Saturday, February 28, 2009

another baby post

Today in clinicals, I picked a patient I thought would result in a lot of involvement. I was wrong. Procedures got canceled, and everything returned to normal. Just meds and vital signs. I was bored. So I walked into the room where the patients don't have much family attention (to put it as delicately as possible)... and this little man stared up at me from his bouncer. He had a good four ounces of thick spit-up covering his chest and crusting happily in his little neck creases. He wasn't screaming or even fussing. He was merely watching the activity around him with infant curiousity. I peeled the soggy garment off of him and only when the cooler air hit did he squirm his protest. Three warm washcloths, a dry shirt, a new blanket, and a rocking chair later, he was still absorbed in quiet attentiveness. He took in the newness of my shirt and stethoscope, my hair, and face. I would talk and his eyes twinkled with pleasure. They really and truly did.

And school was pleasant for a few hours.

Thanks, Jim

Don't look this guy up in anything else. His language is worse than Dane Cook's. This is great, though. And so true.... which is the foundation of all comedians. Real life, explained ironically.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Cravings... the Y chromosome will never understand

Today, before post conference, I raided the freezer in the hospital that is designated to the children. Chocolate ice cream. I headed for the door.... wait a minute. I wanted... no, I needed something else.
Cabinets and drawers. Open and close. Open, pause, close. Nope. Nope. Definitely not.

Oh yeah. Smuckers Peanut Butter in the little Cracker Barrel packages.

I sat down and dug in with my plastic spoon.
Blair looked at me. "Chocolate ice cream and peanut butter? What are you, pregnant?"

Friday, February 20, 2009

good night

Today my phone didn't ring once.

It was.... actually.... pretty fabulous.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Either stoned or an amazing actor

Is this for real?

How did he go from this to this?

I still cannot decide if he's acting or not. Basing it off of his offense at the laughter and at David's befuddlement, I don't think so. But.... I can't decide.

The full interview was taken off of youtube by CBS. This is a clip of the most awkward moments. You decide.

When i get that degree...

I am going to start piano lessons back. I miss them. I want to learn the theory I never learned and pick-up Debussy, Chopin, Rachmaninov, and Mozart. Yes, even Mozart, though I still harbor ugly thoughts of him.

I have friends who are still taking lessons and they mention the headache of practice and the joy of performing it completely and the rush to memorize.... and I want those feelings again. So badly! I never thought I would miss them, but I do! I sit down now and try to play them only to find that my touch has drained. I refuse to let it go. I worked too hard to get it.

Thus... I have decided I need lessons. I need a teacher. I need someone who will say, "You HAVE to get this done by this date." Because it's someone expecting me to do it that will make me do it. It's a lack of self-discipline, I know, but it's the truth.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

raw scrapings

You know those people who get on your every last nerve... and then you find out you had even more nerves than you knew? And that THAT person was the one who made you realize it? Yeah? I know a girl like that.

Everything that a female can do that shames me, she does. Everything that is supposed to be mysterious about women, she brazenly airs. All that should be pure and gentle and quiet she turns to brassy, cracked mud. She is a fool in public and shouts "I don't care!" She is dramatic and extremely giggly. Her hands wave in huge arcs, her body contorts, and her legs kick, trying to gain more people's attention as she talks, which she does constantly and loudly. Interrupting is her hobby and listening is not. She brags of her weekend escapades, which usually involve a new boy, little clothing, and some kind of ...liquid? But those memories aren't very clear so she really isn't very sure! Everything she has said or done is supposed to be the funniest thing you've ever heard of in your life. I stopped participating in the obligatory laughter. I can do it once or twice, mind you, just not every minute. Am I supposed to be impressed that you can talk like a black person? Black people do it all the time and it doesn't impress me. Your sense of humor irritates me. Just stop talking. That's all I ask.

I vented all of this to my Mom that evening. She looked at me and said, "And yet, she has a soul that will never die, just like you."

Hoover Dam. Sometimes, I enjoy sinful thoughts a little too much. The heir to the kingdom was airing her own foolishness, arrogance, and selfishness.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

you know this already

I've been closely observing daily motherly duties recently:

You all know I cannot wait to be a mother. I CANNOT wait. I mean... obviously, I have to, but I'm really really really looking forward to it. I mean, REALLY. Okay, you get the picture.

But I get worried every now and then. Can I make it? Can I do it? Will I be able to teach and clean and cook and feed and encourage and love and support and sacrifice and cook and clean and bandage and discipline and submit and clothe and love? And feed? And clean? And be a hostess? And live abundantly?

As I watch my Mom, day in and day out, get up, do school, clean the house, wash the never ending Everest of clothing, come up with another meal plan, attend her duties at our church, take us to events, give up what she wants.... I get scared. I have come to realize recently that I am not nearly as compassionate and unselfish as I (very arrogantly) once believed. Am I prepared? Am I preparing myself? Do I really want this? I will have to give up pretty much all of my wants and my expectations to meet those of a husband and children. Suddenly, I realize why women screeched so loudly that they were sick of this and that THEY could hold down a job just as well as HE could! Bringing home the bacon couldn't be any harder than this! Hire a nanny and get me out of here!!
So, sometimes I..... I..... sshhhh, don't tell anyone. Sometimes, I... hate the Proverbs 31 woman. Hate her.

She works willingly always. Her lamp doesn't go out at night (yet, she has children... when did that occur?). Her husband praises her always. She makes clothing for everyone and their mothers. She probably had amazing hair too. Why did God put this in the Bible? To make it completely unattainable?

And yet... even though I know that I will have many many days of burned dinners, screaming toddlers, an upset husband, a disgusting house, and hardly any clean clothes, and that I will possibly never hold a candle to Ms. Proverbs.... I want to do it. I want to help a man raise many children to bear the image of God. I want him to go to work and come home to a full house. I want to stay home to teach and hold them. Just like my parents have. Because, to quote a college advisor, I "don't think there's a more noble goal than that."