The Confession

I have a confession. Even though I am all about not comparing myself to other people or trying to look like other women, there is one thing I am always trying to achieve. There is one set of things, actually. I notice them on other women and sometimes men, I point out a great set, and I compare mine to others that I see in magazines. Over the years the search for the perfect pair has become a true obsession.

Today's confession: I have issues with eyebrows. Those close to me are 

probably deeply sick of this odd obsession. It started years and years ago when a friend made a comment about my eyebrows, literally 2 seconds before attacking me with tweezers. She did a horrible job and I cried on the inside. My hair stylist fixed them the next day and all was right in my world. 

Then one day, months later, I was in my stylist's chair completely unaware that I was about to have my Eyebrow World shattered again. Laying back, eyes closed, enjoying that soothing feeling of paper against now-cooled wax pulling hairs out of my face by their roots, when the room suddently became quiet. I opened my eyes to see a piece of paper, held just above my forehead by that sadist's hand. Half of my eyebrow was on that paper. She had waxed off half of my left eyebrow and left me with a curve of a tail. 

This moment did not call for crying on the inside. Oh, no. I cried on the outside. I had a comma above my left eye! That calls for not only tears but full on sobbing while gasping for breath. While everyone else in the place stared silently, thanking God that it wasn't them that would be walking out with a punctuation mark on their face. 

It gets better. She offered to make them match. When I completely Prince Faced her, she said, "Guess I shouldn't have had those 4 drinks before you came in." Say what now? I fired her. She cried. I'm sure she had more to drink to get over it.

Prince Face.

Found a new stylist who helped me grow out that eyebrow. She's done my hair and eyebrows for 9 years now and I've been happy. But a very bad thing happened this summer. She went on vacation and didn't even think to schedule her vacation around my eyebrow needs. 

I had my nail girl do my them. She gave me sperm eyebrows, and not only that but they were about 1/2 of the length of normal eyebrows and very thin. I did not cry this time. I just stared in the mirror. How does someone think this is how another person wants to look?

Back to growing them out and watching my obsession grow along with them. A few weeks ago, on a whim, I stopped into a threading place and got my eyebrows threaded. That was intense. The results were amazing. 

Now that I have achieved the eyebrows I've been wanting, I'd like to believe my obsession has ended. Time will tell.

Yesterday a patient said, "I have to say, your eyebrows are on fleek." I was happier than I should have been. I have finally achieved the On Fleek Eyebrows. 

Watson wanted to get in on showing the world my eyebrows. He very much enjoyed our selfie session. His face doesn't show it but the crazy loud purr told me so. 

Watson Monday

I have a wee bit of Watson, or as a friend calls him "perma toddler", for your Monday. My naughty, so spoiled, fat cat who is a 3 year old trapped in a cat's body. He also clearly owns me and everything I do. Here's the proof.

I get home from work late at night, after everyone else is sound asleep. Watson is typically the only one who greets me and, like a toddler, he is very happy to see that Mama has returned from the longest trip away ever. He greets me at the door with sleepy eyes and a purr that I'm sure would wake the dead. I have my routine with Watson following along as my shadow, telling me about his day. When I go into the bathroom Fat Cat joins me so we can have our nightly discussion of how disappointed he is that I left him for more than 2 minutes and how he thought I would never, ever come back. 

A few nights ago, after coming home and going into the bathroom, Watson became quiet. As any mother of toddlers will tell you, that's always a scary sign of something going on that you don't want to know about but as an adult you know that you should investigate. I turned off my music and heard scratching in the tub...

Yes, I realize I asked a cat a question. My family points this out to me numerous times a week day. But, in my defense, he answers me. Every time. And if you're thinking I'm crazy for defending my conversations with a cat...well...look at the top of the page. You ain't gonna get anything normal from this blog. 

Then there's the only time you will find Watson actually quiet. When he's watching TV. Certain commercials and animated shows really capture his attention. 

If a video of Fat Cat watching TV wasn't enough, I also give you this picture of him doing the same. Because who can get enough of this guy? 

This next picture is of a board over my scrapbook table in my office. Watson frequently lays across it and reaches his paw out toward my head and bats at me while I'm sitting there. Apparently just looking at me from the top of it is not good enough because he always sticks his head down behind the board like this.

The result of his batting at me...

He pulled my hair completely out of the bun it was in. This is what I get for neglecting him. 

