Kelley tagged me in retaliation for the Kelliloo crack. Here goes:
Four jobs I've had in my life:
1. Stay-at-home Mom
2. Assistant Professor of Chemistry
3. Grad-school lab grunt
4. Ice cream shop clerk (best job ever!)
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Pretty Woman
2. The Hunt for Red October
3. Parenthood
4. The Wizard of Oz
Four places I have lived:
1. Bloomington, IN (my spiritual home)
2. Fort Riley/Manhattan, KS
3. Stuttgart, Germany
4. West Point, NY
Four TV shows I love to watch:
1. Lost
2. The West Wing
3. Desperate Housewives
4. Survivor
Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Liechtenstein
2. Seattle, WA
3. St. Petersburg, FL
4. Cape Cod, MA
Four of my favorite dishes:
1. Lasagne
2. BBQ ribs with Shiner
3. almost anything from Ben & Jerry's
4. menu item #9 from the Snow Lion in Bloomington, IN
Four websites I visit daily:
1. Delphi
2. Tastefully Simple
3. The Blog of Death
4. Hicktown Diva
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. in my own bed in a far-off dark tower (asleep)
2. dog park in Bloomington, IN (maybe I should check the weather first)
3. Washington, DC (as a tourist)
4. in my own bed with my husband (not asleep)
Four bloggers I'm tagging:
1. AK (always been good to me)
2. Lisa (maybe she'll play along this time)
3. Gretchen (bringing her into the fold)
4. Donovan el Curioso
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Well, that was no fun.
Does anybody else remember that old old episode of ER, back in the young Mark Green days, when the ER was super backed-up, and there was a kid with a severerly cut finger(?) whose mom kept asking "when are they going to see my son?!" and of course everyone in the ER was cranky and out of sorts, and by the time the kid finally did see the doctor, it was about 6 hours after the injury had occurred, so protocol wouldn't even allow Mark to suture it, so that entire wait had been a waste of time, and MG was so upset by this that he gathered his team and they triaged the waiting room armed with nothing but their stethoscopes and ballpoint pens?
I was so afraid this was going to be us Friday night.
Yes, my Big Girl suffered a fall in the bathroom and cut the back of her head, probably on the archaic door handles on the cabinets. This happened while mi esposo and I were at a church leaders' banquet in the basement of our church -- read, no cell phone reception! By the time I got the message(s) from my mother what had happened, it was nearly an hour after her fall, and we were on our way home anyway. She was doing fine by then, but Mom still had concerns that the cut needed to be looked at.
(So many things to kick ourselves over in the meantime: Why didn't I make Big put the stool back into the bathroom, or do it myself? Why did we think it was OK to take the car with the carseats and leave my mom with no safe way to get the kids to the hospital herself, should it be necessary? Why didn't I leave Mom with more emergency numbers? Why didn't I know that the church phone would ring downstairs if somebody called?)
At home, both parents looked at the cut, consulted the guidebook from the ped's office, and determined that it really did need professional attention. Decided that mom should come with me to answer questions. By the time we got in the car it was probably 9pm. (Hooray, that new road to the hospital sure came in handy!)
ER pretty busy. We waited a couple of hours to see the triage nurse. During this time, Big kept herself pretty entertained with the books I had on hand, the crayons and worksheets from the ER liaison, etc. But she dropped a crayon under the table and then BUMPED her head again coming up, which reopened the wound and got a bit more blood everywhere. Yeah, won't be telling the husband that little fact! After triage, we sat in a different waiting room, where there were a few other kids. They all had fun being goofy with each other, which helped pass the time. (A little baby next to us, same age as Busy but several pounds lighter, was sick with a nasty unbreathable cold; Big kept getting concerned and asking why the baby was crying. Kinda sweet.) Oh, and during this time, Big told the "real" story about her fall. Something about dancing around on the counter pretending an episode of Blue's Clues. Totally believable about her. I think I'll start sewing bubble wrap into her clothes and hats tomorrow.
Finally around 1am we got to an exam room, saw a doc, etc. I asked her if we were too late for treatment since it had now been almost 6 hours since the injury occurred, but she assured me we were OK. Verdict = needs 2-3 staples. Yeah, we could numb that, but (a) we'd have to shave the area, keep us there longer, and (b) would hurt just as much as the staples themselves. Knowing how much Big HATES having shots (she just suffered 4 booster shots earlier this month), decided to skip that step. The choice of a bad mom? Geese, I hope not. Had my doubts when Staple#2 wouldn't stay in and it took the doc 3 attempts; Big's face was a horrifying mix of pain and shock. The process leads me to realize that staples as a medical tool really skeeve me. Especially when applied to the skull of my precious girl. It just turns my stomach to look at them.
