I'm very angry tonight. I've already experienced shock and sadness, and now I'm in full blown anger. Federal laws prohibit me from disclosing the details, but let me just say that I HATE cancer. I hate it.
I hate it's quietness. I hate what it steals from families. I hate that there is so much that we know, but still so far away from cures. I hate that there might actually be cures and treatments but it can sometimes take up to 20 years for it to be approved by the FDA.
I want to look at every cancer patient and promise them that they will be OK, but I can't. I know that they might not be OK. I know that if they survive, they will forever be changed. I know that the life that they once knew or that they had hoped and dreamed for is not theirs anymore. I hate it.
Yesterday I conceded to being young and hip. I resigned to the fact that I am neither of those things. I am inching into middle age, and I have NEVER been hip. It's amazing to have that weight lifted off my shoulders. Such delusions of grandeur are never productive. So, to help myself swallow that jagged little pill, I made a major purchase. I bought a minivan.
Yes, it is one of the AWESOME ones but it still doesn't change the fact that it is one of the things that I said I would NEVER do. (I've stuck my foot in my mouth a lot lately with the NEVER things, ie: I would NEVER work for a place that involved any sort of nepotism (I am thoroughly enjoying this one. Susan Alexander is AMAZING. She is truly darling and I love her to PIECES!) It's a Honda Odyssey. It's beautiful, and big, and safe, and has BLUETOOTH and XM satellite radio (I choked up a little bit when I programmed the 90's station) and totally awesome back up camera! How freakin' cool is THAT! Tahoe didn't have THAT! Pilot didn't have THAT!
Everyone has a seat. It doesn't take 5 minutes to load everyone and find their seat belt plug in thingies. I don't worry about the girls being in the third row because there is space between the third row and the back of the car. It has 5 star crash ratings on front and rear collisions and safety features to boot. Cooper doesn't kick the back of my seat when I'm driving.
Buying the car was a nightmare. Why can't you just go to a car dealership and they give you what you want. If they can't do it, then they say no we can't do that. Not, "Let me go get my manager, I don't know if we can do that, blah, blah, blah" Three hours later, I had what I wanted. Why couldn't we save my three hours and yours (you could have sold ANOTHER car in that time?) and just skip the BS and give me what I wanted? I grew up in the car business. I know how it works! You can take a loss on a car in order to sell it and Honda will give you more incentives. Its mid month and in the three hours that I've been here, no one has been in the finance office. You're day is pretty crappy. I do have a uterus but that doesn't make me stupid. I fake my excitement, but not so deep down, it would not hurt me at all to walk away from this deal. I don't care. I know what I want and I'm. Not. Budging. I'm still trying to decide which one is more painful: Buying a car or buying a house.
So, should I buy kid name stickers for the back? How about those stick figure people? Too much?
Yes, it is one of the AWESOME ones but it still doesn't change the fact that it is one of the things that I said I would NEVER do. (I've stuck my foot in my mouth a lot lately with the NEVER things, ie: I would NEVER work for a place that involved any sort of nepotism (I am thoroughly enjoying this one. Susan Alexander is AMAZING. She is truly darling and I love her to PIECES!) It's a Honda Odyssey. It's beautiful, and big, and safe, and has BLUETOOTH and XM satellite radio (I choked up a little bit when I programmed the 90's station) and totally awesome back up camera! How freakin' cool is THAT! Tahoe didn't have THAT! Pilot didn't have THAT!
Everyone has a seat. It doesn't take 5 minutes to load everyone and find their seat belt plug in thingies. I don't worry about the girls being in the third row because there is space between the third row and the back of the car. It has 5 star crash ratings on front and rear collisions and safety features to boot. Cooper doesn't kick the back of my seat when I'm driving.
Buying the car was a nightmare. Why can't you just go to a car dealership and they give you what you want. If they can't do it, then they say no we can't do that. Not, "Let me go get my manager, I don't know if we can do that, blah, blah, blah" Three hours later, I had what I wanted. Why couldn't we save my three hours and yours (you could have sold ANOTHER car in that time?) and just skip the BS and give me what I wanted? I grew up in the car business. I know how it works! You can take a loss on a car in order to sell it and Honda will give you more incentives. Its mid month and in the three hours that I've been here, no one has been in the finance office. You're day is pretty crappy. I do have a uterus but that doesn't make me stupid. I fake my excitement, but not so deep down, it would not hurt me at all to walk away from this deal. I don't care. I know what I want and I'm. Not. Budging. I'm still trying to decide which one is more painful: Buying a car or buying a house.