Hubby made a Watson Compromise for Fat Cat after I complained that he wouldn't stop reaching out and playing with my hair when I'm working on something. His solution: a bed, right over my table, where Watson can watch me but can't touch me. This is now the corner of the board in the above picture: 

This is my view when I'm at the table. He's directly above me on his blankets, which cover a pillow. His spot is comfier than the chair I'm sitting in right now. Spoiled. 

Wedgies

You know how it happens and you know it happens with anything. Whether it's a thong that shifted just wrong, granny panties, cute little boy short undies, shorts, the seam of jeans, sweat pants, or what have you, they'll all get to you. You're lying in bed or on the couch and start to feel that need to stretch and roll over to your side. Your britches decide that they'd prefer to bunch up onto one of your cheeks rather than just roll smoothly with the rest of your body. By the time you're done rolling over, that piece of fabric that bunched up wrong has now settled down to rest in the crack of your heinie.

It's like those britches are taunting you every time you want to roll over--are you going to actually roll onto your side completely comfortable this time? How badly do you not want to have a piece of fabric slide into an uncomfortable position, in a place it doesn't belong? Is it worth rolling over to risk the dreaded feeling of the wedgie?

You roll over, after hoping against all hope that this time you don't end up with a wedgie, and need to figure out how to fix The Bunching of the Britches. That piece of fabric right there is like continuously hearing fingernails on a chalkboard. Only I'm hearing it with my butt's ears. It's torture. It makes me want to claw my own skin right off of my skeleton.

When I was dating I'd rather live with that torture than let the guy know I needed to pick something out from between my cheeks. I mean, how hot is it to see a grown woman lean to the side and pick a wedgie out while you're on a date? It's not.

So as I'm sitting there, living with The Bunching of the Britches, I'd get too distracted from the movie. I would have to fake laugh at parts that he was laughing at or fake gasp when it was apparently shocking or scary. Because I was only thinking, "I could pretend I have to go to the bathroom right now, but then will he see it when I stand up and walk away? How deep is this thing? Is it like, half the butt of my pants tucked in there? Would he be totally grossed out and think there is something wrong with me, thinking that I didn't notice such a huge amount of material stuck in my butt?" 

What my grundie feels like. 

Trying to wiggle a wedgie out is futile. It only migrates further or clings on stronger. Then you have a bigger problem to deal with. Then there's the issue of wiggling your butt in front of or next to someone else. Are they thinking, "Does she have worms? Is she scratching her butt like a dog on carpet? Or does she think that's sexy? Should I pretend I think it's sexy too?"

Or do they not notice at all because they are actually paying attention to the movie? Wait a minute...I'm over here dying from not being able to relieve myself of this torture. How are they so oblivious to my suffering?! Do I want to be with someone who doesn't care about how I feel? But I don't want him to know I'm suffering, that's why I'm nonchalantly smiling at him when he looks at me...but what if I did want him to know and he didn't notice? 

All these thoughts running through my head. Stressing me out, going to depths I don't want it to go--both the thoughts and the wedgie. The struggle is real. Especially when you're single or newly married.

After 5 1/2 years of marriage, though, I no longer struggle with this. Yay for marriage ending my battle with The Bunching of the Britches. Not that it doesn't happen anymore. Marriage isn't that magical. 

Watching TV in bed the other night, I rolled onto my side. Of course my britches snuck into their unfriendly position. Hubby started to rub my back while still watching TV, completely unaware as to what had really just occurred right next to him.

Rather than have to shift around and around until I was comfortable again, I asked him one question, "Can you get my grundie for me?"  

Marriage means pulling out your spouse's wedgie.

You Can't Catch Crazy, Crazy Catches You

This morning Amazing Grace was packing for a cooking show event she is going to with some other culinary students. Other than a mock interview, she has never had to dress in "business casual" before, so my girl was modeling her new outfit me to critique. You don't want to make any mistakes when you're in a professional setting, hoping to make connections for your future career, yo.

I wouldn't be a real mama if I didn't say that of course she looked beautiful. I mean, it's a comment that is pretty much required when a mother talks about her daughter. The thing that makes it different in my case is that it's true.

So here we are talking about clothes, one of our favorite topics. Let me set the scene...Amazing Grace is in her new outfit. I'm looking at her. We are saying words. Watson decides that is the perfect moment to get into something he shouldn't. Here's what happened...

