Eddi Girl

Facing Fears

2017-03-19T15:41:00.000-05:00

It's no secret that I have some normal-ish phobias as well as some really odd ones that even I know are not normal things to be scared of.

First up: I'm terrified of clowns because of that stupid movie It. I read the book when I was 13 and had no problems. Then I saw literally 4 seconds of the movie as I was flipping through channels when I was 18. It was a close-up of Pennywise the Clown and I flipped right out of my skin. Screamed and lost control of all motor function which caused me to take forever to change the channel. A lot of people are scared of clowns, many due to this movie, so that's not so odd.

Next: I'm terrrified of bridges. When I was a kid, I had no problem riding my bike over the bridge to get to my swimming lessons. The phobia developed when I started driving. Suddenly I had visions of the bridge crumbling under the weight of vehicles and sinking to my death in the water below. Again, not so unusual. A lot of people are scared of bridges.

Nope, nope,nope, nope.

Then there's my fear of anything with wings and feet. Click here for the history on that one. A bird will make me run away screaming while covering my head because I just know it wants to land on my head and scratch my face off. Grasshoppers and crickets are terrifying. Praying mantis make me pee my pants.

I'm having heart palpatations just looking at this devil.

I can't forget about my fear of rats and mice. Not all rodents, because hamsters are pretty cool. Watching those hoarding shows and seeing rats or mice run all over the place when they move a box causes me to have a panic attack. That fear is thanks to my mother who reacts the same exact way.

A fear that I have kept secret from everyone but my parents and anyone I've been married to is my phobia of automatic car washes. That one started when I was a toddler and my parents went through the car wash. I don't remember it, but my parents say that I screamed and literally flew over the seat at them (pre-car seats for toddlers). I was inconsolable and forever after that I flipped out on them whenever we went through a car wash.

I have successfully avoided going through a car wash on my own. Hubby washes the vehicles for me and I'm happy with that. If hubby decided the car needed to be washed and we had the children with us, it would force me to act like a grown-up and keep my anxiety to a minimum so they wouldn't freak out as well. For 37 years I've successfully avoided being alone inside the death trap known as a car wash.

Until Thursday. I got brave. My beautiful little Mini Cooper, Elphie, was so dirty from the winter roads and I couldn't avoid it any longer. I got all my courage together and before I could chicken out, I drove up and paid for an automatic car wash.

Before my brain could kick in and tell me to back out and go home, I drove forward into the scary, cold, not dark coffin. Once the water turned on, I realized I was completely trapped and death was imminent. I took pictures so that I could document my death and anyone who came looking for me could see what happened in my last moments of terror.

Oh, crap, I'm really
doing this.

I've forgotten how
to breathe!

How much damage would it
cause to my car if I just drove
through that door and left now?

I'm not brave! I'm not
brave! I'm not brave!

Now I can't see! I'm being
burried alive.

I was so proud of myself. I survived! I felt like the day that I held a bird, after my friend spent a series of days helping me get closer and closer to her awesome pet bird.

I came home and told Ginger Girl, "I've kept this from you kids, but I'm deathly afraid of car washes. Today I..."

She cut me off. "I already knew that." Flabbergasted, I asked how she could know a secret I had guarded so well. "I figured it out a long time ago. Whenever you would say the car needed to be washed and I'd suggest the car wash, you'd say 'oh, we can just do it at home'. Also, whenever someone else was driving and went through one, you couldn't breathe."

All that time pretending to be a grown-up was just wasted. She was never fooled. Oh well, I didn't die in the car wash and I'm proud of myself.

Don't Call Me Ma'am Either

2017-03-15T18:41:00.001-05:00

I had an appointment this morning and then spent some time with Half Brain, the friend who completes me. Or at least completes my brain. I have no shame in admitting that I am only half of a brain without her.

My Evil Back is not letting me do most of the things I want to do lately and it's frustrating to only be able to be upright for so long before collapsing from pain. I'm sick of counting spoons (check out the Spoon Theory if that confuses you) before I do every little thing so that I know if I will have enough spoons left over for whatever I have planned later in the day. I would love to be able to do somethingthing in the morning without mentally calculating if I'll be spending my evening knitting in my comfy bed rather than being active and functioning as a normal human.

