Good luck with all your hopes and dreams!!

I've been wanting to transition in my job for a long time but the timing was never right.  Finally after a lot of waiting and then a LOT of waiting I am now a labor and delivery RN.  And the proud owner of about a thousand tons of stress.  I mean I knew I needed much more training but I am just now discovering the depth of my ignorance.  I figure about the only thing that could stress me out more at this point would be going into the OR naked.  

And I've had to relearn things from my nursing school days like EKG strips so that I can be in the PACU alone.  And just in case I had some sort of memory loss about just how horrid cardiac strips are, the class brought it all back into crisp clear awful focus.

It's exactly as fun as it looks.

But the good news is, I absolutely LOVE my job.

I come home exhausted both mentally and physically but drenched in the amazing miracle that is childbirth.

I don't care how many times I see it, it's still incredible.  And I get to be a part of it.  I get to come along side a family or single mom or scared teenager and hold her hand as she meets her son or daughter for the first time.  As she feels the rush of motherhood and watch as her tears mingle with the tears of her baby and it's magic.

So I'll grumble as I take a stupid cardiac test and try to rub out my sore muscles as I stumble to the bathroom at five am for the sixth day in a row and I'll even try not to panic as I'm watching my patients strip on the monitor and I know in my heart things aren't going well.

But when I'm in that moment with my patient and she's pushing and I'm counting and I say "Take a look dad!  You can see the baby's head!" and then is eyes get big and my patient stops pushing and says "You can see her?!" only now she's crying as she says "Does she look...happy?!"

That moment makes my day.

I don't think it's good to live vicariously through your kids...but sometimes they get to do more awesome things than you

Like dress up from the 1920's.

I mean come on.

How fun is this??

Instead, I was behind the camera in my yoga pants and frumpy t shirt wishing I looked like her.

But whatever.  What. Ever.

Someone has to keep this show together.

What would be the point of being a procrastinator if I actually did things in a timely manner?

So here are some pictures of Daymon I said I would put up, oh, forever ago.

You know how it goes it with those poor youngest borns.  Always the last to get pictures yet always the first to make sure you know they want donuts.

Well you did come here willingly so yeah, now you have to look at pictures of my kids. Have you learned nothing from mom blogs?

I absolutely love to take pictures.

And some of my favorite subjects are my kids.  Aliya is fairly easy to capture because she's a natural and she loves to pose.  Plus she's willing anytime I ask so it makes for super easy shoots.

The boys however are much harder to convince and often dodge my requests.  They run as soon as they hear the click of the camera and are quick to make silly faces.  But I was able to convince Dylan recently and then Daymon said he would let me shoot him as well so those will be coming soon!

I adore these miniature humans.

I feel the need to add I did not edit her eyes at all.  They are just that dreamy all on their own.

I'm pretty sure neurology is actually the study of "I have no idea what's wrong with you".

My brain is a jerk.

It's been that way for a while though and it knows it so I doubt it's up there getting very offended.

When my mom was giving birth to me she almost died and had to be flight lifted to another city and during that time, while she was in the throws of seizures, I was all nestled in not getting much air in the mean time. Now do I believe that the lack of oxygen during my birth is to blame for the massive migraines I deal with as an adult?  No.  But when you're born in a helicopter you kind of just need to find places to bring it up later in life.  As a matter of principle.

But my brain has been being a jerk for as long as I can remember.

And what about nursing school in clinicals with my instructor staring me down for the correct answer and all my stupid brain would do when I ran to it for help was:

That does not build trust.

Then came the migraines and I didn't really do anything about them for a very long time.  As the years passed I would go see a doctor he/she would shrug and presume to know more about my body than I did and then say there was nothing they could do.  Unfortunately I believed them.

After finally finding a doctor who listened I was on my way to seeing a neurologist.  It was a long strange journey that included a lot of elbow rubbing (on his part) and lack of eye contact (again him) and awkward feelings (me).  I decided to find a new neurologist.

And just in time for the grand daddy of all migraines to hit.


The only way I can think to describe a migraine is like this.

But with more awfulness.  And horror.

On day five of the misery hubby took me to the neurologist and we sat in the waiting room until she could see me.  It was that or I was ready to find a crack dealer but hubby said that was ridiculous because everyone knows crack dealers don't take debit cards so I had to wait.