Me: Watson, stop that.

Watson: doesn't stop that

Me: Watson, if you don't stop, I'm going to spray you with water.

Watson: doesn't stop to even show that he is considering his options

Me: reaching for the water

Amazing Grace: He doesn't understand what you're saying.

Me: If he doesn't understand me, why does he sit on command and answer me when I call him?

Amazing Grace: shaking her head, rolling her eyes

Me: Why does he talk back when I talk to him?

Amazing Grace: I'm leaving before I catch the crazy.

Child, you can't catch the crazy from me. You're my child and grew up around it; it's already in you. The crazy is just waiting for the perfect moment to take over your life and the sooner you accept that the easier it'll be on you.

The Dreaded NCLEX

Looking over the last week is weird for me. Just a week ago I was a nervous wreck, unable to think about anything other than what was happening in a few days: the dreaded state boards.

Last Friday I had 2 panic attacks because it hit me hard that I was taking the NCLEX in a few short days. The entire week I was able to say the test is next week and not count down the days, but once it was Friday "next week" was just a few days away. I felt pressure of it looming right around the corner. It had been a long week of studying for the NCLEX and reviewing lab values, drugs, and everything in between.

"Hey. I thought we were done with
the books and highlighters."

"Don't you see
me down here?"

 Since the NCLEX testing center is 2 1/2 hours away, the plan was for me to go to a hotel near the center on Monday afternoon. I could study in quiet, not drive anyone else batty with my stress-tude, and not have to leave the house super early to make it to the testing center by 7:30. I figured I wouldn't get much sleep Monday night anyway, but then add in worrying about bad weather or who knows what getting in my way while I'm driving, and I would be a bigger mess if I stayed home. Show up late to the state boards, you don't get to take it and you lose your payment. Not worth the risk.

I had been having heartburn all week because of the stress. Each day the pain of the burning was worse. It was horrible. I was resorting to sucking on ice cubes constantly because nothing else was working. On Saturday I had a really scary panic attack while taking my second practice NCLEX exam. Hubby had to help me calm down because I couldn't get myself out of it. Even psych nurses aren't immune to the disabling effects of anxiety.

I felt so much pressure to pass this exam: the cost of a repeat exam (my school gives a refund for the first attempt at the exam; I don't want to have to put together the $$ to pay for a second attempt), the cost of the hotel/driving/etc for going down the night before (if I fail, all that $$ wasn't worth it and then I'll have to come up with that $$ again if I have to take it again), my new job (they hired me knowing when I was taking the NCLEX, what will they think of my abilities if I have to tell them I failed), student loans (hubby is the only income at the time & now I'm adding to our budget with loans for my education), people telling me they know I will pass (I don't want to let them down), & feeling like a failure. The weight of those thoughts were crushing and making it difficult to breath.

Sunday was Boy Teenager's Birthday and now that he's 18, I guess I need to start calling him Adult Male or something. Eh, I'll work on a new name for him, 'cause that Adult Male is pretty hideous. It was also the day that Amazing Grace's culinary school had a cultural cuisine event that we had bought tickets to. Amazing Grace was a cook in the Australian group and it was so neat to see her doing something she loves so much and for such a very large crowd.

The food was amazing and we were stuffed when the event was over. We had a lot of foods we'd never had before, all made by the chefs and cooks in Amazing Grace's classes. I was not pleased with the South American food, even though hubby thought it was awesome. I really liked the kangaroo, which I'd never had before. After I NCLEX prepped and hubby had done homework all morning, it was a nice break for us. I liked having the time for us to relax together before I took the big test, having a glass of wine, eating such fabulously tasty food, with no work to focus on.

By Sunday night, with all of the fun over with and back at the prepping, all I could think was I really don't want to drive so far by myself and I don't want to take the exam at all anymore. I'm just a mess. Over the weekend I took 4 practice NCLEX exams and I still didn't feel prepared. I just wanted more time to get myself to feeling prepared. I told hubby, "I'm just not going. I'm staying home." He gave me That Look.

Monday I couldn't even think about eating and I was visibly shaking while I studied and packed. I was so anxious and felt a huge weight on my chest, making it difficult to breath. Then, at 4:00 while driving, I suddenly didn't have the heaviness in my stomach. I finally hit the "let's just do this and get it over with" point. After a full week of panic attacks, tears, studying with prep books and videos, and being unsure of myself, I just wanted to get it over with. The shaking stopped and I was suddenly starving.