When I couldn't sit through a coffee/lunch date with Half Brain, we just laid on her couches and talked. Now that's a best friend. Not only that, but she had my order of Girl Scout cookies ready for me to ~~devour~~take home.

On my way home, 12 boxes of expensive-but-so-worth-it cookies in my car calling my name, I went through the drive thru for some lunch. As the guy handed me my bag of deliciousness, he said, "Have a good day, sir."

I pulled around the corner, parked the car, and took this picture...

Sir?!

I left very confused and more than mildly amused.

To be fair, I would have actually been offended if he'd called me ma'am. While I am certain I do not look like a sir, I am most definitely not old enough to be a ma'am.

Gummy Bears

2017-03-09T16:48:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week I woke up at about 2 in the morning with this giant craving for gummy bears. Not just any gummy bears or even gummy worms or gummy butterflies (which are creepy, by the way). I needed to have a certain brand of bears that is carried in stores that are not open in the middle of the night. They're also 45 minutes away.

What's an independent girl to do when she's craving something she can't wake her hubby up to go get? Hop onto her trusty little Amazon.com app and order herself some gummy bears, of course. I could have just waited until morning and driven to the store to get the gummy bears but my brain didn't think of that then.

I'm glad my brain didn't tell me to go back to sleep and just buy them in the morning, because I saw that I could order gummies in sizes that I'd only ever dreamt of. Screw this 16 oz bag of candy nonsense. I could order bags bigger than my head!

Thanks to handy dandy Amazon Prime, I only had to wait 2 days for my squishy yumminess to arrive. I won't lie, it was a long 2 days. Hubby would come home from work, sniffing around like a bloodhound, and I'd have to tell him the gummies weren't here yet. The sad, disappointed look as he walked away with his head down was heart breaking.

Then, on a cold, windy day, I saw the glorious brown truck in my driveway. The UPS man was carrying a big box and I ran to open the door. I squealed in delight and tried so hard not to lunge at him, wanting that box in my arms immediately. He slowly backed away from the door, not taking his eyes off of me and I turned around to see Ginger Girl with a wicked grin on her face.

That particular grin is not so unusual for her so I ignored it as I danced around, hugging my box to my chest. Then I saw it...the reason for her devious little smirk. She was holding my scissors.

I tried to get them from her, but she pranced away, holding them just out of my reach. I couldn't open the box. She was tormenting me and I became a lion. I was growling and pawing at that box while she stood there laughing and taunting me with the tool needed to open the box. When I resorted to opening it with my teeth, Ginger Girl finally handed me the scissors.

To show just how large a 5 lb bag
is, my not-so-little hand for comparison.

My craving was giant so I had to get a giant bag.

Oddly enough, 5 pounds is cheaper than 3 pounds. Blondie's take on that: "This is America, where we encourage obesity with large portions." Way to burst my bubble, child.

Fingernail Clippers

2017-03-06T17:46:00.000-06:00

There are a lot of things you learn working as a nurse in a jail that nursing school doesn't prepare you for. Like how many crushed up pills stuck to a piece of tape can actually fit inside someone's ear to be smuggled into the jail. Or how to get an injection into someone's forearm when their arms are tightly shackled to their belly.

Recently I learned about a whole different world of fingernail clippers.

On Sundays the officers come to me for clippers to hand out to inmates. Then they go back around and collect them from the inmates and bring them back to my office where the night shift nurse gets to clean them. I know, it's a glamorous job.

For months now I've gotten the same old yellow bucket full of bagged up clippers out of the storage room. Until now, I never noticed that something was written on the bucket. On the outside there is a piece of paper taped to it that says something real clever like "Clippers For Sundays".

I noticed that there was something written under that piece of paper that's taped to the front of the bucket. I couldn't get the paper off, so I had to read it like this...

NON SHANKABLE CLIPPERS
in case you can't read backwards.

How exactly does a fingernail clipper get to be designated non-shankable? These clippers look and act like any other clipper with nothing special to set them apart from any others I've seen. Now I wonder, have I only ever met non-shankable clippers and there's a whole set of these other clippers that I never knew about?

Who was the person that questioned which type of clippers these were, making this sign a necessity? Seeing this brought out so many questions that I never knew I needed answers to. I may never get the answers I seek but I feel safer knowing that our jail only supplies clippers that cannot be made into shanks.

