Georgia on my Mind

Last week, Jared and I had the chance to go to Savannah for a vagina conference for my work.  I know most people who went would have said they went to the Nurse Practitioners in Women's Health or NPWH conference.  I guess technically that is also accurate, but not nearly as interesting as saying you went to a vagina conference.  I learned all sorts of stuff while I was there.  Like what to consider when treating a menopausal woman, and information on high blood pressure in pregnancy, and even what I need to know to become an opioid use disorder provider, just to name a few.  It was an informative week and I enjoyed all the knowledge pearls I found, but the best part of the whole trip was this:

Those are two of my colleagues from Idaho, Linda and Helene.  I just loved working with both of those ladies and now that I live in Rhode Island, we rarely see each other anymore.  It was so great to be able to take vagina classes with them, and even better to have some time to catch up our friendship.  What did we do besides talking about vulvas all day?  Well, we hung out in a cool old graveyard where Nathaniel Greene used to be buried:

Nathaniel Greene was one of Washington's most gifted generals in the revolutionary war and he was born in Warwick, Rhode Island!  His home in the Ocean State is called Spell Hall and they have all sorts of reenactments and activities there.  I did not know he died in Georgia, so imagine how happy I was to find out he was there!  Turns out they dug him out of the graveyard we visited and plopped him under an obelisk that is in one of the lovely parks in Savannah.  We actually found a few people from Rhode Island who ended up living and dying in Savannah.  This surprised me a little since Rhode Islanders never leave Rhode Island.  But Savannah is a pretty lovely town, so I can understand why someone wouldn't mind moving there, and staying to die there too.

We also visited a gorgeous catholic church, The Cathedral of St. John the Baptist:

Look at that place!  Helene, Jared, and I, went the first day we were together and had a great time.  I said a swear word inside on accident while Helene and I were chatting, and later, she dropped her metal coffee mug on the floor and made a huge racket.  It was fantastic!  We liked the church so much, that when Linda and her husband Shane showed up, we went back again so that they could check it out.  Who walked in that second time, but a conference of LDS mission presidents!  Here's the Alabama mission president and his wife.  She probably thought I was crazy for getting so excited for a selfie, but there aren't too many LDS folks out here and it was nice to see some of my peeps... 

I asked Helene, who happens to be Catholic, all sorts of questions about cathedrals, mass, and holy water that she couldn't answer.  Since Helene didn't have all the deep, dark info I needed, the docents in the church stepped in to clarify for the both of us.  I told Helene if she wants me to convert, she better get busy trying to advertise the benefits of Catholicism a little better.  I then thought better of it and admitted that if I ever DO convert, I have always planned to run to my Catholic friends for three important reasons:

1. Catholics build mighty fine churches
2. Midnight mass
3. Wine

I digress...

What else did we do?  Well, we ate our faces off that's what!  Loads of sweets, way too much popcorn and bread, and quite a bit of seafood and steak as well.  We did a lot of walking, ferry riding, and rain dodging, and before we knew it, the week was over!  Here are the three girls saying goodbye:

Helene and Linda left in the late afternoon, but Jared and I got to hang around in Savannah until later into the evening.  We got caught in a huge rainstorm that soaked our stuff, but spent some time drying out in a comic book store that happened to have this:

Ms Pacman!  When Jared and I were first married, our apartment had no laundry facilities.  The closest laundromat had the necessary washing equipment, but it also had a Ms. Pacman console!  Once a week, we would grab 10 bucks in quarters, haul our dirty panties to the laundromat, wash and dry our clothes, and waste the whole day playing Ms Pacman!  It's one of my fondest memories of my early married life, and to this day if I see a Ms Pacman game, I feel obligated to drop in some change and play a round or two.  We only ended up spending about $1.50 since Jared only had 2 quarters to start, and the comic book store only had a buck worth of quarters in the till.  Too bad for them.  I had 20 bucks and would have spent it all on Ms Pacman if I could have.  

