Motivated Slacking

I work a lot of night shifts.

Often my coworkers, especially the new ones, ask me if I like working nights.

I do.  The pace a night is drastically different.  The smaller crew lends a more team like atmosphere.  I’ve had surgeons mop the floor for me at night, something that would never EVER happen during the day.  But if I’m honest, if I truly get down to the real reason that I like night shifts- it’s because there’s a chance, every so often if I’m really really lucky I won’t have to do anything at all.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate.  I’ll still have to do about an hour and a half worth of stuff but that’s not too bad for a twelve hour shift.   (Unless I work a weekend, weekend’s have the potential to be truly perfect.)

So having a twelve hour shift in which to do an hour and a half’s work you might think I would take it slow, pace myself.  You might think that I’d do some of my paper work in the first couple hours, maybe about midnight I’d head into the core and pull a little suture but then maybe I’d wait until three or four o’clock to do the instrumentation (I know you have no idea what I’m talking about but just go with me here.)

You’d be wrong.

I start a shift at seven o’clock and if all goes according to my own personal plan I’m done with everything I have to do by eight thirty.  I get to work, put my head down, and power through what I have to do as fast as I can.  On nights when we have cases to do it’s not unusual to find me doing bits of my paperwork in between them when most of my coworkers would be chatting. I’ll pull suture while I’m waiting for the anesthesiologist to talk to the parents instead of getting a little something to eat.  If I could make the cases themselves go faster I would, but I don’t have any control over that.  So I do what I can to get my stuff done at the same time.

Why the working like a maniac when it’s not necessary?  So that I can maximize my slacking time of course.  I want to get all my stuff done and I want to get it down as fast as I can so that I don’t have that hanging over my head while I surf the internet.  If my work is done I have no guilt if at two o’clock I’m a little tired and I take a small nap rest.  I’d never sleep as that’s not allowed.

If there’s work to be done, I’ll be honest I probably won’t volunteer.  But if tapped I’ll do it and do it without complaint, but I’m not going to take my time.  I’ll do it as efficiently as I possibly can.

I used to work as a checker at a big box super store (no, not that one) I was the fastest checker there (seriously, they kept track) I wasn’t the friendliest, if you wanted to chat about the barbeque you’re buying for you were in the wrong line, but if you want to get out of there, step right up.  And I had customers who noticed.  More than once I had people tell me that I was their favorite checker because I was fast.  I just hated seeing that big long line, it looked like work.  I wanted it gone.  So I did what I could to get it gone.

I do the same thing at home.  I get up in the morning and get as much done as I can as rapidly as I can so that I can read all afternoon.  My kids see me working so hard, and without complaint, and assume that I like doing it. (Sadly, I remember saying that to my mom.)  Oh, how wrong they are.  It’s just that I’ve learned that it doesn’t pay to put it off.  I’m the mom, if I don’t do it, no one’s going to.  But I’m not wasting my time, yet, I’ve got blogging to do.

The Night the Lights Went Out

I’ve been listening to a different radio station in the car lately.  I think it’s more listener driven, at least that’s the line they’re selling, it may or may not be true.  What is true is that the mix of music is different from other stations of the same genre and I noticed that they play “The Night the Lights Went out In Georgia” a lot.

Naturally I had heard that song before, maybe I just hadn’t paid attention.  Let’s see if I got this right.

This girl takes it upon herself to shoot her cheating sister in law and the cheating SIL’s lover.  When the brother goes to confront his wife and her lover he finds his wife gone, because his sister somehow hid her body, and the lover dead.  He’s arrested and his sister who actually did the killing doesn’t step up in time to save her brother from being hanged.  And it’s the judge in the town who’s “got blood stains on his hands”?

I know it’s a classic and all that but does this seem wrong to anyone else?

Why I’m a Lame Mom

Neither of the Irish twins have ever had their pictures professionally taken.  Oh, I just remembered that’s not true, Irish1 had his taken at the hospital when he was born.  We didn’t buy any.

