Where have you been???!!!

Okay so where have I been? Well lotsa places, if you think about the length of time I've been away from this silly blog (which no one reads anyway). But, to be more specific, nursing school has kept me hostage. Apparantly it will continue to do so for the next 17 months, or until I flunk out--which ever one comes first. Ha (or should it be AAAAHHHHH?)

So, nursing school is fabulous and horrid all at the same time. I absolutely LOVE going to clinicals, working with patients, learning new procedures, and having "aha" moments almost daily. Then there's lecture---YAWN. Even though our lead professor is great, the actual professor (not naming names)...another story. Here's some advice from this mom/nsg student: just because you're a nurse, doesn't mean you can teach...even if you're a REALLY GREAT nurse.

School at 33...

Have I ever mentioned how difficult I find school? Yup, am not an avid student. So it was with much apprehension and a bit of timidity that the decision to attend nursing school was made. So here I am in my final prerequisite--Microbiology in case you were interested--only 4 weeks remain, and throw me a life-ring 'cause I'm drownin'!

The two tests this coming week have taken over my life (and the lives of my kids--who have to stay outside while I study--not too bad since the weather's nice--hey it's not raining). Study and not bookclub or bunco groups are now where I spend free time. Recalling notes and lectures rather than calling friends. Shopping? What's the point, pretty soon all I'm gonna have to wear are scrubs. Between us, this is the best part, no decisions, just a ponytail and "jammies". Seriously, that's gonna be one huge sigh of relief.

So for all of you neglected friends, if you keep your current email/phone numbers/blogspot/address/etc., I swear to try to keep in touch...at least when I'm between classes.

Blah, Blah, Blah.

I have nothing to say, just procrastinating on going to bed. I'm a fool for this, since I have an early wakeup tomorrow morning. Who hates getting out of bed on a cold morning, raise your hand! I do! Oh, there are worse things, like college algebra, waking up to pee 30 minutes before your alarm goes off, or even being bit by a snake. That's better, now I'm not REALLY complaining.

Did I mention that we have fruit trees in our wonderful yard? There are two orange trees and a lime (though Steve and I discuss this at length--he thinks lemon, but I am convinced lime). Anyway, the orange trees are currently heavy with fruit, not quite ripe, but oh come January! Delish! One's a navel while the other's a valencia (good for eating, and makes the BEST OJ, respectively).

Well no sense in prolonging the inevitable. Better hit the Hay. Oh, one more good thing, my wonderful husband bought me a heated matress pad, so when I climb in at night, ahhh, warmth!

The Animal Saga Continues

This will be short, I hope.

In the lovely city of Coronado, homes are small, mortgages are large, and animals are in great abundance. Since our home is so small, the laundry facilities are in the garage. Not all bad (at least the laundry can be thrown out there, and not pile up in the hallway), not all good (nighttime laundry-doing has come to a halt). This morning, being the delightful housewife that I am, I decided to do a load (or three) of laundry. Upon opening the door to the garage, I heard a startling flutter. I think I might've screamed (doesn't say much for my neighbors, as no one responded), or fainted, not sure which. I collected myself and thought, "some dumb bird is pounding on the garage window" (probably excited about munching on Black Widows)! At the completion of this thought, I said to myself "self, this could be a rat, or maybe a bat" (forget about the rhyme, just read on, I'm a hero)! I put on my husband's leather gloves, got a flashlight (I love you Mag light--good and bright AND ready to whap anything coming too close), went to pee, since I might've pee'd myself if attacked, and then went to check it out.

What was making this ruckus? A sweet little bird, trying to flap its way out of the garage through a window. Now, I'm afraid of most birds (they poo everywhere, peck eyeballs, and if they're smart, able to tell your secrets), but this one was so small. My heart ached for him to escape (a quote from Laurence Sterne--"I fear, poor creature! said I, I cannot set thee at liberty--'No,' said the starling--'I can't get out--I can't get out,' said the starling.). Yup, you're right, I started to cry.

Now, not to have you thinking that I would give up easily, I did not! In fact it motivated me more, so much so, that I found a net. Okay, it's really a "delicates" bag--hey, I WAS doing laundry! It took a few tries, but finally I was able to capture the now very tired, bird. She was set free, and last seen flying up into my orange tree.