The anticlimax: Home by 1:30am. Put sleeping Big to bed, cursed when the inevitable commotion woke up Busy, sat with her a few minutes, then turned in myself. I was starving by this point, since I hadn't eaten my usual 2-3 desserts during the hospital time. And HEY, only six more hours until we had to be back at the church for a f*ucking "coaching conference" for church leaders. My buddies at the table only had to enforce my long-standing "don't wake me unless I'm actually snoring" rule once; thank God nobody turned out the lights!
Not much to report from Saturday morning. Got a small earful from GIH over whether we LIED to the hospital staff by stating that Big had no LOC, rather than the probably-more-truthful I-dunno. Fretted a while, wondering whether she would wake up OK. But she did, and that's about it. We go back in 7 days to have the stitches out.
ADDENDUM: Cursing myself again over the latest discovery, after I finally got Big into the bathtub and rinsed her hair. (The ER nurse told us to put her in the shower right away when we got home, but since it was so late and she was already sleeping, we bagged it. Another eyebrow raised by the GIH, but I don't really care. He'd been asleep since 9:30pm on this particular night, and has no right to criticize the choices of the sleep-deprived women who had been dealing with the matter for 6 hours.) Oh, but the discovery is that Big has a MASSIVE bump on the back of her head, a few inches away from the wound that was treated. So she slipped off the counter, cut her head on the cabinet handles, then landed on the tile floor. I'm nervous now. Keeping my eye on the bump and will probably call her doctor about it Monday. So far, nobody else in my family has noticed, and Big's not complaining about it herself, so maybe it's just nothing. A bump could be nothing, right? Right?
I was so afraid this was going to be us Friday night.
Yes, my Big Girl suffered a fall in the bathroom and cut the back of her head, probably on the archaic door handles on the cabinets. This happened while mi esposo and I were at a church leaders' banquet in the basement of our church -- read, no cell phone reception! By the time I got the message(s) from my mother what had happened, it was nearly an hour after her fall, and we were on our way home anyway. She was doing fine by then, but Mom still had concerns that the cut needed to be looked at.
(So many things to kick ourselves over in the meantime: Why didn't I make Big put the stool back into the bathroom, or do it myself? Why did we think it was OK to take the car with the carseats and leave my mom with no safe way to get the kids to the hospital herself, should it be necessary? Why didn't I leave Mom with more emergency numbers? Why didn't I know that the church phone would ring downstairs if somebody called?)
At home, both parents looked at the cut, consulted the guidebook from the ped's office, and determined that it really did need professional attention. Decided that mom should come with me to answer questions. By the time we got in the car it was probably 9pm. (Hooray, that new road to the hospital sure came in handy!)
ER pretty busy. We waited a couple of hours to see the triage nurse. During this time, Big kept herself pretty entertained with the books I had on hand, the crayons and worksheets from the ER liaison, etc. But she dropped a crayon under the table and then BUMPED her head again coming up, which reopened the wound and got a bit more blood everywhere. Yeah, won't be telling the husband that little fact! After triage, we sat in a different waiting room, where there were a few other kids. They all had fun being goofy with each other, which helped pass the time. (A little baby next to us, same age as Busy but several pounds lighter, was sick with a nasty unbreathable cold; Big kept getting concerned and asking why the baby was crying. Kinda sweet.) Oh, and during this time, Big told the "real" story about her fall. Something about dancing around on the counter pretending an episode of Blue's Clues. Totally believable about her. I think I'll start sewing bubble wrap into her clothes and hats tomorrow.
Finally around 1am we got to an exam room, saw a doc, etc. I asked her if we were too late for treatment since it had now been almost 6 hours since the injury occurred, but she assured me we were OK. Verdict = needs 2-3 staples. Yeah, we could numb that, but (a) we'd have to shave the area, keep us there longer, and (b) would hurt just as much as the staples themselves. Knowing how much Big HATES having shots (she just suffered 4 booster shots earlier this month), decided to skip that step. The choice of a bad mom? Geese, I hope not. Had my doubts when Staple#2 wouldn't stay in and it took the doc 3 attempts; Big's face was a horrifying mix of pain and shock. The process leads me to realize that staples as a medical tool really skeeve me. Especially when applied to the skull of my precious girl. It just turns my stomach to look at them.