So, should I buy kid name stickers for the back? How about those stick figure people? Too much?
Right now, I'm just a girl with an expensive camera and Photoshop. Every once in a while I pull out the camera and shoot. I haven't had the time lately to devote to learning the camera and the settings so I've mostly been shooting in Auto and Aperture Mode. One of these years I will learn more though. Here are some of my recent pics that I'm pretty excited about.
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| I want to make the sky more blue, but don't have the patience to work with it right now. |
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| I like this one for the B&W effect. And the toothless grin. I'm a sucka for toothless grins. |
I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.....the dance. I am disgruntled with the dance. I love seeing Sara enjoy herself. I love seeing her after all of the work is done. But I absolutely detest and loathe getting her ready for a dance recital.
Today we had the dress rehearsal for the Christmas Recital tomorrow. The dress rehearsal is at a nursing home. Great. Two of my *favorite* things in one place. The dance and nursing homes. The smell of hairspray and urine just flips my frickin' lid. (The lesser PMSing side of Christina would like to express, that she thinks its a sweet idea to have the rehearsal at the nursing home. I get a little weepy at the sparkling smiles from the octogenarians.)
I'm never on time to these things. I woke up 3 hours early to get there by 9:45a.m. I fed everyone breakfast and even did a little laundry. I even had an entire hour scheduled out to deal with hair! It went a little something like this....
8:00a.m. "Sara where's your tights?" Found them with a GIANT runner down the leg. Found last years tights and threw in the washer.
8:20a.m. Start the hair. Brush it out to the sounds of her wailing and screaming like I'm ripping her fingernails out. Subconsciously thinking of cutting all of her hair off. Hermione looks cute now, right? Pull into a pony tail. Bobby pin and hair spray a million fly away hairs into place. Decide which looks worse? A thousand pins or fly away hair? Remove most of the pins and hair spray the crap out of it. Twist pony tail into a bun and pin the crap out of it, to get it to stay in place. Attach "fake hair". (I am so mad at myself for this purchase. It doesn't even match her natural hair color, but unless you're standing right next to her you can't tell. And if you're going to judge me on the color of my child's fake hair then you can go....F) Hair is done. Crap. She's in a t-shirt. Contemplate cutting the t-shirt off of her????
8:40a.m. Cooper has now "downloaded" into his diaper big time and has hidden the wet wipes. Spend 10 minutes trying to find wet wipes, changing his diaper, cleaning his hands because he wanted to "help".
8:50a.m. - 8:55 am. Waiting for tights to dry. They're only tights right, this shouldn't take too long. Screw it. I'll blow dry them.
9:00a.m Tights on but she's whining because they're "wet". I explain they're "damp", if she would like to know what wet tights really feel like, I could show her. Have you ever done the splits on a wet football field? Or peed on yourself during the high kick routine because you didn't have time to go to the restroom before half time? That's wet tights sister.
Costume on. Here's the problem. My Sara is tall. She has long legs and a long torso. Her costume was designed to fit someone about two inches shorter than her. The top of it hit right at her "chi chi" level. If she moved any it would move down and her chi chi's were out. Poor girl. I yanked and pulled and wedgied and pinned that stupid costume to spare her the nick name Janet Jackson. Done.
Balls!! Why is the Mystery Machine on her arm!! How in blue blazes am I going to get that OFF!! Found box of alcohol pads I've had since doing the girls IVF cycle. Luckily they weren't dried out and I was able to scrub off Scooby and the Gang, but left a giant red splotch.
Make Up and I've lost all complete sense of time. Putting make up on her perfect skin feels like a crime. Who cares if it looks good on stage?! I think innocence and natural are far better. Stupid blood red lipstick is broke in half. I don't have a lip brush. How the crap am I going to do this? It goes on messily and I use an alcohol pad make it look somewhat correctly applied and to not look like she applied it herself.
