This Is What Procrastination Looks Like

I love frolicking in procrastination and anxiety, don't you?

I have a big birthday party at our home this weekend. Today is Thursday and I've managed to not:

• clean the bathrooms
• change the sheets
• wash the windows
• sweep the floors
• vacuum the carpets/rugs
• pull the weeds
• spread the mulch
• spray off the patio
• make a grocery list
• order the balloons
• decide what to feed the group
• surely there is something else

And I can't even remember what I forgot! I am procrastinating that too.

The point is, I don't know what I am going to do with 40 people this weekend for four hours. So instead of working it out, I am biting my nails and surfing the Internet. I've already located friends from high school, checked the news online twice, feed my kids cookies for breakfast and popcorn for lunch, read every semi-interesting email and article from Facebook, thought about signing up for Twitter, read blog posts and basically haven't moved a muscle. 

I am paralyzed. This is my family. My husbands family. Close friends. I shouldn't feel this much pressure. I know it is just me. If it were just a 4 hour party that would be one thing, but some of these people are coming from out of town and are going to stay with us on Friday night. I will have 11 additional people in my household for 24 hours. I don't trust my nieces and nephews to not break a window or tear plants out of the ground, or general respect our home. We don't have enough places to sit comfortably and the flooring is tile. It's too hot outside and there is no where to sit outside. 

I like to procrastinate and fret in solitude and now doing it here is even starting to feel uncomfortable.

I am not a party person. I don't like hosting them. Sometimes I don't even like going to them. I felt obligated in a since to have one and so am using one event to kill all the birds, summer birthdays and housewarming in one. I put way to much pressure on myself and it results in these moments of complete procrastination and performance anxiety. This is the first time we will have hosted an event in our new home.

It's a party. No one is going to care if its too hot, too hard, and not just right. It isn't the end of the world. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. I am going to ponder a little further about getting out of this chair and getting to work. 

Don't Drive Mad!

Just after the first of the year I had day where I snapped. If you have never snapped this is what it looks like:

1. Husband walks in the door. 
2. You snatch the keys out of his hand without saying hello. 
3. You slam the front door on your way out. 
4. You walk to the car without looking back at the children huddled around the window. 
5. You open the car door and throw your purse on the seat. 
6. Music gets turned on to drown out the screaming in your head.
7.  Ignition with a little extra gas because it sounds like a roar.
8. Tire squeals for effect so they know you are gone.
9. And because the first intersection is still too close to home and the anger hasn't had time to dissipate you step on the gas at the yellow light instead of slowing down and end up going through the intersection at a speed of 10-15 mph greater than the posted limit. 
10. "FLASH" photo radar at the intersection you thought was just monitoring red light running goes off.

Two months later you get to re-live the whole experience with a traffic ticket issued to your husband because it is his car, but has your picture with your ticked off face. I was really mad.

I considered letting him take the fall for the ticket. But it was mine. I was wrong. I never should have driven in a state such as I was in. I should have walked.

I confess that the ticket is mine and submit my information to the city court to correct the ticket and then get to spend 4.5 hours taking a defensive driving course. It has been over 10 years since I had a ticket and probably 15 since I attended a defensive driving course. It has changed... you can do it online now!

Now that it is over I should have chosen to take a physical course somewhere on the other side of town. I could have asked my husband to take the day off (because my anger was his fault) and spent the day out.

But I did make special note of these paragraphs:

How do Stress, Anger, Emotions, and Fatigue Affect Driving?

Emotions can have a powerful influence over the way you drive. Anger, anxiety, fatigue and stress can interfere with your ability to make safe driving decisions. When you are stressed, tired, angry, or upset, you are less apt to pay attention to your driving. You may not see hazards or react as quickly, and the chance of getting into a collision will increase. If you are angry or stressed, you may let your anger out by driving recklessly or becoming aggressive toward other drivers.

Emotions: if you are having an emotional problem, your mind is preoccupied. You may be worried about financial problems, family issues, someone who may be ill, etc. This is when you are most accident-prone. If you are in this condition, allow someone else to drive for you, or wait until the problem has been eliminated before you drive.


So online driving school is a joke. I thought it was going to be serious, so I paid attention between diaper changes, lunches, baths, with the sound track to Frozen in the background. At intervals they had a little animated cop with words in a red box that we were supposed to remember. Things like:

• George W. Bush is the 2nd president to follow in his father's footsteps.
• Dr. Suess' full name was Theodore Suess Geisel.
• Thomas Edison invented the light bulb
• Actor River Phoenix died on a Halloween night from a drug overdose.
• Katharine Hepburn hold the most "best actress" Academy Awards with 4.
• and about 2 dozen other facts just like this.

So I wrote all the nonsense down, and prepared for my test. I thought the test was going to be about driving and the things that I read pertaining to driving.

Instead all of the questions were about trivia! Not a single question on the test related to driving. So I paid $200 for a driving class to get rid of my ticket and was tested on trivia. What a glorious waste of time and money. However, I did save $20 by taking the course instead of paying the speeding ticket and now I know even more useless stuff than I did before.

Time For A Bigger Ring

Every now and then something unexpected happens to put a smile on my face. This weekend gifted me one of those such moments and it happened at the car dealership of all places.

Due to an unfortunate event (another story) I needed to take our van in for some emergency work and some regular maintenance. Fortunately, my husband was violently ill and couldn't work. How sad that I was ecstatic that he was home, even if it was because he was so sick he couldn't stand up straight or be more than 10 feet from a bathroom. It's the small things that make me happy:-)

A trip to the dealership could not have waited. We are talking embarrassing sounds, and something dragging on the pavement. This isn't a mechanical blog so I won't try to explain. I am glad that whatever my husband ate the previous day decided to wreck havoc when it did. Again, sorry he had to suffer, but his suffering was my bliss. That sounds bad too.

