Dude Looks Like a Layeedeh! Or: What Depths Will I Go To Avoid Housework?

I got the girls some awesome clip in feathers for their hair...And I decided that my hair was pretty perfect for  them.  It seemed to bring out the inner rocker in me.  I was inspired for a fabulous post, and could hardly contain my excitement.  The only drawback was I could not indulge in my typical immediate gratification mindset, as I had to go to the dermatologist to determine that I was right and Studmuffin was wrong, and the mysterious lesions on my right arm and leg were not skin cancer...However, to prove myself right, I had to submit and actually GO to the doctor.  

*sigh*  

Being me is just so difficult sometimes.

The important thing to focus on is I was right and he was wrong, and although I had to get someone with an actual medical license to prove me right the end result was completely justifiable.

I decided to get mentally prepared for the following post by listening to some Aerosmith on my way to my dermatologist appointment Friday.  Because there is nothing like Aerosmith to get yourself in the mood to disrobe for a full body scan at the dermatologist!  (In a slightly unrelated note, I was quite exasperated with myself on my underwear choices that day, as I was allowed to leave that on.  And that's all I'm going to say about that.)

So, I was driving down the interstate, belting out "Love in an Elevator" when I glanced down and realized I was going 80...Well, I was looking for a trip down memory lane, and I confess to seldom driving below 85 when I was in my late teens and early twenties, but that was a bit much.  Even for me.  I decided to keep an eye on the speedometer as I rocked out.

Saturday I finally had time to get down to the serious business of a completely irreverent post, where I would undoubtedly embarrass myself.  Not as much as my Wonder Woman post, but nonetheless, I am sure there will be some serious eye rolling about this one.

Now, my initial thought was to take a few self portraits, but my children assured me I was not catching the full effect...

We decided to do a full concert/dress rehearsal scene.  Following are some photos from the shoot, and live concert I provided complete with edited lyrics so as not to taint my little girls brains with  such lyrics as Steven Tyler is wont to perform.  Photography is courtesy of Bookworm.  

Now, given our supreme likeness, I will refrain from telling you who is who in these photos, but I did include a few snapshots of the ACTUAL Stephen Tyler to give you a better appreciation of my amazing likeness to him.

However, I feel it's only fair that I tell you:

One of these dudes looks like a layeedeh.

And one of us has a big mouth...

Or maybe both of us.  

That is still up for debate.

And one of us has not washed their hair in three days, and in fact took it down from it's bun and shook their head and shoved some feathers in it.

But I will refrain from pointing any fingers about which of us may have a questionable hair routine.

Both of us own an abundance of scarves...And both of us have been known to borrow and loan scarves to our daughters.

Truly, truly, the parallels in our lives are just downright uncanny.

What a funky lady!

I understand if you completely wash your hands of me after this post.  

But if this does not garner some comments, I don't know what will!

Who Knew?

Wednesday my kids brought home their achievement test scores.  I had been eagerly awaiting them, as it has always been patently obvious to me that my children are nothing short of genius...However it's always nice to have my theories confirmed by an outside party.

I looked through a certain child's bag to find her scores, and found a handful of papers in various pouches and pockets of her bag and zipper binder...

I perused her test scores, not at all surprised to see she scored advanced in most areas.  However, I was surprised to peruse her schoolwork scores...

It seems this particular child is too intelligent to be bothered with showing math work.  And too incredibly brilliant to go back and check her work.  In fact she is so masterfully genius that she has a 74 average in math at this point.  I know what her average is because I totalled her homework scores and then divided them by 9, the number of papers she had turned in so far. 

Y'know.

Because applying math skills is handy that way.

I called her into the house where her father and I sat her down and discussed her schoolwork...

Side Note:  I had to calm her father down before we chatted with her.  You see, our schools were both on a seven point system, so 93-100 was an A, 85-92 a B, and 78-84 a C, with 70-77 a D, and below a 70 failing!  I pointed out that this school grades on the ten point scale, so thankfully she has a "C" at this point and not a "D."  Which was really a good thing, because I thought Studmuffin was going to stroke out when he thought his child had a "D."

"But did you see my test scores?"  she asked.

"Yes, I saw your test scores.  Achievement test scores don't get you scholarships in college!"  At this time her sister walked in the room...

