Wow, it's been a crazy month and I've barely had time to catch my breath let alone post to my blog. We're getting ready for our trip abroad and of course everything's come to a head and just must get done before we leave. I'm dealing though...I just keep telling myself "...and this too shall pass..."
Anyway a not so funny thing happened with RR#2 the other night and I am seriously hoping this was a one time occurence. Normally, my RR's are in bed by about 8:30-9:00pm. I then settle down to do homework and catch up on my lectures and readings (I live an exciting life don't I?). Finally around 1:00am, I flop into bed exhausted and get ready to do it all over again in another 6 hours. 6 hours. 6 precious hours of blissfully uninterrupted sleep (or so I'm thinking), until on this particular night, RR#2 calls out to me. It's about five minutes to three, I'm bleary eyed and set on autopilot ready to mutter some incomprehensible, pacifications to soothe him back to sleep when I keep hearing him say something about pee-pee. I'm a little surprised cos usually I take him just before he goes to bed and he's good till morning but I figure hey, if he's gotta go, he's gotta go. So I lift him out of bed and he's clutching his dear little teddy bear named "Vanilla". We get to the bathroom and I try to pull down his pants so he can go but he's resisting and insisting "no". Well now, I'm wondering what the heck is wrong with him when he suddenly turns around and plops - get this - Vanilla onto the toilet seat. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was woken up at 3 in the morning to take a teddy bear to pee. And to make matters worse, after a moment, he had the nerve to lift Vanilla off the toilet seat and say "That's better" then proceed to walk out of the bathroom and tuck himself back into bed.
Y'know, I wanted to be mad. I wanted to warn him sternly to never, ever wake me up again at 3 in the morning to take a bear to pee. Wanted to explain to him the dire consequences of such actions in the future. But truth be told...he's only 2 years old and I was just too damn tired. And these RRs have broken me a little. I'm less feisty, less prone to outcries and moments of passion. Plus, both him and Vanilla were already fast asleep. So I headed back to my room and settled into bed hoping for 3 more hours of uninterrupted sleep...*sigh*.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The Twighlight Zone
Ok, let me preface this by saying I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. No seriously, I swear to you.
Today I went to RBMC for my practicum like I always do a couple of mornings a week right? Well the practicum went well, I finished up all my tasks, confirmed a meeting for next week and bid my preceptor farewell. I got on the elevator, took that down to the main lobby like I always do. Walked past all the uninsured patients waiting for charity care and headed straight for the escalators down to the main lobby and out the front door. Nothing untoward here, pretty typical. Well just as I am about to step onto the escalator, a man comes swiftly round the corner and steps in front of me. He's talking to a lady coming up behind him walking somewhat unsteadily and talking alot. Now, I was a bit miffed that this man had swooped in front of me but I figured, what the heck, I'll just let him go, there's no fire right? Well, then here's this lady - maybe late 30's, white woman, long gray/brown hair pulled back in a stringy ponytail, light blue pair of old lady jean shorts (you know the kind you might get at a Walmart or something?), flimsy gray tank top with one shoulder strap falling off, white converse-like sneakers, glasses perched precariously on her nose and clutching some paperwork. My first thought was "this lady is not well". She's either suffering from some physical disability that prevents her from properly balancing or she is strung out on meth. In a nutshell, she looked homeless. Now, I am not being judgemental here, I'm just trying to give you a vivid scenario of my perception (afterall if she is ill, makes sense to be in the hospital and if she's an addict, well maybe she came for treatment right?).
Anyway, long story short, I moved aside to let her get on the escalator along with her companion. We've gone down 1, maybe 2 steps when it happens, she keeled forward, limbs flailing, paperwork sailing through the air, glasses askew and tumbled full force into her companion. OMG...OMG. I cannot believe this. Someone rushes to the emergency elevator switch and frantically tries to turn it off but it's not working. She's on her neck/back, braced up against this guy, legs akimbo, and I'm looking directly into her bewildered eyes as I move inexorably towards her destined to be caught up in the unwieldy entanglement of human limbs and machinery. Finally, just in time, as I frantically try to backstep on the escalator (and we all know how futile this is right?) it stops. Not just the escalator, the world. People are peering down from the balcony, whispering and pointing, emergency personnel are mobilizing wheelchairs and other assistance, an aide rushes to help her to her feet (which takes a good minute , mind you) and I am standing there completely frozen in shock. The weird thing is, she kept saying she was ok, she had just stepped on wrong and she wanted to leave but she couldn't even stand up! They told her she couldn't leave, they had to fill out paperwork and file an incident report etc. Then, they started rounding up witnesses. Of course myself and the other guy on the escalator were the prime witnesses so they pulled us over. First they questioned the man and guess what he said? "I didn't see anything, I'm blind." What!? I mean, I'm not doubting he's blind but his other senses must be on helly high alert cos he sure swooped onto that escalator with the ease and swiftness of a cheetah. So that left me...unwitting, unsuspecting #1 prime witness extraordinaire. I'm thinking "crap, I'm gonna be here all day" (selfish, i know, but hey I never claimed to be perfect) . But it wasn't really that bad, they just took my name and information and asked me to recount what I had seen and then they let me go.
