Neglect

I got a phone call yesterday. One ring and then the caller hung up. A few minutes later, they called back. This time, they let it ring twice and then hung up. I pondered briefly who it might be and then went back to making mental lists of what needed to be done that day.

For the record, my list was something like this:

-dishes
-laundry, whites
-mop floors
-return that awful swimsuit to TJ Maxx...the one that makes me look spare-tire(ish)

Also, for the record, I did none of those things and chose to play pathwords on facebook and browse the MAC Cosmetics website instead. Has anyone been able to pull off their "deep blue green" pigment eye color? If you have, I'd love to see pictures. I'm thinking about taking that leap but would probably end up looking like a baby doll whore, and am not sure I want to rock that look at this point in my life.

Anyway...

After the 40th round of pathwords, my phone rang yet again and this time, I was ready. I hit the answer key faster than you can say "prank call" and shouted like a grumpy grandmother into the phone with: "HELLO!?!?!?!"

It was my blog, Prudence, calling, and she was not happy that I had been neglecting her lately. She said, in between sobs, that she was feeling neglected and alone. It has been a month since her last update and she was feeling inadequate. I told to her to go soak her head, that I was busy with pathwords, and that maybe we could talk tomorrow.

I then hung up on Prudence before she had the chance to hang up on me, once more, like the nasty little tart that she is. Prudence, you really need to lighten up.

I may have been neglecting the blog lately, but one thing that has NOT been neglected is my calorie consumption. After discovering a 3 ingredient recipe for Peanut Butter Cookies, I made six batches within a 4 day period and have basically turned myself into a walking jar of Skippy. I decided it was finally time to lay off the P.B. after my last shift at work, during which a nurse was bathing her patient while wearing an N-95 mask, and blurted out "does anyone else smell peanuts?"

You'd think I would wake up and face reality, but instead I baked a red velvet cake the next day.

Whatever. At least it was peanut free.

I spent the first two hours of today laying on the couch like a comatose obese grizzly bear. I knew I should be at the gym burning off some calories, but instead practiced procrastinating. If I could get paid for my procrastination skills, I would seriously be a millionaire. While finding any means necessary to put-off my work-out, I was texting back and forth with my sister (thumbs need exercising too). The dog then proceeded to crawl behind the couch and throw up his entire gastric contents onto the carpet.

What bliss.

There is nothing quite like spending your day off cleaning dog puke from your carpet while the dog prances around like he just deposited a gift in your face.

After Vomitus Cleanius 2009, I made my way to the gym where I managed to crank out 2.62 miles on the treadmill without collapsing and seizing on the floor.

Small victories.


I have no idea where I am going with this other than to say that maybe by blogging skills (if there ever were any) have likely gone out the window in the last thirty days.

Does peanut butter cause loss of IQ points?

Shredding It (Part 2)

As promised, Adam joined me for day 2 of the 30 Day Shred work-out. I could barely contain my glee since he did nothing but mock me and prolong my suffering during day 1. As I gasped and panted away - and could barely keep up - he was there to the rescue making sure to pause the DVD player at any moment that I lagged behind.

Thanks to Adam, I didn't miss a single jumping jack, push up, or crunch. And for each time that he hit "pause" I added another tablespoon of black olive puree to his dinners (olives are his enemy...simliar to my overwhelming hatred of spiders).

So on to day 2. He attempted to back out because I only have one set of weights. Oh no. No no no. I grabbed two family sized soup cans to use as weights for myself, and surrendered the hideous free weights for Adam's use.

He was not getting out of this.

After the warm-ups initial torture, we dropped to the floor for the first set of push ups. I'll admit he hung in there and did pretty well. After 3 more minutes of weights we collapsed into the push up pose for round two. At that point, sweat was beading on his forehead and he screeched:

"MORE PUSHUPS!?!?!"

Oh yes, my love. And we are only on minute 7 of this evil work out plan. Jillian, I hate you. Adam, I told you so.

As the minutes wore on, I could see him lagging a little behind and at one point he completely stopped to wipe his forehead (I think at the same point in the video when I was crying for water on day 1). I was cruising through Jillian's "butt kicks" as Adam was hunched over looking like he was 2 seconds away from collapsing. Or crying. Maybe both.