But imagine for a moment going to the dealership with 4 kids. Yeah, no fun!

So I am at the dealership all by myself on a beautiful morning. I sat outside and talked on the phone to my friend from two moves ago and I am having a great time. An uninterrupted phone call! All the while feeling guilty that I have left my kids with a sick man who won't be able to do anything if they need him. The house could burn and he would be in no shape to save anyone, not even himself. It was the same as leaving my children alone, but without a crime being committed. But I'm alone.... finally!

And it just gets better. My car is finished and ready to go in less than 2 hours. As I get in my car and ready to pull away this young man walks over to my van and motions for me to roll down the window. I wonder what I have forgotten or what it could be. This is what it is:

Him: shyly. "Um, hi. I don't usually do this .......... but, are you married?"

Me: flattered. "Yes I am".  In my head thinking do you see the huge van I am driving? Unobservant, not my type.

Him: fumbling for his business card. "Oh, well. Um, my name is X and if you ever need anything and the dealership is closed you can call me and I can get you in touch with whoever you need. I don't work in the service department, I work in sales, but I'll do what I can to help you out".

Me: creeped out, but take the card. "Thank you, X. I appreciate that. Have a nice day."

Yes, it was a little creepy, but come on I am nearly 40 and can't remember the last time I was hit on. Maybe this doesn't even qualify as being hit on, but that young man was in his late twenties, a good decade younger than I am. Either my beauty products are doing what they claim to or he needs glasses.

Driving a mini van may not be enough to advertise my marital status, maybe I need a bigger ring. My husband would say I just need to wear the ring he gave me. Yes, I should but my hands are in a permanent state of swollen. So maybe I do need a bigger ring.... just not the kind I was originally thinking.

Fashion Statements From The Bedroom

Today was the dreaded day that I cleaned off the desk, and the shelves next to the desk, and the over flowing files, and all the junk mail, and filled a recycling bin. It was that kind of day.

I opened up one of several catalog advertisements that were going to be tossed to give myself a mental break. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that I was wearing what one of the models was wearing!

The caption is "Introducing tomorrow's fashion icon: The Pajama Pant. Style it for the weekend with an effortless peasant top".

All I need to get is a fancy off the shoulder peasant top and some gold flip flops and this could be me. No joke, the pants I am wearing (that really are pajama pants) are exactly like this: black ikat and I love them. I can't tell you how many times I have worn them to drop the kids off at school, and some days to pick up too!

I have heard that all you need to pull of any look is confidence. I don't know that I could wear the same pants I slept in around town with the confidence necessary to rock it. But maybe, since I am moving anyway, I will give it a try. Lipstick and some big sunglasses should help!

Maybe pajama pants are the new yoga pants? This could be the first trend that I participated in while it was still trendy.  I am usually a good 5 years late. In fact, this past weekend I bought my first Maxi dress. Still haven't worn it, but I bought it. That's a start.

Is This What It's Like For A Man?

By now every human in the world is aware of the research that exists on the number of times men think about sex in any given period of time. It is something like once a minute, and several times more than women do. There are many studies that have widely different reports. One suggests a man thinks about sex every 6 seconds, and another says they think about sex about the same number of times as they think about eating or sleeping. I suppose you could say the three most important things to a man are sex, food, and sleep. What else do they need to survive? For that matter, those are the basic things keep us all alive and prevent us from becoming extinct.

I still don't think about sex as often as my husband, but I have something that is consuming my thoughts at about the same rate: Houses. If men think about sex as often as I think about homes, it is amazing that they can hold down a job, let alone operate on a human!

It is seriously causing problems for me. Be prepared, because over the next several weeks I will probably be writing about it. It is a recurring theme in my brain, therefore I can't think about anything else until I get it out of my head.

It is causing problems with my sleep. I find myself falling asleep thinking about houses. Dreaming about houses, and constantly looking at houses, floor plans, magazines, pinterest, Houzz, etc. Talking myself in and out of them all day long.

I try to tell myself today is the day that I won't look at anything. And like the addict I am, I fall off the wagon. I tried to limit myself to just one day a week.... I can't do it. I have a problem.

And then I have a good laugh at myself.

Seven years ago a medical student and his starry-eyed wife were doing exactly the same thing. This is the season that everyone gets house-happy. We matched! We have to have a house of our own! Oh, if only I would have known then what I know now. My friends who are finishing residency this year are bustling around trying to finish home improvement projects to increase their chances of a quick sale. They are cleaning around the clock, and staying outside with the kids, storing their belongings in off-site storage, and stressing over finding a buyer at just the right time so they don't end up like us last year. That was fun.

I feel for them I do. But then I smile to myself and think of how nice it is going to be to write our 30-day notice letter and drop off the keys on our way out of town without having to worry about all that.

The difference between us seven years ago, and today are rather amusing and stark. Seven years ago we didn't have two dimes to rub together and somehow thought buying a house was a good idea. Today we actually have more than two dimes but aren't going to buy a house.

So why am I looking at houses? It's a disease, and I've got it bad.

A Charming Recollection

Thanks Emma. Your post today reminded me of a something I almost forgot!

Once upon a time, when we were extremely poor medical students and preparing for our first adventure into residency, we took a trip. Our trip was all about finding a place for our growing family to live for the next 6 years. Six years seemed like an eternity at that moment.