9:00p.m. Why don't
I have this at home?

At the hotel I ate dinner while listening to more prep videos and making notes. When the heartburn got so bad I couldn't focus and I was feeling anxious again, I knew it was time to utilize the hot tub. And antacids. Lots of antacids--before the fire burned completely through my throat.

Tuesday morning, after 1 3/4
hours of sleep. 

Well, I was correct about not getting much sleep. Less than 2 hours total. That is a very small amount of sleep, and it wasn't because I was up studying. Not one of the thoughts going through my head or waking up me had anything to do with the exam. It was the most bizarre night of trying to sleep, ever.

While taking the exam, my computer shut off right after the minimum number of questions. All I could think was, "I either did really, really well or I did really, really bad."

I went back to the hotel for a nap and the pool and hot tub before driving home at 2:00. I drove along, calm and collected, knowing that stressing for the next 2-3 days until I found out the results wouldn't do anything. It was after 5 when a friend texted to tell me I was on the nurse registry. I had passed.

I was in shock for a full 5 hours, just thinking there was no way this was correct. How did they update the list so quickly? I'm not supposed to know for a few days. I didn't just find out so soon, did I? Finally around 10 Tuesday night, it hit me and I cried that it was all over. All of the stress, frustration, exhaustion, fears, chaos, studying, all of it, was over and it was the best news I could have gotten. I am a registered nurse. All of the emotions of the last 4 years, as well as knowing that a dream just came true, came pouring out in the form of tears.

I'm a nurse. Two things I knew I always wanted when I was growing up: a Mom with a big family and a nurse. I am so happy that I became an RN (those initials represent so much for me!) after becoming a Mom because I got to see my children become a large part of my support system. It feels great when one of my children tells me that I'm an inspiration.

And I can finally say--we did it! It was all worth it!

The Next Step

Well, I graduated.

With honors, I might add.

No easy feat. 

Let me recap for you: 6 kids, hubby in school while working long hours, chronic pain, children with medical issues that need attention, Evil Back creating issues with simple things like walking, bending, lifting, and is worse with stress and fatigue, and a long drive to school and clinicals (guess what Evil Back loves as much as stress?)

Now that you're caught up...I'll again say, not an easy feat. And I'm damn proud of myself. Not only did I graduate nursing school, something that takes a ton of determination and dedication, but I graduated with an awesome GPA and with honors. Holding that diploma in my hands, a piece of paper that represents my dreams and goals and hard work was amazing. 

The last 3 months of school contained the most stressful, exhausting, painful, intense days of nursing school. I honestly did not think I would make it to the end, that somehow I would fail a class because I was unable to keep up with all the deadlines and massive amounts of work. On top of classes, labs, homework, hours of reading each day, papers to write, values and theories to memorize, and trying to get some sleep, I also had clinicals and preceptorship hours each week.

First day of Preceptorship. 

Last day of
Preceptorship.

Each day was a struggle to keep up the pace. I never had enough sleep and I was full of guilt for missing my kids and moments in their lives. I missed my hubby and little things like eating dinner with him and going to bed at the same time. Half of the week I had to get up at 4:30 in the morning for clinicals, the other half of the week I had preceptorship from 3-11 at night, sometimes after a 9 am class.

A clinical somewhere
between the first and
last day.

I was always packing more into a day than I thought was possible. I felt like a zombie. And most days I looked like one too.
 

That big book and the papers? Notes for 1 exam.
Not a midterm or final exam.
One. Stinking. Exam.

Ginger Girl took a picture of me...and such an oh so flattering picture at that...and made a countdown that was set for 2 hours after I was scheduled to take my final final.

Before my final
final. 

After my final
final.

How I celebrated finishing
my final final.

What I found on the fridge when I came home
from my final final. From Ginger Girl.

Of course I cried like a baby at my pinning ceremony, especially when it came to thanking the people who supported me through this bumpy journey. By the time I presented a rose to my brother for being the one who unknowingly led me on the path of psych nurse, I was pretty much bawling.

Me crying and that's
Half Brain's hair cuz
that girl got a front
row seat! 

