that eye would have popped right out if they had waited even one minute longer. Perhaps they should have called 911 for that. GAW!

Or the patient who states to my friend Stacey, "I need to be seen. I had a rash a few hours ago but now it's gone." Huh. "So did you take any benedryl?" she asked. "Nope, it just went away on it's own." Double huh. Yeesh, I hate it when that happens. Those dang tricky rashes.....they're like MAGIC!

Being a nurse isn't always glamorous. No, often it's quite the opposite. We ask about your bowel movements and passing gas. We want to know if you are dribbling when you pee. We definitely care about the color of the phlegm you've been coughing up. And yes, even when you come in to the emergency department for a really silly complaint, we will still treat you with dignity and respect. We will talk to you while keeping in mind that somehow the thing we may think is ridiculous was serious enough to you that you felt you needed to come to emergency.

There will be more people who happen to "sit" on strange objects and they will continue to fib about it. And there will be people who think a hangnail warrants a 911 call (yes it really has happened). But I will continue about my day and hope that at some point, I'll have helped save the world again.

Published

2011-03-31T08:07:00.000-07:00

Well it all began here in 2006. The birth of my blog. And since then a number of you, my loyal & cherished readers have encouraged....empowered me if you will.... to consider publishing my writings. I've truly never thought a little "hobbie" or my way of processing through words would be of any interest to anyone else. In fact, I distinctly remember telling my friend Heidi that I would never start a blog because I certainly didn't have anything interesting or of quality to write about. Never say never.

So when the opportunity arose I was honored that my blog writings would be published nation wide in the NENA (National Emergency Nurses Affiliation) journal. They have featured this post and I am breathless with the idea that my heart's inner workings are being displayed across Canada in homes, online and in ER staff rooms. This has made me consider the idea that I could publish on a grander scale but I'm just not sure how to. So for now I am blessed with this opportunity and I will continue to wait until doors open again in the future.

Thank you for believing in me.

From The Patch

2011-03-28T11:45:00.000-07:00

My son & I walked into the toy store and I distinctly remember hmmmmming and hawwwwing about what gift to get the baby for her first Christmas. She was all of 4 months old at the time and I thought it would be rather ridiculous to purchase a whole bunch of things for a human who was too little to care if she got a lump of coal or a pony. He suggested, "Mama, get her some playdough!" I knew she'd just shove the stuff in her mouth & eat it. "How about a Barbie?" he exclaimed. She wouldn't be playing with Barbies for many years to come. "A camera." Nope. "A puppy." Um, NOPE.

We walked up and down the aisles with my son continuing to make oh-so-practical suggestions of "transformers" and "lego" all while trying to find that one perfect gift for a baby girl. Then I saw it. If I recall correctly, I think I actually squealed. "What is it, mama?" my son asked. I explained to him that when I was little I had one of those dolls.

If you recall, in the early 80's Cabbage Patch dolls were in high demand. So high in fact, that parents were required to set up camp outside toy stores simply to get their hands on the little doll treasures because they were literally flying off the shelf. Every little girl wanted one and every parent wanted to get one for their child.....but they were hard to come by.

This particular Christmas over 25 years ago was quickly approaching and I later learned as an adult that my mother did in fact camp out in line holding the hands of my other younger siblings just so she could purchase the highly coveted Cabbage Patch Kids. One of my earliest memories was of that Christmas so long ago and being filled with complete elation when I unwrapped not one, but TWO of my very own cabbage patch dolls. (Can you even handle the bowl cut from the good ol' 80's? I know I'm not the only victim of this haircut. But, oh come on, it's endearing!).

So although my own daughter was too young to appreciate the joy of having a Cabbage Patch doll, my son INSISTED he be the one buy her a doll for her first Christmas....and then later down the years she might enjoy snuggling with the baby powder smelling dolls.

Fast forward to this morning when she broke into her closet and I followed the sounds of her screeching at the top of her lungs. I entered her bedroom only to find her looking up high on the closet shelf with her arms outstretched as though she were attempting to magically will her arms to lengthen just to reach the doll. She was jumping on the spot and squealing with longing for the pretty dolly still in the box. I walked over and asked, "You want the pretty dolly now?" and then promptly reached up for the package and brought it to my daughter. Her eyes didn't leave the box.

I called my son over and told him he could give his sister the doll since it was a gift from him. He was ever so pleased to be involved with the process. We opened the box as a team and he handed a very gleeful little girl her very first Cabbage Patch doll. I think my heart basically exploded.

In the box was the very thing I remembered as a little girl: the birth certificate. Each Cabbage Patch doll is given a birth certification complete with name and birth date. The idea of including the birth certificate is to initiate an "adoption process."Apparently I now have another child, born January 11th named Ursula Versie. Or would my daughter technically be a mother now and I, a grandmother? One must seriously consider such details.

Also included in the box was a plastic spoon with a strangely bent handle. Do you remember those? However, the one in this package was a shiny silver plastic spoon and I recall as a child receiving a yellow plastic spoon with my doll. I guess we must change with the times, spoons and all. Oh yes and each Cabbage Patch Kid has a tattooed signature on their bum.....sort of like a birth mark of sorts. The dolls also have a distinct scent of baby powder as though just prior to packaging they were dunked in a large vat of the lovely smelling stuff and then quickly brushed off, made ready for delivery. Such heavenly memories are attached to that scent.

Being a complete shoe freak, my daughter was taken more with her new baby's plastic shoes than anything else. I mean, I can't blame her.....shoes are pretty awesome. I suppose I need to credit myself with giving her the gene for shoe adoration. Mmmmmm. Shoooooooooes *frothing at mouth*

Do you remember Cabbage Patch Dolls? How old were you when you were first introduced to the doll adoption process? Were you the recipient as I was or were you one of the parents purchasing the dolls? Or were you the brother who rolled his eyes as your sister giggled with delight as she held her new dolly? I feel 25 years younger today. Thanks Cabbage Patch Dolls!

Oh No, The Big 4-0!

2011-03-19T23:21:00.000-07:00

I walked into the darkened bedroom and looked at the clock. 6:05am. My heart was pounding with excitement and no one else in the house knew why except for me. I had slept only an hour the night before, laying awake with eager anticipation of what was to come....this very moment right now. I gently touched my husband's shoulder and said, "I need you to wake up." He looked at me with squinted eyes, rolled over, looked at the clock and then sighed rather annoyed saying, "No. It's 6:00." Then he closed his eyes. I gently pushed him again said, "Seriously, you have to get up. You have 10 minutes to get dressed because the kids and I need to show you something before I go to work. Let's go!" I turned on the bathroom light to allow the gentle glow to illuminate the room and I walked out. I woke up both my kids and explained how they were to stay in their jammies while we all went out to show daddy his big birthday surprise. My son agreed and the baby protested a bit but once I put them in the car all snuggled in their jackets they happily cackled to one another. Whew. That part went rather easy.