I do not serve hotdogs, on their own, as a meal.  A stick of meat is not a meal.

My children know what amputation is by the age of 3.  “If that really hurts so badly that you have to keep crying about it I’ll bet I can take you to my hospital and have someone cut it off for you.”  It usually starts feeling better really soon thereafter.

I don’t give out band-aids unless I see blood.

We’ve never taken our kids on a real vacation.  We’ve visited the in-laws for a long weekend, that kind of thing, but we’ve never packed up and headed… anywhere.

I don’t even take them to get ice cream.  I just can’t bring myself to pay for three scoops what would buy a half gallon at the grocery store.

I make my kids, even the princess who’s 8, sit in carseats or boosters.  All. The. Time.

I don’t play video games.

I don’t allow sleepovers except with cousins.

I don’t change my mind, no matter how hard they whine.

I don’t read to them nearly as often as I should (read: Ever).

The “playroom” is now a playroom but the TV’s still unplugged.

Why My Kids Are Lame

We have literally thousands (OK maybe thousand, look we’re not made of money here) of dollars of toys in the “playroom” at our house.  Why do I put the word playroom in quotes?  No, it’s not just that I don’t know how to properly use quotes as you’ll find here (No, seriously, go.  You won’t be sorry.  I’ll wait.  ——  Back? OK, let’s continue,) It’s because no one plays in it. EVER.

The playroom has become the repository for mountains of toys.  And the mountain is so big and so high and so tall (1,000), that on one even tries to dig through it to find a toy.  Do they look for games?  Not a chance.  How about dress-ups?  Surely the princess wants to dress up.  Negatory good buddy (2,000).

The playroom is too much of a mess to do anything with (and some day soon, I’m going to go in there with an empty garbage bag and come out with a soul so very much lighter) so my children, resourceful small people that they are, have found alternate methods of entertainment.  Something that they can and do spend hours at a time doing, something that brings joy to their little hearts, something that keeps them relatively quiet and non-fighting for nearly the whole day.  What is this magical instrument of fun? you ask.

It’s the TELEVISION!  And if I have to hear the “i-Carly” theme song one more time I’m going to put a bullet through my head.

Seriously, it’s summer.  No school, sunshine, the last few days it haven’t even been too hot, and all my kids can do is sit on their posteriors watching other kids, inane, bad acting kids, doing things. My kids don’t even play the Wii.

I should make it clear here that I’m really just referring to the Princess and the Pea here, Irish1 will happily ride his big wheel around the yard for hours and Irish2 is only 7 months old, just give him something disgusting and dirty to chew on and he’s set.  If he loses his thing to chew on, however, it won’t be any of his older siblings who help him out, at least not while “Chowder”’s on.   I came in from outside Monday, drill in hand, to find the baby screaming on the floor and both the Princess and the Pea sitting on the couch not 3 feet away eyes glued on Spongebob.  Nice.

This morning I made them come outside and help clean up some of the cement from the recent demo of some steps.  They fought over the shovel, the work gloves, they even fought over the chunks of concrete (as if there weren’t enough of those around) and then started the whining.  finally I said, “hey I know what you can do, you can go sit on your lazy butts in front of the television.”  And they were gone.  Sarcasm (and therefore the majority of what I say) is so lost on my children.

After spending the last two days working on the kitchen and seeing through the window my precious children turning into precious lumps on the couch I finally lost it.  I unplugged the TV.

I know, drastic measures.  But I couldn’t, could not take it for one more minute.  The Princess threw a royal fit (something she’s been doing a lot since she got home from grandma’s).  And the Pea proceeded to follow me around literally hanging on my arm and asking when dinner was.  It was 12:30.

Seriously, these kids have bikes.  They have scooters (OK scooter, but still), they have a swing-set and a sandbox and a yard, all at their disposal.  Too safe?  Well, we are doing construction.  There are also hammers and all manner of nails and wood which they are allowed to play with and destroy ’til their little hearts are content. (I do have three boys after all)  There are rocks a plenty, and dirt in abundance.  I know if they put one ounce of effort into it they could get something really fun going.