I really felt bad for the lady, but not bad enough to stick around (she's in a fricking hospital for Gods sake, she'll be fine). I took one last look at the melee behind me and fled out the hospital doors. I really felt like I was stepping out of a Twilight Zone.
Today I went to RBMC for my practicum like I always do a couple of mornings a week right? Well the practicum went well, I finished up all my tasks, confirmed a meeting for next week and bid my preceptor farewell. I got on the elevator, took that down to the main lobby like I always do. Walked past all the uninsured patients waiting for charity care and headed straight for the escalators down to the main lobby and out the front door. Nothing untoward here, pretty typical. Well just as I am about to step onto the escalator, a man comes swiftly round the corner and steps in front of me. He's talking to a lady coming up behind him walking somewhat unsteadily and talking alot. Now, I was a bit miffed that this man had swooped in front of me but I figured, what the heck, I'll just let him go, there's no fire right? Well, then here's this lady - maybe late 30's, white woman, long gray/brown hair pulled back in a stringy ponytail, light blue pair of old lady jean shorts (you know the kind you might get at a Walmart or something?), flimsy gray tank top with one shoulder strap falling off, white converse-like sneakers, glasses perched precariously on her nose and clutching some paperwork. My first thought was "this lady is not well". She's either suffering from some physical disability that prevents her from properly balancing or she is strung out on meth. In a nutshell, she looked homeless. Now, I am not being judgemental here, I'm just trying to give you a vivid scenario of my perception (afterall if she is ill, makes sense to be in the hospital and if she's an addict, well maybe she came for treatment right?).
Anyway, long story short, I moved aside to let her get on the escalator along with her companion. We've gone down 1, maybe 2 steps when it happens, she keeled forward, limbs flailing, paperwork sailing through the air, glasses askew and tumbled full force into her companion. OMG...OMG. I cannot believe this. Someone rushes to the emergency elevator switch and frantically tries to turn it off but it's not working. She's on her neck/back, braced up against this guy, legs akimbo, and I'm looking directly into her bewildered eyes as I move inexorably towards her destined to be caught up in the unwieldy entanglement of human limbs and machinery. Finally, just in time, as I frantically try to backstep on the escalator (and we all know how futile this is right?) it stops. Not just the escalator, the world. People are peering down from the balcony, whispering and pointing, emergency personnel are mobilizing wheelchairs and other assistance, an aide rushes to help her to her feet (which takes a good minute , mind you) and I am standing there completely frozen in shock. The weird thing is, she kept saying she was ok, she had just stepped on wrong and she wanted to leave but she couldn't even stand up! They told her she couldn't leave, they had to fill out paperwork and file an incident report etc. Then, they started rounding up witnesses. Of course myself and the other guy on the escalator were the prime witnesses so they pulled us over. First they questioned the man and guess what he said? "I didn't see anything, I'm blind." What!? I mean, I'm not doubting he's blind but his other senses must be on helly high alert cos he sure swooped onto that escalator with the ease and swiftness of a cheetah. So that left me...unwitting, unsuspecting #1 prime witness extraordinaire. I'm thinking "crap, I'm gonna be here all day" (selfish, i know, but hey I never claimed to be perfect) . But it wasn't really that bad, they just took my name and information and asked me to recount what I had seen and then they let me go.
I really felt bad for the lady, but not bad enough to stick around (she's in a fricking hospital for Gods sake, she'll be fine). I took one last look at the melee behind me and fled out the hospital doors. I really felt like I was stepping out of a Twilight Zone.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Worst that ever did it...