After Ms Pacman, we caught an Uber to the airport where we saw Paula Deen flying into Savannah on the same plane we were leaving on:

I wanted to run up like a crazy person and tell her I had visited her store the day before and had peed in her bathroom.  She would have been really happy to give me a proper selfie after that I'm sure.  However, I tried to be cool about the whole thing and respect her privacy, so you'll just have to appreciate my creepy peeping Tom pics instead.  You're welcome Paula.

The plane ride home was bumpy because of tropical storm Nestor, but we made it home to little Rhody and settled into our bed at about 2 am yesterday.  The girls woke up me up just a few hours later to beg me for the prizes I promised to bring them from my trip.  I also overhead some interesting conversation that certainly was different than the stuff Jared and I usually discuss when we are alone.  Here's the top three:

1. Don't fart on me Bub!  If you're going to fart, stand up!
2. I hate the Patriots!  Tom Brady's face looks like a pile of dirt!
3. When I was at the dance, I needed to poop, so I went into the bathroom and took a mean stinker!

That's right Savannah.  There's no place like home...  It was nice to meet you and I hope to come back and eat my way through a bit more of your fair city.  However, I was starting to miss my kids and the Ocean State, so it was good we parted when we did.  Don't worry.  I'm sure I'll visit again one day.  Just be sure to take good care of Nathaniel Greene until I can get back...  

Rage Renewed

I've been so busy these last two months since starting my second semester of my post masters, that I haven't had time to do much else besides study.  Unfortunately, this means I haven't had time for my home renovations either.  I promised Hannah last summer when I ripped her door off to refinish it, that I would definitely have it done in just a few weeks...  That was nearly 18 months ago.  The poor thing sits in my garage, so close to being done, yet so very far away.  Hannah stopped complaining about it so much once I hung a sheet over the gaping hole to her room, but I know for a fact she would like to have something more solid to change her underpants behind.  Sorry Hannah.  You have only yourself to blame for being born.  You know exactly what I am like and that my projected finish date for a project is at least 2 years longer than I say it will be.  That means, your door should be done in like 6 months.  It could be worse, Hannah.  Your door could be my dining room:

That's my most recent pic of Jared doing some work and we weren't even working on the stupid dining room!  I got started with that project in January with the goal of having it done by the time my parents and sister got here in June.  Well, here we are in October, and I am only slightly further along than I was in June!  I told Jared very clearly a few weeks ago that I want to be finished by Thanksgiving when his brother comes to visit.  However, let's not kid ourselves.  Thanksgiving is like a month away which means I have absolutely no chance of meeting my goal.  Nevertheless, because I spoke the goal out loud and Jared said, "ok.  we'll get it done,"  I now have a scapegoat for my unhappiness when the project sits unfinished during the holidays.  Having a scapegoat to blame and deride is nice because it helps you feel better about being an asshat yourself.  Trust me on this.  I do it all the time...

One nice thing about not having time to work on my projects is that I forget about how much I hate Maria.  You know, the lady who owned the house before me?  Whenever I can dedicate some time to a project, it just reminds me what a tool she was, and gives me hours of things to complain about.  I had forgotten for a while what a dink she was until I decided to work on this:

That's the wall leading into my kitchen.  See the bulge in front of Bub's fingers?  That sucker has been bugging me since I moved in.  I've had a lot of theories about what might be going on under there, but finally decided that since I am getting close to being done with the entryway, I didn't want to put a nice coat of paint on that hallway to the kitchen without fixing that bulge.  Plus, Maria had like three different pieces of baseboard tapped on that wall so I needed to do some cosmetic work anyway.  I had the solution for the bulge all worked out in my mind and pounded my screwdriver into the mess to see if I was right.  I was not.

