Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Shine on and run around the crazy diamond...

With baseball/softball, games/practices, Every. Single. Day. Of. The. Week, it was bound to happen.
Twin B, has one heckuva shiner.
He was playing pick up ball with other boys his age on an adjacent field at my daughters softball game.
His eye was swollen shut before I could even get him into the car.
I used an otter pop as an ice pack, because I am resourceful like that.
I called Aunt Nurse and she said as long as his vision was OK, just watch him for normal head trauma signs.
He felt better after I addressed his major worry, that, NO, he wouldn't have a black eye forever, only for as long as normal bruises last.
He felt MUCH better when we got back to the field and watched his sister get hit by a ball (take your base chick!) and even better in the next inning when she hit a home run.
I was brave and didn't even cry once.



Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Jack going down the hill that Jill went.

Aww GEEbus Hairy and Josephine.
I found a lump on Jack the Rat today.
I'm not up for lacing any more fruitloops with codeine syrup or distraught children.


Sunday, May 21, 2006

Chill and deal or I will kick you.

I am self diagnosing myself with "restless leg syndrome".
But it doesn't happen when I am sleeping.

It happens at work when I want to kick lousy family members asses.
Example A: As I predicted, the resident falls, because she needs more care and supervision than we can possibly provide.
This is why she was given 30 days notice 50+ days ago, which you chose to ignore.

It happens at ball games when poopy parents ruin the game for the KIDS ( is someone confused about the purpose of youth sports?) and my leg starts twitching for a kicking.

Example A: Oldest daughter (14) has been volunteering (volunteering, meaning without pay or compensation, out of the goodness of ones heart and/or performing a service that others don't want to do) to ump at the younger ages city softball league games. With her experience, she has been very consistent and impartial (especially because she has been subject to quite a few poorly PAID umped games). In the last game she umped, she made a tough call, to which both team coaches agreed upon was a fair call.
Insert testosterone charged, redneck, possibly intoxicated and/or mentally ill "parent" here.
Ump in tears, spirit of the game ruined, and girls from both teams embarrassed and hesitant to make any more plays. (My girl toughed it out, and I am....Beyond words with her ability to chill and deal, and still volunteer) (I so fucking rhyme).

Example B: My oldest daughters tournament team coach's ultimate demand/priority is good sportsmanship. All of the girls and the parents on our team had to sign a contract stating as much to be allowed on the team.
Insert hecklers (usually parents, sometimes our teams).
Insert the opposing teams base runner, who when trying to steal, our girl caught the ball and was in front of second base to tag her, so her coached attempt to not getting out was to punch our second basegirl... in.the.face.

Coming soon, restless foot in your ass syndrome (I am heavily insured and look hot in steel toed boots).

Friday, May 19, 2006

Calgon, take me AWaaaaay...

I'm too tired to post about why I'm too tired to post.
(Gah!)
(Work is crazy. We have two residents who's families were given 30 days notice about 50 days ago. The astronomical amount of time and care they require, is taking away time and care from other residents and I'm about to go bald from ripping my hair out).
(28 residents, 2 aids and 1 nurse who leaves at 7pm)
(We're talking cuing to pick up the toothbrush, put toothpaste on it, stick it in your mouth, move it around, take it out, spit, rinse, set down the toothbrush...For every task. Don't even ask about taking a shit).
(This is assisted living, not do everything my damn self living).
(I am truly sad that they have declined so drastically, and I'm very frustrated that their extensive needs are affecting the other residents quality of life).
(I've worked here for five years and tonight was the first night that I left (although very late) where I felt like there were needs that were NOT met).
(That really stinks...As in maggoty skunk ass stench).
(Poo on the resident's lousy family members who A: Don't give a shit. 2: Don't exist. C: Are in denial. 4: Are lazy rat bastards. E: Don't care that their Mother/Grandmother/Aunt/Sister is in danger because she isn't in the appropriate facility that can properly address her needs)
(We are not set up for severe dementia/alzheimer patients).
(They are going to fall, or wander off...Or a plethora of many other icky things).
(Dear lousy family members, I am having bad thoughts about you).
(You are teh suck).
(I haven't had time to shop or pack (for 3 people, my daughters are old enough to pack their own bags) for the softball tournament this weekend)

(The cooler is empty)
(I did finally rent a hotel room)
(I have not yet gassed up the gas hog (aka sold my soul) for the 2 hour drive each way)
(Wait...What day is it?)
(Eff You Cee Kay)



Tuesday, May 16, 2006

I loove you more, or, what Mothers Day means to me:

It is the completed feeling of a baby snuggled into your chest.
It is being the one, however flawed, that is wanted.
It is hotwheels and mudpie ramps, without caring if a few garden plants got squished in the process.
It is four children and one Mom in a full size bed, talking, tickling, farting, teasing for most of the morning.
It is calling my Grandma, and her words and voice taking me back to the happiest times of my childhood.
It is gagging down burned scrambled eggs and soggy toast, enthusiastically, because my 11 year daughter made me breakfast in bed.
It is waking up a 5am, sitting in my team colored chair, my team visor, and my team colored toenail polish, in 90 degree weather, with a serious sunburn from the tournament games the day before, and being happy that I am there, even though it is Mothers Day and my daughter is warming the bench because of an "attitude".

It is an unexpected phone call from my Dad, who wishes me a happy mothers day, and then asks me to hold out the phone so he can hear the game.
It is the Mothers Day first grade project of Marigold seeds planted in a painted pot that says, "Wow, I loove you".
It is having them and them having me, and nothing much else matters.
It is nothing I planned for, but everything and more that I could ever possibly wish.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Tomato Toddler Therapy

Last year was the first year in my adult life that I did not plant a garden.
I thought I was too busy with school to take care of one.
I did plant all of my flowers and hanging baskets, but not a garden.
I'll never do that again.
It was teh suck (all your base are belong to us).
As a child I thought that gardening would be a major reason I would need therapy as an adult (my father was a vegetable garden Nazi. One of my punishments was to pick a 5 gallon bucket of rocks out of the garden).
As an adult, gardening is one of the things that keeps me out of therapy.

My containers are planted, my hanging baskets are happily full and hanging, and the tomato seeds my boys and I started in the kitchen window, are now happy toddlers in my garden.
Peas: Check.
Lettuce: Check.
Cucumbers: Check.
Cilantro, Basil: Check.
Pumpkins planted in my Grandpa's wheelbarrow because I just like the idea: Check.

Gardening is one of those areas in my life that I put forth a little effort and get bushels full of satisfaction back.

Next year I am going to plant some of the things that I hated as a child, but now hate to love. Rhubarb, asparagus, Garlic and Gooseberries. All things that take time to grow.
I need to grow though, and I have time.
And if you didn't think I was weird enough already, Marigolds are my favorite flower and second in scent only to warm tomatoes and summer soil.
Thanks Dad.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

I win.

Remember that game you played when you were a kid?
This is Keri style, from just one day.
What's grosser than gross?
Baseball pants, softball shorts, sliding shorts, protective cups, cleats, socks, shirts, hats, visors with sweaty orange dirt, fermenting in various bat bags.
What's grosser than that?
Changing a day Catheter bag to a night one, and the tube gets clogged with bloody/mucusy tissue, that has to be removed somehow by me, followed by the unique fleshy smell of warm UTI urine mixed with bleach.
What's grosser than that?
Reaching behind to do peri-care and the gentle pressure causing an adult to poop in your gloved (thank Dog) hand.
Say it with me folks, Warm, chunky poop.
Welcome to my double gloving world!