Please Don't Make Me Go

These last few weeks have been filled with co-workers and patients extending goodbyes as my upcoming adventure looms.  I have given out about 1 million hugs, shed 2 million tears, and have consumed three tons of treats dropped off in my office by well wishers.  

Since today is Tuesday, mom, Bubba and I usually go to lunch together.  On my way to mom's, one of my well wishers sent a sweet pic of her last two babies I have delivered.  Incidentally, both births were memorable and lovely.  I started blubbering like a baby, thinking about all the lovely people and Tuesday lunches I'd miss in Rhode Island.  Thankfully, my mom's sentimental heart is pea sized, because when I pulled up to her house, she saw me through the window and flipped me off.  That Christlike action enabled me to pull it together long enough to eat lunch.

And yes, after three days of regular heart beats, I'm back on the sauce.  I'm disgusting.

After lunch was over, I fiddled around with some last minute cleanup and found myself doing this:

Jared and the girls were somewhat saddened and surprised by the scene, despite the three month notice they've had.  I don't blame them, my sentiments match theirs exactly.  I'm trying to remember that I'm a grown woman with courage and a huge sense of adventure, but to be honest, my cajones feel pretty shriveled right now.  Wonder if mom could come over and flip a few birds to help me keep myself together...

Off the Sauce

My student and I finished a 2 day stretch at the hospital where we induced a lady for preeclampsia, and ended up doing a C-Section because the baby was face up and just wouldn't fit.  I was bummed to give up the birth, but Carla was thrilled with all the hours she got to take credit for.  Students suck.

As if all the waiting at the hospital wasn't bad enough, my heart skipped beats every few minutes the entire day yesterday.  I reviewed in my mind several things that can cause heart arrhythmias and decided that for my own comfort and safety, I should probably lay off the Diet Dr Pepper for the remainder of the day.  I made the decision by 2 pm after I had already consumed at least 100 ounces of the delicious elixir.

I didn't get home until about 1 am this morning and my heart was still wigging out.  Jared tried feeling the skips with his hand on my chest since my stethoscope was at my office.  I decided not to tell him he probably wouldn't be able to feel the skips, because his hand was touching my left breast, giving me a much needed thrill.  Unfortunately, he gave up feeling me up after five minutes saying, "I can't feel the skips from your chest."  Well duh!

As I laid there at 3 am, still unable to sleep, in part because I was obsessing about my skipping heart, I decided I'd lay off the sauce (caffeine in Diet Dr Pepper) and if the skipping didn't stop by Tuesday, I'd go see Internal Medicine before my exodus on Friday.  I've been off the sauce for about a day and a half and the skipping has stopped.  I considered restarting the habit tonight but drank water instead:

Do you know what water tastes like?  NOT DIET DR PEPPER!  What am I supposed to do now?  I hated those skipping beats, but I hate not drinking Diet Dr Pepper!  I gotta find a new bad habit fast.  I'd be perfect without it and I don't want anyone to feel badly about their inadequacies when hanging around me.  Anyone have any suggestions?...

It is Finished

I'm 10 days away from the great migration and I finished all of my painting today.  I have some fiddling left to do in the basement, but I've accomplished everything I needed to before I leave.  Now, I'll just obsess from a distance until the house sells, worrying about the deep abyss into which Jared and the girls will send my lovely home.

Of all the repainting, I think this final hallway bugged me the most.  I loved that teal color I chose.  I love my chandalier and I'm missing the mirror and picture collages that are now packed in sundry boxes around my home.  "Marina Two" is bumming me out.  "Marina Two" is the second batch of mixed mistints that I picked up for 10 bucks.  I couldn't even enjoy my frugality once the teal began to disappear.  Here I am posing at the end.  I put on my trashy robe my mother in law gave me a million years ago since as usual, I painted in my underpants:

I sure hope all the sand, yummy food, and people speaking louder than I do, makes up for the house, family, and friends I'm leaving.  I'm definitely on the negative pendulum today.  Better not text Alyssa; she'll just rub it in...