Me: Do you want me to pause the video? [insert snarky attitude here]
Jillian on DVD: There is NO reason to modify this move! Keep it up! I have 400lb people who do this move!
Adam: :GASP:Very funny::GASP GASP::
Me: Well, just let me know if you want me to pause it. I'd be happy to pause it if you need water or a break. Or a good cry. haha.
Adam: ::wheeze::Shut your face.::GASP PANT::

I'm loving this. What goes around comes around. I'm feeling very satisfied today.

And sore.

Shredding It

Last week I was browsing Amazon and came across a work-out DVD called "The 30 Day Shred". It features three levels - beginner, intermediate, and advanced. Each workout is 20 minutes. I thought it would be a great idea for when I can't get to the gym don't want to go to the gym. Twenty Minutes. Really easy, I thought.



WRONG.



The DVD features Jillian Michaels from The Biggest Loser, and her 2 body twin minions who collectively weigh 140lbs. I pretty much hate all three of them. My arms hurt just typing this and I'm not even done with day 2. Jillian may seem nice enough, but when your face is so red -30 seconds into the work-out - it matches the Red Velvet Cake you'd rather be eating, you know you have problems. As Jillian started screaming "You can do it! Now is not the time to quit!!" I started crying for water and let a few four-letter words fly in her skinny-arsed direction. I didn't know it was possible to sweat so hard in a twenty minute time frame. I think I may have had a small anxiety asthma attack somewhere between the first set of curls and the jumping jacks she puts you through.



Jillian on TV: Keep it up!!!! Only four more to go and you are NOT quitting now!

Me: SHUT UP You skinny tart! WATER! ADAM! I NEED WATER IN HERE!

(for the record, Adam laughed at me and said I could have water when I finished the set. Jerk. Who's side is he on anyway?!)

Jillian on TV: Just think how great you will feel when you have completed this work-out series!

Me: HOW :::PANT::: IS ::PANT:: SHE EVEN ::PANT:: Carrying ::pant pant:: on a con ::PANT PANT:: versation right now?!?!:GASP PANT PANT:: WATER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY TRACHEA IS ON FIRE GIVEMEWATERRIGHTNOW!!!



I collapsed on all fours at that point. I think I was five minutes in. Adam made sure to pause the work-out...I wouldn't want to skip a single second, now would I?



To be completely honest, I got a little scared during the warm-ups. THE WARM-UPS. When a warm up simulates competitive swimming, you know you're in trouble.

The box cover declares that you can lose up to 20 pounds in 30 days. For the amount of misery I am in today, I think it should be 40lbs. Or I should have a written guarantee that Jillian herself will come out and train me if I don't lose the full 20. I may die first, though. I'm not sure yet.

After I completed the 20 minutes, I was crawling to the shower (if you think I am exaggerating, let me assure you that I am NOT) and trembling when Adam said "I think I'll do that with you tomorrow!"

HAHAHAHAHAHA ::BREATHES:: HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

Misery loves company. I can't wait for this.

She Sparkles

For those of you that don't know, I was homeschooled from 1st grade through 8th grade. I attended a typical suburban kindergarten in Colorado before my mom decided to pull me out and teach me at home for the next 8 years. We moved to Vermont during 6th grade where I was homeschool for the next two years until I attended "normal" high school from 9th through graduation.

I could probably write an entire book on homeschooling and my opinions on it. For now, I will just say that my past has definitely molded me into who I am now. The decision to homeschool may not be an easy one, and it's definitely not for everyone.

And no, I never wore a denim jumper.

But I was sportin' some sweet hair that could also double as a scarf:

Last week, Adam and I went to a MLB game with a couple of friends. As I walked into the stadium I had a sudden flashback to my first day of public high school. Certain memories will come back to me with sudden urgency that serve to remind me where I have been, and how far I have come.

Having no real exposure to the typical American middle schooler, I was not prepared for what was ahead on that hot August morning back in 199_. Instead, I had spent the summer prior to my freshman year in blissful ignorance while everyone else hung out with friends they had made in elementary and shopped for the coolest back-to-school clothes. So, for starters, my mom picked out my wardrobe for the day. I'm lying. She picked it out for the entire year, but the first day of school is always the most important, and since it was basically my first day EVER let's multiply that level of fashion importance by a factor of 10.