I was so happy that the people who meant so much to me and supported me the most were at my ceremony. I was so happy to share such a huge moment with the people I love. My parents and brother flew from Florida to be there, my kids were proud and my girls were crying along with me, hubby was in the front row smiling, and my family and friends were so happy for me. 

I have been so happy being home and discovering what life is like for a Mommy who does not have such a crazy schedule with constant studying. It is...AMAZING! I like being the one to make dinner again, to catch up on projects I had to set aside, and to actually have time with the hubby man and the kids again. With hubby in school, it's been a nice change of pace to be only on the supporting side. 

I took a nice break where I got sleep, had fun, met with friends I have missed, caught up on my DVR shows, and was a stay at home Mom with only the concerns of my family to tend to. Oh yeah, I also got a shot in my spine, which was not anywhere near my definition of fun. But whatevs.

This last week I have been studying for the NCLEX and finishing up the prep course that my school paid for and I started in January. I'm back to studying and I'm not thrilled about that but I've always got my cats to keep me company. 

Lennon, taking after Watson,
has discovered a new way to get my attention
while I'm studying.

Next step: NCLEX!

This Is What Happens...

 ...when you let a fellow student practice her IV insertion skills on you.

2 days later.

Better me than a patient. 

3 days later.

I volunteered because I'm all about helping other students improve their skills. My arm apparently didn't agree and was showing its outrage.

The worst part wasn't that it was very obvious or that it looked hideous. Or that it produced odd little yellow lines down my arm like I got bored and drew on myself with a highlighter. It's that the colors of the bruise made one of my freckles particularly stand out and look like a nipple.

A nipple.

On my arm. Where nipples should never appear.

This lovely little mark of my sacrifice lasted a full 5 weeks. I had a yellow, purple, and blue nipple on my arm for 5 weeks. I bet you can't say you've ever had to carry that around with you.

I really hope that this student, who is graduating this week, has gotten a wee bit more practice since she transformed my arm into a hideous mark of her novice skills. I am sure her future patients would appreciate it. As for me, no more taking one for the team. I learned my lesson.

The Last Few Months

It has been a very long time since I wrote in my blog. There are reasons for that. Over the last couple weeks I have been much too busy to even think about it, but that is not the primary reason for not writing.

2 days after my last post, I received a phone call in the morning from my hubby, a phone call that I will never forget. He was on his way to his parents' house because of an emergency. He called me again after he got to their house and I was completely shocked by what he said.

His mother had passed away during the night. It was completely unexpected. A shock.

The next few days I spent more time at their house than at mine, helping plan the funeral, caring for family members, then came home to make sure my children were fed and taken care of after I'd been gone all day. I had the honor of writing her obituary. The funeral director was very understanding and gave me plenty of time and space when I decided to do Mom's makeup.

After the unexpected death and everything I had just gone through, I did not know how I could go back to doing something so...normal. I would look at my blog and think, how can I write when my world has changed so drastically?  

I immersed myself in my school work, getting the highest grades in the class and turning in assignments and taking tests on time even though my instructors told me to take weeks off. I focused on helping everyone else. Making sure my sister in-law slept and my father in-law ate, doing anything and everything in their house to help them out, like washing laundry so they didn't have to see Mom's clothes and bed linens before they were ready. I didn't do it to avoid my own grief; I wanted to help them any way I could because I couldn't do the one thing I really wanted to do which was to take this nightmare away.

I watched as my hubby went through motions, organizing a funeral for his mother, taking care of his sister and father, and anything to keep himself busy. I saw my strong husband become vulnerable and looking lost. I had no idea what to do for him. My heart broke and it was physically painful to see the grief on his face and be so helpless to do anything about it.

So how do I go back to doing something that I enjoyed when one of the most important people in my family is gone? It felt like writing would be ignoring what happened. Like I would be moving on with life without acknowledging what we had all just experienced.

Here I am, someone who worked for years in hospice and helped my patients' family members through their own grieving process, someone who knows that it is important for a person's mental health to go through the entire grieving process and feel each emotion as it comes, and I'm suppressing what I know will hurt. I am scared of allowing myself to feel the complete impact of it, even though I know I need to.