She asked me about all the meds she has recently put me on and how they were working and I had a nice good long laugh about that but had to stop because you know, pain.

She then asked me if I wanted to have a couple injections in my head to make the pain stop immediately and she could hardly get the sentence out before I said yes.

However it wasn't exactly a couple...it was twelve.

So the good news was that I felt instantly better for about two hours.  Then I felt worse.  Much worse.  Right about the time I needed an MRI.  But because I'm so claustrophobic I also had to take Ativan but by my thinking the Ativan would make me not care about the pain right?  I am a stupid, stupid person.

First of all, if you are fortunate enough to not suffer from claustrophobia, you slightly suck.  Secondly, because I had never taken Ativan, my expectations for it were way too high.  Hubby needed to be back at work and he offered several times to stay with me but I insisted he go and have my sister take me instead.  As I waited for the Ativan to kick in I also waited to feel...something.  I don't know.  High maybe?  To not care about the world?  Different perhaps?  What actually happened was I felt no real difference as I was pinned down, had my head strapped to the board, and lastly was shoved into a metal tube the size of my tooth paste container.  That's when I started crying and completely regretted not taking hubby up on his offer.  As I'm sure the MRI tech did as well.  I mean through all my tears and shaking and hyperventilating I kind of felt bad for the guy.  He just kept patting my hand and telling me not to be afraid.  Well it wouldn't be called an irrational fear if I could help it buddy.  He eventually went and got my sister to take over the hand patting and shoved me back in.  Just about the time he pulled me out and my sister pulled her earning off the side of the machine, I started to feel very unnatural about the world.

Turns out my MRI is fine.  I mean, that's good and all, but I sort of wish it were something tangible that could just be yanked out and done with.  Like I could take a good hard look at the pain and stomp on it.  Or keep it in a jar.

Day nine of the debilitating pain I went back to the brain doc because now this is getting crazy.  But I didn't want anymore injections.  I could barley move I was so sore from the last ones.

Instead she prescribed more medications.  Different ones.

So I'm currently taking six new medications aside from the others she prescribed.  I feel sorta Jesse Pinkman up in my domicile.

But I'm starting to break through the fog.  For the first time in almost two weeks I feel like a human again and like maybe I don't want a head transplant after all.

But I've learned some valuable lessons through this a couple being, don't trust doctors who won't look you in the eye and will only rub their left elbow and if offered the chance to be knocked out for an MRI always say yes.  They won't let you take your own hammer into the room.

I thought I could speak cat but it turns out all I was saying was "Pizza! Turtle yesterday sweater, noodle!"

When what I meant to say was "Hey, you, don't have any babies around here or I'll give them all away!"

So my sweet, adorable, kitty exploded and became six.

Girlfriend was shacking up in the bushes out front and 63 days later (thanks to Google) out came 5 slimy rat looking things that quickly turned into fuzzy cute little kittens!

I mean, I guess it's mostly my fault for not getting her lady parts snipped but I kind of thought she was too young at 15 months.  She's like a teenager having babies.  Where did I go wrong! 

The fun started when I was at work and Dylan was texting me that she was having them "in the chair".  As in, she climbed up into the inards of the chair and gave birth multiple times.  And the boys were home alone.

Him: Mom, I can't get her out of the chair!

Me: Just leave her alone and pick them up and put them into the basket.

Him: But one of them has this cord thing coming off of it and it's connected to what looks like...an organ.

Me: Oh, that's just the umbilical cord and placenta, Zoe will eat them later.

Him:  WHAAAAAT?!!

Ah the miracle of birth.  Combine it with a twelve year old boy and it's magic. 

Daymon was too into his video game to really care about the delivery situation at all so it was up to Dylan to escort them into the world.  He was all "What, new life coming into the world right behind me?  Naw, you got this."  Although Daymon did happen to catch the eating of the placenta and gagged for quite a while. 

Aliya was at friends house and missed the whole debacle much to her delight.  She was quite satisfied to have bypassed all the gory details and to be left with only cute fuzziness.

I hope this teaches them all the valuable lesson that if you mess around in the bushes you could potentially make and pop out five little beings only with more gore and screaming and not only do they not make chairs that big but you can't just saunter off and hang out outside when the fancy strikes like some cat I know.  