But they don’t, they sit and whine and look for things to eat and whine and ask if they can play on the computer and whine.  I don’t love the whining but I think the TV may just stay unplugged for the rest of the summer.

Men Are That They Might Have— Joists!!!

Floor joists that is.

I’ve been working steadily but slowly (‘cause that’s the way to win the race) on the new kitchen and while I’ve been working hard, I haven’t had much to show for it.  (Well there is the roof but you can’t see it without getting on the roof so it’s not very visible)    Until now.

I hung my first two floor joists today!  It only looks like one because it’s a double so that it’s strong enough to bear the weight of the wall that will be on top of it.

So now we have the outline of our new kitchen and it’s gonna be big!!  And not a moment too soon.  We had my parents over for dinner yesterday and seating 7 people at a 3′x3.5′ table is a joke.

I got all the plates on but then there was no room for the food.  With much moving around of cups I squeezed the lasagna into the center of the table but the salad then only just fit and I just held the bread bowl.  After we had all served ourselves I gave up and put the salad and lasagna on the counter, it wasn’t worth the maneuvering to try to keep it there.  And then there was the eating really carefully in an effort to avoid elbowing the person sitting next to you.

Mostly it just made me wish that all this construction crap was much much faster.  But as I make up the bulk of the construction crew (Sean helps when we’re both home together, so never and when there’s something I’m not strong enough to do) it will probably continue to be slow.

So now I just have eight more floor joists to hang (after I finish hanging the rim joists) and then we’ll be on to framing, and pulling ducts and laying subfloor and insulating and sheetrocking and… Wow, there’s still a whole lot of work to do.

PS Sorry that the picture files are so big, my photoshop is on the fritz again.

Universal Healthcare?

Maybe it’s just because I work at a children’s hospital but I think this is funny.

more about "Universal Healthcare?", posted with vodpod

I Have the Power

And now because I can:

Oh and this one:And this:

And this:

That is all.

Wait, one more

Have a nice day!!

____________

PS Happy 4th!!!  I’m so glad I live in a country where I can post pictures of my boyfriend if I want to.

Fifity Nifty Things About ME!

It’s my 50th post so I thought I’d celebrate by telling you a little more about myself.  Most of my readers (that I know about) either know or knew me and you may know some of these things.  My sisters, four of my most faithful readers, already know a lot of these things but I’m gonna do my best to surprise even them.

1. I eat a bowl of brownies and ice cream every night (that I’m not at work).

2. Ten years later I’d still rather hang out with Sean than anyone.

3. I can list (or sing if you’d rather) all 50 states.  In alphabetical order.

4. I slather sunscreen on my kids more because I don’t want to deal with sunburned kids than for any other reason.

5.I never put sunscreen on myself.

6. I only wash my hair once a week.

7. 18 months is my favorite age.

8. If I had my life to do over again I’d be nicer to Marko.

9.  That’s not the only change I’d make.

10. I can’t stand, hate and abhor the phrase “we’re pregnant”.  I have been pregnant 4 times, Sean has never been pregnant.