I trudged back into the house only to find my husband still fast asleep in bed. Annoyed, I woke him up by throwing a selected outfit on the bed and ordering him sternly, "Get up. The kids are in the car and we don't have much time until I have to leave for work. Brush your teeth and lets go now!" He humphed and groaned but obliged. In a few minutes the 4 of us were driving off in the dark morning hours.

He sat in the passenger seat completely quiet but once we rounded a few corners I knew he'd be on to me. I later learned he was simply trying to figure out what the heck was going on. "Why are we going to my parent's house?" he questioned. I replied that they were storing something there that I wanted to surprise him with. "Do they even know we're coming?" I simply looked at him and sarcastically said, "No, they have noooooooo idea. We're just gonna bang on their door at 6am and see what happens." He stayed silent realizing I had this all planned out and thought it best to just go with it.

We knocked on the door and my cherished in-laws were still sleepy from having just woken up a little bit earlier in preparation for our arrival. They said good morning with smiles on their faces because they knew what was happening. They were my partner's in crime.

I instructed my husband to sit down and then I handed him an envelope. Inside, the birthday card read, "Happy 40th babe. This birthday is one you'll never forget....I promise." Then he was given an itinerary. We all stood there simply staring at him because he had a complete poker face on. No emotion. Nothing. I broke the silence saying, "So, what do you think?" Then he looked up at me and asked, "Are we going to Vegas?" I smiled and said, "Yes." He read the itinerary again and inquired, "Today?" Then I said something that surprised him the most, "We are leaving in 10 minutes. So go check to make sure I packed you everything you need and kiss your kids goodbye because we have to get driving to the airport or we'll be late for our flight!"

As we drove the 1 1/2 hours over the border to the USA airport the questions poured out of him, "How did you get me the time off work when we just had a vacation 2 weeks ago? How did you pay for it without me finding out? How did you talk my parents into watching the kids for 5 days? How did you get the time off work at the hospital? How did you pack for all 4 of us without me realizing? etc." I explained everything from me taking out bits of cash at a time for months only to pay the travel agent with a envelope of cash..... (I'm glad she didn't assume I was a drug dealer).....to telling him how I went and spoke to his work on 3 occasions to get him the vacation time......to explaining that I switched all my shifts off work.........and finally telling him that his parents so graciously agreed to take the kids and be in on this epic secret.

Then the smiles began. His eyes lit up as we got closer and closer to the airport. Once we got our boarding passes he kissed my forehead and said, "Thanks for kidnapping me to Vegas."

Turning 40 is a significant milestone that deserves a significant celebration. Having a bbq at home just wouldn't suffice. I wanted to go big for him. I wanted to blow his mind. I wanted to make this birthday super special for him. So we stayed at Caesar's palace centrally located on the Las Vegas main strip. It was perfect.

The inside of Caesar's Palace at the forum shops.

This was not our first time to Vegas so we knew exactly what things we wanted to see this time around. So we started day one and went out to check out the main strip. It was just as awesome as the other times we've been. Take note of the airplane taking off in the below photo. A total fluke.

The Luxor

New York, New York

Paris

My husband & I are not big gamblers at all. So if you've never been to Vegas and you think the only thing to do is gamble at the casinos, well, you are sorely mistaken. We went to the outlet malls for good shopping bargains, we walked down to the old part of Vegas where the strip originated now called The Fremont Experience (where the roof is made of the world's largest projection screen), we walked the entire Las Vegas strip, we enjoyed great food & drinks, we played a few games of keno and that was the extent of our gambling. I think we spent a whole $20 on Keno....you know, the big high rollers that we are.

This is a photo of Fremont street in the old Vegas area.

For my husband's actual birthday on March 16th we took a helicopter ride from Vegas into the Grand Canyon. Neither of us had seen the Canyon and we wanted to experience exactly why it was dubbed one of the incredible 7 natural wonders of the world.

The flight was spectacular. I was simply amazed at the land surrounding the state of Nevada. Breath-taking landscapes and crystal blue bodies of water. I couldn't help but snap photos mid flight.

We flew over the Hoover Dam and I was madly taking photos. Difficult to do while experiencing helicopter turbulence.

We arrived at the Grand Canyon and I stared in complete awe at the vastness of it. When we flew over the ridge and through the mouth of the canyon following the Colorado River, I felt my heart rush into my throat. It was such an unimaginable thing to see. Words escape me.

And that was only from the air. I couldn't possibly imagine the feeling that would overcome me once we landed at the bottom of the Canyon.

When my feet landed on the Canyon floor to an area only accessible by helicopter I felt my breath leave my lungs as though my very soul lived within each oxygen molecule and it swirled above my head into the heavens. I don't know how to explain it other than when I looked up at the greatness of the Canyon I simply whispered to my husband, "How can people look at this and wonder if there is a God?" I was so overcome with the miracle of that creation, a rush of emotion rested upon me and my eyes welled with tears. I felt as though I were walking on holy ground and was so incredibly unworthy.

If you want to meet God, go to the Grand Canyon.

Then we did the obligatory awkward couple shots. If you can't tell that I love this man from my expression in this photo, well, then you might want to get your spectacles adjusted.

After we walked around the trails for a while we were given a light meal with a lovely champagne toast. It was romantic and an experience I'll never forget.

Finally, the helicopter tour ended with us flying at sunset and concluding with a flight over the main Vegas strip. When you are not allowed flash photography, it is very difficult to get a fast enough shutter speed to take photos on manual mode while bouncing on an aircraft. But I tried.

Then it was time to party. And I was so excited for him that he kept on getting ID'd on the trip. Apparently my 40 year old husband still looks like a punk kid. ;) And I was just as pumped when I got carded too.

I packed candles in my purse and we went to a sports bar for dessert and drinks. I *made* him wear a glow necklace, a pin that flashed and said, "Oh no, the Big 4-0" along with his hat that read, "I'm not 40. I'm 18 with 22 years experience."

We went to an ice bar which is something neither of us had ever experienced. The inside of the bar is made completely of ice maintaining a temperature of minus 5 degrees celcius. The tables, chairs and sculptures are made of ice. Even your cup is made of ice. So I savored my beloved cosmopolitan martini and cheers my husband while he sipped away on his tasty cocktail.