So, now you see that I am a hero; not only am I conquering laundry, but saving birds, as well! All in a day's work.

Toilet Paper

This weekend the kids and I ventured north for a "weekend of fun". With a cousin working at Hearst Castle, we were able to get tour tickets during a very busy time. Plus the idea that we'd be seeing baby seals excited everyone. Sort of.

Here was the plan. I leave Thursday afternoon driving with two kids in my volvo station wagon (hey, it ain't a minivan!), brave San Diego traffic (which isn't scary in the least bit), and then completely miss the evils of LA rush hour (why do they call it rush HOUR?). Then we'd stay in Heuneme. Friday we would drive to Santa Barbara pick up Steve at the airport then drive north to San Luis Obispo meeting up with my in-laws, and their cousin(s).

All this would eventually take place, but between me and this fabulous weekend was LA traffic. Describe? Hmm, not much going on, sitting on an 8 lane freeway, not really moving. Two kids watching movies, the occasional motorcyclist toying with life (aka dodging cars). Yup, not much going on. Until suddenly traffic clears (for no apparant reason), and everyone's suddenly doing 85. That of course is when the kid movies end and the little ones would like new movies. I'm sure I've been more frightened driving at some point, but really I'm not sure when.

Get to the point you must be saying. So, after four and a half hours, we made it to our hotel. My daughter informs me (as she always does), that she needs to go pee pee. Thankfully we were just unloading the station wagon (like I said, it ain't a minivan!). We quickly got inside our lovely hotel room (really it was super nice!), and my daughter made her mad dash to the potty. With no time to spare she sighed heavily and gave the pee pee shiver. Once finished, she grabbed far too much toilet paper (as is her habit), and proceeded to inform me that "this toilet paper is plastic!" Yes honey, it is plastic. Get used to that chafing while away from home--it will be your constant companion.

One day, when my kids go off to college and remember the gentle feeling of the tp their mom always stocked, they think fondly of me. Maybe even enough to forget the other times or places where I failed them.

A Boy of Restraint

Early this morning, with much encouragement from my ever-adventurous husband, we decided to take our kids to have breakfast with the Easter Bunny. This is not something I would normally ever think to do, since it involves far too many rambunctious kids with their far too competitive parents--including me). But like I said I'm married to someone who isn't afraid of a challenge.

We got up earlier than we'd have liked, jumped on our beach cruisers (okay, my husband really doesn't own a beach cruiser and would most likely want me to disclose this.), and fought the first of the spring-breakers' pedestrian traffic. It was a lovely morning, cool breeze and 70-something. This would be heavenly if it weren't so darn expensive (but that's another post).

After making bunny ears, having cheeks painted (not mine), making a craft and a breakfast of pancakes, sausage, applesauce (I know, weird), OJ and Coffee, we met the Easter Rabbit (he/she was far too tall to be a "bunny"). All this was fine, nothing really special, certainly fun for the kids. Then it was time for the egg hunt (not really a hunt as they were "hidden" in plain sight). As a competive parent, I always try to give my kids a bit of an advantage--either egg placement, or maybe personal skill usage. I did this today with my son--who was the second oldest child participating, and therefore able to run faster than say my 3 year old daughter.

Now back to the "hunt". As you may imagine the eggs were collected in about one minute (seriously, I'm not exaggerating). As I watched my quick-footed son run to the far end of the field (all by himself), I thought to myself "YES! He's gonna get the most eggs--that's my boy!" He did grab a few eggs, but then he just started running around, dodging kids. It was as if he were a running back, yearning for a kick-off return touchdown! As any normal parent would have, I started yelling "Grab eggs! Grab eggs!". But by then the field had been cleared of the candy-filled treats.

I asked Graham why he hadn't gotten more eggs, he just told me in a very matter-of-fact way that 3 eggs were enough. I couldn't have been more proud. He used this hectic time not for fierce competition but to practice his offensive plays! Hey Pete Carroll, come scout my Kindergartener!