Because we were traveling on the cheap, we made arrangements with the hospital to stay in their student house that was currently vacant. It had only been vacant for about 48 hours.

We stopped by the program office and picked up the keys and bedding in a bag and made our way to the house so pleased with our frugality and excitement bubbling in our veins. We were about to start a new chapter in our crazy medical life.

What cute little houses they had. They were located just behind the hospital and were used to house visiting medical students and professors. My husband had stayed in the neighboring house during his month rotation and said it was nice.

Nice.

I was so taken with the charm of these little houses. When you have lived in a place that has very different architecture it is easy to be fooled into thinking charming is charming, when in fact charming is old and falling apart.

In this case, charming was gross inside. Imagine ultimate bachelor pad circa 1962 - maybe earlier.

We walked around, carefully.

The visiting professor had only recently vacated and there were still dishes drying on the rack. I was holding my breath and trying to convince myself that things were going to be fine. This was a free room and since we were going to be there for 5 nights it represented a huge savings.

We made our way to the bedroom to make the bed with the clean bedding they provided for us, and as I looked at the mattress and bathroom I thought I might vomit. Very likely since I was also pregnant. I looked at my husband and told him that I wouldn't be able to sleep here, or shower here. Ever.

There were small bug carcasses on the mattress and in the corners of the rooms. It all felt so dirty, despite being clean. There was an old, musty, mildewy smell in the air. Something wasn't right and while I couldn't name the one thing that pushed it over the edge, I knew we had to make other arrangements.

Priceline to the rescue! A Best Western never looked so good and I didn't even care how much it cost. So unlike me.

Now when trying to decide where to stay I try to remember that a hotel/motel is only as good as the sleep you are able to get.

I Watched It - Can You Say Fake Everything?

Thanks to all of our friends and bloggers who linked up with us on Medical Mondays. If you forgot to link your blog, no fear, it is available until Friday at midnight. And while we are on the subject go ahead and mark your calendar for Monday May 6th when we do it all again! I love reading what you are up to and having a day set aside where we all come together. It's a great way to start of a new month.
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Have you heard all the buzz about Married to Medicine, the new and terrible show on Bravo? I had vowed to not watch it or give it any of my precious time, but after hearing so many of you talk about the show I felt compelled to see what the fuss was all about. Plenty. If you are curious, you can download the first episode for free on iTunes and add your take on the show. For the record I will not be watching any episodes - and certainly not paying to watch it. I will scratch my own eyes out before I do!

The show is pure fiction, there is nothing real about it. Anyone who believes that those four women represent real doctor's wives is just wrong. Dead wrong.

I don't know a single woman like them, or even close to them, nor do I ever want to. Maybe I haven't run into them because I'm not technically a "real" doctors wife yet, but I would imagine the percentage of doctor's wives who are like them to be 5% or less. They represent such a small segment. Hardly worth noticing except for that fact that now they are on TV where everyone (who has Bravo) can see them!

Sure, they tried to capture moments that we all have had, like our husband get paged at inconvenient times and having to leave date nights, etc. What woman who is married to a surgeon can schedule two date nights a week when she says he is on call 24/7, 365 days a year? Is he in solo practice? Don't know many orthopedic guys, or surgeons for that matter, that go solo and private. Maybe he is super special, or can't get along with others. I digress.

The producers went overboard. He got home when it was still daylight! And did you notice his phone? It's an iPhone, lots of us have them. But when I answer/make a call on my iPhone the screen doesn't show my apps page, it shows the call. Someone on set could have at least called him to make it look real. His acting alone couldn't sell it, they should have helped him out a little. Fakers.

More importantly, I think there might be something wrong with their marriage. I don't know about you, but if I welcomed my husband home wearing what she did, my husband wouldn't even hear his pager let alone respond to it. And he certainly wouldn't leave without... you know. My husband is a hot blooded man, not a robot. And the day he doesn't notice that I am wearing next to nothing when he comes home is the day I hire a private detective to follow him around and find out what is going on.

I am picking on her character, probably because she is married to a surgeon and I thought perhaps would have a better grasp of reality, and maybe the character I could relate to. Not so. Sorry Kari, you are making us look bad. All of you are.

And how about Mariah throwing a birthday party for herself because her husband was working. He is an ER doc, and works shifts! You couldn't find a day to throw your party when he wasn't working? Most ER docs work 10-12 shifts a month. That leaves a whole lot of month to work with. But then again maybe he is working double or triple shifts to pay for that house!

I have turned down many invitations because I didn't want to go alone, and have hired a babysitter to go out with friends when the husband isn't home to watch the kids. I get it, we do what we have to do. But throwing a lavish party without your husband. That isn't how I would want to spend my birthday.

I am sure something similar to each of these situations has happened in the past, but I prefer reality to be reality, even if it is boring - not scripted and staged. Married to Medicine is stripped of anything resembling a real life and has been replaced with botox, fillers, and designer labels. The show felt like an advertisement for Louis Vuitton, and this coming from a girl who doesn't know Louis.  Maybe they are a sponsor.

Which brings me to my other point. Did anyone notice that they all live in NEW houses? I went to Bravo's page and looked at their home tours. I would be willing to bet that every single one of the wives bought houses just before this show started filming. They don't look lived in, they are that new. Even the furniture is new. I could almost smell the fresh paint.

No offense to ER docs or psychiatrist's, but I didn't think you got paid that well!  Maybe we should rethink Neurosurgery, and go for something less demanding but apparently much more lucrative.