Hair Shade

2017-03-01T17:02:00.000-06:00

Naughty me, I overslept the other day. I vaguely remember grabbing my phone and snoozing my alarm when it went off. Or so I thought. I actually turned it off. Oopsie.

25 minutes later I woke up in a panic. I grabbed my scrubs and ran for the shower. After getting dressed, I had a choice to make: do my hair or leave in time to pick up a coffee on my way. Priorities are priorities, people. I grabbed some bobby pins and threw my hair back.

I got to work on time with my giant cup of coffee, sugar, and cream in my hand. I went about my day, seeing patients, injecting fluids into bodies, and being utterly amazing. As I sat down at my computer in the office after all this awesomeness, another nurse behind me exclaimed, "Oh, my gosh, what did you do to your hair?"

I immediately put my hand on my hair and said, "I don't know, just don't look at it. I overslept and didn't have time to do anything."

She continued looking at my hair anyway, "What do you mean you didn't have time? I love it!"

I was sitting there thinking, you don't have to lie, I'm sure it looks like poo.

A couple other coworkers started commenting on my hair and asking me to show them how to do it. I heard, "You should sleep in more often. It looks great, like you spent more time on it."

Dang, was that some shade she just threw my way? She claims she really meant it as a compliment. I'm pretty sure she's got some rockin' shade skills.

My glorious no-effort hair, after work.

Apparently my hair has never looked
so good.

Either way, I'm totally getting more sleep from now on. There is clearly no reason for me to put time into my hair anymore.

The Confession

2017-02-24T14:46:00.000-06:00

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

2017-02-20T15:02:00.004-06:00

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

2016-04-03T01:16:00.000-05:00

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

2016-03-06T14:10:00.000-06:00

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

2016-02-27T17:45:00.001-06:00

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

2016-02-18T18:05:00.001-06:00

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...

2015-12-14T16:33:00.001-06:00

...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

2015-12-14T16:13:00.001-06:00

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??

2015-07-27T12:34:00.000-05:00

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...

2015-07-26T13:13:00.001-05:00

...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

2015-07-11T15:21:00.000-05:00

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?

Sometimes You Just Wanna Be Silly

2015-07-10T14:36:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I like to stop what I'm doing, find a child, and ask, "I'm taking a surprise break. What do you want to do with me right this second?" The other day Little Blondie's answer was, "Take silly pictures!"

So we did. The following is the result of doing whatever the 10 year old told me to do for each picture.

"Regular smile!"

"Show as many teeth as you can!"

"Make your cheeks big!"
(Hey, child, why am I the
only one doing it?)

"Don't have eyes!"

"Be a zombie!"

"You look so silly!"
"I'm not the only one, dear."

Bye-bye School Break

2015-07-10T14:21:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, the day before I started school again, we took the 2 kids who weren't off with friends or work and went on a canoe trip. Our area is so full of beautiful rivers and lakes that we have no excuse for not taking advantage of the recharging boost that a relaxing day on the water provides.

This guy sat on
my hat for 5
minutes.

Look closely--he's smiling.
Cuz that's not creepy at all.

Since the girls both needed to get used to maneurvering their little canoe, we tied them to the back of ours and pulled them in the beginning. They had to figure out how to work as a team, something siblings don't always accomplish, and Little Blondie needed a wee bit of encouragement to use her muscles and pay attention to which side she was paddling on. It was both comical and frustrating to watch.

Smiling Little Blondie.

Smiling Ginger Girl.

The view on the river was beautiful.

"Okay, dear, try to
keep that canoe
you're paddling..."

"... to under
55, okay?"

I love how old bridges look.
They tend to remind me of Beetlejuice though.

I pointed to a log barely poking up out of the water and said, "Shh, girls. Crocodile." Every once in a while I would point out another one just peeking up at us or to one they just missed that went under the water or to the brush and tell them to be quiet because that's where the mamas go with their babies. You don't want to make a lot of noise when a mama crocodile is watching over her babies, you know.

It's a sneaky way to get kids to hush for a wee bit, but it works. This mama ain't got no problem doin' whatever it takes to get peace and quiet.

Halfway through,
we saw this sign put out
by one of the home owners.

Worked perfectly in my
favor.