She couldn't have picked anything worse if she tried. I nervously walked into high school wearing a bright-as-sun yellow top with black denim (I just vomited in my mouth again) cut-off shorts, yellow socks, and black keds.

It honestly elevates my heart rate just to put those facts in black and white. Or should I say black and yellow?

As if it couldn't get much worse, she insisted I wear a baseball cap that was completely covered in purple sequins. Apparently the atrocity still exists because I googled it and found an exact replica for your viewing pleasure:

They are still available for $10 if anyone wants one. Any takers? Anyone? Anyone?

Once I crossed the threshold, I made a beeline for the bathroom and tore the glittery monster off my head. Seriously, it had the capacity to pass all moral bounds and it was sitting on my cranium. I'd rather wear a marquee that flashed "HERE COMES THE NEW GIRL" in blinking lights.





As I shoved Sparkles into my bag, I glanced up at the bathroom mirror and saw the most horrific hat hair one could imagine. Seriously. There was NO fixing it, so I was left to determine which would be worse? The hat hair, or the hat. Just then a group of girls my age came prancing into the bathroom, took one look at my hat hair and my hat, made a 180, and pranced out as they erupted into raucous laughter.





And it wasn't even 7:05am yet. What joy.





Surrendering to defeat, I shoved the hat back on my head as the first bell rang. Immediately after the bell, the principle came on the PA system to remind everyone that there would be a school wide assembly in the Gymnasium.





School wide.





SCHOOL WIDE.





Sparkles and I merged in with the crowd and headed for the gym. I heard a sprinkling of giggles from behind me and felt pretty certain that I wanted to die. As I entered the gym I felt my first panic attack of the day wash over me as I saw over 1,000 bodies moving about. I sat in the first open place in the bleachers I could get to and twinkled away under the fluorescent lights.





Try to imagine what it's like going from 8 years of school where the largest class consists of 1 student, to walking into a packed gymnasium wearing sequins. Yeah, I have that pained look on my face, too.





If you're wondering, the day didn't get any better. In fact, I ate lunch crouched down in front of my locker and felt another bead of sweat run down my forehead each time a teacher asked me to stand up and introduce myself. Add one panic attack for each teacher that said "Nice hat."





I went home that afternoon, and made Sparkles "disappear".





Did you know homeschoolers are master magicians?

Know

Working in health care is rewarding, hard, scary, and at times, wonderful. At times I feel as though I'm expected to have a magic wand inside my stethoscope, and when I am not able to fix it all?

Sometimes it feels like a failure.

Then again, there are some situations when I wish I didn't know something. I remember one night at work we had a very critical patient in the ICU. We, as a medical team, had done everything we could. But "everything we could" sometimes isn't enough. After the patient passed suddenly despite our efforts, I left the unit to finish some work on another floor. I walked past the waiting room where the family was seated and overheard one close family member speaking into his cell phone.


"Well, it was a bad accident but I think she is going to be ok. I hope that...I don't know. Just pray, ok?"

Sobbing into his cell phone he said "God be near us."

I knew she had passed and I knew the news they were about to receive. I heard the doctor's footsteps behind me, walking towards the waiting room to deliver the words no one wants to hear. As I distanced myself physically, I tried to distance myself mentally as well. The sounds of screams and sobs filled the hallway and I knew what they knew. Life was forever changed for them.

Life would be divided into before and after.





I couldn't help but think that just a few hours prior life was normal for them. Maybe they ate breakfast together and spent that saturday afternoon enjoying the weather or catching up with an old friend. Maybe they laughed as they drove down the road, not realizing that our paths would cross in a way no one wants to imagine. Maybe they discussed their plans for the week as I clocked in for my shift.






Tragedy can touch any of us. I truly believe life is more precious and delicate than most of us realize. And while none of us can fix it all or make anything perfect, I do believe we can take steps to humble ourselves and take nothing for granted.


Life isn't always fair, it's not always just, and at times we are inundated with a downpour of pain. I try to keep that in mind when I encounter someone who is less than *ahem* pleasant.


Later, that same night that I lost my patient, I encountered a family member in another unit that was less than polite with me. Let's face it, I was having a bad night. I felt down and I felt sad. This patient's daughter was rude and abrasive. She swore at me and I could do nothing right.