Mexico, oh how I love your beaches, lazy river, pina coladas and maybe even your murderous jelly fish stings..

So we did this crazy thing where we braved the Mexican border and get this...absolutely nothing happened.  Well I mean not if you count tanning in the perfect weather around four amazing clear pools next to the warm ocean with a breeze while holding pina coladas, because that totally happened. 

It was kind of amazing.

Some friends of ours own a condo down in Rocky Point and were incredibly kind enough to allow us to stay for a week.  It was exactly the break we needed.

And Dylan getting stung by jelly fish?  He thought it was awesome.  Because he's twelve.  And a boy.

I thought briefly about peeing on his chest only the medical personnel said we should put Windex on it instead because of the ammonia and I was like, but my pee has ammonia but I guess my twelve year old prefers Windex over his mom's pee.  Fair enough.

And just when we had our ultimate fill of Mexican awesomeness we tried to get back into America and that only took a mere six hours.  In a car that we could not keep running because it has transmission issues so it was honestly 123 degrees in the car with the windows down.  No biggie.  It was like America was all "Oh, so you want to go to another country to have fun?  And you had to go on my Independence day too?  Like all rubbing it in my face?  We'll see you who gets back in in a 'timely fashion'".

Totally worth it.

When there are less kids in the house

So Dylan went off to camp first came back with stories about catching a three foot long king snake and it biting him three times, being "punished" by his camp counselor and being required to do things like perform Justin Beibers "Baby" in front of everyone to eating weird food to having to rub a random man's beard while saying "wuza wuza wuza". He also made up nick names for his roomies.  Names like "Gansta baby", "The Chicken Whisperer" and "Annonymas" to list a few.  He was "Jimmu" which apparently means warrior in Japanese. 

The kid is growing up.  He's getting more hilarious everyday and he's *this close* to being taller than me.

While he was away Daymon played video games without interuption and not once did I hear "Mom, I had the Xbox first!"  It was lovely.  For both of us.

Now Aliya is at camp.  In California.  For a week.

I hear she's having fun. I don't really know, she's not texting me!

I mean, I get it.  Who wants to text their mom when away at camp?  But I had dreams of getting cute selfies while she's on the beach and at Disney Land with her friends.  You know, she would be the ONE who would text her mom because...duh. 

Turns out I'm just as lame as all the other moms. 

I did not see that coming.

And while I'm on the subject, it also turns out that only one of my three kids is willing to have skin to skin contact with me in public.  It's Dylan.  In fact, he will full on wrap his whole body around me.  I don't even care one tiny bit.  It makes up for the other two. 

So you see, I'm just a big lame weirdo mom with what I'm assuming must be leprosy and cooties. 

In the end I'm pretty sure this is how they see me:

And this is how I see me:

Some days having teens is a level 12 on the 0 to 10 scale of "Zero being the least amount you want to rip your heart out and ten being the most you want to drink wine in the bath while sob texting your best friend". 

It's amazing and heart breaking and beautiful and maddening and so very tough to keep your mouth shut sometimes, but so very worth it. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go back to not being texted.  I'm really good at it. 

Your guess is as good as mine

I pretty much feel at a cross roads on this blog. 

I'm not really sure where I'm going with it.  I mean, most days I'm just rambling about silly things that, let's be honest, don't mean anything more than the equivelant of empty calories and I don't know that I love that. 

So it begs the question: what is this blog really about? 

WHO AM I?? 

I'm having an identity crisis. 

It seems to me that the blogs I read have a general theme.  They are about something.  I seem to be about nothing. 

I'm not really a mommy blogger, although I posess children and do blog about them randomly.  I'm not really a humor writer exclusively in that I do write about the occasional serious things and...do they do that?  I have no idea!! 

I feel so lost. 

I'm not a zombie writer, because a zombie writer would never write about other things, they would only devote themselves to the undead.  Obviously.  Even though I do love me some braaaaaaiiiinnnnnssssss.

So back to square one.

I would kind of like to be known for something.  Like "Oh, yeah, that blog that she does, the one with the really cool______________."  What.  Poetry?  Photography?  Stories?  Literary genious?  Recipe for really good salsa? 