The anticlimax: Home by 1:30am. Put sleeping Big to bed, cursed when the inevitable commotion woke up Busy, sat with her a few minutes, then turned in myself. I was starving by this point, since I hadn't eaten my usual 2-3 desserts during the hospital time. And HEY, only six more hours until we had to be back at the church for a f*ucking "coaching conference" for church leaders. My buddies at the table only had to enforce my long-standing "don't wake me unless I'm actually snoring" rule once; thank God nobody turned out the lights!
Not much to report from Saturday morning. Got a small earful from GIH over whether we LIED to the hospital staff by stating that Big had no LOC, rather than the probably-more-truthful I-dunno. Fretted a while, wondering whether she would wake up OK. But she did, and that's about it. We go back in 7 days to have the stitches out.
ADDENDUM: Cursing myself again over the latest discovery, after I finally got Big into the bathtub and rinsed her hair. (The ER nurse told us to put her in the shower right away when we got home, but since it was so late and she was already sleeping, we bagged it. Another eyebrow raised by the GIH, but I don't really care. He'd been asleep since 9:30pm on this particular night, and has no right to criticize the choices of the sleep-deprived women who had been dealing with the matter for 6 hours.) Oh, but the discovery is that Big has a MASSIVE bump on the back of her head, a few inches away from the wound that was treated. So she slipped off the counter, cut her head on the cabinet handles, then landed on the tile floor. I'm nervous now. Keeping my eye on the bump and will probably call her doctor about it Monday. So far, nobody else in my family has noticed, and Big's not complaining about it herself, so maybe it's just nothing. A bump could be nothing, right? Right?
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Top Ten: Things I do that piss my husband off
1. I buy milk at Braum’s rather than the grocery store. The milk from Braum’s is cheaper (currently $2.49/gallon) than milk from the other stores, tastes better, and is better for you (concentrated, to give more protein and fat per fluid ounce.) However, this is WRONG because (a) it requires extra errands to buy milk (Braum's quit selling groceries at the drive-through window about a year ago) and (b) Braum's milk jugs have an extra seal on them that requires disposal in the trash -- sometimes I don't throw it in the trash right away, thereby creating extra work for my husband.
2. I subscribe to the local newspaper. Yes, I pay good money for yesterday's news and for the privilege of leaving newspaper sections all over the house for GIH to discard.
3. I play with my children. A LOT. During the day I sit and read with them, play pretend games, and supervise various craft projects. After dinner I play chase with them and let them crawl all over me. I DO let them watch TV and videos, but sometimes instead of "getting stuff done" during that time, I use it for internet time. And then the kids pester other adults (read, GIH) to play with them. too.
4. I pick my toenails rather than clip them. Maybe this is gross. Apparently it is. But farting is not. Go figure!
5. I burn myself on the oven rack or toaster occasionally. Especially the latter, lately, because my little bamboo tongs that are supposed to help me remove things from the toaster have been misplaced. More specifically, they have been misplaced by the person in our house whose job it is to put away the dishes. Hint ... that's not the ChemMom!
6. I have established places for kitchen items to go. Like the spreaders, cookie scoops, and various small gadgets, which all reside in the drawer next to the refrigerator. And the ice cream scoop ... but NOT the corkscrew or the chip clips. These live in the second drawer down, next to the dishwasher. And in the main dinner utensil drawer, I have TWO separate compartments for spoons and two for forks (sorted by size.) And the knife block has a specific slot for each knife, and they're all supposed to go in with the blade facing to the right. (Actually, I'm not sure he even knows that last part, but he'd be pissed if he did.)
7. I buy and read parenting books. This is a triple sin because (a) it is throwing money away, (b) it's indulging what I want without asking for approval, and (c) it's taking the word of some "expert" and forcing it into our household routine.
8. I come from a dysfunctional family. Yes, the precious daughters of the GIH share the curse of my mother's genes. They are destined to repeat Item#5 over and over again! They might even grow up and ask their husbands to attend couples' therapy. The genes from IL are, of course, perfect.
9. Because of the childhood influences of #8, I tend to throw, hit, or kick things when I am angry. In the past few years, that has meant doors and walls rather than children. Yes, I did kick a hole in a door in 2003. I'm not proud of it. See #10.