"How are you going to get money for college?"  I asked the unsuspecting sister.  Fortunately for her, she has listened to my oft drilled in answer.

"I have to make all A's and get scholarships."

"That's right!  You have to get academic scholarships.  You are both incredibly smart.  There is no reason for you to not make straight A's.  If you decide to be lazy and not make A's and therefore not get scholarships, you will STILL go to college, but you will go through on student loans.  And then you will leave college with a mountain of debt to pay off."  I am so loving and gentle, no?

The child with the questionable math grade looked at her father and I and said in all earnestness, "Well, I could also get a scholarship in archery!"

*

!?

*!?%!*

Well, after we picked our jaws up off of the floor, Studmuffin informed her that while that may be possible, there probably aren't a lot of archery scholarships out there, so she better get her act together and keep her grades up.

Archery.

Who knew? 

More Pictures of Home

 I had so much to say about the 100+ photos I took at my parents last weekend, I decided to post some of them and share my thoughts.  Aren't you excited? 

I only have one beef with myself:  Why didn't Paula's family do pictures with my family?  Then we could prove that we were actually there behind the camera!

Anyhoo, let the dialogue begin...

Popcorn loves cats. And cats love her.  So much so that they are willing to go feed calves if it means another minute in her arms.  She is seldom without a cat if a cat is within reach.

 See what I mean?

 Two things about this picture:  

1.  I rotated it.  Why did blogger rotate it back?

2.  Is that my daughter in her dad's high school ball cap with a gun over her shoulder and a box of shells in her arms?

3.  How did this happen?

Yes.  That is three things.  I could not control myself.

I love this picture.  Minus the dead birds.  But I love it.  I love that my kids love their cousins and I love it that the dads in this picture are just overgrown children.

Apparently hunting near a farm pond is dirty business.  And apparently camo is not at all required to shoot dove when you are near one of the few sources of water in a drought.

 See the dove head at Kelsey's nose?  Yuck.

Aren't you glad I share all aspects of my life with you?

Why, hello Captain Morgan!

You teatotallers will not understand that comment.  

I'm okay with that.

However, I'm not at all sure that is how one spells tea totaller...teetotaler/tea totaler/I really don't know and am too lazy to look it up.

Dead Eye.  I love him.  I love this picture.  He looks so much like his dad.  And yet, I can see the resemblance to my brother in him too.  He is only 13 and he already passed my 5'8 frame.  I think he is going to be huge.

I tagged along one evening hunting.  I took pictures and "bird dogged" for Brent.

I lost three birds.  I discovered I was a little squeamish if the bird wasn't dead dead DEAD when I had to retrieve it.  Ick.

Again:  Aren't you glad to know the sordid details of my life?

This not so little lady was not at all sure what we were doing at HER watering hole.

Studmuffin is such a poser.  I love him for it.

Well, and because he's my husband and the father of my children and when I was pregnant he never let me scrub the tub as the fumes were bad for the baby and why did I ever start scrubbing it again???

Oklahoma is famous for sunrise and sunset.  Yet, I can never seem to capture the full beauty of it.

I think part of the beauty is the vast open spaces with flat land all around.

Anyway that's my theory.

See that bunch of trees?  They are one mile southeast of us.

Those trees were planted by my parents forty years ago.

They have lived in that very spot for forty five years.

I think.  The details are sketchy as I wasn't alive when they built that house.

But Dawn was.

She is oooooooolllld.

And she is dragging me along behind her.

She better fix whatever ails her before I get there.  She has twelve years to figure it out, and I'm counting on her.

Another photo that I rotated and blogger flipped back.

Studmuffin and Dead Eye with the second day's kill.

How gruesome is this picture?

I must really love my husband.

Oh, and he pointed out he still has few inches on Dead Eye.

For now.

About Those Coupons...

Yes.  I'm still couponing.  I did pretty well this week, and since someone asked me if I was still at it, I thought I'd give you a little glimpse of what I buy!

Color you excited!

Two things you should disregard about this photo:
1.  It is out of focus.  I ain't no professional y'all, and I was shooting this double quick before my ice cream melted!
2.  I need to really clean off my kitchen cabinets in the background before taking pictures of my bargains.  It lends the strange idea that I may not be all that is neat and organized....Which is probably true, but I don't need to be propagating the theory!