What I would really like to see is their financial statements. You know, the real stuff. Have they paid off their loans? How long have they been working? Are they living paycheck to paycheck? Are they in the middle of a lawsuit and need to make some fast cash? Warning: if they haven't already been sued I am sure some viewers in the Atlanta area have them targeted, they should be very careful. Are they in debt up to their eyeballs? Is a reality TV series their solution for making ends meet? Seems that way to me.

I don't buy for a moment that these gals were all friends and have a history together or that their husbands know each other, or travel in the same circles. Two ER docs, an Orthopedic surgeon, and a Psychiatrist. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.

As for a code of conduct and being a proper doctors wife? I didn't see much that was proper, polite or civil. I won't even acknowledge half of the stupidity on the show. And should anyone approach me and tell me that I am doing this whole doctor's wife thing wrong, I will know where they got their information from.

I understand that no one wants to acknowledge what real life looks like. It's not glamorous and doesn't make for very good TV. But the life they are portraying is reckless. Everyone involved in the show is giving the general public another reason to view doctors (and their wives) as rich, arrogant, superficial, and fake. In it for the money and the stuff. Thanks, that's just what we needed.

Sugar Highs

We have had quite the week (but aren't they all) and I am glad it is over. My almost two year old has consumed more sugar in the past week than my first child did in his entire first two years of life and I am paying the price right now. It hurts.

It is so bad that she will only eat the marshmallows from her Lucky Charms. Did you catch that I am feeding my daughter Lucky Charms? Yes, I know better. My first and second born were restricted to plain Cheerios only. Now look at us! What have we become?

We used to be such good parents, paying close attention to what went in and what came out. Documenting sleep patterns and diaper changes, washing clothes in special detergent for no reason in particular other than a cute baby was on the bottle, and sanitizing anything that fell on the floor. That is the short list.

Things are a little different now. We don't have any real documentation other than a birth certificate and some photos of our last child. She does take a nap, but only one (our others were still taking two at this point), her clothes get washed with the rest of ours, and things on the floor - that's laughable. I figure if it looks edible, it is edible. If there isn't anything that I can see on it then it can't be dirty and she can put it back in her mouth.

I am torn between feeling like a lazy mother and mother of 4. I am sure there is a difference, and the amount of energy it would require to recreate the toddler years of our first baby for our fourth is on par with a nuclear bomb. I don't have it in me. And even if I did, the results might be similar to a bomb going off!

So how is my punishment being doled out? She is crazy. She woke up at 7:00 hungry but refusing to eat. The protesting continued for two hours. She ate the marshmallows wicked fast and then cried because they were gone and she didn't want to eat the boring sugar coated oat cereal pieces that were left.

And then she found a package of PEZ candy that her brother left on the floor in his room and ate most of it, including the wrapper, before I discovered her. She is like an addict, willing to eat the paper packaging to get to the good stuff!

Finally, she has had some milk and ate some of the boring cereal and is quietly sitting in front of the TV. I don't dare disturb her for fear that she will start crying again. At this moment Daniel Tiger is keeping her and me happy.  Thank you PBS.

Now to figure out how to defeat this cute little candy monster. It's nice to have a goal.

Mortification or Humiliation?

Thanks for linking up with Medical Mondays! I am sad it is over, but so happy to have a group of ladies I feel honored to call my friends. And this is the kind of post one can only share with friends.

How did I start out my week of grounding? By getting a massage, a pedicure and a manicure all from licensed professionals! In the past I have written about my longing for a massage, and my husbands failed attempts at painting nails. (I still can't believe hands that operate in tiny spaces can't get nail polish on just the nails.)

Anyway it was a lovely day. It was a Saturday and the husband was home and offered to watch the kids so I could use my generous valentine's day present of pampering. I showered and shaved and looked and smelled good. The weather was warm (how strange) so I wore a pair of flip-flops I had purchased at the end of summer last year because I felt that I had graduated from the $1 Old Navy Flip Flop sale and was ready for more stylish flops in the $7 dollar range.

I started with the mani/pedi. I didn't have an appointment but they didn't look busy and welcome walk-ins. I had my gift certificate in hand and asked for my services but they didn't have prices listed anywhere so I had no idea what my husband had in mind for me. It had been so long since I had a mani/pedi that I didn't know what they cost anymore. Or what the different types were, so I went regular.

I had the mani/pedi and it was all fine. My last manicure was so long ago I cannot remember, and the last pedicure I received was the week or two before my last baby was born almost two years ago. I am sure there was plenty of work to be done on my digits, all twenty of them.

The place I was at spoke English, but that didn't mean that they spoke English to me. In fact it felt really strange. I think they forgot me at one point or I blended in with the walls and they couldn't see me. I was pretty sure my nails were all dry and there wasn't a clock on the wall and my watch and phone were in my purse so I couldn't see what time it was, but I knew that I had an appointment for a massage that I wasn't going to be late for.

So I tried getting out of the chair myself. They did the mani/pedi in the same chair. That was convenient except for the fact that there was no one to talk to, nothing to watch on tv (or rather there was something to watch if you don't mind Saturday afternoon PBS without the sound), and nothing to do because my nails were wet and my phone was in the purse. When I tried getting out they asked if I was ready to go. Why yes, I think I am done. I wonder how long they would have let me sit in that chair before suggesting I leave? I am guessing hours, or until they needed the chair for someone else.

At the register I am given the total for my mani/pedi and discover that I still have $20 left on the gift certificate. I guess that means I get to go back! I was excited about that prospect, but not delusional enough to think I would actually get back anytime soon.

I leave and put my watch back on only to realize that I had more time than I thought so I head to the drug store to buy the color of nail polish that was currently on my nails. I choose Wet and Wild for $1.99 in fast dry formula. That's me!