"If only she knew," I thought.


I left the room to fetch the millionth "petty" request for her. This time I think she had asked for a drinking straw. I had silently asked for a winning lottery ticket.

As I walked down the hall, the nurse stopped me and said "She just found out her mom's cancer is terminal. They are moving her to hospice tomorrow. Here's her new orders."

"If only I knew," I thought.

My approach with her was different, and although she remained verbally abusive and harsh, I knew that she was probably in the middle of her own personal storm and she probably didn't even realize how she was coming across.





What if, whenever you encountered rudness you treated that person as though they were in the middle of unknown pain? If you treated them a little kinder? It's not our place to judge others or seek revenge, but I know when I encounter hostility it's easier for me to be defensive than it is to give kidness. I can't always fix the whole picture, but maybe I can make it look a little better.





When I returned to their room I turned to the daughter and said "I'm so sorry for what you are going through..here's that straw you asked for. If there's anything else I can do just let me know. " With tears in her eyes she said "Thank you...that means a lot to me."



If only we knew.

Broadway

A few years ago, Adam and I lived in NYC while employed by a health care travel company that sends RTs/Nurses/etc out to hospitals, that are short staffed, on a contract basis. We were contracted for 3 months, but later extended it to a full 6 months. I remember arriving in Manhattan and unloading the car behind what would be our home. I also remember stepping inside our borrowed apartment where we would be living the next 6 months. It was fully furnished, but in reality it was a blank slate because I had no memories associated to it. It felt cold and unknown. I felt intimidated by the big city. Like a small animal scurrying among the bulls and the bears.

After unpacking just enough to get settled, and walking to the nearest market for some culinary necessities, we came home and leashed the dog up for a walk. He had spent the first year of his life in Vermont, and the previous few months in New Jersey, so he wasn't prepared for the gauntlet that would be his daily walk. Sherman rode the elevator to the first floor and emerged eagerly into the marble floored lobby. Tugging and yanking he choked through the lobby as his gasps of hurried excitement echoed through the large entry-way. His nails made a "clickity" sound on the floor as his tongue draped out the side of his gaping dog smile. I remember the doors swinging open as a gust of wind greeted us both in the face.

Welcome to New York City.

Sherman clomped down the steps and I immediately tugged him gently to the right so we could join the flow of pedestrian traffic. It was shortly after 6pm, so the streets were very busy. We were housed on Broadway and Wall St., so with that in mind, I'm sure you can picture what it looked like at that time of day. You could see the instant our pup realized that he was in a big new world. He stopped dead in his tracks as people rushed past us, nearly tripping over him and darting around him. He gazed around with wide eyes trying to make sense of it all. He lowered himself to the ground and nearly laid flat as if to say "Stop! Just stop while I figure out what this new life is!"

I feel the exact same way, puppy. I'm with you on this.

I encouraged him to keep walking and slowly he gained the confidence he needed to enjoy his walk at a leisurely pace with his chin held high. And soon enough I felt encouraged too. Sometimes all you need is a gentle tug in the right direction to give you the push you need to keep going.

I remember the night before we left home; I had packed all my things for what would be a minimum of 90 days away from what had been my home for 10 years. I looked around my apartment trying to memorize the color of the wall, the scent that was my home, the feel of the tile under my feet, how my kitchen looked when I was cooking in it, and the lush green trees out my windows. I was memorizing the familiar in anticipation of the unfamiliar.

I was supposed to go to my mom's place that night so she could wish me a "fond farewell" (as she puts it). I still feel guilty about this, but I called her and said I wouldn't be able to make it over, that I had too much to do, so we would have to say a simple "see ya later!" over the phone. She understood and wished me a safe trip, I wished for a stronger character. Truth is, I just couldn't bare to say goodbye to one more person. I had already said so many good-byes to friends and co-workers that I needed a simple "see you later". I needed some routine. I needed to be alone with my fears of the unknown and let my heart break a little bit by myself.

Anyone that knows me very well knows that I am a "Nester". I love being home, I love being close to my family and friends. Once I get comfortable somewhere, I have a very hard time breaking the routine and venturing into the unknown spaces. The whole traveling/contract thing basically fell into our laps. Due to some major issues with our previous employer, we felt that we absolutely had to leave and do the "traveling thing".