They gave us faux fur coats to wear with gloves. We giggled hard as we donned our coats and I kept joking that he looked like my pimp. I was given boots since I had been wearing sandals as I'm sure most customers frown on the idea of getting frostbite. It was really cool to go in the ice bar. *No pun intended* I'd highly recommend people check it out.

Then we went to a few different hotels to walk around and enjoy the scenery. I wanted to try out my new red pumps I had just purchased from the outlet malls but by the end of the night I was walking barefoot down Las Vegas Blvd with my heels slung over my shoulder because they bit me....and bit me hard. Every shoe needs to get broken in, but I wouldn't recommend doing it on vacation while in Vegas when ALL you do is walk and walk and walk. Feel free to click on the below image to get a gander at my red gems. ;)

This photo was taken at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. I told my husband that's just how great my drink is....so much in fact that they named a hotel after it. I mean, who has ever heard of a hotel named, "Beer." See, I rest my case.

My little surprise getaway ended the day after St. Patrick's day so we got to celebrate Vegas style drinking green beer and taking in the sites. We even purchased green necklaces and I laughed so hard when my husband selected this big green beaded number and put it around his neck. I knew what was coming. And sure enough people smiled as they said, "Wow, you've got some big balls." Yup, that's how we roll. High class. *grin*

So after 5 days in Vegas I am officially all vacationed out. We went to bed each night sometime between 3-5am.....which in all truth, I am NEVER up at that hour unless I'm being paid. Like on a night shift. (Just thought I'd clarify). So we stayed up late and woke up in the morning only to absorb Vegas all over again. It was a great time. We enjoyed everything we did and more importantly, enjoyed one another's company. But we were happy to leave and return home to our kidlettes. Good bye palm trees. We won't be seeing you again for quite some time. And happy 40th babe.

Pettiskirts & Curls

2011-03-14T01:49:00.000-07:00

I was nothing short of amazed when I saw her hair in the humidified Dominican Republic. She had curly hair from very early on and it wasn't until her lovely locks felt the warm, moist air did I realize the POTENTIAL of her curls. I had never seen it so curly ever before and to say that I was tickled pink, well, would be downplaying my excitement. So thrilled, in fact, that I had to take a photo of her curliness in all its splendor.

Before we left on vacation, I was used to combing out her rats nest hair. It was full of static from our sharp, cold air here in Canada and being someone with poker straight hair, I never knew what do do with her curls. They confused and alluded me.

But with rats nest, tangled hair and all, I offered to do a photo shoot on site in the Dominican for my sister's new up and thriving business You La La Couture specializing in the pettiskirts I've shown on my blog before, along with purses, hair accessories and jewelry. She is just launching her website (it is currently under construction) and facebook business pages and she was thrilled with the idea of pettiskirt photos with a turquoise water background. I mean, you can't go wrong with that on your website, right?!

So my goal was simply to let her do her thing and I'd follow. So we set up shop, I dressed her up in the beautiful Strawberries & Cream pettiskirt along with a pink head band and white blossom, and just let her do her thing. So she got curious and decided to check out the ocean. That's when my camera began clicking......

Then she got even more brave and more curious, I simply stayed back and let her experiment........

When she plopped down in the water with her skirt on we both squealed aloud in sync. She was surprised with the coldness on her bottom and I couldn't believe she *actually* sat in the water with her beautiful pettiskirt still on. Sigh. But I just kept snapping shots instead.

And when her skirt was too wet & heavy to walk in she seemed fundamentally disturbed by it. Like it was now somehow a lesser skirt........

And that's when that portion of the photo shoot ended and we put on the Zebra Diva pettiskirt instead.

Of all the skirts You La La Couture creates, this one is by far my favorite. Which is why I had to buy it for my baby girl. Every little girl must have one. They MUST.

And of course she sported the accompanying hair blossom. Dainty and yet oh so sweet.

Oh man, is it ever fun to have a little girl to dress up. And I absolutely adore her curls. Now that we are back home I have discovered a kid's de-tangler that has worked wonders for her hair. I can't wait until it's summer time and her curls come out to play again.

The Tale of Paradise Part Dos: of Children, Communities and Compassion.

2011-03-08T13:48:00.000-08:00

So just exactly where is the Dominican Republic, you might wonder? Well, if you see the above just glance pretty much smack dab in the middle of the map. Look between the two big orange countries of The United States and Brazil and you will notice a bunch of little islands. Among those islands there is one with Haiti occupying one side of an island and The Dominican Republic on the other side. Yes, just as Canada and the US (amongst others) share one chunk of land, so does Haiti with Dominican. How's that for a bit of trivia?

The Dominican Republic is a third world country where there is no middle working class. It's very much a place where the poor get poorer and the rich get richer. It is a hospitable, laid-back country that boasts beautiful beaches as a draw to their increasingly popular tourist destinations. When we were making a decision on where to spend our vacation, I made one stipulation: if we were bringing our children, I wanted to expose them to the truth of that culture and if we could, to make some sort of difference to those in need. I was adamant that we would not stay within the safe confines of our resort and sip frozen cocktails when we could go out into the cities to show our children there are kids out there who don't have a Nintendo Wii or 100's of toys to play with.

So my husband connected with a Canadian man, Mike who was living in the Dominican for almost 10 years and offered tours of the surrounding cities near Punta Cana. With the tour, we were offered an opportunity to provide donations to one of the local schools we would visit, so we signed up for this all day tour and eagerly began purchasing things to give needy children. My son relished in the shopping sprees of skipping ropes, school supplies, frisbees and personal hygiene products. Our suitcases were heavy as we entered the Dominican but our hearts were full of compassion as we lugged our donations on the tour.

We first visited Bavaro where the primary school was located. Mike was spear-heading a project to help this school get up and running because education is not something valued by the Dominican people. Less than 60% of children attend school. And of those kids, less than 12-20% make it to highschool. And highschool only goes up to grade 9.....and we were made to understand that the caliber of education in the Dominican is not up to the standards of North American schools. Most children learned to work at an early age. Boys took up shoe-shining, begging or singing on corners. In fact, it was very common for any Dominican person to create their own business by plopping down on some random road, building a shack made of tarps and plywood, purchasing a case of pepsi and opening up a drink stand. This is typical of how people would make a living.

(Click on any of the images below to enlarge)

In this photo take note of the large truck. It is known as "the water truck" and a man purchased that vehicle and simply travels around the little town to provide people with fresh, purified drinking water at a minimal cost. That was his livelihood and how he provided for his family.

Some of the local homes in Bavaro. The poverty and living conditions are astounding. Homes such as these would be condemned in North America and no person would be permitted to live there, but here people are simply grateful to have a roof over their head. It didn't matter if they had no running water.

