Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Certainly won't be her last

Took Ruby to her first rock and roll show the other night. 'Twas the band Flyleaf and, if my 40 year old self may say, they kicked major ass.

The lead singer, Lacey, looks drawn from a Tim Burton sketch book. All straight black hair draped over one eye, the size of an Olsen twin and sporting a icy-red crinoline prom-dress (Yes, I love her. No, I will never tell Penelope.). Heavy, meaty guitars and a driving zombie fueled groove that captivated the house. And it was LOUD. Mother fucker. I didn't remember how loud clubs got. Or how hot. HOT and LOUD. Mama loved it. Ruby? Hmmmm, not so much. Not at first.

Enter guardian angel of 10 year olds at their first show. Dude came out of nowhere while we were sitting out of the main venue area, made conversation about his first show and gave her some earplugs. Then, protector of most excellent premiere concert experiences, chauffeured us up to the VIP section, parted the velvet rope and gave Ruby a stool to stand on. And then he was gone.

Yes, I was crying. Shut up.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Aunt Bunny

If I ever get to have my chance at master control, I'ma make damn sure that we all get to do the jobs we can hit out of the park. I see it every day at work: Cool washcloths? Dad. Soothing voice? Best friend. Push an 8 pound baby out of a vagina? mom.

I need a lot these days. To quote a rather hot husband: It's like we're running a multi national corporation around here. And like most women, asking for help is akin to willingly gargling each morning with the leftovers in the coffee cups that litter the sink from the day before. But I'm getting better! And people help! They do!

My god, do they help. I have been so overwhelmed with how much people not only *say* they want to help, but who follow through with gusto.

The bleeding heart I give a warm and happy home to has been strutting around like Mick Jagger AND Steven Tyler over the loveliness of my friends. And my not so friends; my acquaintances? I guess what I'm saying is that the outpouring has been huge and I am thrilled to be providing an outlet for so much good.

A note on the title of this post: Remember Eddie Murphy's first comedy special? The one where he wore that insane red leather suit? And he talked about his, ahem, zaftig Aunt Bunny who had a mis-hap on the stairs? She was all HELP ME LORD JESUS CHRIST! I'M FALLING DOWN THE STAIRS! THUMP DA BUMP BUMP DUMPTA DA DUMP DUM THUMP DA DUMP BA BUMP BUMP BUMP. OOOOOOOOO! I'M HALF WAY DOWN NOW!

I'm Aunt Bunny. Get it?

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Eye of the beholder

Somebody at work yesterday said that uncircumcised penises look like aardvarks. Aardvarks! After I wiped off the yogurt that I had spit out all over my face, I asked her what she thought circumcised penises looked like. Her answer: ACORNS on a SAUSAGE.

Good gawd, I said. Leave the poor aardvarks alone.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Hi, my name is Michele and...

I have an 18 month old baby boy who is unable to walk. Or talk. Today, this is killing me.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

You can't always get what you want

Hit the ground running, I did. In the OR and delivered by 0741AM. No time to think just move, move, MOVE! I loved it. I needed it. If they had told me I was going to be in the back all muthahumpin' day, I would have been all: BRING IT ON. 'Twas a day I didn't want to think, 'twas a day I needed to just do.

Handling losses is a part of my job that I embrace fully and totally. I ask for the patients who are losing their babies and willingly assist my co-workers when the job is theirs that shift. I want to be the caregiver because I care. No horn tooting or back slapping. I just feel very, very confident in my ability to help the patients & families who find themselves in the worst set of circumstances possible.

So, no pause, no hesitation: I leave the recovery room and my c-section and I take the patient waiting in triage.
The 19 year old about to lose her baby. She's quiet (understandably), she's pensive (of course), she will not make eye contact (totally expected). And she's alone; oh, sweet suffering souls of the planet do I wish she had stayed that way. Stayed alone. That her awful, sad, scary, damaged family had stayed away. There was no way in to any one of them. Closed, angry and insulated. It was like having 4 separate families in that room. No one spoke, no one made eye contact they all wanted what they wanted and not one of them asked the patient what she wanted. She's 19 years old! She already has 2 children! You are her lover, her mother, the baby's grandmother! Someone be gentle with her!

When the sweet babe finally delivered; delivered through much bleeding, I scooped him (yes, a boy) up in a warm blanket and whisked him to the warmer. The little one's hands were up by his face, his legs and big, beautiful feet were curled up tight. He was perfect. And I told him he was. I also told him that I believed he had made the right choice; that he was a smart, smart boy.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Beam me up

So yesterday, I told my husband (with a hearty amount of sincerity) that I wanted to go live in a yurt. A yurt with a roof garden. HA!

We had just endured the most humorless wireless phone salesperson in all of the whole wide world for about 20 minutes of just the worst mind-melitng script of red-taped-the-COMPANY-knows-best BULLSHITTEDNESS. The smarmy-ness could have greased the engine of my 2001 Chevy Tahoe. My husband left first because the baby was tearing apart ACCESSORIES for the CELLPHONES and gettin' a bit crunky from the aforementioned humorless episode that just kept going on and on and on and on and on..... and on. I finished the transaction alone. This may have not been the best idea.

I didn't say anything mean. I mean I didn't use mean words. You know what I mean? (If you've been paying attention, obviously my previous post has been blown to bits).

I walked out of that store so fucking annoyed and Yurt loving. Yurt yearning. Instead, I got a new data plan.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Mirror, mirror

I do a lot of reflecting now. But maybe not in the way you thinks, ole internets. Here's an example: When I see the extraordinarily buffed out dude at T-ball, I no longer jump to the conclusion that he's a meathead-ed Marlboroite. I wait till he SCREAMS and spews SALIVA through the fence for little Timmy to "RUUUUN! RUN IT OOUUT!" and then I judge.

I'm not sniffin' my drawers reflecting. I'm stealing little moments in the day to make sure I don't say/think an ugly/stupid thing reflecting. This new habit is likely to help me in my new life ON THE DAY SHIFT. The place where I get to spend far too many hours with "Puerto Rican Republican", the "Squirrelly-eyed Conservative", and the " Mayor of I-don't-care-how-slowly-I-walk-I- am-still-not-coming-to-open-a-delivery-table-for-you Town".

Ah, perhaps I *am* still the same old me I see.