Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

and I think to myself...what a wonderful world

Trouble move from me.
I don't want no more of you.

I've dealt with a recent nasty bout of quasi-depression, but a new and improved? agitated version.

The damn dogs woke me up tonight, I surmise, barking at invisible squirrels.
Dearest Canines, you don't even like nuts. STFU.
I rushed out to assess the extreme damage and utter chaos that must have been ensuing...because of all the barky bark barkiness. With barking.

I stepped on Legos, and couldn't open the front door due to a rainbow array of flip flops that have taken up residence at my front door.

And I guess I'm on the upside now.
Because I was all sappy about the Legos and the little boys who built the Lego fort.
And the teens who worship summer like I do, and hate real shoes like I do.

I've only got a few years left to get blood blisters from Legos.
I've only got a few months left to share flip flops, because the teens seem to be growing water skis for feet.
And my Golden Retriever has more grey hairs than my husband.

Let's hug now.

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Tuesday, August 21, 2007

The soon-ish pictures.

My last post depressed me so much, I dug out the "soon-ish" pictures that I promised from my Utah sisters visit to her Washington sisters a few weeks ago.
Good times, with captions!

My niece Twin A, my oldest daughter, my niece twin B and younger niece!

This looks like a lot of kids, but actually, one twin is missing. My sister and I are very fertile.

Another shot, with the same missing twin (I think she was pooping) and one of my twins missing (he was feeding Pearl the Pot Bellied Pig).

My sisters grapes. I'm trying to talk her into a private lesbian wine label.

Niece twin A being very gross...GAWD I'm proud!

My niece who is a few months older than my twins. I have a great picture of her somewhere, where she is hugging my very pregnant twin belly.

My Washington lesbian sisters pygmy goats.

My twin B, Mr. Napkin Head.

My niece Twin B, my second daughter, and my niece twin A.

My Utah sister and my nephew.

Their visit actually made it more painful for me. To actually see how much they've grown, how much we've missed. The whole cousins growing up apart from each other thing was especially sucky. They moved away two+ years ago, but my Utah sister has finally started putting in applications in Washington. She is an awesome bi-lingual teacher, so get here already!

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Call the calling off off.

My younger daughter had her last series of tryouts for her tournament softball team last Saturday.
She didn't make the team.
She was #14 on the list of 13 allowed players.
This was earth shattering for her, thus her family.
It's not comforting to her, that the she was #14 for a highly competitive tournament team that had many players try out from a huge square mile area.
It's the ONLY team for her age group this year, last year, there were four.
She feels rejected.
She played for them last year.
She had been taking private lessons from the assistant coach for the last two months.
She cried herself to sleep in my bed, and I held her all night while my heart broke into little bits.
The next morning, she brought me her bat bag, with her all her ($$$) equipment, and asked me what she should do with it.
The coaches weren't thrilled with the decision they had to make. They see her potential, her drive and determination.
They asked her to keep coming to practices.
On one hand, that sounds good. If she doesn't keep up her skills, she won't ever be able to play at this level again.
On the other hand, is it just a set up for more heart break?
I also wonder how bad it sucks for her sometimes to have my oldest daughter as her sister.

My oldest daughter came upstairs last night, LONG after I thought she had been asleep.
She has this friend, that was her best friend when we were first transplanted to Eastern Washington.
They are still good friends, but their lives took different paths.
She called her last night and told her that she was pregnant.
She is fifteen.
Her Mother lives with her Mother and is unemployed.
Her Father is a druggie that somehow holds a job as a janitor, but doesn't have a car and walks or stumbles to work.

I can't seem to find this chapter in the parenting handbook.

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Thursday, August 16, 2007


It seems like the last few days, everything I said should have been followed by some sort of very, quickly spoken radio voice (any comments made by this human need to be taken with a god damn grain of salt fuckers, and don't necessarily represent her normal disposition. Subject to change.)

But, you WILL! be eating the broccoli.

Mostly, everyone was spared.
Although I do sort of regret telling my very ornery 15 year old to, "change your damn tampon already."
I'm becoming to believe that Mother Nature invented hormones and the teenage years to ease...or obliterate, attachment issues, so they can better ease into adulthood.

BTW, Ebay has some great deals on luggage (insert disclaimer)

We're doing the annual pacific ocean beach "vacation" soon, and sand/waves/seaweed usually fixes everything.
Either way I'll still have some awesome shells and Tracy Bonham to remind me that, EVERYTHINGS FINE!

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Sunday, August 12, 2007

Fuzzy Love Glow

I frequently blather on about how awesome my siblings are.
Because they just...are.
Deal with it.

My older TBM sister was out visiting us this week from Utah.
It was awesome, and I filled the memory card of my camera (pictures soon-ish).

She just mentioned in passing, that she'd had her temple recommend taken away for an entire year.
Then told of us all the Utah cousin marriages, missionary endowments etc. etc... she hadn't been able to attend.
She'd told her bishop in her annual interview, and then her stake president, that denying equal rights for gays r.e. marriage was wrong and she didn't support it.

She was driving myself, our oldest sister and her lesbian partner around at the time. We had to pull over and have a 'moment' and then we all quickly put our sunglasses on.

I told her she was the most awesome Mormon EVER.