I remember the first time it hit me that she was gone. It was 6 weeks after the funeral and I was in a lot of pain because of Evil Back. I was having difficulty walking, my pain was at a 10 out of 10, and I didn't think I could take one more minute of it. I reached for my phone to call Mom2. She was always there for me because she was the only other person in my life that dealt with pain this severe on a daily basis. She always knew what to say. She never said the things some others would say to me like, "you need a better doctor because you shouldn't be in this much pain" or "remember to have faith in God". She understood. 

As I went to her name in my phone, it hit me. In that moment, it felt like I was crushed under a boulder because it hit me so hard that she wasn't here. There are times still when I am having a really bad day with pain and I want to talk to her, just to hear her tell me one more time how strong I am, how much she loves me, how much she understands the guilt of a mama who wants to do xyz but cannot even tolerate doing abc, and having to rely on others for simple tasks.

The next time it hit me, and hit me HARD, was after the Tough Mudder in September. Hubby ran it with a friend and I was cheering them on with the friend's wife and mom. The wife and mom were a lot of fun to hang out with and they didn't have that "we just tolerate each other" bit about them that a lot of wife/mother in-law combos have. They were genuinely friends. I thought, I wish Mom was here so that we could all laugh at these guys doing such ridiculous things and the 4 of us would have a great time. I was so sad that Mom wasn't there and reminded myself that she couldn't have made the long walk with her walker and I definitely couldn't have pushed her wheelchair on those hills, so it's okay...hours later it hit me why she actually wasn't there. All day I had been thinking in the present tense, as if she could have been there.

The week before Thanksgiving, I was honestly thankful that I had a ton of homework and couldn't do anything on that Thursday, because I did not want to face the first holiday without her. Then I felt guilty that I wasn't going to be there for the family, because as someone said to me the day after she died, she wasn't my mother so I don't have a right to grieve on my own and I should set myself aside for her "real" family. (Yeah, I'm a wee bit bitter over that because it really messed with my head to hear that.) In the end, I did try to make it work so I could go to the family dinner but I really had too much to get done before the weekend and I felt horrible that I wasn't there for everyone.

Mom was a wonderful lady and I am so grateful that I got to have her as my second Mom for almost 5 years. We were a lot alike; hubby really did marry a woman just like his mother. We had a lot of laughs and even our times of butting heads but we always came out of it closer and with a better understanding of each other.

I graduate this Thursday. I wish she could be here to see it and to celebrate with us. I'm also scared that I will suddenly be hit with feelings that I've been suppressing, because after Thursday I will no longer have school work to hide behind. I will no longer have that constant distraction and I will have to face what I've been avoiding and dreading.

Will I Ever Graduate??

It feels like I have been in school forever. FOREVER.

Like, dude, this is never going to end. NEVER.

Then you add to it that going to school in the summer sucks. That is all there is to it. No sugar coating it. No seeing the positives. It just simply sucks. 

The kids are home and want to do stuff. I have to study.

Friends want to make plans. I have to study.

It's hot and I melt very easily. I have to study. 

There are tons of fun things to do in the summer. I have to study. 

This winter I was overwhelmed and stressed out because of my school schedule, lack of adequate sleep, everything else that comes with raising 27 children, and increasing pain. My spine doctor was not happy with how it was affecting my health. Since those things cause Evil Back to act out like an insolent child who doesn't get its way, my doctor nicely gave me options about school. 

He is Dr. Amazing and his options were just as amazing as I would expect. "You can either eliminate something in your life or it'll be too much and your back won't handle it" Wow. Such sweet options. Thank you for being blunt, Dr. Amazing. 

Together we decided that the 6 kids couldn't go. The husband has to work the long hours, so that can't be changed. After racking my brain, I looked at him and said, "There is nothing I can change. I am not dropping out of school." His reply? "If you don't change something, you won't graduate. You no longer have a choice." Apparently he wasn't blunt enough the first time. The damage in my spine has spread upward and outward, affecting more joints and causing more pain. 

Oh. Well. When you put it that way...

Let's figure out what we can do here, because now I get it. I'm damaging my spine further by pushing it in the usual Eddi style. Got it.

So I transferred from my school to a campus that is closer to my house. It's a very long, boring story on why I didn't go there originally (and it doesn't make a faulty member look good), but eh, I'm there now. It cut my drive from 90 minutes one way to 70 minutes round trip. That's huge, since driving makes Evil Back especially evil. 

I also cut my schedule in half. The classes I was supposed to take together last quarter were divided into 2 separate quarters for me, making my graduation date 3 months later than originally planned on. I won't be graduating this September because of stretching out these classes instead of taking them together, but hey, I will graduate and that's all that matters. 

