well, this is different...

I'm really sorry. I'm not mad. Or sulking. Honest.


It's just that after a year and a half of being blindsided by negative things, I've finally experienced some positive blindsiding. Out of fricking nowhere. And I have absolutely no idea of how to deal with it...

20 questions

Alright, I'm admitting it. I've boxed myself into a corner.


I'm not writing about my kids - because I've done a lot of that lately.


I'm not writing about work - because I feel like I've gone to that well once too often in recent weeks.


I'm not writing about angst, anger, revenge, karma, payback or any of those other things - because I'm just not in that place anymore.


I'm not writing about the day to day battles that we all face - because they never go away anyway.


I'm not writing about the factions that I strive to never make feel that I write about them - because, let's face it...some people still care far too much about what I say. Que sera sera.


I'm not writing for my future, my dreams, my suddenly evolving- and wholly unexpected- fantasies. Because it's not "safe".

So the question becomes this...if I can't say what I want to on my blog...what's the point?

pass the bag

I bought plane tickets today for Surfer Dude to go to camp. For a month. In another state.


Tomorrow - as soon as I can find a non-stop flight - I'll be buying tickets for Gumby to visit his best friend's family in Texas. For ten days. In another state. Oh, wait. I already said that.


Sasquatch is almost never at home during the summer, dropping by only to empty both the fridge and my wallet.


For a woman who spends most of her non-working hours in the vicinity of her kids, I just found myself with a whole lotta "me time" this summer.


I think I'm going to be sick.

I could have danced all night...

What does any self respecting trauma junkie do after a grueling twelve hour shift in the ER?


Well, she does her Fire/Medical ride-along, of course. Designed to give ER staff a better understanding of what goes on "pre-hospital", we're now required to do four hours of time with the paramedics as they respond to calls. I didn't want to give up any precious hours on a day off, so I stacked mine after a regular shift. This could have been really bad, but I lucked out and got the busiest station in town - and an amazing and nurse friendly team to boot. Our town combines fire and medical, which means that if a fire had come along I could have gone out on that run too. Alas, no fires, but can I just say how very much I enjoyed the paramedic end of it? There's something about barrelling down the road at some god-forsaken speed, sirens blasting and cars scattering as fast as possible in your path to satisfy the most blatant adrenaline cravings.


Damn. I may be falling over exhausted, but that was a blast.

branching out

This is going to be a very interesting summer.


My folks get here in about a week and a half for a visit, and then in July we'll go home for a couple of weeks. There are not words to say how much I am looking forward to that.


One of my kids has the chance to spend a month out of state in a once in a lifetime opportunity. It's not a done deal yet, but he wants to go, and in spite of my angst I simply cannot say no. I want to, but I can't.


One of them has been invited to spend some time with his best friend in yet another state. I've been dragging my feet on making the plans (chalk it up to still more angst), but the time has come to put on my big girl panties and just do it. I know he'll have a blast. It's me I'm worried about.


One of them is actually contemplating getting a job - in between that summer school session that completely snuck up on him and his physics challenged brain. I wish him luck with this "job", since his list of requirements could conceivably prove daunting to any potential employer. The notion that he would have to be there on time and trained is puzzling to him, and I fully expect that his "dream job" of the summer is going to translate into holding his hand out for cash at the Bank of Mom. Silly rabbit.


All three of them are grappling (with varying degrees of success and no small amount of humor) with their father's very last minute announcement that he is moving in with his girlfriend in less than a week.


And me? Well, now there's a story. Freaked out about the idea of my kids being gone. Worried over the usual summer logistics. Excited about out of town visitors and trips away. Completely over anything the FX does or doesn't do - except as it relates to my children. Pondering the idea of some actual time for me. With a couple of projects of my own up my sleeve. And a very unexpected outlook on the world.


Oh, my god...has the sky always been this blue?

the master plan

Like almost everyone else these days, my hospital is in the throes of cutting all kinds of "extra" costs. Our department, like all the others, has a census to meet, and if we don't see the number of patients we're budgeted to, then bad things may start happening - like not filling positions when staff leave and other things too awful to contemplate. It's a balancing act. How many people can you see on a daily basis and still have staff standing at the end of the shift?


It was a little slow at first today, which was a good thing for us but a bad thing for the census. My boss, whom I'm repeatedly on record as adoring, walked through the unit to take a peek. Not good. We needed people. Lots and lots of people. People crawling out of the woodwork. The sicker and needier the better. We needed to be overwhelmed, running for daylight, praying for our own deaths. And there was only one way to do it.


My boss approached the charge nurse and said the magic words.


"You need to put RC in triage."


Presto. The census was not only met...it was exceeded.


Such is the power of a shit magnet.

I made it through the rain

I didn't cry. Oh, I teared up a bit (or a lot), but there was no witnessed spillage, which was a good thing because I was the only one among my friends to bring kleenex and I quickly ran short. Nothing at all like the bloodbath that was Gumby's Sixth Grade graduation last year. That, my friends, was brutal.


As much as I've made about this being the end of an era, I think part of my fear came from the memories of last year. It wasn't just their teacher - the same one this year - having to turn her back to the audience because she was crying so hard. It wasn't just that I cried buckets that night, both in the auditorium and once I got home. It wasn't even the unbelievable sweetness of Surfer Dude when he saw how emotional I was. No, it wasn't really any of those things. It was uncertainty, it was stress, it was an almost paralyzing fear. I sat there and watched Gumby graduate, knowing that in a matter of days my husband would be moving out and I would be on my own for the first time in twenty something years. I was terrified, and I vividly remember thinking, "If I can just make it through until Surfer Dude graduates, it will be okay. In a year I'll be in a much better place. In a year my life will be good."


And all of those things are true. Every morning when I wake up I say a little thank you for where I am today. Every night before I go to sleep I run through my gratitude list, and always on there is the fact that I am where I am now and not where I was then.(And by then, I don't just mean last Spring). There aren't enough riches in the world to make me go back to where we were then, and I'm quite certain I'm not the only one to feel this way. Even my kids seem calm and in a good place.


So tonight when I felt the tears starting, I inexplicably broke into a smile. Even though I had teased Sasquatch, threatening to use his shirt as a tissue if the waterworks started, I stayed relatively at ease through the entire process. I sat in a row with my two non-graduating kids (whom I had forced to come) and their father, surrounded by friends, and focused on all the amazing possibilities.


It's not an ending at all. It's all just starting.