This was actually an apartment complex in Bavaro where numerous families lived.

Then we visited the school that Mike was intimately involved with improving. It was a primary school with preschool children aged two all the way up to 7th grade kids. This building was originally an apartment building inherited by a woman who had it reconstructed as a school for impoverished kids who might not otherwise have a chance at education. Considering the buildings surrounding it, the school was quite beautiful.

The classrooms were locked with a barred gate and my daughter kept running from room to room squealing out with delight as she peeked in on the children learning.

The classrooms were tiny compared to what we are used to here, however, this one room was more spacious than the others we visited. With aprox 20 kids in each class, children were crammed in there to learn their numbers and letters with a smile on their face. What spoke the most to me is how loved and accepted we were. Those Dominican children loved on my kids as though they were long lost family members. There those kids were standing before us......living with next to nothing, and shamefully, most of us North Americans have so much......and yet they had so much love to give. How incredibly humbling.

My son and husband were wearing matching Canadian Hockey Team hats and these two boys were just itching to get their hands on them. So they handed them over along with some Oakley sunglasses and we laughed with enjoyment as we watched the boys play with their new found objects.

Then the time came for us to leave our donations behind and say good-bye to the children who would forever be etched on the memory of our hearts. I can only pray our gifts of love and brief presence in their little school would make *some* sort of difference in the lives of those beautiful children.

We continued to visit a number of cities including one of the larger cities, Higuey and it was striking how much the people welcomed us with open arms. No matter what language is spoken, everyone loves a baby. I found that regardless of where we went, EVERYONE said "Hola bonita bambina" meaning, "Hello beautiful babe" and either blew her a kiss or wanted to hold her. Family and community is a significant part of the Dominican culture and it warmed my heart to see complete strangers, adults & children alike, love my baby.

In one of the local towns we made a pit stop at a domino bar. The game of dominoes is a hugely popular game in the Dominican and you can at any point of the day, go to a domino bar for a cold cerveza and a good game. And if you're really up for a challenge you can bet on any game. As I mentioned before, education in this country is not valued and it was common to see young Dominican boys playing in the domino bars instead of being in school. Although this was the way they learned their basic numbers, these boys played the game with expertise and even offered a tip or two to our little tour group. The baby also had to get in on the big boy game. ;)

Finally, we made one last visit into another city to see the market places of the locals. Produce stands were strewn about with large slabs of meat being butchered at a neighboring shop with flies landing all over the meat. My son asked, "what that was" and we found ourselves giving an impromptu education session about butchering. Twas an interesting conversation to say the least. The markets reeked with stenches of fermented fruit and spoiled meat but that was reality. That's the way most of the world lives....if they are so fortunate to even have access to food in a market place or the means to pay for it.

We are so incredibly blessed in this region of the world. We have luxurious food & drink at our disposal. We have jobs and university education. We have health care and homes that would be viewed as palaces in many area of the world. We have electricity and running water. We have vehicles and legislation and a police service that can't be bought off with a good bottle of liquor. We have indoor plumbing and air conditioning. We don't have to worry about contracting cholera from our water and seeing our infants die. MOST OF US ARE SO FORTUNATE. And sometimes the only way to appreciate what you have is to be exposed to those who have next to nothing......and try, if nothing else, to make a minute difference if you can.

The Tale of Paradise Part Uno: Of Boobs, Beachs & Beer

2011-03-05T13:34:00.000-08:00

It was the night before we were set to fly to Paradise and 18 months of sharing my boobs with another human (one, not being my husband) in the form of breastfeeding culminated to this very point. (I TOLD YOU THIS STORY WAS ABOUT BOOBS!) My husband had asked me to please please please keep breastfeeding until we went away so that I could feed the baby on the plane. You know, the death shriek from ears not equalizing can be snuffed out by a simple nursing. So I agreed, and only days before we left I knocked the baby down to feeding only once before bed and that was it. As I was saying, the night before we left, little Miss decided she no longer wanted to nurse. Yup, full-on rejected me with a capital R. I tried the next morning still to no avail. And then on the plane ride I offered the breast while the plane went up and up and up and she cried & cried & cried. But she defiantly said no and instead, she gladly glugged away on a sippy cup of watered down juice. I felt like my boobs were ready to explode. I was rock hard and engorged....then reality hit and I realized I could take full advantage of this! Yes, this was the time to be in a bikini seeing it was the only time I actually HAD boobs that resembled something other than tube socks with golf balls on the bottom. Yes, for all you gasping right now, please know that is EXACTLY what breastfeeding does to your bazongas.

The destination was Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. And the flight was almost 9 hours long. Yup, NINE hours with an 18 month & a 7 year old. Pass me the cervezas STAT por favor! With the assistance of my friend, sublingual melatonin, the baby did a few hours of this.....

......the rest of the flight involved a whole lot of peek-a-boo games and watching my son play Nintendo DS. And if you've never changed a baby's diaper on a plane, then you MUST experience going into the lavatory and attempting to open up the change table while squishing your body inside, closing the door and trying to breathe at the same time. For all those people who say they've gone to the lavatory to become part of the "Mile High Club," well, I challenge that claim because unless you can defy the laws of physics, it is impossible to have two full-grown humans do anything but simply stand still & stare at one another. It is difficult enough to bring a baby in the lavatory without performing superhuman acrobatics. I tell ya, I have talent.

We stayed at the Bahia Principe resort in Punta Cana. Here was our room. It was lovely. Note the baby on the back porch.

Outside and around the resort.

There is something heavenly about seeing blue sky and palm trees. The weather was divine. Warm at about 30-35 degrees (95 F) with a comfortable breeze and minimal humidity. The best part was that we could walk around comfortably without instantly sweating buckets as soon as we set foot out the door.

But of course the best part of our vacation trip was the beaches.

We spent most of our time making sand castles since there is absolutely no chance you can lounge on the beach and catch a nap when you have two busy children running around. And when they were acting naughty, we paralyzed them by burying them in the sand. Then we took off for lunch while laughing and saying, "Adios Amigos!"

Just kidding.

This was our first experience bringing the kids on a tropical vacation with us and it was certainly much different than our other times. We didn't have much of a night life since it is frowned upon to leave children unattended in hotel rooms, so my husband & I took turns going to the bar to get drinks after 8:30pm. We sat on our porch whilst sipping tequila cocktails and chatting. Twas lovely.