We disconnected the 2 canoes before one of the rapids because we would have surely tipped us all trying to go over it all together.

Paddled the 2 of us across first and whadda ya know?

"You go get the girls..."

"...I'm not goin' anywhere."

Hubby retrieved the girls and eased them right over the rocks by walking their canoe.

"Mom! Are you stuck??"

When the water was calm again, we untied the girls and let them go next to us to paddle themselves. They were doing great, working together, figuring out how to actually make the boat move.

We were having fun, we were almost to the end. At some point, somehow, hubby and I ended up sitting facing each other in the canoe. The girls were in their canoe next to us, we were going slow, enjoying the scenery. I hear a rushing sound and look behind hubby to see we are taking on a ~~butt~~ boat load of water. "Uh...uh..." was all I managed to get out while pointing at him. Of all the times for me to not have words, that was not an appreciated one. He's all, "What's wrong?"

Hubby turned to look just as the back end of the canoe went completely under. I tried to stand up and step out of the boat but my foot got stuck.

Okay, to be perfectly honest, I was trying to keep my flip flops on. I got these flip flops at Disney Land a few months ago and they have Mickey face gems around them. They're awesome. And you don't understand--they're the only flip flops I have ever found that I can wear because they don't have latex in them. They're special, yo. If I slipped my feet out of them, they'd be gone down the river, like Little Blondie's red shorts ~~that I had told her to leave on~~ , never to be seen again.

My persistence to not lose my foot grip on my very special, latex-free, Mickey Mouse flip flops, caused me to tip backward. Tip is too graceful of a word for what I did. Feet stuck to bottom of the boat, arms flailing at nothing, body completely straight, going butt first into the water. Hubby lunged for my chest where my phone was tucked away. He missed.

I was able to quickly pull the phone out and held it above my head--yay for long ape arms--just as I hit the water and went completely under. The whole 3 feet under. He saved the very expensive phone from being immersed. And my sunglasses and hat never came off my head. Win win.

The girls were hysterically laughing as I stood up. I'm pretty sure at least one of them wet their pants from laughing so hard. "Mom, that was the funniest thing I've ever seen!" I looked at the girls holding their sides and laughing in their boat. I gave Ginger Girl a look. "The funniest thing you've ever seen is your mother going under water?"

They both gasped for air while laughing, "He reached for your boob! And then grabbed the phone instead of helping you!!"

I guess when you see it from that point of view, it really is the funniest thing you've ever seen. We explained that he wasn't trying to save just my boob and that I actually wanted him to grab the phone instead of me. "That phone is worth more than I am, girls." They disagreed. Good girls.

Uh...yeah, that's our
boat.

In my defense, I knew the water was so shallow and this was supposed to be a relaxing trip, not a wild ride, so if we did tip over, my phone would be in little danger of going completely under. Also, my phone does have several waterproof sealed layers on it, but I didn't want to test them out by not at least trying to prevent it from going under. Also again, I need to take pictures; it's who I am. No judgment.

3 1/2 hours, a pair of missing shorts, no missing flip flops, some bumps and bruises, a dry phone (that will stay home next time), and a lot of fresh air and sun later...we survived. It was a great way to end my school break.

4th of July Weekend 2015

2015-07-09T15:40:00.000-05:00

When your dog is scared of fireworks...and you live with a bunch of softies...you end up with this...

Hubby left to get ice cream for everyone and came back with a cone in a cup for Zipper. Zipper, the dog who was sitting on my bed with Ginger Girl and me, shaking from all the big bad scary noises invading his space.

Picture this: hubby walks in, Zipper only glances up like, "Oh, hi, you didn't make the bad noises stop." Zipper puts his face back in his girl's lap, waiting to be comforted from the attack on his senses. Suddenly Zipper picks his head back up, in the doggy version of a double take, and sees the upside cone with vanilla ice cream in a clear cup. You know you have a spoiled puppy when he sees that and instantly changes from hovering in fear to shaking and giving puppy whines out of excitement. He knew it was his, because that's how his ice cream appears in front of him after unfun visits to the vet.

"Girl, get out my bowl!"

"I know that's
for me!"

"Someone help me here? The
cone is stuck around my mouth."

It took him a good 2 minutes to realize he could just close his mouth and the cone would break in half. He was so pathetic with a cone around the bottom half of his mouth, looking at us like he couldn't get out of it.