Just kidding.  I'm pretty sure my salsa only appeals to me and Aliya. 
\
So until I figure it out, I'm just sort of making it up as I go.  And I have to believe that one day you and I will collectively say "Oh, yeah.  Totally.  That's what her blog is about."  And I'll know what that is. 

And I'm thinking it will be awesome. 

Yes there are 781 reasons before this one

Reason #782 why I will never be allowed to write a parenting book.

Allow me to set the stage for you. 

It's a Wednesday night, I'm in the middle of making dinner, the kids and I are all convened in the kitchen, the boys with homework in front of them.  I have already been arguing with Dylan about how little he has been doing so far and Daymon is in the middle of a full on melt-down.  As in crying, yelling, pencil throwing melt-down.  Why you ask?  Because Aliya and I are trying to get him to understand how his homework works and why we have come up with the right answer and he has come up with the wrong answer. 

So in order to really get my point across to him I decided it would somehow make me look even less like a total jerk to say "You know, I am 26 years older than you so I do know a whole lot more."  Purely classic move.

Then, to up the ante to the highest level, I told him that if I was indeed wrong, {laugh} that I would owe him a dollar. 

Let's just say the look on his face as I handed him that dollar bill the next day was a little smug.

But he earned it.

Pride doesn't go down in one big swallow, you have to chew for a while.  But somehow I don't think he'll remember the dollar.  I think he'll remember the "I'm sorry".

But seriously guys, when did fourth grade homework became so hard?  Because now I'm beginning to question my IQ...

Objectivity. Not always awesome.

Sometimes we get a random insight into what we look like objectively.

It can be really weird.  And less than attractive.

Dylan handed me his phone and said "I have a strange voice mail that I can't figure out, who is this?"  So I listened to the eight minute message that I had inadvertently left after I thought I had hung up.

It started out with me saying "I'm going to go get Dylan!" and then there was a lot of rustling around right before it got good when the car radio started and I began to very loudly sing with Rhiana because we totally have the same vocal chords and I can hit all the same notes.  In my head. 

I was actually enjoying hearing myself sing with no inhibitions when I suddenly stopped to scream "Are you kidding me right now?!  Why?!  Did you intentionally get into my lane and slow down just to make me angry??  WHAT THE HECK??  Seriously??!!  Dude!  You suck!! AAAHHHHH!!!!!"  Well, okay there was no death rage scream at the end but the rest happened. 

I mean obviously there is some man out there hell bent on causing me a bad day.  And put a steering wheel and a whole lot of metal between me and him and I will let him have it.  If he can't hear me of course. 

Wow.
I had never heard myself from a third party view before.  Or in other words, from my kids view before. 

What is it about being behind the safety of my windshield that suddenly emboldens me?  I would never walk up to him and start yelling at him.  Or singing at him for that matter, but in front of my sweet babies I'll rip the guy a new one. 

It felt as if God himself had reached down and placed the phone in my hands and said "you should listen to this. Remember what I said about love?  I meant even when you're driving." 

I'm pretty sure I need to start driving around with duct tape on my mouth for a while.  

It's that or I'm going to start anger dancing out all my frustration but I'm fresh out of leotards and sweat bands plus I don't know where any empty warehouses are because everyone knows that's where the best angry dances take place anyway. 

Someday your kids will say Chris who? Just wait.

The strange thing about having multiple friends who are in their mid twenties, is that I forget that I'm so much older and they go and say things like "Red Dawn is a re-make?" and I cringe inside because that movie made me want to pee my pants when I was a kid but now it's just a stupid "old" movie with has-been actors and awful graphics. 

Patrick Swayze was the Chris Hemsworth of the 80's.  And he could dance.  Just sayin. 

Carrie, the demon car on Ivanhoe st

I'm guessing if my car could talk to me it would say:

"Listen, while I enjoy all the spilled popcorn your kids grind into my carpet and how you insist on leaving 2 liters of diet coke in the back to just roll around and hit the sides of me as you take corners at what feels like 70 miles per hour, here's the deal lady.  You make me really stabby.  So now I am refusing to get cool, like at all, and oh that "surging" thing you hate so much.  Yeah, that's going to be a big problem.  As in the transmission.  So good luck with that.  Also I hate you." 

My car is really grouchy. 

When I took it to the mechanic to get the air conditioning looked at because we live in Phoenix and news flash, it gets kinda hot here in the summer so I need a/c, our conversation was unfortunately typical:

Guy: So tell me about the problem.