The beaches were spectacular! Even though wearing SPF 60 waterproof sunscreen, my albino little family and I all got sunburns the first day. By Day 3 I was dressing everyone in t-shirts before heading out in the sun. The skin peeling started shortly thereafter. Let's just say I've had to do a lot of back scratching since returning home due to itchy, flakiness.

At first the kids were super pumped about getting their photos taken. Everything was new and bright and they posed so well. They were all smiles.

Then they got tired of the HUNDREDS of photos taken and I was the only one smiling from then on. Even my husband asked me to kindly stop. I can't help it. I'm photo happy. I'm a tourist.

*And there's the boob money shot for ya. But I was slow to the draw because by this point the deflation process had already commenced. Sorry, you're not gettin' anything more graphic than that.*

All I can say is that for anyone who knows my son, this photo has captured the essence of his person.

Then came the drinks. This is a perk of staying at an all inclusive resort. I am certain that whenever you visit a spanish speaking country you have to know the word, "Banos" which means bathroom, and this crucial sentance, "Dos cervezas por favor." This means, "Two beers please." If you know these two statements you will survive.

The first day at the resort we were at the pool and my husband went to the swim up bar to get us some beverages. He ordered a tequila sunrise for me, a beer for him, a 7-up for the little boy and a fruit punch for the baby. We all got our drinks and were happily sipping away. The baby had downed half her drink and I noticed an odd smell. I lifted her cup to my nose and looked at my husband wide-eyed while shoving the drink in his direction. "I think they put booze in her drink," I exclaimed loudly enough for the people beside us to hear. My husband smelled the drink too and agreed, "Yup, that's alcohol." We all stood there in silence and burst out laughing when my son repeated over and over, "The baby loves arkahol!" We later discovered that one of the resort's specialty beverages is in fact a 'Fruit Punch.' So we stuck to pineapple juice for the rest of the trip which she happily agreed to.

We came, we went and hopefully we left an impression in the Dominican just as it forever touched our hearts. Check back for Part Dos of our trip where we went into the city and experienced the culture and also visited a primary school.............

Paradise

2011-03-01T18:07:00.000-08:00

Well, it seems we left for Paradise just as our first real snow storm was set to hit. Sweet justice, I suppose.

More details to come but until then, feel free to take a little gander at this........

Frog Disease

2011-02-25T11:44:00.000-08:00

There were the tell-tale signs: bright red runny nose, weepy eyes, rosey pink cheeks and irritability. When she spiked a fever of 39 degrees (102 F) I knew it was more than a simple viral infection. She went to the doctor, and she has another ear infection AGAIN. We are talking the 5th one since around Christmas.

Sigh.

Forget the whole myth that breastfed babies don't get ear infections. Stupid old wives tales.

She sounds like an Italian mobster with her deep raspy voice. "Mama," she says and I turn to see this little human producing a sound that only a lifetime smoker should have. My husband says she has The Frog Disease. Poor thing. I am kissing her all the time to see if this frog will turn in to a princess.

So we are now at a place where I think we should seek out the expertise of a Pediatric Specialist. These back to back ear infections are becoming too much to handle. But oddly enough I know many people who have experienced similar stories with their children. So what now? Where do we go from here? I'm totally open to suggestions.

Bullet Proof

2011-02-21T12:33:00.000-08:00

"How can you handle that?" I often get asked once I disclose that I'm an emergency nurse. To which I reply, "Well, we try not to let stuff get to us if we possibly can." But there are times when the asterisk of *possibly can* comes out and rears it's ugly head, simply to see if you can possibly handle all the horrific things you come across in your work day. It seems that terrible things happen and you find yourself discovering the obvious weaknesses that lie within the bullet proof armor you have strategically locked around your heart.

You never forget a parent's cry as they learn their infant has died. The guttural anguish that comes from the bowels of their soul echos throughout the entire emergency department. It is gut-wrenching agony and despair that floods their spirit causing them to pour out their hopelessness in the form of incomprehensible words & moans. When you watch a parent lift their cold, ashen colored child in their arms and cry tears, you cannot possibly comprehend the depth of tragedy they are living.....and you can't help but feel the cracks in your bullet proof armor.

The trauma team of doctors & nurses have done everything they humanly could and you find some sort of solace in that. You hope the family does too. But when you watch the family mourn together and weep together in complete despair, you can't help but put your head down on your nurses station and allow the tears to pour freely down your own cheeks. You can't help but think of your own children and fundamentally identify with the very real fear all parents face in the early months of their child's life: endless worry and anxiety about finding their child lifeless in bed.

You wipe your tears away and walk slowly over to the family, while noticing other staff members in a solemn state with their own river of tears flowing, and you offer the family your truest condolences and encourage them to ask for anything at all. A number of staff congregate and we talk about what just happened. Even then we all identify the holes within our armor. The truth is, in those moments our armor has completely melted off our hearts and we are left exposed and bleeding not just because of what we ourselves have experienced but because as humans we understand that a lost life in infancy is so completely tragic and heart breaking.

With my bullet proof armor currently laid on the shelf, I find myself breathing prayers for this family as they enter a new day without their child. They will enter an empty room with an empty crib filled with memories. They will not hear the slow melodic breathing of their baby nor will their baby lay their head on mommy's chest. They will be forced to create a new definition of family and that is so incredibly unfair.

No, we nurses are not bullet proof. Perhaps it would be easier if we were, but we are not. We go home and hold our own children close, kissing their foreheads and telling them of our undying love. We look outside and see that for whatever reason the snow has decided to fall freely from the sky when just yesterday it was bright, sunny and warm. Perhaps the white snow coming down in chunky flakes is God's way of putting a blanket of purity over the wounds of this tragedy. Because when there is a blanket of white blustery snow on the ground, all the ugliness of winter disappears beneath it.....like a fresh new start of healing as spring approaches. I can only hope and pray that peace comes today in full abundance.

Long Lasting Love

2011-02-14T03:50:00.000-08:00

It was a night shift and I had a lovely gentleman come into my emergency bay, seeking my medical assistance. As I was assessing him and asking him questions he stopped me mid-sentence and sadly stated, "My wife just passed away this year." I noticed his eyes forming a well of tears, "We were married for 63 years." My only response was out of complete wonder, "Wow. 63 years. That's incredible."

I then continued our conversation asking how he was coping alone at home. It's actually pretty amazing how vulnerable and open people will be with you in the hospital and sure enough, he shared how lonesome he was. His voice spoke softly and his eyes trailed off as though looking into a deep past memory, "I had her with me almost my entire lifetime." We talked a little about the kind of woman she was and the family they built together. He was proud of their accomplishments. He said she was an incredible woman and I believed him. I wondered what it would be like to be married for a length of time that is more than double my current age. It is difficult to paint a concrete picture of that and have my brain make any sense of it.

