Out with the old carpet

The day has finally arrived! After seven years, thousands of footfalls, and a myriad of spills and stains, we are getting new carpet!

Okay, in the whole scheme of things like politics, world peace, and overall human suffering, this is very minor, but for my husband, Chris, and me, it is like we are getting an upgrade on our home.

Goodbye, red Gatorade stain. See you later, coffee splatters! No more worries about you, mysterious black spots that were here before we bought this house.

When we first moved into our place, we had huge ideas about things we wanted to do in each room. Carpet has always been on the list, but it kept getting pushed aside because it seemed that something more pressing would pop up that needed our attention.

Let me tell you the real reason that no one likes to mess with flooring, and I know this because we are experiencing it right now: you essentially have to completely move out of your house and then move back into your house over the span of a couple days.

This is a huge pain in the backside considering we have accumulated seven years worth of junk crammed into closets and under beds.

It isn’t like I haven’t purged things over this time period, but during the last three years while I was in school, our house has experienced an excess in build-up with minimal purging efforts.

What we need to do is have a huge yard sale. I started to make a pile in the shed last year. That pile is still waiting for the sale that is stuck in the future because the only thing I loathe more than sorting through all our belongings is having people pick through them in my carport only to make outlandishly low offers that I grudgingly accept just to get rid of both the item and the person.

It is a bit fun going through our old things. I made a conscious decision to part with a pair of paisley pants that don’t fit.

For a while, I flirted with the idea that they will fit me again one day, but I seriously pondered whether or not it would be a good idea to wear them when they do, so I decided against keeping them around.

I also tossed a couple things that have been broken for a long time and I’ve never fixed them even though I really thought I was going to get out the Super Glue and try. Evidently, it wasn’t that important and I never missed the objects around the house.

Out of all my shoes, I was only able to toss a couple pair because, let’s face it, I wear size 11 and I can’t go around taking a pair of shoes for granted. I need my shoes.

Tomorrow is the big day, so tonight Chris and I get to hurt our backs and lug our furniture into the carport. If anytime in our marriage is vulnerable, it is when we are moving heavy objects together.

The main problem is that I don’t like to do it and he thinks I possess an understanding of depth and width concerning door openings and irregularly-shaped objects.

If we can get through this evening, we can conquer anything.

By this weekend, I’ll be pampering my feet on new threads and yelling at the kids to take off their shoes at the door. Let the new reign of terror begin!

Learning the ropes in the ER

I’ve been working at my job as an emergency room nurse for about a month now and I have completely fallen in love with the job. My coworkers have been wonderful and my twelve hour shifts are over before I know it.

I truly do learn something new every day which isn’t surprising because I am a fresh out of school, but even seasoned nurses will tell you they never stop learning; there is just so much basic medical information, not to mention the continually changing world of technology and medicine.

My first few days on the floor following my preceptor felt unbelievable. Every time I pulled a medication from the med room to administer it to a patient, I’d pause to look over my shoulder and see if one of my instructors was going to walk up behind me to see if I was doing everything correctly.

The first time I pushed morphine into an I.V., I got a sinking feeling in my stomach like I was going to send the patient into immediate respiratory depression. I didn’t. I’d checked the dose and the patient, of course, but the computer also helped with a final check once I used the handy scanner.

Computers are wonderful until they turn on you. For instance, you are in the middle of complete madness and have fifteen things going on at once when your laptop shuts down because you forgot to plug it in for the last 4 hours. You only do that once.

I’m getting better at working the I.V. pumps and lines. The first few times I started a pump, I felt like I got caught in a spider web of tubing and I somehow made a knot that I had to untie. Luckily, I was in the privacy of the med room and no one witnessed it.

Speaking of tangles, I had to wrestle a bedside table to free the call light cord from one of the wheels the other day. I thought I could roll it off, but the table wasn’t cooperating and I ended up on my hands and knees, muttering to myself about the absurdity of the situation.

When I released the call light, I accidentally pulled it out of the wall which set off the signal that I needed assistance in the room.

“Sorry. The bedside table attacked me, but I’m okay now.” How often does that happen?