Me: Well, the a/c won't get cool at all, among other things.

Guy: Other things?

Me: Yeah, I mean, you know like car stuff...

Guy: Like?

Me: Well, it does this like, stalling thing.

Guy: Explain.

Me: Well, if I idle at all it then decides it doesn't want to really go when I step on the gas, or like it's thinking about it first.

Guy: I think we need to look at that before the a/c.

Me: But it's hot?

Guy: ....

Me: This is going to be stupid expensive isn't it?

And as if I had some sort of mechanical car sixth sense he called me later to tell me it would be a mere $6,000. 

I'm going to name my car Carrie as in she wants to kill me by taking all my money and not allowing us or my children to eat and then become homeless people living on the street with empty bread bags on our feet just shuffling along saying "I only need this ashtray and this lamp and this one left shoe." 

Or we're going to trade it in.  We haven't decided yet. 

Free chair massage or also called Aaaahhhhhh!!!!!! when you're screaming

As hubby and I were walking into one of our favorite lunch date restaurants, mostly because of the endless chips and salsa being directly proportionate to how cheap we are, we happened upon the local chiropractic office throwing a "customer appreciation" fair on the side walk.  This included free food.  Did I mention we are cheap?

So we stopped and signed up for a free chair massage because, hello, we are cheap. 

It was my turn and I happily sat down all excited and completely unaware of the horror and amount of pain about to befall me. 

She didn't ask me how I wanted my presure she just asked me if I had any "issues" and looking back I should have said "I like my massages to feel like kittens licking me."  Unfortunatly I did not.

So she started working between my shoulder blades with her fingers of death and then I felt like I might cry. 

Only I kept thinking that maybe she knew better and that perhaps if I could just endure the pain then later it would feel better. 

At one point I think I blacked out from the pain and her elbows digging into my spine right before it felt like my nose was breaking as it was becoming one with the chair. 

Longest fifteen minutes of my life. 

As we sat at lunch later I could hardly hold my diet coke to my mouth to take a drink and that's when I asked hubby how his was.  He told me that twice the chair broke and twice she fixed it and moved on as it that were a completely normal thing during a massage. 

The next morning I felt like I had been in a fight.  You know, because I'm in fights all the time. 

I'm thinking maybe this isn't the perfession for her. 

Or my pain tollerence has gone way down. 

But the icing on the cake?  They take my health insurance so next I'm going to let them jab a really long stick up my nose into my brain and spray some medicine to see if it will fix my migrains.

 You know, just for funsies. 

What I imagine it must be like to meet your students for the first time when they all have superpowers. And it's 1850.

Teachers notes:  October 12, 1850

Olivia:
My first meeting went surprisingly well.  The family did show up a bit early but I was prepared so it didn't bother me too much when I heard the knock upon the door.  The new cast iron stove is doing a marvelous job of heating my little one room school remarkably well, so I hurried them in as to not lose too much heat.  Little Olivia is a sweet girl with a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks and takes after her mother.  I was taken aback at how quiet the family was however.  They seemed to only speak after first looking to Olivia.  Strange.  From her tests she is coming along in her numbers but does not enjoy letters.  When I brought it up I could swear I witnessed her father make the smallest shake of his head and her mother's eyes widen ever so slightly.  Perhaps she is a spoiled child.  Although Olivia did stare at me rather oddly during our visit. 

Martin:
A large child, I was sure he must be older but his parents assured me he is only eleven, came with his arms stacked with wood for my stove.  Over his head.  I cannot pretend that I was not shocked but I did not want to embarrass him.  He seems eager to learn but more concerned with playground games.  Before they left I had him rearranged my room and large oak desk.  And log pile.

Charles:
A small boy, he came only with his father.  It was rather odd for just when I would think of something he would seem to have the same thought.  Or I would start to reach for something and he would already be handing it to me.  On several occasions he finished my sentence.  And come to think of it, I never told him my middle name is anne. . .

Loraina:
I fear my excitement of a new teaching opportunity is besting me.  For it seemed when Loraina arrived she was being held to the earth by a string tied to her waist.  Her mother was being very discreet and it almost seemed she was attempting to distract me from really getting a closer look.  I'm positive her feet were not always touching the ground. 