Refinement

Upon meeting me for the first time, most folks are tempted to think I'm trashy.  In fact, most of my family members think I'm the trashiest of the bunch, possibly rivaled only by my sister Patty.  I certainly can't argue with many of the judgements against me, but let's be clear that I am not trailer trash.  Nor am I crack whore trash, redneck trash, or gangster trash.  I am white, but I'm not white trash either.  No, I'm... refined trash.

Like good wine, cheese, and leftover lasagna, I'm getting better with age - despite my trashy tendencies.  A few days ago Kayley noticed I have like 5 white hairs on my head.  Some of the people I respect the most in my family (my mommy included) have ended up with the most beautiful silver hair in their thirties.  I always hoped I'd get lucky enough to inherit the gene so that I would seem wise beyond my years.  I've been jealous of Jared because his goatee and sideburns have gotten mighty white the last few years.  FINALLY!  My five white hairs and I are joining an elite refinement club!  Can you see the object of my respect?!

In addition to my refined white hairs, it may come as a surprise that someone as trashy as me might also appreciate some culture once in a while.  In fact, Jared and I have had season tickets to Broadway shows in Salt Lake City since we got married nearly 18 years ago.  Every few months, we drive down to Utah with one of the girls, have a fancy meal, and listen to grown people sing instead of talk for 2 hours.

Lucky me, my move to Rhode Island will put me closer to Boston than I am to SLC right now.  Luckier still, I got to purchase season tickets today through the same company I always have, and soon, I'll be watching all the Broadway musicals I can handle in the Boston Opera House.  What will this season hold?  Why, Cabaret, King and I, and Finding Neverland for starters.  Awesome!

That's me being extremely refined after buying my tickets.  The devil horns give it away...

 

Some Friend

I'm sure most folks know I'm getting pretty excited for my new adventure in Rhode Island.  I've heard a lot of great things about the people there and have come to understand that I'm going to fit in well.  

My greatest source of information about Rhode Island has been my friend, Alyssa, who is from Warwick originally.  She and her jerk husband are the only folks who blab about how awful Rhode Island is and how much I will hate living there.  They also spend an inordinate amount of time telling me how inappropriate I am, especially when discussing my beloved blog posts.

Despite their unfounded abuse, I still spend time with them on a regular basis and even paid for carnitas and banana splits tonight prior to my exodus to the east.  Those lunatics stole my phone after my generous act and left me many choice pics.  The best being this one:

Umm.  What was that you were saying about The Ocean State and her inhabitants?  I cannot see a single downside to leaving if everyone over there is like Alyssa.  I truly have found my motherland.  Peace out spuds.

It's the Final Countdown

I'm 15 days away from my trek to New England and my last bastion of color is ready to be covered in neutral puke.  Jared posed for a pic as he pulled down the last mirror in my beautiful teal hallway and noticed afterward that it looks like he's taking a pee:

Tragic thing is, I just renovated, rewired, and painted this hallway less than a year ago, and that damn chandalier was not cheap!  Oh well, I'm sure it will compliment "Marina" nicely and hopefully some boring sucker will appreciate my hard work.

Know what else I'm counting down?  15 days until I leave the student who was stupid enough to come and train with me right before I left.  I actually really enjoy having students because they keep me on my toes, requiring me to think about every little thing I do and how I do it.  Students are also nice because you can bully them all you want and what can they do about it?  You're in charge of their grades so they have to pretend you are right!

Despite their advantages, students are also exhausting what with their incessant chatter, questions, and whining about their homework.  When my current student went out of town this weekend, I got a little excited thinking I was really going to enjoy some alone time.  Guess what?  I miss the gassy lunatic (she cropdusted me recently and I cannot let her live it down)!  Marie, the new CNM and I, actually had to see all the patients today.  I haven't had to do my charting by myself since January and it sucks!  I even attended a lovely rapid birth today and felt bad my student missed it.  