My Newest Cookbook

I just recently had a birthday and one of my gifts was Julia Child's book Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It's a fantastic book full of excellent ideas, and detailed directions. In fact I can hardly wait to break it out and cook me some French food!

So while contemplating what delectible treat I'd make first (that is after Corned Beef and Cabbage in honor of St. Pat), I began to flip through the 684 pages. While As I was glancing through the many chapters (which are in both English and French) one caught my eye: Ris de Veau et Cervelles. Translated: Sweetbreads and Brains. I actually laughed picturing my poor husband (and kids) choking down a cow's brain. Then while researching this a bit more I found the following tips (thank you Julia Child, I give you full and complete credit for the following, I would never consider myself a good enough writer to take credit for making brains sound interesting--or appetizing).

"Although calf brains are those most universally known in America, lamb brains are equally good. Mutton, pork, and beef brains are less delicate in texture than calf brains and are best when braised, but you may saute them if you wish."

Honestly, I had no idea that brains were sold in the US (okay, maybe in "specialty" shops), let alone known universally! All who have eaten brain, please say aye.

Thankfully the next chapter is about vegetables--never thought I'd find veggies to be a comfort food (as in I'm far more comfortable soaking and peeling carrots than I would ever be brains (which is a step one much take, even with delicate calf brains)!

Until next time...

June 2007? Could it be?!!

Okay, so here I am after almost a YEAR without a single post. Not really a year, more like 9 months, wouldn't want to exaggerate.

So, Kim and I spoke this morning as I bravely battled frightened moms and money-freaked dads around the SDSU campus. No joke, I have never been so afraid while driving in SoCal traffic--okay, sometimes when it rains the folks tend to act a little crazy (picture a full moon on Friday the 13th). Anyway, I made it there (to campus) and back with little more than an extra gray hair. Anyway, while speaking with Kimberly K, she suggested that I hadn't blogged in a while and that I could (in my free-time), just post a little somethin. I've decided to discuss my morning at the San Diego State campus.

My experience: this is just me personally, so if you've attended, graduated, or ever visited the SDSU campus your opinion may differ slightly.

Every person on that campus (except for me of course) was either 12 years old or 55. This includes (but is not limited to) parents, students, faculty, staff, volunteers, tourists, locals, and the homeless man collecting cans out of the garbage (not making fun here, actually I'm impressed with his resourcefulness!).

My initial reaction was to call my husband (first to apologize for being so mean this morning), and tell him that I don't belong in college (at least not one anyone has ever heard of--or maybe one that's only available online, which has no real mailing address, except maybe a PO Box). Seriously, the only reason these "children" (I don't care if they are 18) will want to be "friends" (or study partners) is they think I might buy them beer (obviously this will never happen, because I am a parent, and no longer think this is a good idea).

ANYWAY, Kim, thanks a million for reminding me (yet again) to get my tush online and post something (anything)!!

The Memphis Zoo

Okay here's one to save for posterity or at least a good story for friends.

My dear friend Kim--see links to other bloggers--and I were spending the morning at the Memphis Zoo (a weekly pastime to keep the kids from realizing there's two of us and three of them). It was a lovely morning (unlike the norm in Memphis which is something like 95 and 2 billion% humidity--okay, slight exaggeration), and because of this we had decided to trek through the petting-part of the zoo (with the heat/humidity one can only imagine the stench of farm animals and their poo). On the way towards that trek, I noticed a child's wallet (did I mention it was the last week of school--also a freakish thing about Memphis--the schools get out in MAY, possibly the only good thing about my moving the San Diego); it had "Nick" printed in the block lettering of a fifth or sixth grader (hold that thought, my daughter's crying--okay, back now). So, I picked it up, and noticed all the one dollar bills neatly placed in the bill-holding portion (is there a formal name for that, or am I just to call it the bill-holding portion?). Kim and I felt so sorry for "Nick" (all names have been changed to protect the innocent--okay, not really). We began making up stories "poor Nick, he saved all his lawn-mowing money for this trip to the zoo, and all he wanted was to purchase a stuffed animal, and now his money's lost." During this time I began digging (it was my duty as a mother, and fellow zoo patron) through "poor Nick's" wallet, finding more and more money as I went along. I finally thought to search for ID--not sure why this didn't come up first. Instead of a school identification card I found a little baggy--full of POT! Looks like "poor Nick" had a job! Kim laughed uneasily as I smelled it--hey, it could've been oregano or something--one can never be too careful.