Ice cream mustache.

That's the stuff.

And just 'cause I know you are dying to know if Zipper survived the horrifying ordeal of firework noise--yes, he did. If burying himself in the corner of a littler box while everyone was preoccupied and couldn't hold him counts as surviving.

We couldn't miss the traditional 4th of July parade in our town. It's huge, fun to watch, and Blondie is in the marching band.

The girl section.
Amazing Grace, Ginger Girl,
Little Blondie.

The old people section.
Dad2, hubby, me.

There are no pictures of the boy section because there wasn't one. Boy Teenager had a concussion and had to stay away from loud noises and Big D had other plans.

Last year's parade had Little Blondie and Big D getting captured and put in the Shriner's jail (and a picture to see how much my hair has grown in 1 year, holy cow). There was also the year that they put me in that darn ol' jail. When you have a large family, you should apparently just expect to have someone placed in jail each year because there are just so many of you sitting there on the side of the street. Shriner jail. Not other jail.

Amazing Grace's turn.

Aw, no Amazing Grace.

She was oh so not pleased to have been chosen. She put up quite the impressive fight too. Those Shriners have no sympathy for pouty 18 year olds though.

School Break

2015-06-23T16:46:00.002-05:00

I studied my butt off all quarter long.

I studied on
vacation.

Every day of vacation.

So much studying.

Will this
ever end??

I was exhausted, I was emotional, and I was desperate to have my life back.

"...listeni..."

"No, baby, I'm totally..."

"Talk fast, I'm quickly
fading."

"Just let me finish this one
last sent..."

"I'm just resting my eyes
because they're worn out."

I missed my family as I worked long hours with a 3-hour round trip commute.

Look at me, I fake being
wide awake pretty well.

"Don't fall asleep at
this stop light. Don't
fall asleep."

Talk to me about covering
bags under the eyes.
I've become an expert.

There were moments of questionable sanity.

"Say cheese, Sim Man..."

I handed my studying over
to a sleeping cat.

There were those in my life who kept me focused on what was most important.

Watson made sure he was never neglected.

Nemo had her own way
of begging for attention.

"I brought you a toy, now let's play."

Entertainment from
a child & a cat.

"You're just sitting
there with a book.
You can pet me."

I couldn't have done it without my wonderful children being so understanding and helpful.

"Blondie, can you get me a Coke with ice
while I work on this?"

I couldn't have done it without my wonderfully supportive hubby.

Throughout this quarter, we went through a rough period that every honest couple can relate to. It was not easy for us as we were highly stressed, had no time for each other, and allowed little things to become big arguments. There were days we could set aside the stress and have fun together and others where we weren't fans of the other and did our own thing. We fought over stupid stuff that really didn't matter and didn't know what to do about the things that did matter. Even when we tried to fix something we just made it worse, because we were both so exhausted that we didn't have the energy to listen to what the other needed. It was not the marriage that either of us wanted and it wasn't us. It was difficult to think this is what we had become, that this was the new us. Deep down beyond it all, I knew that we still loved each other; we just forgot how to show it and did everything wrong until we were so far from right that I was unsure we'd ever find it again.

Until my mentor said to me, "Every day is a choice. Every day he chooses to be with you because he loves you. Now you can choose to let go of things or you can choose to hold onto them and be unhappy..." I made my choice on the way home from talking to her. I chose to see the small stuff for what it was: petty and unimportant, and I let it go. We took some time to ourselves to talk about the stuff that did matter. And listen. And old issues were resolved.

Our commitment to each other is the only thing that got us to the other side and being able to show and feel love again. Stress is a powerful, horrible parasite that sucks the life out of a person and a relationship, if it is not addressed immediately. Thankfully, we didn't let stress kill our marriage and I learned a lot about how strong we are. I know if we can survive the stress of this quarter, which was at a level I never imagined possible, I know we can handle anything, together.

Each "way to go, Mom" from my kids and "I'm proud of you" from my parents has helped me through more bad days than I can count. My friends and family have been a huge support through this quarter as I questioned whether I was strong enough to deal with everything along with my crippling Evil Back. They held me together when I literally could not stand on my own.