So, there's the photo, and I will list the most exciting parts of it.

Because a: I need to make a list of housework to be done, but who wants to do housework?
               b: I love lists!

1.  The eggs:  They were FREE with the purchase of two packages of Borden cheese, which was only $1.74.
2.  The two cans of biscuits were only $.18!!!  Woot! Woot!
3.  I could live off of peanut butter, and that jar was fuh-REEE!
4.  Just this morning I found a recipe for pulled pork when I was clipping coupons, and guess what?  I got that pork tenderloin for only $2.49!  I have all of the other ingredients to make it in my crock pot, and they were all free!
5.  See that Nutella?  I got it for a measly buck!  They were sold out last week when they were on sale, but I asked for a rain check and he gave me three.  So, next week I will get another Nutella, then the week after that another!  Because they were on sale for $3, and I have three different dollar off coupons, but the store only doubles the coupon once and only lets you purchase one per day...Sadness.  Anyway, I will just carry my little rain check in with me over the next two weeks and have a total of three Nutellas for three dollars!  Yum!
6.  My total bill for the day was $45.96 after taxes, and that was a savings of $21.65 with coupons, then an additional $33.91 saved counting the sale prices...Of course, you realize I feel the sale prices mean it was probably overpriced anyway, but it's pretty exciting to think I saved fifty seven percent off my bill!

Now, you may consider your day complete, but first answer me one question:
What's your favorite way to save money?

Home for the Holidays

Note:  I wrote this post on Sunday, but could not get all of my pictures to load.  So, I'm publishing it on Tuesday!

We are out at my folks for the Labor Day weekend.  Today has been the perfect day after months of triple digit weather.  We woke up to the wind howling out of the north and the temperature at a cool sixty degrees.  The  three younger kids have not come in the house at all, except to replace two way radio batteries and eat meals.

Studmuffin and The Man have been hunting dove and prairie dogs with the kids.  Today they took Dead Eye, my sister's oldest hunting.  They apparently have plenty of opportunity for bathroom humor when they are together.  So it was probably a good thing that my precious little angels decided to ride horses with Elvis.  Because quite frankly they can come up with enough bathroom humor on their own without their Dad and Uncle adding to the mix.

In an attempt to make some sort of money in this drought, my brother has bought 38 little calves.  He has figured up some total feed ration for ninety days then sell them again where he can still turn a profit even with a thirty percent death loss.  I pray it works for him.  Something's got to give.  They only have 40 bales of hay between the two of them, and they typically go into winter with over 600.  Round bales are up to $130/bale depending on what it is and where it's from, and even how old it is.  It is a scary time for my family...

Three of David's calves are on the bottle, and a few others appear so little as if they should be too, but they would not take it.  Oh well, they only have two bottles, and besides three bottle calves and three kids who are still not to cool to play with calves is a perfect balance! 

I helped my dad doctor some of the sick ones.  It seems to go with the territory of buying calves that some come down with shipping fever.  It only took maybe fifteen minutes to sort off the sick ones and run them through the shoot.  Dad suggested I hold the rope to drop the gate behind the first one in the shoot...

That is the weeny job.  "Really?  I have to do the boring job?"

And, of course he "let" me run them from the crowding pen and into the lane to the shoot...Sadly, not one single calf kicked me, or balked at the shoot, or even pooped down my leg!  Which really seems as if they aren't truly sick, just faking it so they can get a shot.

Or something weird like that.

Anyway, I love being with the cattle and horses.  It brings back memories of all the time I got to spend with my dad growing up.  I am 6, 8,and 12 years younger than any of my siblings.  My brother was in  a Prodigal phase through most of my growing up years, so since the age of about ten, I was the only one home.  Dad, Mom and I could work a truck load of cattle at less than two minutes per calf.  The bull calves would slow us down, but we had a system, and everyone knew exactly what role to play.  At that time, my dad ran a yearling operation and he ran about 2000 yearlings each year.  This translated into working cattle or moving cattle every single weekend.  It seemed as if a Saturday was not complete if I wasn't washing cow poop out of my pony tail at the end of the day...