Then it's off to the massage. Lovely, amazing, wish I could go every week. What more can I say about that. Amazing.

Then I get home and discover something that leaves me mortified and/or humiliated. The cute black flip flops I had been wearing have discolored my feet. What I do not know is if they became discolored from the moment I put them on my feet, or if after the pedi or massage they turned colors. But the bottom of my feet looked as if I had been running around on the black asphalt all afternoon. Technically in three hours those flip flops had only been on my feet for 40 minutes top. And most of that time was sitting in the car or waiting room. Not walking.

In my mind I start replaying the day. The lady who did my pedicure thought I was filthy dirty and is that why she wore latex gloves? Oh my goodness the lady who did my massage saw my feet too! Did she touch them? I don't remember. I don't think she did. I don't blame her, I wouldn't have either. At least three people have seen my feet, and they probably told all their co-workers about me. The massage place has my name, did they make a little note on my file about my feet!? The mani/pedi ladies were probably snickering about my feet to each other in their foreign language!

So now I may never get another mani/pedi or massage at these locations again. It is possible that I will forever be remembered as the lady with dirty black feet. Thank heavens I am moving in 4 months and will never see them again. But I have learned my lesson. My trusty Old Navy $1 flip-flops have never left my feet black and my $7 flip flops are going in the garbage - they betrayed me!

Oh, what a week it was!

Is Now A Good Time?

The answer is of course not!

I am knee deep in the tax information gathering/researching phase before we turn everything over to a still unnamed professional. After two hours today I have called it quits and will start again tomorrow. For hopefully, the final and last day.

My house is in shambles. Dishes are piling up in the sink. So much so that my kids can tell how long it has been since dad (dishwasher) has been home. By the looks of the sink, it has been two days.

And what do I start thinking of? New projects. That's right. I am thinking about starting a family blog. Or rather re-starting and re-doing a stale old family blog. That should be the last thing on my mind right now.

But that is what my mind does when it has a list of things that have to get done. It starts looking for all the things that would be fun to get done if there were no such thing as a list to remind me that I am a grown-up with real world problems to solve and address.

And then I started thinking about all the things that I wanted to accomplish while living in our holding pattern, also known as fellowship. I was going to do such wonderful, productive, things this year. I was going to get all the scrapbooks updated. I was going to read books I didn't get to over the last 6 years. I was going to research my family history. I was going to sew and be crafty. I haven't done a single one of  these things. They are so far on the back burner I can't even see them anymore. I should just pack up my "supplies" now.

In fact, that is actually on the list. Packing.

I know you say it is still early, but I like to start early. Right now I am preparing to enter the de-clutter phase of my moving plan. What you say? I have clutter? I have only been in this house for 7.5 months and de-cluttered then. I shouldn't have to do it again.

To that I would say: you are right! But holy cow, we have more stuff than I thought we did. I have been steadily purging things as I see them so the job shouldn't be too large. The big job is actually is the disposing of it. I have 8 totes of stuff that I need to itemize, photograph, and drop off at the local Goodwill.

And of course since I just went through the glorious task of looking at my pictures and lists from last years purge and packaged them up all nice and neat for taxes - it reminded me that it is yet time to do it again. I am not paying to move stuff I don't want. We may be traveling even lighter this time around.

The work never ends. Some days I am so tired of being an adult. Can't I just move back in with my parents and let them pay the bills and feed me? And while they are at it, could they just watch my kids so I could finally watch the last episode of Downton Abbey? Would that be too much to ask?

You Said What?

Today I am linking up with another medical support your loved one blog over at Medicine: A Love Story. A big thanks to her for giving me something to write about today, because what I had planned was just awful, and I might use it tomorrow. Her blog has only been up a few weeks, but so far I have found it delightful and I might have a little blog envy. It is beautiful, young, hip, full of life.... all of the things I am not:-)

The topic for the link up is strange conversations you've had as a result of sleep deprivation.

At our house my husband is in a perpetual state of sleep deprivation. Coupled with my rotating cycle of sleep deprivation in 1 year intervals over the last 8 years due to small children, and you have a couple that really could use an entire weeks vacation just to sleep. But my husband tells me that it is impossible to catch up on sleep and you can't make it up. Too bad, so sad.

Most of our evening conversations are:

H: snorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

M: (in my head) I wish he would stop snoring, I can't go to sleep with that noise. I really shouldn't wake him up because on a scale of sleep needs his is off the charts. But I know that he wouldn't want me to be kept  up by his snoring because he values my sleep more than his own.

H: snorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

While I can't pick out a particular "conversation" I will say that lack of sleep does impact his ability to remember actual conversations we have had. Some of them have been important. And then we get into the "I told you", "no you didn't" arguments in which I usually win. Important things now get texted to him as a permanent record so there is proof when the time comes. And it will.

Thank you Medicine: A Love Story for providing another platform to share our medical experiences and grow a community that thrives on connections with complete strangers (my favorite friends). Best of luck on your new blog!

Dress Code - Unwritten Rules

Before you go thinking this is going to be a post on what to wear to the hospital Christmas party you should know that I don't have that problem.... because we didn't get invited to any parties this year which makes the dilemma of what to wear no dilemma at all. I will wear my pajamas thank you very much. It's time to get back to talking about medicine!

This weekend I was watching a cheesy movie that had a character who played a specialist in a big fancy hospital (aren't they all). I didn't pay any attention to the white coat the doctor was wearing, but my husband did! He rolled his eyes and said the "specialist" is wearing a medical student coat. Obviously the stylist on the movie didn't know the unwritten rules for hospital attire and should be fired!