I’m improving my technique with starting an I.V. also. It is nice to think that my patient doesn’t need a blood transfusion when I’m done. Seriously, it wasn’t that bad, but when you get a really good vein on a person who is taking anticoagulants, you’d better be prepared to quickly apply pressure and have your supplies ready.

They say nurses grow their third arm at some point in time and I’m starting to realize what they mean. You have to do several things at once and it would look bad to put your foot on someone’s arm to stabilize it; really bad.

As for my patients, I can’t say much about them because I have to respect their privacy, but I will say that they are my priority. I look forward to helping them and thank them for allowing me to assist them. So far, they have all seemed to like me well enough.

I hope I never lose any of the love I have for nursing because I feel so fortunate to be doing this.

Making music in the house

The cacophony coming from my son’s bedroom sounds like a cross between a dying elephant and an old car horn, but we know he’s okay because that noise means he’s learning and progressing in band.

This past Tuesday, a whole bunch of parents escorted their sixth graders to the middle school’s common room in order to sign contracts that will hold us accountable to monthly payments making our children the proud renters by proxy of whatever musical instrument they fell in love with over the past couple of weeks.

My son picked the trombone.

At first, my husband, Chris, and I were worried about his selection because, aside from his skateboard, the boy has a less-than-stellar track record when it comes to sticking with new hobbies. Granted, band is a graded class which makes it slightly more influential when it comes to level of interest, but we have never once heard the child discuss a desire to ever touch or play a trombone.

Chris and I had pictured this active kid banging away on a snare drum or maybe just crashing some cymbals together like I did when I was in high school marching band. I would’ve done more in band, but I joined in the 10^th grade and couldn’t read music, so I got stuck with the “easy” stuff because no one wanted to bother teaching me from scratch so late in the game.

Chris played the flute and the French horn. Our son tried the flute, but his bottom lip is “substantial” in size and, because he couldn’t seem to sufficiently flatten it out, it kept flopping into the hole. The reed instruments, like the saxophone, were also posing a problem when it came to sound quality.

He declared that the trombone fits both his lips perfectly and, since he has long arms, he can reach all the notes. In addition, it was his feeling that the low brass sound is manlier than the high-pitched tone of the flute and the trumpet.

My best friend, Damon, played trombone in band. I remember all the spit that he used to have to empty out of it. My son was sure to request an old washcloth for this unfortunate consequence of his new passion.

Damon was also talented on piano and could sit down and play Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” like it was the easiest song in the world. Who knows? Maybe the trombone will kick off a love affair with music for our offspring and we’ll get to see him perform a masterpiece on stage one day.

Part of being in middle school band is that the kids have to bring their instruments home to practice and the parents are supposed to be encouraging and supportive no matter what sound comes out of their horns.

In all seriousness, this boy is making some fairly decent noise with his trombone. I wish he wouldn’t suddenly blast it right when I was walking around the corner and scare the tar out of me, but he’s got some solid sounds happening which is more than I would’ve expected.

To all you other new band parents, I hope your children are as excited as my son is. I can only imagine what the trumpets are sounding like.

Kids, keep plugging away and don’t give up. You’ll be glad you did one day. I heard somewhere that children who learn to read music are smarter overall. A parent can certainly have her dreams.

Second vehicle gets an upgrade

A few months ago, my husband, Chris, took a financial leap by purchasing a new vehicle. Okay, it wasn’t 100% new because it was formerly owned, but I wouldn’t be stretching the truth at all by saying this 2007 Toyota FJ Cruiser was gently used.

I knew he was in “truck love” when he brought it home for a test drive which included a sleepover in front of our house. This made it possible to see the truck whenever we looked out the window.

I had to admit, it was a nice-looking vehicle. It seemed tough like a Tonka truck, but it was black so it didn’t scream “I’m an over-sized toy!” In fact, it was almost begging us to drive it through a mud pit so we could become aware of its full potential.

He finally took me out for a spin which involved a very bumpy road in the woods. He tore through sand and over what may have once been innocent animal dwellings, but we wouldn’t have known because this truck wanted to rip a trail through anything and anywhere we were willing to drive it.