Herd the worms into the car and of course it's out of gas. Of course at the gas station all of the pumps are full and I get behind the woman who is just sitting there. She's not pumping. She's just sitting there in her car. Looking around. I am very successful to suppress the slur of explicatives I want to spew but feel they would ruin the feel of the car as Emily and Sara are singing Jingle Bells in the back seat. That's not festive talk. Sputter down the road on fumes to the next gas station.
We make it to the rehearsal with 1 minute to spare. Hurry up and wait because we're number 16. Oh joy, and I get to do it all again tomorrow.
Today we had the dress rehearsal for the Christmas Recital tomorrow. The dress rehearsal is at a nursing home. Great. Two of my *favorite* things in one place. The dance and nursing homes. The smell of hairspray and urine just flips my frickin' lid. (The lesser PMSing side of Christina would like to express, that she thinks its a sweet idea to have the rehearsal at the nursing home. I get a little weepy at the sparkling smiles from the octogenarians.)
I'm never on time to these things. I woke up 3 hours early to get there by 9:45a.m. I fed everyone breakfast and even did a little laundry. I even had an entire hour scheduled out to deal with hair! It went a little something like this....
8:00a.m. "Sara where's your tights?" Found them with a GIANT runner down the leg. Found last years tights and threw in the washer.
8:20a.m. Start the hair. Brush it out to the sounds of her wailing and screaming like I'm ripping her fingernails out. Subconsciously thinking of cutting all of her hair off. Hermione looks cute now, right? Pull into a pony tail. Bobby pin and hair spray a million fly away hairs into place. Decide which looks worse? A thousand pins or fly away hair? Remove most of the pins and hair spray the crap out of it. Twist pony tail into a bun and pin the crap out of it, to get it to stay in place. Attach "fake hair". (I am so mad at myself for this purchase. It doesn't even match her natural hair color, but unless you're standing right next to her you can't tell. And if you're going to judge me on the color of my child's fake hair then you can go....F) Hair is done. Crap. She's in a t-shirt. Contemplate cutting the t-shirt off of her????
8:40a.m. Cooper has now "downloaded" into his diaper big time and has hidden the wet wipes. Spend 10 minutes trying to find wet wipes, changing his diaper, cleaning his hands because he wanted to "help".
8:50a.m. - 8:55 am. Waiting for tights to dry. They're only tights right, this shouldn't take too long. Screw it. I'll blow dry them.
9:00a.m Tights on but she's whining because they're "wet". I explain they're "damp", if she would like to know what wet tights really feel like, I could show her. Have you ever done the splits on a wet football field? Or peed on yourself during the high kick routine because you didn't have time to go to the restroom before half time? That's wet tights sister.
Costume on. Here's the problem. My Sara is tall. She has long legs and a long torso. Her costume was designed to fit someone about two inches shorter than her. The top of it hit right at her "chi chi" level. If she moved any it would move down and her chi chi's were out. Poor girl. I yanked and pulled and wedgied and pinned that stupid costume to spare her the nick name Janet Jackson. Done.
Balls!! Why is the Mystery Machine on her arm!! How in blue blazes am I going to get that OFF!! Found box of alcohol pads I've had since doing the girls IVF cycle. Luckily they weren't dried out and I was able to scrub off Scooby and the Gang, but left a giant red splotch.
Make Up and I've lost all complete sense of time. Putting make up on her perfect skin feels like a crime. Who cares if it looks good on stage?! I think innocence and natural are far better. Stupid blood red lipstick is broke in half. I don't have a lip brush. How the crap am I going to do this? It goes on messily and I use an alcohol pad make it look somewhat correctly applied and to not look like she applied it herself.
Herd the worms into the car and of course it's out of gas. Of course at the gas station all of the pumps are full and I get behind the woman who is just sitting there. She's not pumping. She's just sitting there in her car. Looking around. I am very successful to suppress the slur of explicatives I want to spew but feel they would ruin the feel of the car as Emily and Sara are singing Jingle Bells in the back seat. That's not festive talk. Sputter down the road on fumes to the next gas station.
We make it to the rehearsal with 1 minute to spare. Hurry up and wait because we're number 16. Oh joy, and I get to do it all again tomorrow.