Ruth:
It was the strangest thing for after our meeting I spent nigh to half an hour putting things back where they belong.  Only Ruth never moved nor did her family.  I even found a much beloved trinket of mine up near the ceiling slats!

Henry:
Upon Henry's arrival, and after eating and drinking something to refresh myself, I was relieved to find he seemed very normal indeed.  Until the last few minutes of our time together when my fire was diminishing in the stove and Henry restarted it with his eyes. 
I am positive I am delusional.  It is the only explanation.

Daniel:
Apparently he has been here the whole time.  For he is invisible.  He loves history and letters.  And I missed a trinket.

Colin and Calvin:
Dropped off by an uncle who could not stay, they didn't speak much.  Communicating in little grunts and what I can only describe as gutteral growls, Daniel informs me they will not be attending school the day after a full moon.  I cannot guess what this means.

I have decided to wait for my last student to show.  I'm convinced my mind is gone and I'm curious as to what this little one can do.

Molly:
With the face of an angel, we are off to a good start.  So sweet is her family that I think I am finally past what I can only assume were tricks my mind was playing on me.  At only five years she can easily read her lessons and her parents inform me she is brilliant beyond her years.  It wasn't until she vanished before my eyes that I fainted straight away.  She told me she travels through time and brought me back a lovely new trinket called a calculator.

I do hope the town of StoneyHaven finds a new teacher soon for they are such kind people.  And while I was looking forward to my new position, I am quite comfortable here with my soft walls and cozy white jacket.  And my medication seems to finally be doing the trick of blocking out Daniel.   

If you forget the terrorists win. Or something like that.

Please do not ever forget that this happened....

Does this mean he's the more mature one?

If you've been reading my blog for long you've come to a few possible conclusions:  I talk about poop entirely too much, I actually think my dog might be trying to kill me and I like zombie things. 

The last one drives hubby nuts.  He hates zombies. 

And it's not that I like zombies as like beings and what not but I like the whole "possible end of the world, what do we do now, ruuuuuuuuunnnnn" part of it.  Be he still thinks it's wrong on like every level. 

So when I was recently talking about how funny Warm Bodies was our conversation went like this:

Him: When did you see that?!

Me: On my birthday. With my sister. Because you can do whatever you want on your birthday and I wanted to see a zombie movie with my sister. I also ate a lot of food. 

Him:  Wrong.

Me:  Excuse me?

Him: You can't do whatever you want on your birthday.

Me: *giving him the stink eye*

Him: You can't murder someone on your birthday and then be all "it's my birthday I can do whatever I want"!

Me:  Obviously.

So several things are clear.  I will not be seeing World War Z with him.  I'm going with my sista!  And also if there ever is a zombie apocalypse I just hope he's not turned into one because then he'd be limping around all "braaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnsssss" and I would have to be like sorry zombie hubby I know it's just your insinct and all and you can't help it but now I have to shoot you.  Or keep you in the barn but that didn't turn out well for anyone.  You can see my dilema. 

Five + dog + cat + lizzard + puppy = zoo!

I kind of feel like our house has become a zoo.

Well I guess we only added one more dog, a puppy, but she makes it all feel very zooish.

She's a whirlwind of licking, biting, whimpering, squirming, twirling chocolate colored love and any other moving adjectives you might want to toss in there. 

She's all together "Oh my gosh can I stuff all of her in my mouth right now and just eat her up!?" mixed in with "Holy crap her teeth are so sharp! Get her oooofffff!!!!!" 

We didn't even have her a whole 24 hours and while hubby was "baby" proofing the backyard for her she slipped through the gate and almost drowned.  Luckily hubby has cat like reflexes and his ninja skills saved her life.  Surprisingly not all dogs are born with an innate ability to swim.  Who knew.

After our heart breaking experience with Izzy, we were a little skittish to try another puppy.  But Daymon has been saving his money for a lifetime in kid years for another dog, one all his own, so we agreed. 

Dusty runs from her and my sister's dog, Bauer, adores her.  He also accidentally steps on her like all the time, but in a totally cute way. 

Zoe?  The verdict's still out. 

I will cut you

So this is Delilah, or as I like to call her Lilah Lou.  Daymon had his heart set on a boy puppy he was going to name Sampson.  When they only had girls he picked the next logical name.

Fair enough.