All of my hard work and dedication paid off as I earned the highest grade in the class for the most difficult course in nursing school. From the first day of school, the instructors, deans, and former students make sure you're aware that this particular class will be...to paraphrase...hell, and not everyone passes the first time they take it. That is why I am so proud to say that I completed this quarter with a 4.0. I feel sad for my friends that didn't pass and it made it bittersweet for me as I kept my own happiness quiet. I wish they could have congratulated me on my hard earned grade, since they know how difficult it was to accomplish.

I am so very proud of myself and grateful for all the support I received. In just a few short months, I will graduate as a nurse and these days will all be memories.

Gettin' Down with My People

2015-06-22T17:03:00.000-05:00

When you're married to an Irish person, there are some things you must be prepared to endure. First, we are a confident bunch. We know what we're good at and we have no problem showing you that you're doing it wrong. Get used to this 'cause our self-esteem won't be dwindling just to make you feel better.

Second, we are story tellers. As I learned at Irish Fest, it's bred into us. We were encouraged to pass on our history verbally rather than written, so you really must get used to the chatter. Also, we exaggerate. We are honest in our story telling, so it's not that we are lying or even bending the truth...we just like to prove our point by emphasizing certain details.

Another thing, the majority of us are a proud bunch. Not all, but we don't speak of those that aren't. Kinda like how you don't speak of your uncle's third nipple or your cousin who married her sister's ex-husband. Everyone in the family knows about it, but it's not something you discuss and you let new people find out on their own. You're not necessarily ashamed, you just know there are much more interesting things others should know about your family.

So, those of us that are proud of our heritage, are very proud. We wear our red hair, freckles, blue eyes, outgoing personality, and/or see through skin like a badge of honor. And if you're one of the luckiest of the lucky you have all of those traits (*cough cough* some of us are just luckier than others). And we love to get together with our people. St. Patrick's Day is only one of the days you must celebrate who we are. Irish Fest is another.

Thankfully, hubby is quite pleased to not only tolerate all of these things, but also willingly partakes in them. I firmly believe that he wishes he was Irish. Marrying me was the closest he could get to that wish because he gets to have all the Irish in his life without also having the blood.

At Irish Fest.

We learned the history of the legendary red-headed fiery temper. I will summarize it for you: way, way long, long time ago, before the interwebs or cell phones, a lot of people in Ireland were lazy. They hired women who happened to have red hair to do some things they very easily could have done themselves. Then they did not pay these women--apparently they were not only lazy, they were also not that wise. As a result of angering the original red heads, red headed women are now given this mythological temper (to go along with the amazing personality and looks, of course) as they seek repayment for this long overdue debt owed them. More proof that you should never tick off a red head, as if you needed more.

Them's some big green balls
you got there, hubby man.

It's no secret that I am not a dog lover. There are a few select breeds that I am completely in love with and my heart melts when I see them. That list of breeds has been very, very small for my entire adult life.

Last weekend I added 1 more breed to that list....

Irish Wolfhound.

I want. Not now, because it would not fit in my teeny tiny house. Seriously, the thing is as long as my bed and as tall as a few of my children. Add those together and you've got an animal that can knock over a couch and china cabinet just attempting to take a nap.

Oh, do you see that lovely sweatshirt I am wearing? It's my Dirty Dancing sweatshirt that hubby bought me because I loved the show so much. Yeah, it's awesome.

Elbow out,
head high.

He is not a huge fan of
Guinness, but he puts
forth his best efforts.

Now, let me demonstrate for you the proper way to drink a Guinness. First, it must be in your very own Guinness glass, engraved with your name. Then, you need to drink "below the foam," as hubby put it. It does take a wee bit of savvy applied to the drinking of this great beer, so as to show it the respect it deserves. Hubby does not have proper form here. You need to put your elbow out and own that beer and your space in time. I have no problem owning my space or my beer.

After the proper poised stance, you need to ensure that you are drinking mostly beer with just a little bit of foam. Don't just take a mouthful because you'lll get all foam that is full of bitter notes. In practicing this technique, if you do not encompass the Irish proficiency for drinking delicious beer and all other forms of liquor you may end up looking like this...

Uh...you have a little
something...on your...