Long story short--I turned it in, received no reward or recognition (save for the praise I receive on this humblest of blogs), and now I have to think about ol' "Workin' Nick". What shall become of you my friend?

In all the tellings of this story (it's a good one, and I've told it plenty), the question I've been asked most is this "did you keep the cash or maybe smoke the pot?". To you who wonder: neither; it was crap weed and my running, conscience (and more importantly, relationship with Christ) would've suffered.

Scout the cat 4/7/1998 - 5/17/2007

My hunting-cat Scout, died on May 17th.

Poor Graham came inside to tell me he thought Scout was sick ("Mom, Scout's just laying in the grass on his side."). I told him that he was probably just enjoying the weather (75 and low humidity). About five minutes later he came back in ("Mom, I REALLY think you need to take Scout to the vet"). At this point I thought uh oh. I went out, kids following to find my beloved cat lay dead in the grass beside our house. I couldn't believe it! Steve came home where we had a burial service in the back yard.

Now what, do I get another cat, a dog, or do we just stay pet-less for a little while? Sad days.

Trouble comes in three

Okay, here's my latest, and possibly second-to-last, animal story for awhile. Oh, it's okay, don't cry! I can always think of some from years ago--wipe your tears this is a good one!

This afternoon started like so many before it--a sunny, not too hot day (freakish for the south--don't believe me see Kim K's post about the weather--there was a post, right? If not, Kim I thought of one for ya!), perfect for playing outside. We'd spent a great deal of time outdoors and had decided to come in for some playroom time--not me silly, my kids--and to answer that most difficult of questions (what's for dinner?). I remember hearing my sweet kitty playing around downstairs and knowing full well he'd brought some dead creature in to play with. Venturing downstairs I told the kids "mousey patrol" which means watch where you're stepping. Immediately I saw Scout behind "the other woman" (my husband's 61" rear-projection tv), desperately using his clawless paws in order to gain access to something lost. My initial reaction was "gross, now I have to clean dead mouse juice off wires." Alas this was not to be, for it was neither dead, nor a mouse!

I could just see an eyeball, and good deal of fur, so I at once called my friend Kim, and yelled for my son to bring a flashlight (which happened to be an elephant shaped one that "bree's" whenever you turn it on). What I first thought was a mouse soon became a baby rabbit (which I nearly picked up). Then I had Graham get me some leather gloves (aren't 5 year old boys great, they're so willing to do whatever we ask, except cleaning up their toys or wearing matching clothes), and barbecue tongs. I told Kim there was something (still wishing to believe it was a cute little bunny) hiding behind that tv beneath a great deal of wires. Her reaction was something like "here we go again". Skip to the part where "bunny" starts to move, I realize it doesn't have long, soft ears, nor does it have a cottony tail. This little rabbit very quickly turns into, you guessed it, A RAT!! My adorable hunting kitty has brought a RAT into my home! This is no ordinary rat, it's complete with fear in its eyes and puncture wounds in it's sides. So now I have to call my husband (who is at least 18 minutes away), and get him home, cause there's no way in God's green earth I am dealing with an injured RAT on my own!

Skip to the part where Steve gets home (did I mention he had the flu and his lower back was giving him fits?). With leather gloves and barbecue tongs in hand he releases said RAT into our house. Not on purpose of course, it's just that barbecue tongs don't work all that well in catching injured RATS! So, what did I do? Scream like a sissy and leave my young children to fend for themselves--no lie, I ran upstairs! That RAT ran across the floor with my sick husband chasing it with tongs, all while I was screaming, Tait was crying and Graham, well he was just trying to get out of the way! My husband cornered it and then opened the front door and the RAT got outside where he just stopped moving for at least five minutes. where I was able to snap a photo, and scare some more crap out of it--yes, it pooed on my floor. Oh happy days!