This is a long whiny blog. It's mainly to help me process some things that I'm thinking, so if at any point you feel like slitting your own throat, for the love of God, please stop reading and go to Pinterest and browse for kitten pictures. I don't need any more guilt and I honestly don't have time to deal with your funeral right now. Mmm kkkkk. Disclaimer done.
I guess first I should discuss motivation. What motivates you to do whatever it is that you're doing? I think most people have some sort of motive in their parenting. Some want to recreate the amazing childhood they had for their children. Some want to make sure that their childhood does not repeat itself.
Career wise, what motivates you to do well at your job? Besides the paycheck and the fear of being canned. If those are the only two motivators then you probably hate your job. So, if you hate your job what motivates you to find one that you like? What motivates you step off the ledge and do the unthinkable?
Well, I'll tell you what motivated me. My mother is a nurse. I remember the day her first patient died. I remember her on the couch and broken. I was in awe of her sympathy but also determined to not allow myself to be "hurt" like that. In a strange way the calling started on that day, but I fought against it.
Skip forward 15 or so years and I'm sitting in a reproductive endocrinologists office and he's telling me I will never be able to get pregnant on my own. (By the way, I need to have him meet Cooper. I digress) In true Christina form, if someone tells me no, you better have a good reason why. I left his office not satisfied with his answer. That's when it really began.
I immersed myself into studying the reproductive and endocrine systems. It was consuming. I became amazed by the symphony of events that would need to take place in order for a "healthy" person to conceive. I had my answer to my question, and I also had a solution to my problem. IVF. I could "bypass" the problem and still get the result I wanted. This prompted another research marathon into drugs and side effects and risks. After MUCH debating, wringing of hands, "creative finance" situations, and considerations of ethics we went forward. It was worth the fight.
Pregnancy brought another level of research and that's when I started to really hear the little voice that said, "Hey, you could be getting paid to do this." Nope. I'm already 25. That's too old to go to nursing school. I've got an awesome job. No need to give up something stable to go chasing after something that you don't know much about. I quieted the voice until....
This is the part of the story that most people will say, "I had an amazing nurse in the hospital and blah, blah, blah." Nope. That is not my story. Actually, I had a horrible L&D nurse for the twins delivery. She had twins as well and I thought that we would connect that way, but nope. She was bland and boring and I just got the feeling that she didn't really enjoy her job. I like to think that maybe she was having a bad day, or she ran over a puppy and 12 kittens on the way to work. I can excuse her with that. I was very disappointed in her. That's when it snapped in my head, "I can do better than that!" And it was on!
***Another disclaimer: My other L&D experiences at the hospital were AMAZING!! Postpartum and the NICU were beyond words.
So I say all that to let you know where A was. That was point A. I'm somewhere between part A and B right now. B is Labor and Delivery. Thankfully, closer to B than A, but some days it feels like I'm over on L. My problem now is that I'm in Radiator Springs.
Hate to use a Cars reference but that's where I'm headed. I fell out the back of Mack and I'm stuck here in Radiator Springs. It's hard to say stuck because I do truly love the job that I do. I love my patients and the relationship that I can build with them. Our office is experiencing some growing pains right now, but we have an amazing staff that work seamlessly together. We have 0 drama in our office. I could not ask for a better group to work with. We are fortunate to work for a doctor that has incredible patience and enjoys teaching. Not many doctors would take their office nurse/poo flinging monkey in to the OR and teach her to be somewhat useful. (That's still up in the air because honestly I have no idea if I'm still a poo flinger or am actually useful!). I guess what I'm saying is that I'm comfortable in somewhere I didn't expect to be at long.
The plan was to not be comfortable here. This was just supposed to be a pit stop to the way to B. But what if this is B? Can I deal with this being B? I don't settle. Will I eventually feel that I settled for this? But even Lightning McQueen went on to win the Piston Cup. If I go after my Piston Cup, I will have to give up Radiator Springs.
Are you still here? Have you slit your throat yet? Should I call an ambulance. Well, to I can't end the blog like that. Here's something funny.
And.....
I guess first I should discuss motivation. What motivates you to do whatever it is that you're doing? I think most people have some sort of motive in their parenting. Some want to recreate the amazing childhood they had for their children. Some want to make sure that their childhood does not repeat itself.