Every time a patient shares how long they are/were married for I always ask one question, "So, what do you think is your secret?" Each of them tells me something different. Some say, "You need to fight." Others say, "You need to stay in love." But my favorite advice was, "Marriage isn't easy. In fact, it can be downright frustrating sometimes. But if you are both COMMITTED to it, you'll be just fine." Commitment. Such a simple word with such strong clout.

63 years of marriage. That's the longest I've come across yet with any patients of mine. Lots of 30's and 40's. A few less 50's and much less in the 60's. Still all a phenomenal feat if you really think about it.

So on this Valentines Day let me ask you, my readers from abroad:

What do you think is the secret to making a happy marriage last?

Locked & Loaded

2011-02-07T21:23:00.000-08:00

Oh man. I am soooo bloody-well tired of it.

Opening up the bathroom door and nearly passing out on the spot from the overwhelming stench of urine wafting over me at a speed enough to knock my teeth out. Sheer disgustingness.

The kid is 7, ok. Seriously. Old enough to know better. I mean, he's been potty trained for a good 5 years and enough is enough. To break it down for ya, the boy can't seem to control the aim of his fire hose. Yes, I have trained him well enough to lift the lid......so kudos to me......but he stands and whizzes over the entire rest of the toilet. And I'm not just talking about the toilet bowl. No, he pees on the back tank so much it drips down the sides onto the the floor.

One would think he's lost his right to pee indoors.

We've talked about it and he tells me, "I don't know why, mom. It just happens." I am pretty certain he begins to pee and his mind spaces out into lala land. Then the hose has a mind of its own without him even realizing its mystical mind-melding power. It's as though the alien-pee-monsters come and temporarily abduct his mind from his body as soon as he feels the tinkles coming on.

Every time I open the bathroom door and get that wafting odor smacking me between the eyes, I holler out, "GET THE CLEANER!" And he doesn't even complain. He just knows. So he gets his gloves and disinfectant and away he scrub-a-dub-dubs that toilet. But for some reason it's not a deterrent any more. It's now Monday and we're at 3 days just this past week that he had to clean the toilet. The perks are that I always have a clean bathroom that smells so lemon-fresh......but come on already. Is it really so hard to control the hose? Perhaps my male population of readers can give me some much needed insight......

So I've resorted to drastic measures. And I apologize in advance to all of our guest who will use our loo. Taped down. Locked & loaded. Guess that means he'll be sitting until he can get his *junk* under control.

A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Hand Sanitizer

2011-02-05T22:08:00.000-08:00

I have no one else to blame than myself, really. It's my own stupid, dumb fault.

I came home after a loooooong 12 hour shift on my feet, back aching, feet throbbing, heart hurting....and I told my son, "Go tell daddy I need a martini STAT." So he told him. And then promptly asked, "What does STAT mean?" I happily explained the medical jargon if only to indoctrinate my child into the medical profession through a process of sly manipulation. (Can't say I'd complain if my boy told me one day he wanted to be a nurse or some other health care professional). I asked for the STAT medication (AKA cosmopolitan martini) and daddy complied, well, because he loves me. So I heard the shaking....not stirring.....and I smiled.

The martini was on the table and I took a big gulp. Ahhhhh. Delicious heaven. If I could swim in a cosmo martini I would. *and cue coming back to reality* My little boy and I were having a movie date complete with popcorn, snuggles and martinis. Mine with the "arkahall" as my son says and his a simple virgin martini garnished with a few cocktail cherries. I left for just a split second to grab myself something from the kitchen and I came back to my 7 year old son taking a big swig of my drink.

"AHHHHHH!" I screamed, "What are you doing?!?!?"

He looked at me and grimaced as though he had just downed a bottle of liquid soap and said, "Yuck."
Inwardly I'm smiling.

"Good," I said, "You're not old enough to have that."

Then he replied with, "Mom, that's gross. It takes like hand sanitizer."

I started to laugh out loud. It was hilarious! Then I realized what he just said.

"Um, how do you know what hand sanitizer tastes like?"

I don't know if I can ever etch out of my brain his reply, "One time after I washed my hands with it, I picked my nose and ate it."

Nuff said.

Helping Hand

2011-02-02T00:28:00.000-08:00

Although it was so many years ago, I couldn't forget her even if I tried. She laid on the cold stretcher curled up in a fetal position and had a very difficult time making eye contact when I called her name. When she answered, I was struck by the shame and sadness etched in her facial expression. She lifted her face and her eyes were a striking crystal blue but I couldn't help but suck in my breath when I noticed the sheer volume of methamphetamine-induced pock sores invading her cream colored skin. She was covered. And in a split second I knew I was dealing with a woman devoured by illicit drug addiction.

She laid there weak and in pain, her eyes heavy in a drug and alcohol induced stupor. And the smell. Oh my, the stench she put off was enough to make your eyes water and your stomach do a few unruly flips within your abdomen. If I were to guess, she probably hadn't showered in weeks. On her arms were hundreds, if not thousands of track marks and a large inflamed abscess that had formed in anger over a dirty drug needle use, allowing bacteria to invade and enclose the infected pustule. The abscess needed to be surgically cut open and drained followed by heavy duty antibiotics.

For whatever reason, the emergency department was slow that day. We don't like to ever speak aloud the word "slow" or "quiet," as those are considered 'swear words' in the world of emergency. Nevertheless, I had some extra time to spend with this patient and I was glad because for some reason I was drawn to her, regardless of the foul odor seeping off her. I prepped her for the procedure and once the abscess was surgically erupted & drained, I gently bandaged her wound and gave her medicine. She saw my care and tenderness and then finally something beautiful happened. She began to speak.

"I wasn't always like this, you know," she began. For just a split second, the shame in her eyes escaped and she was deep in memory. She looked older than her 34 years. In fact, she looked about 15 years older and I began to wonder what her life story was to get her here with me, right now. "I never used to drink and I had never tried drugs before." Being a person myself who had never done drugs before, I didn't know what to say so I let her continue, "I was happily married to a great guy and we had our own successful careers. We had the whole thing, you know. The whole perfect little house with the white picket fence. We even had a baby together." I could see myself identifying with this wife and mother who really wasn't that much older than I. I tried not to show my surprise at her omissions but the puzzle pieces just weren't making sense. If she had the entire world as her oyster........and she had what I had right then, a house, a job and a family..........what happened to get her to the place she was now, laying in front of me vulnerable, addicted and homeless?