10. I apply my photographic memory to almost anything rather than financial planning. I remember enough about who said/did what to not be blamed for all holes in all doors. Our current house has a broken door to the master bedroom. It's been that way since before we moved in; I remember noticing it when the realtor first showed us the house. A few months ago I committed the heresy of not admitting that I broke the door in a fit of rage.
God, I'm an evil bitch.
2. I subscribe to the local newspaper. Yes, I pay good money for yesterday's news and for the privilege of leaving newspaper sections all over the house for GIH to discard.
3. I play with my children. A LOT. During the day I sit and read with them, play pretend games, and supervise various craft projects. After dinner I play chase with them and let them crawl all over me. I DO let them watch TV and videos, but sometimes instead of "getting stuff done" during that time, I use it for internet time. And then the kids pester other adults (read, GIH) to play with them. too.
4. I pick my toenails rather than clip them. Maybe this is gross. Apparently it is. But farting is not. Go figure!
5. I burn myself on the oven rack or toaster occasionally. Especially the latter, lately, because my little bamboo tongs that are supposed to help me remove things from the toaster have been misplaced. More specifically, they have been misplaced by the person in our house whose job it is to put away the dishes. Hint ... that's not the ChemMom!
6. I have established places for kitchen items to go. Like the spreaders, cookie scoops, and various small gadgets, which all reside in the drawer next to the refrigerator. And the ice cream scoop ... but NOT the corkscrew or the chip clips. These live in the second drawer down, next to the dishwasher. And in the main dinner utensil drawer, I have TWO separate compartments for spoons and two for forks (sorted by size.) And the knife block has a specific slot for each knife, and they're all supposed to go in with the blade facing to the right. (Actually, I'm not sure he even knows that last part, but he'd be pissed if he did.)
7. I buy and read parenting books. This is a triple sin because (a) it is throwing money away, (b) it's indulging what I want without asking for approval, and (c) it's taking the word of some "expert" and forcing it into our household routine.
8. I come from a dysfunctional family. Yes, the precious daughters of the GIH share the curse of my mother's genes. They are destined to repeat Item#5 over and over again! They might even grow up and ask their husbands to attend couples' therapy. The genes from IL are, of course, perfect.
9. Because of the childhood influences of #8, I tend to throw, hit, or kick things when I am angry. In the past few years, that has meant doors and walls rather than children. Yes, I did kick a hole in a door in 2003. I'm not proud of it. See #10.
10. I apply my photographic memory to almost anything rather than financial planning. I remember enough about who said/did what to not be blamed for all holes in all doors. Our current house has a broken door to the master bedroom. It's been that way since before we moved in; I remember noticing it when the realtor first showed us the house. A few months ago I committed the heresy of not admitting that I broke the door in a fit of rage.
God, I'm an evil bitch.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Caution! Thoughts in progress
Blech, my mind is a mess right now. My heart is really hurting over how much I've yelled at my kids in the past few days. And sworn and given time-outs and then been enraged when said time-outs were met with cheerful resistance. Maybe the hormones really are messing me up. But why did it have to be THIS WEEK, of all weeks, that my friend Slacker would post about her IUD experience? I think I'm destined to rely on abstinence for the rest of my fertile years.
Along with friends, I'm in a parenting class right now. Approaching life from a paradigm of Love and Logic shouldn't be so hard, right? But I am drowning in ineptitude here. Nothing is working. Nobody is taking me seriously. I am antsy and irritated all the time from having my husband and mother watching me curiously to see what I'll do, trying to take cues from me. Plus feeling monstrously guilty for all the shouting and huffing and puffing I did when they weren't home. All I've managed to do is scare Big and take half her toys away. I understand the concepts, but putting them into practice is all Greek to me. JenH, if you're reading this, please send me pointers! Having to deal with two kids at once, at these particular ages (that's 4 and 1.5, for those not keeping track) is just killing me. And our relationship.
Blech. Just a suck-mom kind of week. KDK, please skip over this post in favor of the next one. I really DO love my kids.
Along with friends, I'm in a parenting class right now. Approaching life from a paradigm of Love and Logic shouldn't be so hard, right? But I am drowning in ineptitude here. Nothing is working. Nobody is taking me seriously. I am antsy and irritated all the time from having my husband and mother watching me curiously to see what I'll do, trying to take cues from me. Plus feeling monstrously guilty for all the shouting and huffing and puffing I did when they weren't home. All I've managed to do is scare Big and take half her toys away. I understand the concepts, but putting them into practice is all Greek to me. JenH, if you're reading this, please send me pointers! Having to deal with two kids at once, at these particular ages (that's 4 and 1.5, for those not keeping track) is just killing me. And our relationship.