Dirty Dancing

2015-06-18T12:43:00.000-05:00

Hubby and I went to Dirty Dancing where in a few hours, hubby breathed in more estrogen than he gets in a week living in a house with 5 females. There were so many women revved up on excitement, wine, and nostalgia, it was the old lady version of a Justin Bieber concert. Picture all those screeching, giggling teeny boppers, all teary eyed and flush faced at the thought of the Biebs looking their way, grabbing their bff's arm because their excitement is threatening to knock them to the floor. Now add wine and 30 years.

There were women wiping drool of their chins just waiting to get to their seats. I'm pretty sure those same women wet their pants once the show actually started. The combination of wine and bottled up excitement can easily cause an old lady bladder to shed a tear or two of its own.

Mr. & Mrs. Eddi Girl

Looking around before the show, I saw that they had set up extra chairs to seat people in places that I've never before seen people sit. It was mostly people of the overflowing estrogen variety. I patted hubby's hand and told him he's a good boy for going to Dirty Dancing with me. Such a good boy. There were a few husbands holding the hand of a very giddy wife and laughing at the wistful look on the wife's face.

At intermission hubby said the show was boring. I can't say I was surprised to hear him say that. I thought it was excellent and I was actually sad that we had to have an intermission. I didn't want to take a break from it.

But, as these pictures prove, there is never truly a boring night with me.

H: "Your weird face is
definitely weirder than mine."

"Why did you smile
like that?"
"To see what I
look like without eyes."

H: "I had caramel in my mouth & you said to smile.
What's your excuse for that face?"
I have no answer.

He thought the second half was much better than the first half. Hubby liked half the show, I loved the entire thing. On top of that, we got a night out by ourselves. I'd say that alone is a win-win.

For a very long time now, I have told hubby that when I graduate he ~~should~~ could surprise me with a Mini Cooper for all my hard work. After the show, there just happened to be a black one in the lobby.

I graduate this year...
it's a sign, dear hubby.

Of course, you can't go to a Broadway show without getting in the photo booth so that you can feel like you're a part of the show. The props included sayings from the show. I told hubby to smile and hold whatever props I gave him. When he saw what he was holding, he was definitely amused.

Sums us up pretty well, I think.

I...well, I had the time of my life, and I owe it all to hubby. And if you've seen the movie, you know how cheesy that was of me to say.

Graduation Day

2015-06-03T21:11:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time, a Friday started like this...

Why yes I have clinical after a night
of more hours doing care plans
than sleeping.

And ended like this...

Why yes my baby girl is graduating.

Amazing Grace, all graduated.

Amazing Grace, all happy.

All my girls & me.
Ginger Girl, Amazing Grace,
Little Blondie, Me, Blondie

Amazing Grace & Mama.

Leading up to her graduation, I was so overwhelmed with all of these emotions that I couldn't name, that I would break down in tears every time I thought about it. I thought for sure I would not be able to get through the ceremony without all the Kleenex in Wisconsin.

I cried a few tears when my girl sang with her choir. It was the very last time she would sing as a high schooler & the song was a wee bit emotional of course. I made it the rest of the time without crying.

Not my mother. Through the amazing world of technology, we were able to have my parents and brother, all the way from Florida, watch almost the entire ceremony. We didn't have the best connection so we lost them for a few seconds here & there, but easily reconnected & overall they didn't miss much. They didn't miss her walking in & they didn't miss her walking across the stage, the 2 most important parts. I got a picture with my phone, of my Mom on the other phone, crying as my daughter walked into the gym. I love that picture of my Mom wiping her tears. It's priceless to me because that's exactly the way she looked the first time she met Amazing Grace.

I made it through the pictures afterward without crying. I made it all the way home, the entire 3 blocks, without crying. "Look at me, dear. I didn't cry as much as we thought I would." Hubby, without looking at me, said, "It's coming,"

He was right. Dang it, he was right.

As I was standing next to my bed, looking back through the many, many pictures & videos I took of the ceremony & afterward...I cried. And cried. She grew up too fast & before I was ready to let go. Little stinker. I couldn't stop time & I didn't believe anyone that she would be grown before I knew it. She really didn't stay a colicky baby forever & she did outgrow those toddler temper fits where I feared the neighbors would think I was beating her. She didn't get her 5 year old wish to stay little forever & I mistakenly blinked and caused time to lapse.