And I loved it.

While Dad &; I were doctoring cattle my girls and Elvis, my sister Paula's boy, were riding horses.  Dad was suggesting that after we finished we ought to go down to the trees where the kids have a fort that is constantly under construction.  He wasn't sure they could get back on the horse themselves.  Appy may be 29 years old, but the old bronc never did learn enough patience to stand still while you mount.  And he's ridiculously tall. 

I think if we just leave them be with the horses, they'll figure out how to take care of themselves.  After doctoring cattle, bandaging Dad's hand where a calf slammed it up against the side of the chute, then decided to jump around, cleaning the five pounds of mud off of Elvis's shoe where he "had" to wade into a pond to retrieve his dove yesterday, we headed down to the trees, a mile north of the house to see if kids were ready to remount.  We topped the hill to find them all mounted and returning home.

Bookworm figured out that if she hooked her knee in Appy's stirrup and muscled her way up, she could swing her right leg over, then get in the saddle.  Sugar is just an average sized horse, so Elvis was able to reach his stirrup to mount, then grab Popcorn's hand and drag her on behind him...

And all of this after Sugar decided to rear up with Elvis on her!  The kids are getting so big and brave!

I refrained from saying "I told you so."  But I wanted to. 

After the kids got home, I helped them unsaddle and walked the horses back to the pasture to remove their bridles.  The kids stood and petted them for about thirty seconds, then they were off to do whatever it is they do...

I stood there and rubbed Sugar's ears and took my knuckles and massaged the spot on her forehead between her big brown eyes that all horses love.  I stroked her all over and talked about how sweet she was, even if she did give the kids a little rodeo today.  I assured her they would be better cowboy's because of it.



Then I moved on to Appy.  Sugar was not happy with her session ending, and she reminded me of her presence numerous times by placing her right ear on my left shoulder and rubbing her head on me.  I chuckled, gave her another little love down, then told her to let Appy have a turn.

Darling, cantankerous old Appy. We have had him for twenty six years.  Where he used to be mostly red with white appaloosa speckles and a white rump, he is now gray.  He is skinny and he drools when he eats.  Dad has even moved to buying him senior formula horse feed in the hopes of putting some meat on him for the winter...

It hurts my heart to look at him, and it worries me to think of him being ridden.  But he loves to be ridden and kicks up a big fuss if he suspects he will be left out.  I rubbed his forehead and he closed his eyes in horsey bliss.  I moved to his side and scratched his cheek and ears and buried my face in his neck.  He let out a great contented sigh and I breathed in a deep breath. 

He smells so perfect.  There is just something so perfectly "home" about the scent of horse sweat.  It is not a bad smell.  It is musky and unique.  It smells like wind and grass and carefree days.  It smells like blistering hot days with dirt in your teeth from chasing cattle.  It smells like leather gloves that have been soaked in the stock tank to form perfectly to your hands.  It smells like your dad's lap after he has come in from working all day long and is sitting in the recliner to catch the weather before he sits down to supper.

It just smells perfect.

For another take on life out at my folk's, go take a look at Paula's blog. She did a great touching story!  Anyway, it brought a tear to my eye!

What makes your heart yearn for home?

What I Do

I'm a nurse.  I know.  News flash, right? 

I've been thinking about it all week.  It's been one of those "Why am I a nurse?"  and "I love being a nurse" week.

I've been thinking of all that transpired this week, and I've been thinking it seems that there should be a blog in there somewhere, but I'm not sure I can convey the angst and beauty I've experienced this week.

Monday night I was on call and we worked on one patient for nearly four hours.  Her pain was out of control due to advanced cancer and I gave that woman more medicine than I've ever given one human being.  More than I felt was probably safe, but what do you do when your patient is weeping and jerking all over the table during a very delicate procedure and she is crying out to God?  You look at your doctor who tells you to give her more medicine and you do it.

 I called and checked on her first thing Tuesday morning, then talked to her family on Wednesday.  They all said that she had been anxious all Monday night and didn't sleep at all.  While that is sad, I was relieved I didn't kill her with the quantity of meds and variety I had been pumping in her trying to get her comfortably through the procedure.