I asked if we would have to buy it if we wrecked it in the woods. We were on a test drive, after all.

He told me not to worry about it.

I checked out the interior and noticed the leather seats and the almost utilitarian lack of anything resembling carpet or fabric on the floorboards. I thought how perfect this would be for the spilling of drinks and possible incidents of motion sickness that would inevitably occur if he continued to bounce me around like he was doing at that moment.

When we returned home, he was giving me the sales pitch again. Considering that he sells cars for a living, I shouldn’t be at all surprised that I was convinced he should make this purchase.

A few days later, his old truck was sold and he took the cash from that transaction, walked it directly into the Toyota finance office, and placed a down payment on the FJ. Talk about money changing hands!

I was kind of concerned that Chris was putting so much faith in the fact that I was supposedly going to have a steady income flowing into the household coffers. I mean, what if I turn out to be a horrible nurse like Ratched from “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” or something else happens beyond my control and I can no longer work?

Once he put my financial fears to rest, I began thinking about how much he really deserves to have something nice to drive. He keeps me in a newer car because I’m usually the one carting the kids around and he feels better knowing I’m piloting something safe and reliable. This is why he’s always been the one to sacrifice and drive the older vehicle with no payment.

People talk sometimes about “stepping up and being a man.” I take for granted that I don’t have to worry about this with Chris. We argue about things and disagree when we don’t see eye-to-eye on issues, but when it comes down to the wire and I need someone to lean on or arms to hold me tight or just want him to take my side and agree that someone else is a total tool, Chris is always the man.

Enjoy your truck, honey. Just try not to tear up the woods too much.

Drama is her middle name

My little girl is nothing like me when I was her age. If I got upset, my chin would quiver and my eyes would water, but if I wanted to let out a hardcore crying spell, I’d likely go find a private place to release my emotions; preferably my bedroom, with the door shut, leaking tears into my pillow.

She is the total opposite. She tends to have a flair for the dramatic with her emotional outbursts.

The other night, she lost her second tooth which I erroneously believed was not a big deal seeing as how this has happened once already and she made five bucks off the transaction. I was wrong.

She wouldn’t let us touch it, of course, and I didn’t pursue the matter. I told her to go look in the mirror and wiggle it a little. The tooth fell out of her mouth and we applauded her accomplishment, but we didn’t factor in the amount of bleeding that would be involved.

For some reason, there was a lot of blood. She wouldn’t stop assessing it. Her face contorted into extreme concern for her own well-being and we tried to reassure her that it would stop, but she kept pacing about the house crying inconsolably and drooling because she refused to swallow.

This went on for about a half an hour until she finally went to bed.

I slipped two dollars under her pillow before I left for work the next morning and she told her daddy that you’re supposed to get two dollars for your second tooth.

A few nights later, I told her to get in the bath. She was rattling around in the toys when I heard her yell and then she came running down the hallway stark naked.

I couldn’t understand most of what she said until one word popped out of her mouth, “SPIDER!”

I hate spiders. I’m a big chicken when I see them because they really creep me out, but I try to act tough in front of the kids so I told her to show me where it was.

She was real jittery when we got close to the bathroom. It would’ve been the perfect moment to freak her out by tickling the back of her leg, but I refrained from psychologically scarring her forever. Sometimes I’m a good mom.

She pointed to the toy closet. I asked how big it was and she said “Medium.” That gave me nothing to go on.

My son brought me one of my work shoes which have all these gaps in the soles and I knew it wouldn’t be very helpful. Flip flops are the best spider killers, but last week, I was able to eradicate one with the toilet plunger. It was oddly satisfying.

I dug around in the toy basket while my bowels loosened out of anticipated terror when I spied a shriveled tiny dead spider on the floor.

I called her in to look at it and asked if this was the medium-sized arachnid she saw. She acknowledged that this was indeed the spider that attacked her. I did a mental eye roll and tried to remember that she is only six.

A piece of tissue paper was all that was required to clear the area of the nuisance, much to my relief. I can’t believe that I got my heart racing for that, but I still saved the day in her eyes so it was worth it.