Career wise, what motivates you to do well at your job? Besides the paycheck and the fear of being canned. If those are the only two motivators then you probably hate your job. So, if you hate your job what motivates you to find one that you like? What motivates you step off the ledge and do the unthinkable?
Well, I'll tell you what motivated me. My mother is a nurse. I remember the day her first patient died. I remember her on the couch and broken. I was in awe of her sympathy but also determined to not allow myself to be "hurt" like that. In a strange way the calling started on that day, but I fought against it.
Skip forward 15 or so years and I'm sitting in a reproductive endocrinologists office and he's telling me I will never be able to get pregnant on my own. (By the way, I need to have him meet Cooper. I digress) In true Christina form, if someone tells me no, you better have a good reason why. I left his office not satisfied with his answer. That's when it really began.
I immersed myself into studying the reproductive and endocrine systems. It was consuming. I became amazed by the symphony of events that would need to take place in order for a "healthy" person to conceive. I had my answer to my question, and I also had a solution to my problem. IVF. I could "bypass" the problem and still get the result I wanted. This prompted another research marathon into drugs and side effects and risks. After MUCH debating, wringing of hands, "creative finance" situations, and considerations of ethics we went forward. It was worth the fight.
Pregnancy brought another level of research and that's when I started to really hear the little voice that said, "Hey, you could be getting paid to do this." Nope. I'm already 25. That's too old to go to nursing school. I've got an awesome job. No need to give up something stable to go chasing after something that you don't know much about. I quieted the voice until....
This is the part of the story that most people will say, "I had an amazing nurse in the hospital and blah, blah, blah." Nope. That is not my story. Actually, I had a horrible L&D nurse for the twins delivery. She had twins as well and I thought that we would connect that way, but nope. She was bland and boring and I just got the feeling that she didn't really enjoy her job. I like to think that maybe she was having a bad day, or she ran over a puppy and 12 kittens on the way to work. I can excuse her with that. I was very disappointed in her. That's when it snapped in my head, "I can do better than that!" And it was on!
***Another disclaimer: My other L&D experiences at the hospital were AMAZING!! Postpartum and the NICU were beyond words.
So I say all that to let you know where A was. That was point A. I'm somewhere between part A and B right now. B is Labor and Delivery. Thankfully, closer to B than A, but some days it feels like I'm over on L. My problem now is that I'm in Radiator Springs.
Hate to use a Cars reference but that's where I'm headed. I fell out the back of Mack and I'm stuck here in Radiator Springs. It's hard to say stuck because I do truly love the job that I do. I love my patients and the relationship that I can build with them. Our office is experiencing some growing pains right now, but we have an amazing staff that work seamlessly together. We have 0 drama in our office. I could not ask for a better group to work with. We are fortunate to work for a doctor that has incredible patience and enjoys teaching. Not many doctors would take their office nurse/poo flinging monkey in to the OR and teach her to be somewhat useful. (That's still up in the air because honestly I have no idea if I'm still a poo flinger or am actually useful!). I guess what I'm saying is that I'm comfortable in somewhere I didn't expect to be at long.
The plan was to not be comfortable here. This was just supposed to be a pit stop to the way to B. But what if this is B? Can I deal with this being B? I don't settle. Will I eventually feel that I settled for this? But even Lightning McQueen went on to win the Piston Cup. If I go after my Piston Cup, I will have to give up Radiator Springs.
Are you still here? Have you slit your throat yet? Should I call an ambulance. Well, to I can't end the blog like that. Here's something funny.
I have to post this blog right now. Reasons:
1. I have 42 seconds to spare.
2. It's fresh on my mind.
Let me fill in the back story. Sara has been asked to participate on the competition dance team at the studio that she does ballet and tap. I was caught off guard at first because the day before I had watched "Dance Moms". And I'm here to say that those moms are out there. It's not just on reality TV. So, I tentatively agreed and decided to do my own research into competition dancing for 5 year olds.
So where does one start on research for dancing competitions? Well, Youtube of course. The first video I saw was this:
I was completely disgusted. They're 7 years old and while they are extremely technically talented, its lost with the skimpy outfits, pelvic thrusts and grinding. Disgusted. That's all I can. I could go on for hours and hours, but I've only got about 30 seconds left.