"Then," she continued her testimony, "when my baby was just a couple months old I found him in his crib. He died from SIDS." My heart stopped for a split second and I felt goosebumps run up and down my spine. Her words seemed heartless and cold as she spoke, an obvious coping mechanism, "I was devastated. And then just 3 months later my husband was killed in a car accident. I was left completely alone." Her words echoed in my spirit and to this day they still do. It was then that I noticed a tiny tear trickle down the side of her pock infested cheek and I gently touched her shoulder. For a second she stiffened to my touch and I wondered if anyone had ever empathetically touched her since that horrific time so many years ago. I told her how incredibly sorry I was to hear that she had gone through such hardships. I surprised even myself how my initial judgment of her seemed to melt away and I saw her for what she truly was: human. She was simply another hurting human being.

Our conversation didn't last much longer as she was more interested in taking me up on my offer to give her a hot shower and meal, but I didn't mind, because I got to see her vulnerability for just a moment....and it was beautiful. But she sure made me wonder how many any of us are close to being in her exact situation if we were met with back to back tragedies. I suppose it's all in your coping skills, but really, whose to say you would be exempt from fighting the demons of addiction?

She did something I didn't expect her to. She thanked me for being kind and I was so incredibly humbled. I bet she hadn't had many people offer a helping hand but for some reason I felt compelled to do so. I initiated a social worker consult who could help her get into a rehab clinic and find adequate housing. But I still felt I should have done more. Truthfully, there wasn't anything more I could do for her, but I still wanted to. And to this day I still think about her. I often wonder if I'll drive by and see her hunched over in some sketchy area of town, or if she met with the social worker and went into rehab. Did she wipe her slate clean or did she dig her own early grave? I'll never know.

In this world we are all human and we ALL need a helping, loving hand every once in a while. Even if we are covered in drug-induced sores and emit a foul stench.

Moment in Time

2011-01-30T08:34:00.000-08:00

The baby girl sits on my lap and lets me put pigtails in her hair for the first time. I am grinning while looking at my hair masterpiece and sipping a great cup of coffee given to me by a friend. My son tells me that he likes his Nintendo DS more than his "girlfriend" at school. Boys. Such strangely wonderful creatures. Then my dear husband gently kisses me good morning and we go about our day.

I am relishing in this moment, right here, right now. Other people may have more 'rich' & glamorous lives but in this moment I realize how truly blessed I am. I have true happiness in my life. And I am ever so thankful for that.

Authentic Friendships

2011-01-24T16:32:00.000-08:00

What kind of friend are you? Are you the type who has many many friends? Or do you have just a handful of close friends whom you can share deep intimate secrets with? Are you a jealous friend who doesn't like to share your friends with others? Are you a friend who would rather talk on the phone for hours on end? Or are you the type who would rather sit down over a hot cup of coffee even for only a half hour? Are you a friend who likes to keep the conversation light? Or do you enjoy deep, heavy discussions?

For most of my life I was the girl who had lots of friends, who got along with many people but found myself utterly exhausted with maintaining those friendships.........simply because I wanted something more fulfilling. But I didn't know what exactly that was or how to get it. Then life halted for just a moment when I went through a really difficult circumstance that shook me to my core. I found I had many deep-seeded feelings and for the first time ever in my life, I realized I had next to no one to talk about it with. The main reason for this was because I had never truly let any of my numerous friends 'in.' I had a sad realization that if I were to die that day, no one could really say they knew me.

It was that day so many many years ago that I decided to be authentic in my friendships. The people who I chose to let in were going to see the real true depth of my character.....my strengths and my flaws. I was going to be real. Now that meant one thing: I had to trust. And that was the biggest struggle because I am very loyal to those I love. And it hurt to be loyal to untrustworthy people.
To put it simply, my defense mechanism in friendships was to be distant. That way I could avoid getting hurt by people who broke my trust. So in choosing to re-write the story and be authentic to myself, I was revealing the truth about who I really was to a select few.

Over the years I have learned to discern who I'd like to develop a friendship with and who I wouldn't. That process has gotten easier as time has gone on and as I grow in my own knowledge of self. I have also learned that some people intersect with your life for a short time, for a season and other friendships grow and flourish over time. But one thing remains true, the most meaningful, life-giving friendships I've developed are with people I've "let in" and allowed myself to be vulnerable with. My truest friends know me. They know what makes me tick. And that means putting myself out there. It's hard but I've found it to be totally & completely worth it.

I have had all kinds of friends who fall into different categories. I have a lifetime friend who knows the depths of my heart, Heidi who I've known since I was 5 years old. My mother-in-law is a woman who I highly respect & honor because she is an amazing woman. She is compassionate and kind who has taken time to truly learn about the 'real' me. I have a group of women in my life group who hold me accountable and who I can share incredible weaknesses with & not feel judged. I love those girls: Theresa, Pam, Laura, Kim, Mel & Katy. I have a friend in Stacey who makes me laugh but who is there for me to cry with in my time of desperate need. These women KNOW me. Thank you ladies, for blessing me with authentic friendship.

But what's incredible about life and friendship is that it continues to evolve. I find myself in awe at how God presents new coming friendships into our lives. Two years ago I met my neighbor, Niki, but only in the last 6 months-year have I discovered how much I genuinely like her....sorta like a girl crush if you will, but in a non-creepy way. ;) She makes me smile and she has a kind heart. I have also met a mutual blogger, Kelly 3 times in person whom we have shared DEEEEEEEP, personal discussions together and I find myself surprised at how easily those conversations come. It is refreshing to have someone be as real with me as I am with her. I am eagerly anticipating where God is going to take these friendship in the future......

I do believe authenticity is the key. What do you think makes a good, meaningful friendship?

Wino

2011-01-17T10:13:00.000-08:00

She looks at me and begins her usual blabbering. You know, she is fluent in Jibberish and I'm an obviously proud mother of my trilingual child. She keeps talking and talking......much like most females do.......and I simply stare at her wide eyed. "Does she actually think I know what she's saying?" I wonder. The only words I can understand from her dialect, (which I am certain is a cross between Japanese and Punjabi), is "Kitty" and "Mama." In true XX chromosome fashion she just keeps talking to me, explaining whatever it is she feels so blatantly passionate about at that moment in time.

I had just finished painting her toenails and was now attempting to paint my own but she kept interrupting me & banging my hand so my pedicure looked much like paint roller had just bulldozed over my feet. I took a break and stood up to pour myself a glass of crisp, cool white wine and brought it back to where I had been sitting. I continued to try and paint my toenails while the baby sat beside me, blabbering away as though we were long lost girlfriends.

