Month: March 2017

Why is Dad holding up his index finger?

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Because he sliced through it on Monday.  12 stitches.

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Edda’s new bed rails.

Winter is finally here.  Edda’s face is chapped.

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I’m doing Vince’s laundry.  He had to empty his room of laundry to host the six boys for the sleepover last weekend and he laundry ended up in the upstairs foyer.  So close to the washing machine.  I’m giving up and doing the laundry.  All day loads went in and I think I’m not even halfway done.

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It did snow and ice last night, we got about 2-3 inches of heavy, icy snow.  Kids were off of school (we heard through the grapevine that MCPS was going to cancel school even if we got a dusting because we haven’t had any snow days yet this year and the teachers were going to run out of curriculum days early).  I walked Maxi to her vet appointment at 8:20am.  She wouldn’t let them stick their thermometer up her butt.

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Facetimed mom to make sure that she was OK.  They shoveled everything themselves – but didn’t use the snowblower.

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Adriana came by at 2pm and helped watch Edda during the afternoon and evening.  Chili for dinner.

I spent the weekend away from the house at an orienteering training camp.  This involved running through the woods at night with a headlamp.  I was too scared to go on my own, but I found some friends to go with me.

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I came home to find Vince with 10,000 blankets and Edda tucked into his bed.

Vince showed me his favorite corgi videos.

Happy spring loves.  I’ve been busy, trying to figure things out about this nursing thing.  Am I really going to do this?  I’ve managed to find myself on the most challenging floor at the hospital for senior practicum.  I like the folks on the floor, I like the work, I like the patients and I can see into the future that I can manage to do what I want to do, but first I’ll need to travel through working weekends and holidays and I’m not sure I’m all ready for this.  The whole thing is fascinating to me,  you have the general science-y ness of all the meds and the numbers and the procedures, then you have the whole bit about delivering medical care where management wants to come in and reduce costs and increase customer satisfaction (who is ever satisfied about being in the hospital?), and then you have the emotion of people getting terrible diagnoses, family members watching people they love suffer and die, people who are slowly killing themselves with drink and drug (lots of people are angry and pissed.  lots of people are thankful and nice.  some people are confused and delirious and remain that way.) and then you have a team of nurses/doctors/social workers/techs that are all thrown together to try and hold down the fort and you can see if the team is falling apart in certain places and really cohesive in other places.  Maybe it isn’t so fascinating and I’ll become all upset and hardened.  I think I have 5 (maybe) years worth of bedside nursing in me -and then I’m done – I’ll head to other endeavors.  But I need to do the hospital work first.

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In other hospital news, Vince turned 15 on Thursday.  Of course, it’s Vince’s birthday, but it’s also my anniversary of becoming a mother.  I retold his birth story to him, like I do most years.  How he was due on the 1st and when he wasn’t even budging a week later, I got all frustrated with him and walked three miles home down Lamar where I was at work at UT Austin to our house and by the time I got home I was in labor.  I told him how I was determined to have the granola-hippie labor – no drugs, a midwife, Birkenstocks (but at a hospital), but after 40 hours of labor, his big head was stuck and then they cut him out of me.  And then how he insisted on nursing 21 hours out of everyday and that drove me up the wall because I’d never been touched so much in my life – no one else could touch me (poor Jeremy) because I was completely touched out for months and months.

Happy birthday Vince!  Thank you for being my best son and teaching me to be a mom.  My kids!  They teach me everything.  All the time.

We celebrated on his actual birthday with my parents.

Tonight, the boys are here.

Happy Women’s Day today!  I love this statue of a defiant girl in front of the charging bull on Wall St.
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Vince has a social studies test tomorrow on WWII.  

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I burned the brussel sprouts tonight.

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Went to a boy scout prep meeting for the spring break Florida trip.  A father / son trip coming up in four weeks!

Vince’s lunch today:

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I couldn’t pass up the Irish soda bread at the grocery store today.

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Jeremy got me hipster chocolate from Portland.

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I made homemade puff pastry Hot Pockets for dinner tonight.  They were a hit, but I accidentally burned Edda’s mouth with the first bite.  Too hot!

Edda chased me to the edge of the bed last night.  She doesn’t usually crowd me in this way, but she kept inching over and insisting on snuggling.  I finally had to give up, stand up and walk to the other side of the bed where there was a vast amount of sleepable space available.  I’m still working on the bed-rail situation, I will not bore you with the mundane details of mis-shipped packages, busted packages, multiple calls to Amazon customer service, calling medical devices places and blah, blah, blah soooo boring.  Anyways, I’m hoping to have bed rails next week.  We’ll see.

I was on the phone with the anesthesiology place at Children’s – (I did not call them, they called me) to set up a meeting for all of us about a month before Edda’s back surgery.  The scheduler kept telling me – first you’ll have an appointment with the anesthesiologist and then you’ll have a second appointment with hospice.  I was like, huh? but I didn’t say anything the first time.  And then she said it two more times – the 2nd appointment with hospice.  Then I said – you mean hospitalist?  Because we don’t need hospice.  At least I hope not.  Poor girl, she sounded like she was 15 and she was really sorry.  I said – no worries – I knew what you meant (though no one knows who a hospitalist is except people who work in the hospital – it’s a doctor that only takes care of you while you are in the hospital).  I just wanted to make sure she got it right on all her other calls.

Then the nurse got on the phone and told me that I needed to set up appointments with neurology and cardiology.  And I said – hhmmm, cardiology?  Edda’s never had a cardiologist and I’m hoping not to need one.  I said, you must mean hematology for the low platelet follow up.  She said she would check to see if Edda needs a cardiologist consult.  I’m hoping to keep that specialty off of Edda’s list (neurology, orthopedics, hemotology is enough.  I’m glad to not have pulmonology and GI which are common for Rett, and no one I know has a cardiologist in their regular rotation) – though Rett is known to be mildly associated with long QT syndrome.

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Face timed Donald for just a minute today.  Busy day.  But so boring.

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I brought home a sample N95 mask – it’s what you wear for airborne precautions – most commonly for TB.

Passport photo for me today.  My friend and I were lamenting about the march of time across our faces and our hair.  Neither of us is coloring our hair.  Me, because I’d rather look older than spend the $.  Her, because she doesn’t want to spend a whole morning or afternoon in a chair at the salon every 6-8 weeks plus touching up the growing out roots.   I think I’m aging gracefully, but Jeremy insists I’m still fighting it.  He thinks I’m not comfortable with it as much as he’s comfortable with it.  This is true.  But he is a man.  And anyways, Jeremy’s aspired to be middle-aged his whole life.  (Jeremy’s in Portland now, where he remains middle-aged.)

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This is the only time in my life that I’ve been Asian Other.  It’s a little funny to have all Chinese people dumped in the “other” category.  If the Asian Indians get a shout out, I think the Asian Chinese should too.

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Dad and Max enjoying a tender moment (involving meat).

Good morning Thursday!

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Twelve hour shifts are messing with my eating.  I don’t have my regular cues to remind me when to eat/how much to eat and when to not eat.  And then there are always a lot of donuts on the floor which I always want to eat and I do end up eating.  Ugh.  And then I feel not so good afterwards.  I think part of it is because I feel useless on a very busy floor.  I barely know where the blood pressure cuffs.