That didn't sway my decision to let her compete because Kristina's Studio is very established in the community and does age appropriate numbers. As apprehensive I was about the Spring Show last year and all of it's hairspray, bobbie pins and fake hair flying around, I was very please with the production. The kids had a fun time. It was very entertaining and we had a great night. Shout out to Dori Poe and Alyssa's Mom (immense apology for not remembering your name, I sometimes stare at Cooper or shout #3 at him cause his name escapes me. It's not personal!).
Look at her with her BFF!
My biggest drawback was the time and money involved. There are 3-4 competitions with entrance fees, choreography fees, costume fees, buying makeup (yes, I'm rolling my eyes), travel, extra classes during the week, and time, time, time.
So what to do, what to do? Realistically, she's 5 years old. Let's put this in check, at this point in her life is this more for me to ooh and ahh over her or does it develop her? Lessons possibly learned from competitive dance: (completely random order)
1. Lady like competition; Class vs. Ass (whatever happened to class anyway? That's a different blog..)
2. Healthy self esteem.
4. Socialization and friendships made.
8. Athleticism
6. Advance her dance skills.
7. Develop an appreciation of an art.
5. HAVE fun!
So, after checking my own (and her Daddy's) aversions and misconceptions we decided to jump in head first. We've got our choreography done. She's going to be a bumble bee! It's cuteness. There's 3 other girls in the group. She's excited and I now have some leverage with her. She understands that dance is a privilege and can be taken away.
If you listen on a quiet dark night you can hear my checking account sobbing. It is very expensive but I think it'll be worth it. We're doing some fund-raising and I think I might have a buyer for my left kidney. This is going to require some creative financing! I've already ordered my shirt that says "I don't dance, I finance."
With 7 seconds to spare. I'm done.
1. I have 42 seconds to spare.
2. It's fresh on my mind.
Let me fill in the back story. Sara has been asked to participate on the competition dance team at the studio that she does ballet and tap. I was caught off guard at first because the day before I had watched "Dance Moms". And I'm here to say that those moms are out there. It's not just on reality TV. So, I tentatively agreed and decided to do my own research into competition dancing for 5 year olds.
So where does one start on research for dancing competitions? Well, Youtube of course. The first video I saw was this:
I was completely disgusted. They're 7 years old and while they are extremely technically talented, its lost with the skimpy outfits, pelvic thrusts and grinding. Disgusted. That's all I can. I could go on for hours and hours, but I've only got about 30 seconds left.
That didn't sway my decision to let her compete because Kristina's Studio is very established in the community and does age appropriate numbers. As apprehensive I was about the Spring Show last year and all of it's hairspray, bobbie pins and fake hair flying around, I was very please with the production. The kids had a fun time. It was very entertaining and we had a great night. Shout out to Dori Poe and Alyssa's Mom (immense apology for not remembering your name, I sometimes stare at Cooper or shout #3 at him cause his name escapes me. It's not personal!).
My biggest drawback was the time and money involved. There are 3-4 competitions with entrance fees, choreography fees, costume fees, buying makeup (yes, I'm rolling my eyes), travel, extra classes during the week, and time, time, time.
So what to do, what to do? Realistically, she's 5 years old. Let's put this in check, at this point in her life is this more for me to ooh and ahh over her or does it develop her? Lessons possibly learned from competitive dance: (completely random order)
1. Lady like competition; Class vs. Ass (whatever happened to class anyway? That's a different blog..)
2. Healthy self esteem.
4. Socialization and friendships made.
8. Athleticism
6. Advance her dance skills.
7. Develop an appreciation of an art.
5. HAVE fun!
So, after checking my own (and her Daddy's) aversions and misconceptions we decided to jump in head first. We've got our choreography done. She's going to be a bumble bee! It's cuteness. There's 3 other girls in the group. She's excited and I now have some leverage with her. She understands that dance is a privilege and can be taken away.
If you listen on a quiet dark night you can hear my checking account sobbing. It is very expensive but I think it'll be worth it. We're doing some fund-raising and I think I might have a buyer for my left kidney. This is going to require some creative financing! I've already ordered my shirt that says "I don't dance, I finance."
With 7 seconds to spare. I'm done.