And...I get to have a calmer summer. So, while I am studying a lot of the time, it's not as much as I would be if I had kept up the schedule I originally had. Evil Back is happier which means I am too.  

Except when I have to leave my kids having fun in the nice pool, enjoying their carefree day, and I am reminded that I am an adult and have to do adult things. 

Then I drive home after a long day
looking like this. 

So, will I ever graduate? Heck to the yeah, I'll graduate. I just have to do it on Evil Back's schedule instead of mine. I've already proven that roadblocks are simply detours because I don't believe in stop signs in life. It's not going to stop me. 

We'll be partying in December, baby! It'll be a great Christmas present...with graduation comes a long nap. Sorry kids & hubby, I'll see you in January after I catch up on all this lost sleep.

Just remind me of this in a few weeks when I again feel like it will never end, okay?

When Your Mom Is a Nurse...

...you have the best toys on the block.

Like surgical equipment...

...for squirt gun wars. 

The surgical mask is a nice touch there, Ginger Girl. Who needs a squirt gun when you've got a giant syringe to fill with water and get that accurate shot at your target? And it's easy to jump right into the middle of the action when you've got an eye shield and you can't get blinded by water getting into your eyes. It's perfect.

Who needs all those fake plastic medical toys to play Hospital with? Every kid knows that anything is more fun the closer it is to reality. And you can't get any more realistic than with items from your Mom's backpack.

My girls have a real stethoscope, masks, surgical caps, syringes*, sterile gloves, feeding tube bags, gowns, scrubs. They've even got an NG tube**. I'll add that none of these have ever been used on real patients...I'm not weird enough to bring home used medical equipment. Ew.

All that you would need to take care of your sick  siblings patients.
Except the hospital.

It's like an odd convergence of modern medicine and
battle field reenactment.

"Of course I'm a real doctor, why do you ask,
specimen...er...patient of mine?"

Giving your children the (safe) items you practiced techniques with is not only fun for them, it's entertainment for you. 

*Is it really necessary for me to add that there are no sharps in play here? Considering how some people get riled up for no reason, I will add that there are no needles or any type of sharps included in this particular child's play.

**With strict instructions to not actually insert it--the way they recoiled in fear when I originally told them where an NG tube goes and how it gets there, I have no fear that they will ever attempt to do anything but tape it to their stuffed animals for "surgery recovery".

Fat Cat Attacks Other Fat Cat

And now, how about a little bit of entertainment from The Fat Cat?

Every morning, as soon as he hears my eyelids open, Watson greets me by running across the bed with all his might and flying at me as fast as his oversized body will allow. Which is surprisingly fast. He's very quick and agile for someone with so much extra fluff on his body. He defies physics every single day, simply by moving.

Just as he is about to fly directly into my face, he suddenly stops. He stands there and stares at me through half closed eyes while he purrs louder than a lawn mower. It's his happy face. "You had your eyes closed for so long! I thought you would never open them again."

Then he slowly steps onto my chest with one paw, then the next paw, steps foward until his body is halfway on top of me, and sometimes he swings his wide back end over to get his back feet on to my belly. With a back leg on either side of me, he lays down with his face just inches from mine. 

Other times he leaves his back feet on the bed and lays down on me with the rest of his body. It looks so weird because he doesn't bend his back legs, he leaves them standing. I wanted to take a picture of how he was laying on me like this, in his odd little laying/standing way.

I placed the camera on a pillow. It not only captured how he sits, it also gave me a comical series of reactions from a very special cat. 

"Whoa...there's a cat in that little box."

"That fat cat moved when I did."

"I thought we agreed, no more cats in this house."

"He's 'ookin' at me."

"How are you not seeing this, woman??"

Kitty double take. 

"He's not back there."

"There he is again!"

"You think this a game of hide and seek?"

"Think you can hide on me?"

"Now you're a tough guy? You wanna go?!"

"Let's go!"

"Pow!"

"Now who's the tough guy? You missed me."

"Don't look at me like that, fat cat."

"I'm talkin' to you!"

"Now you're boring me, just staring at me like that." 

"Just remember who's boss around here, boy."

Love bites.

Cuz how else do you tell the
fat cat in the little
box that you don't
share your mama?