11. I hate coconut.

12. And banana.

13. If my friends at work described me to Sean, he wouldn’t recognize who they were talking about.

14. From the age of 12 to 18 I got up at 4:30 every morning to deliver newspapers.

15. I can’t believe my parents were willing to go that far to instill in me (and my siblings) a strong work ethic.

16. I’m afraid that I’m not willing to go that far to do the same for my kids.

17. My first kiss was with Sam Vasquez in the seventh grade.

18. The pinky toe on my left foot bends off at a right angle.

19. I used to sing so that someone would hear me and pay me a compliment.

20. Now I sing because I don’t see why I shouldn’t.

21. Most of the time I prefer savory to sweet.

22. I’ve never gone in to check that my children were sill breathing.

23. I have no patience for incompetence or blatant inefficiency.

24. I do not think well on my feet.

25. I do work well under pressure.

26. I’m not convinced there’s anything I can’t do.

27. When I’m annoyed I get loud.

28. When I’m mad I get quiet.

29. I watch Notting Hill an average of 4 times a year.

30. All of my favorite people are related to me.

31. I have Horton Hatches the Egg memorized.

32. I write my father’s name in every time I vote for president.

33. Blood and guts do not bother me but I have trouble with snot.

34. In the first year I had a driver’s license I ran out of gas 10 times.

35. I would make a very poor stay at home mom.

36. My mother is proud of me.

37. I hate feet.

38. I would really love an excuse to wear my prom dress again.

39. I could wear my prom dress again.

40. If it wouldn’t set such a bad example for my kids I’d probably have cheese chips and salsa for lunch every day.

41. I can get myself and four kids up, fed, dressed and to church in 45 minutes.

42. We’re late for church every Sunday that Sean’s home.

43. Country music makes me cry.

44. There’s always a small part of me that’s jealous when someone I know gives birth.

45. I believe myself to be completely ordinary.  I’m just more honest about myself than most.

46. I worry a lot less than I used to, Sean has mellowed me out.

47. I still worry a lot.

48. I anthropomorphize everything.

49. I wake up in the morning with songs I haven’t heard for years stuck in my head.

50. This was hard for me.

Hey, Let’s Go To the Mall!

When I got up this morning I dressed for construction.  Before the day was far spent I had been to the lumber yard, with the Pea and Irish1. Whatever possessed me to think that taking a five and a two year old boy to the lumber yard was a good idea I don’t know.  Needless to say, it wasn’t.  We left there with not enough joist hangers (to hang 5 joists you need ten hangers, not five) so we went back and got five more only to discover when we got home that they were the wrong ones (all of them) after all.  I haven’t been back yet.

I got home and cleaned.  And measured in preparation for cutting rim joists (not nearly as dirty as it sounds) and I nursed and yelled at the Pea and listened to Irish1 whine and ignored Irish2 crying (why won’t he just go to sleep?) and just did all my normal day stuff. But by about 5:00 (I say about because I had no way of knowing what time it actually was) I was done. D-O-N-E. Done.

So I handed the kids over to Sean and headed for the mall, a place which despite being located at the end of my street (just past the Costco) I hadn’t been to in at least three years, to replace the battery in my watch which had stopped working nearly two weeks ago (I hate not knowing what time it is) or possibly to just replace the watch itself, since I don’t really love it.  I was still dressed for construction, orange “Spartans” softball t-shirt I stole from a girl-friend in high school, denim shorts, no makeup.  Not the look I would have chosen but I wasn’t spending another minute at home even if it meant I went out looking like white trash.

The store closest to my home is a largish department store.  I’ll call it Nacey’s.  It was close, it was convenient and they sell watches, and presumably batteries, so I went in.

Ahhhh.  It was quiet.  It was clean.  No one referred to me as Mom mom mom mom mom.  It may have been heaven.  I went in for the battery, possibly a watch. But since I was already there- I really did need another pair of shorts, this long length that’s currently in style is highly convenient to a card carrying Mo like myself, I really ought to take advantage while I can.  And I realized as I got dressed this morning that I’ve lost a whole stack of shirts that I took out of my drawers last time I was pregnant.  So I’m low on shirts.  And did I mention that it was quiet and clean?

So I wandered around.  I picked up a couple pairs of shorts.  I made it to the watch counter.

Oooooh, look how pretty.  Wow I really like this one.  And it has a crystal face, a must, (I’m very hard on my watches) and it’s titanium, (I’m very very hard on my watches) and it has a cool metal mesh band that is infinitely adjustable, unlike the metal link ones, that always end up either too long or too short, or the  leather ones that stretch and wear out. (Did I mention how hard I am on my watches?)  And it’s so pretty.  And it’s $130.00.  Eeek.

I really do wear and love my watches (I say watches but I ought to make it clear that I only own one functioning watch at a time, I’m not the kind of girl that has a different watch to match her outfit.)  I probably get $130.00 worth of use out of them but- I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t bring myself to pay $130.00 for a watch.  “I’ll think about it,” I told the woman at the counter.  I continued wandering the store.