I am the worst that ever did it. Just the absolute worst. So today is our anniversary right? Seven years and still going strong. I mean, it's been a good seven years, we've had our moments (have we ever!) but over all, I'd do it again if I had a choice. But this is not the issue here. The issue here is that I have consistently forgotten about the day that marks our union for at least 5 of the 7 years. What is that? I mean, no really, what is that? It's not that I don't care, it's not that I don't remember up until a few days before...it's just that for some reason on the morn of that day, I walk around in total oblivion hurriedly executing the tasks of yet another day while the hubby looks on in mild (amusement?) at my total lack of consciousness as to its significance.
Take today for example. Woke up late, had to get the kids up and ready for school, notarize a document at the bank, put in a few practicum hours at the hospital and return home to start the day's work. So, as you can imagine, I'm a little frazzled, a lot irritated and a tremendous amount of bitchy. So I'm in the bathroom, trying to put coco butter on my ashy feet because in my haste, I forgot to put any on before dressing up. I'm hopping on one foot, simultaneously rubbing, trying to put away the hot flat iron without burning myself or starting a fire, and yelling at the kids to get their butts downstairs for breakfast when the hubby enters the bathroom and gently (yes, in retrospect, I'll admit it was gentle) touches my shoulder. "What?", I glare at him as I try to hop out of his way so he can get to whatever corner of the medicine cabinet he needs to get to. But instead of reaching over the sink, he leans in and gives me an oh-so-gentle kiss on the lips and whispers "Happy Anniversary". Aaaarrrggh!!! "No", I exclaimed, "it's not today...is today the tenth? the eleventh? Crap, I'm late on the kids tuition". "It's the eighth", he states stoically, all the while looking at me as poker faced as [insert name of best poker player you know]. I'm sputtering and stuttering and finally just admit that, crap, I forgot. "But I remembered yesterday", I say, in a valiant attempt to salvage whatever dregs of womanhood I can at the moment (because shouldn't it be the other way around, shouldn't he be forgetting our anniversary?). He says nary a word. And still says nothing even after i follow him out of the bathroom trying to explain that I had remembered but it was just the way the day started, it threw me off balance blah, blah, blah.
He wasn't mad or anything. If anything, I think he relishes being able to hold this one thing over me, the fact that I forget and he remembers. So finally I said "Ok, this is your thing. You remember anniversaries, birthdays (don't ask), and other similarly important dates. So in our marriage, this is your thing, ok? Because I get (and do) everything else, everything." He still didn't say anything.
*Sigh*...better put Cartier on speed dial...happy anniversary, honey.
Take today for example. Woke up late, had to get the kids up and ready for school, notarize a document at the bank, put in a few practicum hours at the hospital and return home to start the day's work. So, as you can imagine, I'm a little frazzled, a lot irritated and a tremendous amount of bitchy. So I'm in the bathroom, trying to put coco butter on my ashy feet because in my haste, I forgot to put any on before dressing up. I'm hopping on one foot, simultaneously rubbing, trying to put away the hot flat iron without burning myself or starting a fire, and yelling at the kids to get their butts downstairs for breakfast when the hubby enters the bathroom and gently (yes, in retrospect, I'll admit it was gentle) touches my shoulder. "What?", I glare at him as I try to hop out of his way so he can get to whatever corner of the medicine cabinet he needs to get to. But instead of reaching over the sink, he leans in and gives me an oh-so-gentle kiss on the lips and whispers "Happy Anniversary". Aaaarrrggh!!! "No", I exclaimed, "it's not today...is today the tenth? the eleventh? Crap, I'm late on the kids tuition". "It's the eighth", he states stoically, all the while looking at me as poker faced as [insert name of best poker player you know]. I'm sputtering and stuttering and finally just admit that, crap, I forgot. "But I remembered yesterday", I say, in a valiant attempt to salvage whatever dregs of womanhood I can at the moment (because shouldn't it be the other way around, shouldn't he be forgetting our anniversary?). He says nary a word. And still says nothing even after i follow him out of the bathroom trying to explain that I had remembered but it was just the way the day started, it threw me off balance blah, blah, blah.
He wasn't mad or anything. If anything, I think he relishes being able to hold this one thing over me, the fact that I forget and he remembers. So finally I said "Ok, this is your thing. You remember anniversaries, birthdays (don't ask), and other similarly important dates. So in our marriage, this is your thing, ok? Because I get (and do) everything else, everything." He still didn't say anything.
*Sigh*...better put Cartier on speed dial...happy anniversary, honey.
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