I wasn't even fully aware of the rules until I started noticing that some people wore their scrubs tucked in and others untucked. Some people wore printed scrubs and others didn't. My husband explained to me that only doctors tuck in their scrubs, everyone else wears them untucked. A doctor would never wear printed scrub tops unless maybe they were in Pediatrics. Kind of convenient for judging people harshly when I am out and about the town. You are a doctor. You are possibly a vet tech.

What an interesting dress code. I wonder where it all started? Like who said only doctors get to tuck their scrubs in. What if I like to wear all my shirts tucked in but I am not a doctor? Or what if I am a doctor and want to leave my shirt untucked? Is there really a need to be able to tell who is who when everyone is wearing the same color scrubs? I guess there is, especially if your ego hasn't enlarged the size of your noggin by now. Couldn't they have come up with something else to identify the players?

I remember watching Gray's Anatomy, one of the two times I did, and my husband pointing out that white coats aren't that tailored! Sure they are boxy, but if I were a doctor with the appropriate white coat and scrubs tucked in, I could see having them tailored to fit. I like things to fit. You wear a big unshapely thing and you look big and unshapely. No thank you. I am vain like that!

Good thing I am not the doctor around here. Have you seen the awful shoes they have to wear! Clogs, no thanks. Crocs, wouldn't be caught dead. Tennis shoes.... maybe.

Are there any other dress code rules you know of?

Do You Do Too Much?

Part of the reality of being the stay at home half of a parenting partnership is that we are in our "stuff" all day long. My husband works hard, insanely long hours. His job is tough. But being the boss, the housekeeper, the cook, the driver, etc without any one to delegate to is rough! He can at least tell someone to go do something for him. Who am I going to tell? Me, Myself, and I.

Mom Goes On Strike Stops Cleaning For A Week! This article caught my eye today as I have been on a search for how to make my small children responsible for their own messes and personal items. I have chronicled many of my failed attempts here. I feel like I have tried just about everything!

Just last week I went through the house and picked up all the errant items and put them in a plastic bin and took it out to the garage. I now have two plastic bins and my three older children don't seem to notice things are missing yet and their rooms and play space are just as messy as they were three days ago. Back to square one - nothing has changed. I am seriously considering removing everything!

I realize that we have a case of too much. Don't we all?  Be honest. How many toys did you have as a child? And did you have a dedicated room to put it? Maybe that was our first mistake: thinking kids needed to have a space all their own to put their toys and play in. Having space just makes you want to fill it. Today I am wishing the house we rented didn't have an extra room obviously designed for this purpose. (Note to self: unless we can get this solved our next place will not have such a room.)

Granted we had a play space when we moved for residency when my son was only 16 months old. He didn't have much, but since we have added three additional children and extra stuff for all of them. I was so proud of myself for my amazing resourcefulness and garage sale treasures making our meager income do some remarkable things.  Isn't that what I was supposed to be doing? Wasn't part of my job to obtain things for my children to play with that would enrich their playtime experience and keep them occupied while I washed dishes or fed the baby? Maybe I missed the mark.

What I find so infuriating is that we just moved a few months ago and went through a purging cycle. We shouldn't be having this problem. Further, we haven't brought much of anything into the house. That has been our motto from the day we moved in. We are only here a year, we aren't brining anything in that we have to pack up and move again!

What we have is a clear case of children not having respect for their belongs. My children dump their stuff out and leave it. It isn't acceptable. I love this quote from the article "look around people, you are disgusting creatures". You really have to read the rest of it for context.

I can really relate to this woman who went on strike. I don't mind taking care of my family, I actually like it. But, as she puts it, it was the over-time as she cleaned up messes all day that didn't belong to her, that did her in. And like her, I find myself cleaning to make myself feel better, because I do feel better when the house is clean, but I don't really feel better because the entire time I am doing it I am upset that I have to clean up messes that don't belong to me! When I have to clean up their stuff, I can't spend time doing other things I need and want to do. Which in turns makes me a very grumpy mommy. They haven't quite caught on to that concept yet.

I don't think I could actually go on strike unless I made a commitment to leave the house altogether during the day. But I may have to modify my strike plans a little.

At this point I feel it necessary to disclose that my husband cleans up all of his own messes, and several that are not his. If I had to pick up after him as well I might have lost my mind long ago. Thank heavens his contributions have kept me sane this long!

Update: She blogged her strike here! The pictures alone are priceless. And after reading her blog in her own words, I could see myself being her minus the glass of wine. It's a fun read especially if you are tired of cleaning up other peoples messes:-)

The Doctor Knows

One of the benefits of being married to a doctor (there are really too many to count - but there are equally as many obstacles) is that he has the answer for everything. Having all the answers also means that there isn't any seriousness taken to my claims of serious health problems.

Warning: Being married to a doctor also has the propensity to make one a hypochondriac.

Me: I have this sharp pain in my side, under my rib cage. It comes and stabs me and then is gone. Usually when I turn or have just taken a deep breath.

Dr: Oh, that's costochondritis. Don't worry about it.

Me: I think there is something wrong with my reproductive system. I have cramping on one side but I'm not even close to my cycle. Could I have a tumor or a bursting ovary? Can they do that?

Dr: What you are feeling is mittelschmerz (he says it with a fancy German accent). Perfectly normal considering you should be nearing ovulation.

Me: You keep track of my cycle?

Dr: Yeah, its not that hard. But here, let me check (presses on my abdomen) - you are fine. Take some ibuprofen if you'd like.