Blech. Just a suck-mom kind of week. KDK, please skip over this post in favor of the next one. I really DO love my kids.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Ack! Another tag?!
Sorry to the Nuclear Mom, who tagged me four days ago and it took me this long to find out.
For those who don't know WTF I'm talking about, read this: "The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits I have" and people who get tagged then write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says you have been tagged? (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours."
So this is about "Five Weird Habits I Have." I'm starting to believe that the word "meme" must really be pronounced "ME! ME!" I keep intending to post about something more interesting/insightful than my own life, which is my belated excuse for the lack of a recent update, but it just ain't happenin'. So here we go. But I should admit up front that I'm having a hard time identifying anything in my perfect little world as actually WEIRD. Y'all who do things differently than I do are the freaks, you know.
1. I still get a kick out of using symbols and abbreviations that I learned in high school calculus. My particular favorites are IFF (if and only if) and wrt (with respect to - yes, as in take the derivative with respect to x.)
2. I absolutely must have the last word. This is a fact that I am slow to realize about myself. I'm not sure which statement makes me weirder. But it finally dawned on me as I was tucking Big into bed one night, and found myself responding to every single comment she made, trying to prolong the bedtime.
3. I notice patterns in numbers, constantly. Some are easy to spot, like my MIL's birthday (4/11/44). Others are more obscure, like the similarity between my ZIP code back in Indiana (47401) and my first ZIP code in Oklahoma (74017). See? They're both made from the same digits!!
4. I would rather spend 20 minutes making my hair look "just perfect" in the morning than spend 15 minutes on the hair and 5 minutes to put on makeup, even though the latter routine would probably give me a better look, overall.
5. Just to prove that my brain doesn't have two left halves: I helped Big create her first riddle: Where does Po come from? From Po-land! And we giggle about this wildly. Hey, what can I say? She's 4!
OK, that was pretty lame. But I'll tag some other people and make that their problem:
Gretchen, Lisa R, Nance, Coleen (got a blog out there?) and Kelley (whom I still think of as Kelli-Loo, even though she'll kill me for that!)
For those who don't know WTF I'm talking about, read this: "The first player of this game starts with the topic "five weird habits I have" and people who get tagged then write an entry about their five weird habits as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next five people to be tagged and link to their web journals. Don't forget to leave a comment in their blog or journal that says you have been tagged? (assuming they take comments) and tell them to read yours."
So this is about "Five Weird Habits I Have." I'm starting to believe that the word "meme" must really be pronounced "ME! ME!" I keep intending to post about something more interesting/insightful than my own life, which is my belated excuse for the lack of a recent update, but it just ain't happenin'. So here we go. But I should admit up front that I'm having a hard time identifying anything in my perfect little world as actually WEIRD. Y'all who do things differently than I do are the freaks, you know.
1. I still get a kick out of using symbols and abbreviations that I learned in high school calculus. My particular favorites are IFF (if and only if) and wrt (with respect to - yes, as in take the derivative with respect to x.)
2. I absolutely must have the last word. This is a fact that I am slow to realize about myself. I'm not sure which statement makes me weirder. But it finally dawned on me as I was tucking Big into bed one night, and found myself responding to every single comment she made, trying to prolong the bedtime.
3. I notice patterns in numbers, constantly. Some are easy to spot, like my MIL's birthday (4/11/44). Others are more obscure, like the similarity between my ZIP code back in Indiana (47401) and my first ZIP code in Oklahoma (74017). See? They're both made from the same digits!!
4. I would rather spend 20 minutes making my hair look "just perfect" in the morning than spend 15 minutes on the hair and 5 minutes to put on makeup, even though the latter routine would probably give me a better look, overall.
5. Just to prove that my brain doesn't have two left halves: I helped Big create her first riddle: Where does Po come from? From Po-land! And we giggle about this wildly. Hey, what can I say? She's 4!
OK, that was pretty lame. But I'll tag some other people and make that their problem:
Gretchen, Lisa R, Nance, Coleen (got a blog out there?) and Kelley (whom I still think of as Kelli-Loo, even though she'll kill me for that!)
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