All I can hope now is that I taught her everything she needed to know & that I did everything she needed me to do, because it's Amazing Grace's turn to show the world what she's made of. I hope the world is ready.

And on that note...

1 down, 5 to go.

A Wee Bit of My Days

2015-05-17T17:20:00.002-05:00

Would you like a teeny tiny wee bit of a taste of my life? If not, there' s an X in the corner of the screeen. If so, you're in the right spot.

Recently I have...

Filled up on this fuel...

...almost as much as I
have filled up on people fuel.
Coffee!

Wondered who put a
mustache on the library clock.

Studied.

Been spied on while
I ate my mac & cheese.

Wished I could sleep this
soundly.

Came home after work to laid
out jammies & a note to get
sleep, after only getting 2 hours of
sleep the night before...

...along with this note under
the remote, next to my jammies.

Written many, many care plans.

Been this tired.

Attended a few surgeries...

...*not* as the patient, for once.

Walked in to find Amazing
Grace being sat on...

...and then threatened
with a pounce...

...and thought Amazing Grace & Added Daughter
have the weirdest fights ever.

Pondered over a tax
agency having a tele-
tubby hold their sign.

Posed with Ginger Girl.

Celebrated as Amazing
Grace earned college
scholarships.

Walked in on Watson
holding down my school
stuff & someone tucked
him in.

Enjoyed Blondie's last choir &
band concerts as a Freshman.

Cried like a baby at Amazing
Grace's final choir concert.

Fell asleep studying.

Loved Ginger Girl's choir concert.

Worked.

Made crafts with Little Blondie.

Woke up every AM with this
pressed up against my
shoulder & arm.

Mommy's Little Shadow

2015-05-17T14:52:00.002-05:00

Mommy & Mini Me

Blondie had to job shadow someone for a school assignment. I was honored that she asked me if she could come to work or school with me. Unfortunately, she couldn't shadow me at work because it would take about a month to complete all the necessary paperwork for her to be able to be there. So Blondie came along with me for a day at school.

During the 1 1/2 hour ride there, Blondie said, "You do this 3 times a week? You really put in a lot of time get your higher education." Oh, that child. She has quite the way with words at times.

"Hey, little girl, that is not
what we are doing today."

In lab Blondie followed me around, participating as much as she was allowed in all the skills procedures right next to me. She watched a video about a disease process and later said she definitely has that disease because she has all of those symptoms. Ah, welcome to nursing school, my love. It's the place where you are constantly convinced you or a loved one are dying of each disease you learn about. She met the Sim men and women....

...and my Sim Baby.

"Blondie, come meet my Sim Baby.
She's so sweet."
"No, Mom, keep that creepy thing
away from me."

That mean little girl called
Sim Baby creepy.

I thought Blondie would love to meet her newest sibling while all the other students were practicing skills. I thought it would be a sweet moment between a 15 year old and her newborn Sim sibling, but alas, it was not so. I was very, very wrong. That girl shunned my beautiful little baby like she had the plague.

In the lab, I taught Blondie what each thing does and when it is used on a patient. She was equally grossed out and horrified by the many places the tubes and hoses enter patients and how I get them there. She watched as I inserted all the many tubes and catheters into the Sim people, thankful that she was not watching this on an actual person. It was immediately apparent that it was a good thing the job shadow was occurring at school and not at the hospital.

I'm pretty sure Blondie was relieved that there was nothing for her to learn in my next class room and that she could sit in the corner and read her book. She was ready for a break, for sure. She tuned everyone out with an ease that I've never seen before. Blondie has always been good at tuning people out, but this was recording breaking speed.

I think Blondie's favorite part was the lounge.

"I wish my school had this."

"Yeah, I like your
school, Mom."

On the way home she told me she has a new appreciation for how tired I am. "I'm exhausted from watching you and I didn't even have to do any of it. Then the long ride home. I understand now why you don't want to get back in the truck to drive us places or you need to rest sometimes. And I don't even have the health issues you have, so I know it's even more tiring for you." Yes! Finally, someone gets it.

We decided that every child in this house should go with me for a day to see what I do and what long, busy days I have. With 27 kids, there has got to be at least 1 more that will get it at the same level Blondie got it.

If not, there's always boot camp. I've heard that's a good way to get kids to appreciate their mother.