Me: I promise there is something wrong with my hands. I have sharp pains in the middle of my palms that usually show up after I have been writing (with a pen or pencil) for a while. And I feel general weakness in my hands.

Dr: give me your hands (quick neuro exam) - there is nothing wrong with your hands. You don't have carpel tunnel. And I think that is an excuse so you don't have to rub my back (gentle tease). You are fine.

I swear every time I rub his back, I get that pain in my palms! I tell him it is because his back is so big and my hands are so small. This is the one thing I really wish I could figure out. Maybe I need to exercise my hands more.

Me: I have lost all flexibility in my lower back. Look, I can't hardly bend backwards. Shouldn't my range of motion be greater? Is it possible that my spine has fused itself together?

Dr: No. You just aren't very flexible.

There goes my optional career as a gymnast or dancer. He is a patient man:-)

Have a great weekend!

Top Ten Things To Love About Your Man Working ALL THE TIME

Since I had my little scare last week (one of the worst days of this month) I thought I would lighten things up a bit by sharing my 10 Favorite Things about being married to a man who is seldom home during daylight hours.

1. I can have ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner if I want without having to share.
2. The TV remote is mine. I can watch chick flicks all day/night, no sports!
3. The kids are always in bed earlier when I am alone, then when he is home.
4. I can wear pajamas all day and he will never be the wiser. For all he knows I got dressed today and then got ready for bed just before he came home.
5. I have all day to tidy and clean the house. Not that he expects it, but I like to have something to show for my day. A small little accomplishment.
6. I can spend time connecting with my friends online, playing games, words with friends, blogging, creating, online window shopping, checking email, checking... looking... searching... without feeling guilty that I am not spending time with him.
7. I can stand in my closet and play dress up like I was actually going out. These clothes have to get worn sometime. Oh, the places I could go.
8. I can sit in my bed and read with the lights on, without worry about disrupting his sleep.
9. I can experiment with different discipline techniques on my kids without needing a second opinion or for him to "get on board". 
10. The online shopping purchases always arrive in time for me to hide the evidence. He wouldn't mind if he saw them ... the man is nearly perfect.

What are some of the things you enjoy during these day/nights?

Playing Sherlock Holmes

Are you a fan of the Sherlock Holmes movies featuring Robert Downey Jr.? I AM.

I have a feeling that the inspiration for this post can be directly attributed to having watched both the first and second movie this past week.

Do you recall the scene where he is answering a question posed by Dr. Watson's girlfriend? It was meant to be light-hearted but Holmes hit it on the head with one minor flaw in his conclusion that upset her. Really it could be any scene because that is what Holmes does... takes clues no one sees and solves the mystery. That is why we love him.

The house we have rented for our 12 month fellowship has left me clues! So this is my attempt at describing the people who lived here before me based purely on the evidence they left behind. I have no idea if I am right, but it is fun to guess. I am putting on my super sleuth hat. Are you ready to be dazzled?

A child lived here. They left writing on the wall in both pencil and crayon. There are two small bright pink stains on the carpet. The child is a girl. The height of the writing leads to me to believe that the girl child was either 3 or 4 at the time. She was learning her alphabet and may have been attempting to write her name before she was caught.

The master bath tub is pristine but the shower is well used. The adult members of the household were not familiar with the sheer joy that comes from taking a bath.... or the female adult member of the house was just as busy as I am, and does not have time for a leisurely bath.

The person who did most of the cleaning/cooking was very nervous indeed. The caulking/sealing around the sink has all but been scrubbed away. (note: I need to have that replaced.)

We are still receiving mail for this person (so I know their name, but cannot pronounce it). They are either running from someone or something, or do not know standard procedures for changing their address or forwarding mail, or do not want to. I choose running.

I do know that someone in this house had some plastic surgery work done. Ah! They had an invoice in the mailbox when we arrived. I promised I did not open it because that would illegal. But it was not an advertisement.... we all know what a bill looks like before we open it.

From my assessment the woman (who has a name I will not reveal) may have been a outlaw that underwent dramatic plastic surgery to change her appearance (and a little tummy tuck and breast lift to fix what having a child will do) and has since left the country with a new name (that I could pronounce) and a face like Angelina Jolie's to seek her revenge on those who gave her away. Her small girl child right behind her.

Mystery solved!

Pray A Disaster is Adverted

Last week I was excited about our first invitation to a social event in our new city, meeting other fellows, residents, and attendings that my husband will be working with. That was last week. You only have one chance to make an impression and I am afraid we are about to blow it, and so early!

Today I am in panic mode. Forget what to wear, what to bring. I have bigger problems.

The picture I have created in my head doesn't exist. I saw it, I did. It was there. And for a moment I actually believed it.  My children: clean faces, teeth brushed, clothes pressed, hair combed, using napkins as they were intended, well behaved. AHHHHHH!

For the last three months we (I) have let our offspring run wild. Literally, wild. My parents live in the country where they could run out the door and play for hours without worry for their safety or need to provide entertainment. They entertained themselves with sticks, bugs, trees, grass, rocks, lizards, etc. I let things like naps, baths, and reading time fall by the wayside in favor of adventure, games, bare feet, and pure fun.

It is time to be structured and raise our expectations. It is time to get back to the way it used to be.

Problem is we haven't had time to do that yet. It will take a couple more weeks before they are back into a routine that is predictable and reliable and ready for public appearances. We are still getting used to a new time zone and home. I will use that excuse for as long as I can pull it off.