8 days ago we took Irish1 to the ER for stitches.  He’s fine.  It’s not an interesting story so I won’t bother telling it, except for the part where he refused to stand on the scale.  So I held him and stood on the scale and then I handed him off to Sean and stood on the scale again.  I honestly couldn’t even begin to guess what Irish1 weighed.  But I know what I did. 117 lbs.  117.2 to be exact.  117 lbs!!!!  I don’t think I’ve been this skinny EVER! (Go ahead and hate me, I’m too thin for it to bother me.)  I weighed more that that by a minimum of five pounds when I was in high school.

So why is it that now that I’m at the smallest I’ve ever been, and let’s face it, the smallest I’m ever gonna be, maternity shirts are the height of fashion?!!  The high waists, the flowing lengths, come on people!  My stomach’s never gonna be this flat again, can’t I show that off?  Just a little?  I’m not looking for a bikini top here, I’m not even into showing my midriff, (aside from the undergarment issue there’s the fact that skinny does not equal anything in terms of muscle tone, or skin color) but I’d like something slightly form fitting.  Is that too much to ask?

Apparently it is.

I grabbed a couple possibilities from the little boy’s department (my secret source of cute, cheap t-shirts) and with my shorts and a skirt (the only one for under $50 I had seen ) headed for the fitting room.  One of the pairs of shorts was OK.

Alright, so I wasn’t doing fantastically but the shorts weren’t too expensive ($24) so having to look at myself, partially dressed, in the horribly unflattering light (fluorescent?  Really?  Don’t you want me to think I look good so I’ll buy something?) hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

I thought.

I really did need to get a watch.  I was trying to justify the $130.00.  I headed back to the watch counter and looked around.  There was a clearance rack on the counter, 40% off.  And there it was.  Angels sang, trumpets trumpeted and light shone from heaven right onto my watch, the same one I had loved before, in the clearance box.

“Um, can I see this one?” I asked.  The same woman (who now that I think about it may not have been my biggest fan since I kinda got her hopes up before about making a big sale and then I walked away.  But honestly, how could I have done any different?  They tuck the price tags under so you can’t get even an inkling of the price until they unlock the display case.  And how much could she have believed I was gonna buy it?  She could see what I was wearing, I was the walking definition of low budget.) unlocked this display case and handed me the watch.  Yes, it was the same one.  Titianium, crystal, pretty.

“What’s the clearance price on this?”  I asked, unable to do the math in my head what with all the excitement.

“Let’s see how it rings up,” she says.

“It’s $130.00,” she says.

“But it’s on clearance.”

“No, it’s not, I guess someone put it away in the wrong place.”

That’s it?  Yup, that was it.  I probably could have fought it, asked to see the manager.  I know suburbancoorespondant would have but I was too deflated by this point.  I had been considering paying the full price but after seeing it at 40% off (and having that little dream snatched away) I couldn’t even consider it.  I took my shorts and wandered off to buy them.

I went to five different “service centers.”  Apparently the woman at the watch counter is the only person who works at Nacey’s.  I found a rack, hung up my shorts and left.

I glanced around a few other stores in the mall, $50 for that?  It’s not even a whole shirt, really?  Who buys this stuff?

There was a kiosk in the middle of the mall.  It had a sign that said they replaced watch batteries on site.  There were some watches for sale too.  They weren’t cute.  “I give a discount for Spartans,” the man working there said.

I walked away.

But let’s face it, this trip was not going to end well.  I walked back.  “How much for a new battery in my watch?”

“$8.00 but for you I’ll do it for 7.”

I’m sure I could have talked him down to 5.  I paid 7 and walked straight through Nacey’s looking neither to the right nor to the left (5,000,000 because I can’t remember) on my way home.

I now remember why I haven’t been to the mall in three years.   I think I’ll stick with Zarget.