Tuesday we had a patient who has been with us for a while come in.  She is dying of liver cancer.  Her granddaughter had brought her in for one last drainage of the fluid collection on her abdomen that often  results from liver diseases.  I was afraid she was going to die before I got her from the wheelchair to the stretcher.  I asked "Tiffany" how she was able to get her to the car and then to the wheelchair to come to our department.  She confessed she just hugged her and total lifted her.  The patient's heart rate was in the 130s-160 and she was not making eye contact.  She would answer questions slowly and laboriously.  I sat down and asked Tiffany if she wanted me to transfer her grandmother to the ER or take her home to die.  She decided to take her home.  We sat in the hall and I held her while she cried.  Tiffany is about my age and has a beautiful little boy that she takes with her everywhere she takes her grandmother.  She kept her grandmother beautifully groomed with lovely hair, and manicured toes and fingers.  I told Tiffany that she is one of the bravest women I've ever met.  I was proud of what she had chosen to do for her grandmother.  I know she'll never regret that decision to care for her grandmother.  It has not been easy.  But I know it was the right thing for her to do, and you could see the love they had for each other every time my patient would speak of her precious granddaughter.

Later in the day on Tuesday we had an urgent case added.  The patient had an obstruction between her kidney and bladder, so her right kidney was not draining urine.  Consequently this eighty something year old woman was in pain.  The pain medicine had made her very confused and combative.  When I got her, the doctor pointed out that the key to this procedure was going to be speed.  We had to put her on her belly on a table not much wider than an ironing board and convince her to lie still while the doctor placed a tube through the skin and into the kidney to relieve the pressure.  One of my fellow nurses told me, "I don't have a good feeling about this."  I was surprised because while I was worried about how we were going to get her settled into position, I wasn't worried worried...Like the "not good feeling" worried.

I did express concern to the doctor that she was going septic, which simply means that there is an infection in her blood, and it goes systemic, and can have very scary results.  He said "Okay, but we have to get this tube in to fix it."  I agreed. 

Well, after we used four staff members to wrestle a 50 kilogram woman onto the table, tied her hands and feet, and I gently medicated her, with the age and weight burdening my brain, she finally settled down.  My doctor worked like a fiend and had the tube in within a five minutes. 

However, her blood pressure plummeted...

She went unresponsive.  We flipped her over onto the stretcher and I gave her reversals for the meds I'd given her, hoping it was a case of skinny frail white woman receiving too much sedation, even though I'd barely given her anything.

No response. 

Of course her IV went bad.  The good news with that was that she had beautiful veins, the kind nurses look on lustfully when they pass by you...And since she was now calm, I got a new IV in no problem.  I gave her more reversals.  Still no response.  I started pumping her full of fluids and called in a "rapid response" which basically gets the Code Team there before a full code actually happens...

She came around a little.  She began to answer questions and her pressure recovered a bit.  Not enough to relax us, but a bit.  We got her placed in the intensive care unit.  By the time the rush was over, her son and daughter in law had went to her original room on a medical/surgical unit to get her belongings.  I hated that I missed them.  I had prayed with them before the procedure and reassured her daughter in law that we would take good care of her.  We talked about God being in control and caring about all of our worries.  We prayed that they would have peace and that the patient would be calm for the procedure.  I don't know how they felt.  I'm sure they were scared when they heard the call for assistance over the hospital PA.  I wish I had caught up with them Wednesday to chat with them and learn how their loved one was.  I wish I had sought them out at the end of the day on Tuesday to hug their necks and tell them I was sorry for their family member's illness.

But I didn't.  And there wasn't even any reason not to.  I was completely bored on Wednesday.  So bored that a fellow nurse and I decided to do the eleven flights of stairs up and down (of course, why would we stay on the roof?) and do ten sets of squats at each landing.  Then a few hours later we did it again.  All I did to earn my paycheck was audit old charts and stock carts, call patients lined up for the next week, and make sure everything was neat and tidy.  And while all of that needed done, it isn't what I really visualize myself doing when I head to work in the morning. I finished off my day with a four hour mandatory class.  Again, not what I think of doing when I am at work.