Suddenly she stopped mid-Japanese sentence and lunged at my freshly poured wine glass. I couldn't get to her in time before the damage had been done. Wine. All over the couch. She squealed loudly with delight and all she could say as the wine splashed on her clothes was, "COLD!" Yup, I understood that English word loud and clear alright.

The very next thought that came to me was how relieved I was that it was white wine and not red.

Of course in true ironic fashion, within minutes of the wine disaster my favorite neighbors showed up. Yes, I was hosting a dinner but now there was very limited seating. So I sat on the floor. My baby wreaked like a brewery and I didn't even care one bit. This is my life. Welcome to it.

Cheers.

Just As Predicted

2011-01-12T23:29:00.000-08:00

We just got a big dump of snow.....just as predicted. That was promptly followed by a big down pour of rain.....just as predicted. I looked at my bank account and sighed as I realized the funds in the savings account wouldn't amount to that ever-so-wanted family Europe trip. And if I were being truly honest with myself, I deep down predicted we wouldn't visit the European countries until the children got a little bit older. I dunno, something about having a young baby, the necessary naps, the bed times of 7:30pm......were not super conducive to elaborate European traveling for weeks on end.

So we booked a trip to here instead.

And we are excited to go. All 4 of us. (Well, the baby doesn't much care, I'm sure as long as she's fed and in bed as per usual time).

The little boy keeps talking about what he thinks the plane ride will be like. The baby just looks at him and giggles....just as predicted. My husband wants to shop for new swim shorts and all I can think about is how I DO NOT want to get in a bikini in public. Rather predictable of me. But I will. Because I'll never see those people again. *grin*

Most times we've gone on a big vacation ie: South America etc, I have always been in the early stages of pregnancy. So I'm going against the grain of prediction and I will have my body to myself this time. That means I can drink icey, fruity concoctions until the cows come home. Not even I predicted that one.

My heart is thrilled from the inside out to experience a new place with my growing family. I've gone through hell and back this last month with the potential cancer scare, so this is a new focus and a welcome diversion. I predict long walks on the beach, sand castles, lots of laughter and perhaps a handful or two of sand being munched on by a tiny little mouth. I predict good memories.

Customer Service

2011-01-11T12:59:00.000-08:00

I had my grocery list in hand. On it, a few food items and the one thing I simply could not go without for fear of dire repercussions. Diapers. We are expecting a large dump of snow tonight, so in order to prevent a disaster of great proportions and be out of diapers while being snowed in, I knew I must make a trek to the store.

I drove into the parking lot of a grocery store I don't do my usual shopping at.....but they are the only store in my city that carries my favorite diapers in bulk. I got my shopping cart and plunked my baby in the front seat, the very baby I was making this trip into the store for in order to keep her poop locked and loaded. The only area of the store I was familiar with was the baby section because that was pretty much the only thing I ever purchased there. I headed there straight away, picked up my two large, heavy warehouse boxes of diapers and grunted while heaving them onto the bottom of the grocery cart. I looked at my grocery list and sighed. Instead of leaving to go to my 'usual' grocery store for the rest of my needs I thought perhaps I'd brave the grocery aisles in search for the things on my list since I was there already.

I aimlessly wandered every aisle picking up items here and there, gradually filling up my grocery cart and after what seemed to take FOREVER in unfamiliar territory, I stood in line at the grocery till. The older woman cashier greeted me and asked me how I was. "Fine, thank you," was my reply. The woman in line behind me made cooing conversation with my baby as I loaded my items on the conveyor belt. As my grocery items were being rung through I told the cashier, "Oh, there are two heavy boxes of diapers on the bottom of the cart." She said, "Oh, ok," and continued to ring through my items. Nearing the last grocery items, she looked at me and said, "You have to lift up the boxes for me to scan." It was a blunt statement, not a kind request and I stammered, "Uh...alright." It was my impression that cashiers were supposed to walk around their till to scan large, heavy items, not ask clients to pick up the items themselves for scanning. But I did what I was *told* to do and began bagging the rest of my groceries. This particular store requires their clients to bag their own groceries and that is one big reason why I don't like to do my usual shopping there. I am terrible at bagging and loading my own groceries. I often overload the plastic bags causing the handles to tear off resulting in groceries spilling onto the floor.

The cashier finished scanning my order and then said to me, "With a purchase of $75 or more, you qualify for a warehouse box of frozen chicken strips for free. Did you want them?" I agreed and then she stated as I was frantically trying to bag groceries as fast as I could so as to not hold up the line, "Ok, but you'll have to go and get the package yourself at the back of the store." I simply stared at her incredulously as she continued, "And you have to leave your cart at the front of the store here while you go back to get the box."

*Blink*

I looked at my baby happily kicking her feet in the shopping cart seat and then glanced back at the woman. Slowly, I began, "Uh, I have a baby here. I can't carry the box of chicken and her at the same time. Can you please find someone to get the box for me?" The woman looked at me and rudely stated, "We probably don't have anyone available to do that." I was truly stunned at what was being asked of me and how the cashier was making me feel as though somehow *I* was inconveniencing *her*. "Well, can you please ask?" She humphed and picked up her phone. I heard her mumble something to the person on the phone about me having a baby and I couldn't leave my cart, blah blah blah. I felt so terrible about the whole interaction I considered walking out without the stupid box of free chicken strips. It just didn't seem worth it. She hung up the phone and with a rude tone again said, "Someone will go get the box but it will be a while and you'll just have to wait until they can get to it." I told her that was fine. So I took my time s-l-o-w-l-y bagging the remaining groceries and rearranging the overfilled ones I was so frantically trying to fill earlier.

A few minutes later a smiling teenaged boy brought me a gigantic box of frozen chicken strips and I smiled back thanking him for his help. I left the store and loaded my groceries into the back of my car while STEAMING mad. I was so angry with how I had been treated, I was fuming inside. Sorry, but I do feel entitled to good service. When I am a paying patron at a store and I am GIVING you my money, I deserve to be treated well. ESPECIALLY when I have a baby and a legitimate excuse.

I got home and immediately picked up the phone to call the store manager. He profusely apologized and I felt somewhat vindicated that the receipt identified the cashier's name so I could personally out her to her superior. Then I picked up the phone again and called the head office to lodge an official complaint. I gave them my name and number to follow up. And then I went online and filled out a customer service survey and complaint form. Oh yea I did. Don't mess with a woman and her baby.

From now on I'll stick to my oh-so-familiar grocery store where they bag my groceries for me, I don't have to pay extra for plastic bags and they actually carry out my groceries for me with a great big smile. THAT to me is customer service.