If I examine my true feelings, I probably miss my student because I don't have anyone to abuse while she's gone.  I can't abuse Marie anymore because she's graduated and is my equal!  I can't abuse the office staff because then they wouldn't help me with my crappy phone calls and other grunt work!  Whatever the reason for my sadness, I texted the following pic with a love note telling the student I miss her.  Want to guess what I'm doing?

If you said eating black licorice while peeing in a John at the hospital right after the birth she missed, then you would be correct.  My upcoming move is making me wax sentimental, but never fear, I haven't lost any of my class...

Hello Grandma

Since coming home from work tonight I've been badgered into looking at all the crap my babies bought at the mall with their sisters last night.  The weirdest by far was this beauty:

A wig?  I don't get it.  I like to use my Christmas money on normal things like shoes, clothes, or a striptease from my sexy lover.  I asked Lily if it was an Anna wig from Frozen.  She looked at me like I was a moron and then informed me that the braid in front obviously made it a "new" Cinderella wig... whatever that means.  After treating me like a second class citizen she then bugged me 20 times to try it on to see if I would like it.  Since the little weasel poured me a Diet Cherry Coke, I took a break from painting my back room to humor her while I sipped my beverage.  Here I am:

Lily said, "wow Mom!  You look young."  I asked her what she thought I was without the wig.  "You're getting older."  I then demanded what grandma was if I was "getting older."  Apparantly, Lily thinks she's just plain old.  For a frame of reference, I asked what she and Bubba were.  That would be young and very young.  When I demanded to know how old someone had to be to fit in a particular category it went as follows:

Up to five:                  Very young

Five to 31:                  Young

32-49:                        Getting older

50-71:                        Old

72 like Jared's mom:  Very old

I don't want to be old in 9 years!  Beat it Lily!  But leave the stupid wig behind, I wear young quite nicely...

Watch Out!

After months of procrastination, this happened:

Kayley is now legal to drive alone.  For her maiden voyage, she wanted to drive all her sisters to the mall.  I tried to think of multiple excuses requiring a chaperone, but Jared reminded me she is 17 and I gotta let go sometime.

It isn't that I'm worried about Kayley so much as I'm worried about my van.  That sucker is beat to hell from 11 years of kid hauling, but I need it to last two more years until Hannah finally turns 18 and I kick her out - high school diploma or not.    After realizing my arguments were futile, I finally acquiesced to all the peer pressure and surrendered my van keys to fate.

While the five animals were out spending their remaining Christmas money, Jared and I went grocery shopping... Alone...  Totally alone...  It was quiet, organized, and glorious.  No one yelled at anyone else in the store.  I didn't have to beg Bub to stop hanging on the cart.  No one pleaded for bagels and chocolate (though I purchased both anyway).  Jared had to go to the bathroom, but I didn't have to argue with my older children to take him so he wouldn't get lost, and thus, didn't lose any time shopping.

Since I didn't have to wade through the normal shopping bullcrap, I had the fastest grocery trip of my life.  We even beat the girls home which was eerie and quiet since the van was missing and so were the girls.  Yep, I'm still nervous about my van, but I think I can get used to the ease this third driver might bestow upon me.  In fact, I'm kind of snacky.  I wonder if Kayley would make a Wendy's run...

Tell Me a Story

I have painted almost every room in my house with my move to RI looming ever closer.  I even covered up the lovely pastel colors in my room a few days ago with "Marina" that I lightened even further with some leftover white paint.  It was damn depressing.  I tried to keep a stiff upper lip and told all my kids my room didn't look half bad.   Every one of them saw through me and said they hated it.  Even my lover who never cares about anything made an unsolicited comment about missing my bedroom colors.