So really there was no reason to not follow up with my little lady.  I just didn't.  I guess the difference with her was that whatever was wrong with her, I had no control over, yet it was a relatively expected outcome.  It was all part of the pathology of her illness.  I knew that, and wasn't overly surprised when events panned out like they did.  Whereas the first patient had metastatic cancer, but what I was doing to her was way out of my comfort zone.

In each case I was doing what I felt was best and what I knew to do.  The difference between the first and the last is back up.  In the call case we were there until late in the evening, and I really didn't have a lot of people to bounce off ideas about what to do, and what else I could try to get her pain under control.  The second case was during the middle of the day, and two other nurses from my department were right there talking things out with me, discussing what we should try next, and the doctor was able to get on the phone to the patient's attending physician. 

So. 

I'm a nurse.  It's weird.  Sometimes I wonder why I do it.  I especially wonder what is wrong with me to love doing it.  Especially as I'm sitting here typing with a headache that is directly tied to they tension I've been carrying in my neck and shoulders this week.

But I do it.  I love doing it, and on some weird level I would love it if my girls did it too.   We could have that weird nurse bond that commiserates about annoying, smelly patients and gripey needy doctors.  We could swap horror stories of blood squirting and vomit flying...And we could commiserate over each others mistakes, and the wish we had done it different cases...

I'm a nurse.

It's what I do.

She Doesn't Want to Dress Like Me.

My oldest is having wardrobe drama.

Popcorn has had wardrobe drama since she was old enough to say "no."  She went through a boy shirt phase.  She always wanted those blue striped boys shirts when she was two.  And I totally let her wear them.  Because what did it matter?  It's just a shirt.  She went through a monochromatic phase between three and four:  Whatever color she was wearing, it had to be that same color head to toe...

That was always interesting.  And really kind of cute.

Once she started she school mixed and matched clothing and came up with some outlandish outfits, and if I pointed out that orange shorts did not match a green shirt and purple socks, she would firmly declare she did not care.   And I would decide I didn't either as long as all necessary parts were covered and send her on her way.  Some of my friends were openly skeptical about that phase.  But, she passed it, and now she is in a trendy/pink/purple/sparkle/ten thousand accessories phase...

But the real point of this post is Bookworm's wardrobe drama.  She has always had one rule about clothing:  People must not notice or comment on what she wears.  A compliment from the "pop peeps" as she calls them meant that she would never wear that particular outfit again.  Because people noticed her, and she didn't like people looking at her...And she also had a stigma that popular people are not nice people, so she refused to be like them.  I assure you, she did not get this stigma from me.  I blame it on her bookwormish tendencies because the popular girls are always vicious in kids books. 

So, yesterday I found her on the living room floor.  Crying.  Because I will not let her wear her Justice shorts because they do not reach her finger tips.  And that is the dress code.  She claims that her arms go clear to her knees, so that rule is clearly unfair to her.  Yes, her arms are long.  So are mine.  She has long legs.  So do I.  It is hard to find shorts that fit her skinny frame that are also to the bottom of her fingertips.  However, there is a dress code.  And while I consider many rules stupid, and don't follow them myself (the speed limit being a prime example), I am making her obey dress code.  Apparently many girls are wearing very short shorts.  I can attest to this, as I've seen it with my own eyes.  But just because they are getting away with breaking the rules doesn't make it right...(insert speed limit comments here.)

Today is "blue out" at school.  This is homecoming week, so there are themes for each day.  I told her to wear her new school shirt (which is blue, duh) that her dad paid an exorbitant amount for, with a pair of capris.  Because her shorts are all in the wash.  She does not want to wear capris.  She wants to wear shorts.

That are too short.

I said, "What is wrong with these capris?  They are cute!  I would totally wear them!"

And to that, Gentle Reader, I'm quite sure she thought to herself "And you are 35 years old and I will not be caught DEAD dressing like you."

Strangely, she still refused to wear them.

So, I convinced her to wear a pair of shorts that I bought at a garage sale that are size 00 and too big in the waist for her.  I made her put on  a belt, did the experimental attempt to pull them off and declared them good.  And, just for good measure I pointed out that they are shorts from a very trendy store which means the original owner paid entirely too much for them, so she can go to school proudly in her name brand shorts, her over priced tee, and feathers in her hair and call herself cute.

And get over it if anyone comments on how cute she looks.