In the meantime, I need to pray. Pray that my son will keep his hands out of his pants. That my daughter won't tell her dirty potty jokes, that the other one won't pick her nose, and that my baby will suddenly stop throwing fits the minute she doesn't get her way. She has entered the 12-18 month phase where just because she can get around she feels she is entitled to do whatever she wants, when ever she wants. There isn't much hope for us tomorrow.

I am contemplating calling a friend that has small pets for some sedatives. Would anyone notice if my children were oddly lethargic in the middle of the afternoon? I wouldn't, but the thought briefly crossed my mind (just in case you were getting ready to call the authorities).

I forgot that there would be swimming. That means swimming suits, and I haven't been to the gym in 4 months! I forgot that my kids would most certainly want to swim so one of us has to get in the water, because they will be impossible to deal with if they don't get to swim. It doesn't seem fair that the first time I meet people that I will need to be half-dressed. My body doesn't tan, except for my arms, face and the tops of my feet. The rest of my body is resistant to tanning. It isn't pretty.

Pray for me, send good vibes, think white light, light a candle..... I am going to need it.

Note to self: If I ever host a get together where people are going to meet for the first time there will NOT be swimming, but there will be a great big bouncy house where the kids will stay and scream till they pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Time To Grow Up

I realized today that as a thirty-something (nearing 40) wife of a doctor I should probably get a more grown up email address. Maybe one that includes my name as an identifier, instead of a funny hobby I had in my twenties.

I was setting up our utilities and they were gathering my contact information, including email address, when it became clear it was time to grow up. As I was giving my response I even shuddered. What was I thinking?

Do you ever see some one's email address and go "huh, I wonder what that's all about".  It is like trying to decode a vehicle's vanity license plate. I am afraid I might have an email address like that. I have to spell it every time I give it because in 2003 when I created that particular account I thought it would be cute to spell a normal word differently because it would be pronounced the same way, but would start with my first initial.

At the time it all made sense. It conveyed a piece of who I was, what I did, what I enjoyed. It was fun and not just a boring old name. I had a boring name email address at work (when I worked), I wanted something else for my personal use.

But, seriously now (almost 10 years later) it is time that I drop the cutesy email address and join the ranks of other grownups who use email addresses for respectable purposes.

Trouble is, someone has already taken my name. So now I am left with xxxxxx1, or xxxxxx2, or adding some number/character/letter than is meaningless just to get my name in there. If only I would have used my name in the first place I might have gotten it first. Well, that might be true - but I have a different last name now. Darn, I just can't win!

Odyessy

A few months ago after failing to finding a home for our family to share during the last few months of residency we made a tragic mistake. You can read that post here.

The kind of mistake you know in the minute you make it that you will regret it.

The kind of mistake that is made because you feel hurt, rejected, humiliated, and hopeless.

The kind of mistake that could cost you a small fortune.

After leaving with our tails between our legs and combing the area only to come up empty handed, we went to the car dealership and drove a new van to soothe our pain. Notice I say we drove, didn't buy.

It was tempting to just say "the heck with it" and buy something large and beautiful and new. Sooooo tempting.

We used all sorts of justification/rationalization techniques.

• We deserve it (that is my favorite) 
• We have worked hard.
• We have already sacrificed so much.
• We need a bigger car we barely fit in our small van and we are driving cross country.
• Safety and Peace of Mind! "I am worried about you in our old car. I would feel better if you were driving something that we knew wouldn't break down and I could save people's lives without wondering if yours were in danger!"
• It is getting old, and will probably need to be replaced or repaired soon.
• We are going to have the money soon enough, let's enjoy some of it now.
• The terms right now are great!

But you know me, in the end none of these perfectly valid reasons worked on me. I am made of steel!

YES, I wanted one! But the thought of committing to a huge van payment (upwards of $600) when we didn't have a place to live, didn't know exactly how much money we were going to have, etc was enough to squelch that desire in it's tracks.

I still think about it. Once you have sat in a new leather trimmed, top of the line van every time you sit in your old, getting ready to fall apart van you think to yourself maybe the mistake was not buying it:-)

You especially think of it when driving down the freeway at top speeds the weather stripping on your windshield starts to come off and whips in the wind beating the sides of your van and at your next stop you have to tack it down with some silver duct tape. It reminds me of a joke: "You might be a redneck if...."

Yes, I am a redneck - but apparently I am also a doctors wife:-)

Full Moon

You'd better watch out - tonight is a Full Moon.

When ever there is a rash of crazy people at the hospital my husband says it must have been a full moon. Could he be right? 

I am no scientist, just a mother with some time on her hands late at night. But thanks to the power of the Internet you can find just about anything.

Unrelated: the other night my son wasn't feeling well and I went in to check on him. We talked about what could be the problem. It sounded like he was hungry, but we don't eat in the middle of the night. (By we, I mean I don't feed my children in the middle of the night - if I want a mid-night snack that is a matter altogether different). Anyway, he asked me to Google something to make him feel better. And why not? You can Google anything! (So Google is a noun and a verb - cool).

Here is an interesting article on Moon Myths: The Truth About Lunar Effects On You.

They cover studies on Epilepsy, Psychiatric visits, Emergency Room visits, Surgery outcomes, Menstruation, Sleep Deprivation, etc.

"If police and doctors are expecting that full moon nights will be more hectic, they may interpret an ordinary night's traumas and crises as more extreme than usual," explains our Bad Science Columnist Benjamin Radford. "Our expectations influence our perceptions, and we look for evidence that confirms our beliefs."

No direct correlation. Bummer. 

Personal experience tells me otherwise. Maybe the full moon gives me (and others like me) a heightened ability to "see" the crazies around us. They are always here, but this one night a month we know who they are. 

Might want to stay inside tonight.