The brown on my walls matched my brown mood today given that I've been feeling rather sad about my upcoming move.  In case you're keeping track, I'm leaving in 26 days.  I was wallowing a bit in my misery until I called my sis who has been having some serious problems for the last 16 months or so.  After our 20 minute phone call, I realized I better shut my yap about my tiny worries.  I also need to remember to send her some money and a bag of Doritos to eat her problems away with.  

I just need to remember how much I have to be thankful for.  I have a supportive family, a new adventure on my horizon, and this sexy hunk:

I love grabbing or touching this guy's ears.  Truth be told, I love grabbing and touching anything I can get a hold of on this dude.  He's delicious to me, is always on my side, and tells me lots of stories that make me laugh.  Like tonight for instance:  he told me in his emotionless voice all about an idiot that he had in jail who wiped his butt with his shirt.  He had to write the guy up for destroying county property (the shirt) and the dude got indignant.  "You're writing me up?!" he demanded, to which Jared replied, "you shouldn't have wiped your ass with your shirt."  It's like he has 400 babies in grown up bodies that he gets paid to babysit.  His stories are incredible, totally true, and when told in his monotone, completely hilarious to me.  

After the story, my bipolar Rhode Island pendulum swung back to positive again, and I've decided to think of a certain poopy shirt headed to the county landfill if I need a quick pick me up.  That, and maybe I'll try to squeeze in some extra ear rubs before I go...

Stupid Dog

Nearly a million years ago when I had only two babies, (2005) I traveled to Washington DC with Jared, my good friend Lynda, and my brother Jeff.  It was a wonderful trip for many reasons.  For Jeff, it was wonderful because my mom found him his idiot dog Puppets

Some acquaintance of my parents found Puppets at a rest stop and thought my family might want her.  He or she obviously knew my folks well because my mom snatched up that deformed dog faster than I snatch up Snickers bars.  My  mom had called to tell Jeff all about her just a few days before we headed back to Idaho, and he almost couldn't contain himself for the rest of our trip.  Check out her missing eye.  She's just as ugly now as she was back then...

This little runt bugs the heck outta me for lots of reasons, but Jeff adores her.  He was at some point supposed to claim her from my mom now that he's a grown up with his own house.  Unfortunately for mom, he probably never will.  Since mom has been Puppets's primary guardian all these years, she has developed a fairly nice relationship with that dog.  Mom pretends to hate the freak almost as much as I do, but she certainly hasn't done much to evict the weirdo.  

Puppets used to be quite loose in her younger days.  Her baby daddy lived a few doors down from my mom and would come around looking for a piece fairly regularly - until he met with a nasty demise under the wheels of a car.  Beside her actual baby daddy, she'd let any filthy breed get their jollies on her, until mom finally got her a back alley abortion at the vet and fixed all her whoring around for good!

My daughter Kayley despises the fact that Puppets has her own designated spot in the couch that she does not appreciate being pushed out of.  If you don't watch yourself, that little witch will try to nip your fingers off.  She also can't stand that Puppets will burrow under your blanket with you and stick her cold little nose on you.  And as mentioned before, might just nip you if you try to squeeze her out.

I could go on for hours about all the stuff that bugs me about Puppets, but the thing that really irks me is her eating habits.  She won't eat normal stuff like raw chicken fat, but she'll eat chocolate chips til the cows come home if mom would let her.  She also won't take food out of your hand; you have to drop it on the floor so her majesty can decide if she likes it or not, and most of the time, she turns up her nose and walks away from any tidbit you drop.  Know what she particularly loves?  Boogers.  You heard me correctly.   Boogers.  When my brother Sam visits, he'll hack up a loogie, let it dangle over Puppets, and she'll lick it right out of his lips.  I cannot stress enough how much I hate both Sam and Puppets for engaging in this behavior.  Worse still?  She likes her boogers in solid form.  Here's Jeff giving her a treat a few Sundays ago:

 Man I really hate that dog.