It's actually amazing how sometimes life throws you a curve ball and while it seems scary and out of place, it's exactly what you need at that time.

Sometimes we need to fall to get to where we are supposed to be.

I learned so much those months, and I look back at that time as a period of huge growth. I may have started out panicked, but something tugged me in the right direction and gave me the courage to walk leisurely ahead.

Island Hygiene

When Adam and I went to Belize in November of 2007, I had never been to a carribbean destination before. I had not even been to a tropical destination for that matter. The closest I had been up until that point was Disney World. Spinning Teacups, Mickey Mouse, and throwing up a $9 hot dog from a place called "Goofy's Grub" can't really be defined as "tropical". But, Disney World has palm trees, people. So by that alone, it is very tropical.

It's all about the palm trees.

When we arrived in Belize City, we wandered through the airport to catch our connecting "puddle jumper" flight to Ambergris Caye. Philip S.W. Goldson Int'l Airport looks more like a Hertz car rental. They actually announce your name overhead when it's time to board the plane. Needless to say, the island vibe was evident as soon as I entered the country. I remember standing in line waiting for customs, and feeling a tad nervous. I had my fresh new passport in hand, declaration form filled out and patiently waited my turn. When the customs officer - a Belize native - motioned me to his podium I quickly realize my nerves were for nothing. He glanced at my passport and then stared directly at my chest and said "What does your shirt say?"

::blink blink::

My shirt had text in a circular shape over my, ahem, heart. I told him what it said, he smiled at me and welcomed me to Belize. I honestly don't even think he looked at my name on my passport.

So there you have it. All you need to get into Belize is a passport (for posterity's sake), and a shirt that has text over your boob.

Belize, I love you.

We spent the week in a beach front condo-style resort, with the ocean lapping gently against the shore that was our front porch. I'll never forget the bath-water warm waters, kayaking as the sun set, the lush island plants, bicycling through San Pedro, fishing, and most of all how relaxed I felt.

In addition to clothing, I had packed the usual travel necessities: hair dryer, flat iron, styling products, and make-up. After 2 hours on the island I realized I had wasted my time, and wasted space in my bag because I wasn't going to use any of it. I was an island girl, if even for a short time. I spent the rest of the week in shorts and t-shirts that would normally only be used as loungewear at home. One day I even ventured out to dinner in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that I usually used as pajamas.

There really is nothing more joyous than eating dinner at a resort in your pajamas. If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend it.

As the trip wore on, I found my standard of hygiene slowly slipping. I was re-using shorts, sniff testing t-shirts, and recycling cover-ups. I distincly remember one morning grabbing a t-shirt that I had tossed into the dirty pile, sniffing it, and wondering to myself how I could have thought it was dirty enough for the "Take Home and Wash!" pile. It smelled of sand and SPF. Perfectly suitable for an afternoon of beachcombing and gorging on key lime pie. I probably would have considered a Wal-Mart t-shirt and some Hanes shorts "black-tie" by that point.

Like I said, the standard of hygiene was, umm, slipping away. It was really hard to return to work and have to actually make an effort on my appearance. It was even harder to drive through rush-hour traffic and drive at the same pace as everyone else, when I really felt like floating down the highway at 30mph. I was in slow-mo for a solid 2 weeks after that. What bliss.

I thought I wouldn't ever find a place as wonderful, and as conducive to relaxation, as Belize.

But then we went to Hawaii. And it was just as sweet. I spent many an afternoon lost in the blissful warmth of the island, sipping away at a banana smoothie with the scents of plumeria and tropical fruit in the air. I noticed a distinctive scent in our room each day...I still haven't figured out what it was (flower, fruit, etc) but it was there, each evening, as I fell asleep to the waves lapping the shores. It was the scent of the island. It was the scent of what it's like to take a deep breath and feel paradise all around you. That may sound like an exaggeration, but that is exactly how I felt.

And, once again, I found my standards of hygiene slipping away with my cares. I lived in ratty shorts and tattered shirts. My bathing suit was my closet staple, and my skin was smoothed by sand rubbing away the top layer of my busy life back home. There's nothing else quite like putting on gym shorts and feeling a tad overdressed for dinner.

But that's the island life.