Delusions of Grandeur

I’m gonna start out by saying that I love my husband’s family.  It’s an inauspicious start, I know, sort of along the same lines as “no offense” preceding a highly offensive statement, of “with all due respect” followed by something rude and disrespectful.  But I DO love Sean’s family.  I think they’re all wonderful, amazing people.  And I spend an inordinate amount of time being excited for their yearly (or so) gatherings.

It’s just that I’m never entirely comfortable with them.

Here’s an example.  The Cleanfires*, Sean’s mother’s family, are big huggers and kissers.  I’ve mostly acclimated to that. (It’s not that my family doesn’t hug, we do, but not as a rule.  And we don’t kiss. Each other.)  The Cleanfires greet one another with a hug and a kiss always, without exception.  So I left work a little early yesterday and went over to Sean’s uncle’s house where the family was gathered.  I let myself in and back to the backyard where they were sitting around in a circle chatting.  I was immediately greeted by Irish1 (say what you want about 2 yr olds, they’re great to come home to), I greeted the Pea, who was jumping on the trampoline and wouldn’t come anywhere near me.  And Sean (with a hug and kiss, naturally) and Irish2 was thrust into my arms which I was happy about.  And I even gave my Mother-in-law a hug and  kiss.  And then I didn’t know what to do.  Do I proceed around the circle hugging and kissing everyone?  I kind of know that I should have, that’s kind of how they are (how they roll, if you will) but it’s just so foreign to me that I couldn’t.  I waved hello I smiled.

I had been there for all of one minute and already I felt wrong footed.

I would like to emphasize that they do not do this on purpose.  These are extremely nice people, shirt off their back kind of people.  If they knew that they made me feel this way (and some of them do now, I know of at least one who reads this blog) they would be really sad.  I don’t blame them, it just is what it is.

I don’t know how to talk to them.  One on one I’m fine (I think) I can chat about my life, the kids, what’s going on with me.  And I really like hearing about what’s new with them, although I’m exceedingly bad at asking them questions.  (I have questions there’s just a disconnect in my head.  The questions form but are unable to travel to my mouth, in fact they seem unaware that they ought to do so. They just pile up milling around in my cerebral cortex not especially interested in going anywhere… but that will have to be a post for another day) But I don’t know how to join in their conversations.  I’m interested but I have nothing to say.  Or maybe I do have something to say but for some reason I don’t know how to join in.  It’s almost like they’re speaking a foreign language, one that I understand but don’t know how to speak. So I sit and listen but eventually I just start to feel like I’m eavesdropping.

So I move on.  There are plenty of places to move on to.  It’s a good size family.  The preponderance of them are older than I.  (Sean’s mother’s generation are like my generation in mine.  There are a lot of them and they’re really close.)  But Sean has three or four cousins that are within a year or so of my age and even some siblings who aren’t too far off. And it’s not that they’re not my “kind” of people, if you want to look at it from a class, or socio-economic (for you PCers out there), point of view.   I’ve never seen a family that runs that gamut so completely.  They’ve got every kind of person you could think to meet, ex-convicts to CEOs. Literally. I feel neither out-classed by, nor better than, any of them. (Well, OK I’ll admit I do feel a bit out-classed by a few of them but only in the abstract.  When we’re actually together I’m mostly OK, I did grow up with the children of Congressmen and Senators after all.)

I am naturally shy and I know I have a serious inability to put myself forward.  (It’s not lack of confidence, I think I’m afraid of being too much of a showoff.  No doubt it stems back to some abuse heaped on me by my siblings in my childhood.) And I think that has a lot to do with it but I don’t think that’s all of it.

All I know is after an evening with the Cleanfires I feel like a child who’s been trying to fit in with, and pretend to be one of, the adults.  I don’t know why that is.

Aren’t in-laws fun?!

PS.  I called this post Delusions of Grandeur not because I think anyone has them, quite the opposite, hanging out with the Cleanfires seriously exposes my inferiority complex.  It’s ironic.

* Not the real family name in an effort to thwart all those cyber stalkers who are after me.  And also because I like the psudonym thing, It’s like I’m in the witness protection program.