Forgive Bub's fingers.  She can't seem to leave me alone.  Turns out Maria had a piece of molding under the bulge that was being used as a kind of feathering tool I guess.  I stood there scratching my head trying to figure that one out for a while, then got busy ripping it down.  Jared was gone when I got started and to prove that he really only gets mad about the projects that endanger his pooping or showering habits, here's all he said when he came in and saw me ankle deep in plaster:

Since Jared's a pretty good old bird, he started helping me with the remainder of my wall destruction.  We soon discovered Maria had hammered a piece of sheetrock over the original lathe and plaster, which then made a ledge on the wall, which then necessitated the molding feathering tool.  However, we couldn't figure out the reason for the extra piece of sheetrock in the first place... that is until we finished ripping off the sheetrock to the abutting wall:

If you can't tell, the sheetrock they used on the opposing well is sticking out further than the wall leading to my kitchen.  Instead of trimming that extra sheetrock, they just added another piece of sheetrock to my hallway wall to try and match the two up.  I'm guessing after they got that taken care of, they had no idea what to do about the area of the wall that was now higher than the rest, so used the molding to help them feather the bulge in an attempt to blend it into the existing wall.  FAIL!  Maria and friends, I hope I don't ever see you again.  Seriously.  You are a dink.  Thankfully, Jared and I knew exactly what to do and were actually pleasantly surprised at how easy this repair is going to be when we finish it.  Here we are with the opposing wall all trimmed.

That's right.  Suck it Maria.  You are slowly fading and eventually I will have replaced all traces of you and I will only be left with my own idiocy -  which is much easier for me to swallow anyway!  See Hannah?  Don't worry.  I'm gonna get my dining room/entry way project done and it's gonna look super good.  I'm even gonna get your door done.  I swear it's only gonna be a few more months.  Give or take another 2 years...

Midwifery Week

Midwifery week just ended, and I spent it like I spend every midwifery week: working as a midwife, taking care of my family, and trying to get some sleep in between.  One of my partners posted this to celebrate:

It made me think of all the nurse midwives that have helped shape me through the years.  Whether it was a pearl of wisdom, a scolding, or just a word of encouragement when I felt down, each of them has helped transform me into what I am today.  While I was ruminating, I remembered another poem that hit a chord with me:

One of my current partners had shared this at a birth blessing we all got together for.  I like to read it from time to time to remind me just how magical midwives are.  We are strong, we are passionate, and consider ourselves advocates for women, their babies, and their birth experiences.  I had three births with a physician before I finally saw the light.  I was in midwifery school and realized that there was a better way to birth.  We were in Salt Lake City at the time, so I found a birth center I liked, a nurse midwife I trusted, and did a 180 degree turn around from the three induced births I had previously had.  It was a profound experience, it cemented my beliefs about birth and the power of my own body, and I was hooked!  That was 12 years ago!  That out of hospital water birth was my Lily and here we are today:

  

I felt sentimental so I sent an email to Rebecca Williams, the nurse midwife that ushered Lily into the world.  I wished her a happy midwifery week and thanked her for the way she changed my life.  It was sappy but I don't care.  It's important for our stories to be told and midwifery is so often a very stressful and thankless job, that it's a ray of sunshine when a patient is grateful for you and takes the time to tell you so. 

My last baby was Bubba.  I ended up delivering her with my partners Helene Reusser and Karen Owens when I still worked in Rexburg.  That was a precious experience too.  I love and trust both of those women and was so grateful they were with my for my last birth.  I hardly ever remember to thank them on midwifery week, but every year on Bub's birthday, I send out a selfie with the two of us and remind Karen, Helene, and my friends, Tina and Laken (who both tagged along to watch) just how many years have passed.  It's just my way to mark another day that was profound because of midwifery care.  Here's this year's selfie:

To all the OB doctors out there:  I'm grateful for you, especially the ones that work with midwives!  We need you for the sick ladies, the surgeries, and for help deciding what to do when things are complicated.  However, you really shouldn't be doing the low risk births (just in case you didn't know).  Leave those to the midwives.  We know what we are doing and the women we care for know it too.  Our mark is deep and important and the impact we leave behind on the women we care for cannot be duplicated. 

If you know a midwife, send her a note and thank her for being around.  If you had a midwife deliver a baby for you, hug that baby a little tighter and be grateful for your experience.  And if you know how to find the midwife that was there, send her a note; tell her about your birth and how it changed you.  I can guarantee you will make her day and give her a little more fuel to keep plugging onward when times seem hard or stressful.  Happy Midwifery Week everyone!  Even if I am a few days late...