I'm just so damn wealthy in the sibling department.

On another note, when we got back from our tearful sun glass escapade to procure semi Mormon approved Diet Coke, we got a phone call from our baby brother on his new quad band cell phone.
He had been rushed to some hospital in Colorado for surgery (because no one even close to Moab could deal) because he seriously fucked up his knee in his last US sky dive.
Quad band cell phone because he just closed on his Moab house, and is moving his family to Australia...after a brief sailboat excursion on the Mexican Baja.
He didn't break anything, and his ligaments are intact, just many soft tissue issues and a whole lot of stitches.

I'm going to Utah in October for a few weeks, to snuggle my younger sisters first baby and to see my brother and fam off to Australia.

(insert fuzzy love glow here)


Friday, August 10, 2007

Maintain an appearance of truth or reason

It's that time again.
When 'normal' parents are hustling to do the school clothes/supplies thing.
I'm a little OCD, so that part is long over (says the queen of online shopping, because the social anxiety loves the on-line stores where I only have to deal with, irritating the crap out of myself.)
The sports physicals and the immunizations are done, even the first of the HPV series for my daughters.
So now is time for stressing about things that are beyond my control.

Ahh, one of my favorite activities.

Oldest daughter: I just filled a prescription for her. We have always been very open, which I feel very lucky about. She is 15 1/2 and this prescription is to help treat acne (please, I have more than she does) and to regulate her periods. Hey, I'm just thrilled that she is able to talk to me about it...while I silently freak out, and mumble random statistics.

Younger daughter: She starts middle school this fall. She is crazy nervous about the entire thing. Especially, the showering after P.E. dealio. I've brought forth my invisible pom poms, and am, as always, in her corner.

Twin A: His expressive language issues have taken a real nose dive this summer. Being the Mom, I've never had a problem understanding him, but I've noticed a serious regression, unlike any other summer break. Dad has even had problems communicating with him, and unfortunately, Twin B has once again taken up his post as a translator at times. His most amazing Speech Language Pathologist that he had been seeing since he was three, took a new job this we are sort of in, "holding our breath" mode. We were so spoiled by her amazing awesomeness. The new SLP has some serious herculean shoes to fill. For someone with serious expressive language issues, like my boy, an amazing SLP is crucial. Even a decent one could seriously impede his progress. I can't even consider the effects of a lousy SLP. We were also very spoiled by his first grade teacher, who made it her first priority to understand my boy.
She chose his second grade teacher for us, but again, with the very large shoes.

Twin B: He's always pretty mellow, but excited that his mother is considering letting him (and his twin) ride his bike to school, sometimes, every third leap year, on odd Tuesdays. It's only three blocks. No biggie... but OMG three blocks! with intersections! and the umbilicus stretching and possible pedophiles! (Shut UP Internets! They can ride their bikes! Plausibly.)

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Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Chronic failures lead to * and ?

This profession I've chosen?
You are who you associate with?
I've struggled with that, but have always thought I was some sort of (ego) exception to the rule.
I do make a difference to actual patients/residents that I work with, but no further.
That is usually enough for me, but the other side gets VERY tiresome.

I wasn't at work when it happened.
We had a resident fall and break her arm, sent to the ER (in the same building, same hospital). They took and X-ray, said...eww yeah that sucker is broken and sent her home, back to her room, back to us.
Because it was Friday night.
Now, if you or one of your children had gone to the ER with a broken arm, they would have either fixed it, or sent you off to someone who could have.
Not sent you home.
No matter what day of the week it was.

Apparently, certain parameters permit substandard care.
  • Advanced age. (she is only 72, and a full code)
  • Mental issues. (she is developmentally delayed)
  • Medicare. (longer forms to fill out)

Two+ days later, no longer the weekend, her arm was finally set into a cast, and she was brought back to our assisted living in an awful state. The most pressing at the time was that she was a type II diabetic that had missed two meals, not to mention the extreme pain and exhaustion she was suffering.

I was at work this time, I fed her (got a little crazy outraged when they tried to admit her back to our assisted living facility) and hauled my pangaea ass over to my unit nurse, to the charge nurse of the entire hospital and then to administration.

She finally got her admitted to acute care, and I called the state hot line.

Whatever fuckers, I'm a mandatory reporter of abuse, and I just didn't/can't/won't see it any other way. It is what it is. I'd like to hear your opinions after trying to live and sleep with a broken arm after almost 72 hours.

Our "assisted living" facility isn't capable of taking care of someone who has such issues (pain management [we only have a nurse for about 10 hours a day and last time I checked there were 24] ambulatory issues [we are a "no lift facility" and thus aren't able to help someone in/out of bed, on/off the pot etc.]

Years ago, the charge nurse told me I was in the wrong line of work because I cared too much. She told me I would burn out...oh about seven years ago.

I'm finally thinking that maybe she was right all along, I just might "burn out" of this kind of lousy shit...and no one in THIS facility seems to appreciate my large mouth.

So here I am again, with enough money and desire saved (again after the $2400 root canal of spring 2007) to go back to school, but now with a LARGE asterisk and question mark.

I AM in the right field, but maybe I would be a better ombudsman, advocate, or social worker and if that fails, PROSECUTOR.

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