Yep, I’m pretty sure this makes me a shoo-in for Mother of the Year! (I just had to change the sheets.) Sabrina’s 8 months old, now, Fletcher will be 3 in December, and I hardly ever have time to blog anymore!! I must offer my humblest, abject apologies for ignoring you all. I can offer no excuse except that I’m trying to keep the house from appearing on an episode of Hoarders, and short of putting a leash on my son, my next step is to put the local ER on speed dial. I’m still working full time. We spend a lot of time watching Sesame St and Cars 2 and pointing to various body parts and repeating names for them. (Some funny, some normal, you know..) So Fletcher tried to take up drinking this past weekend. We were at some friends’ house, and the wife left her beer out in the open, and he went bottoms up before I could stop him. I cleaned him up, and not an hour later, he took a barrel roll down their steps. Thank goodness we didn’t have to take him to the hospital, because they would have had us arrested, with our luck! Never a dull moment with our crew. He swims now, which I have a video of on fB, but I can’t figure out the Youtube thing to post it here. You’ll have to take my word for it. He was lapping the pool last week! Sabrina’s hair sticks straight up, like Fletcher’s did, she’s crawling now, and taste-testing everything to make sure it’s safe for human consumption. She’s also got 2 little toofs. Such a doll. We alternate calling her Ladybug, Waterbug, or Stinkbug, depending on the circumstances. Her eyes take up her whole face. I’m a terrible blogger anymore, and probably will have to close this blog, at least for awhile. (This little piggy went to market, this little piggy…Welcome to my life!) I do try to log on and keep up with all of you. Just wanted to thank you all for your support and encouragement over the last several years…Thanks.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!…Oh, wait, I missed it. Well, I’ve been busy, ok? What? Anyway, Sabrina’s rolling over now, and discovering her feet, Fletcher’s been panhandling in church (more on that later!), and learning to jump and do headstands! I’m having visions of stitches and blood in my future…wait, that could just be Monday. *sigh* No news yet on the department transfer at work, but now it’s looking unlikely to happen for at least 6 months. *sigh* The hours between 4 and 6pm have become the Witching Hour around here. Nobody’s happy, everybody screams, guess they’ll go eat worms…! YCU hurt his back last week, so that’s been fun. Now he’s convinced he’s old and breaking down. He’s 36. I know. I can’t convince him any different. Bless his heart.
So, Fletcher. What can I say about Fletcher? He’s a little hambone, but we knew that already. I walked into the new(ish) babysitter’s house one day to find Fletcher and his little friend Liam both sitting in the bad chair across the room from each other. When I asked what happened, she told me that she’d told them to pick up their toys and they simultaneously threw something at her! He’s learned to hit and throw things when he’s angry now, (I can only assume from the other little boy, we do our best to behave ourselves in front of the offspring) so we’re trying to break that bad habit. So, panhandling. Yeah, my son could make a killing on the side of the road, I tell ya. We went to Sunday School this week and they have a little collection jar there that the kids put their SS offering in every week. They love to hear the coins jingle. Fletcher loves that thing. I can give him 6 pennies and that jar, and he’ll stay occupied all through SS. Yes, I know he’s supposed to be paying attention, but he’s 2. It’ll come in time, right? Anyway, we got there early, and he grabbed the jar first thing. We went upstairs to the devotional and as I was greeting some fellow churchgoers, I looked up and danged if every one of those old men in the Amen Corner wasn’t cleaning out their pockets, giving him change! I’m pretty sure my face went white as I squeaked “My son is panhandling at church!” His teacher said she’d start a collection for the snacks and just let him head the committee. I have new pictures! Look!
and, as usual, it was too good to be true. Tennessee has breastfeeding laws, and I was all excited thinking I could go pump whenever I needed to, and that my employer was required to let me go. Not really. I’m so upset. It says they have to let us have unpaid breaks, but only if it doesn’t disrupt business as usual. So they really don’t have to, because anytime you take a break as an OR nurse, you’re interrupting business as usual because they have to relieve you in a room, or the patient might roll to the room later, etc. Why even make a law if they can’t be more decisive than that? So now, I’m back to square one, trying to finagle time during a busy day without being dependent on my employers to provide it. What happens is I get stuck in a room with no relief, full to bursting, and I just have to suffer because they keep effing firing everybody and they have no help, and the charge nurse won’t come relieve you for a few minutes because they’re too busy “managing”. I need more control than that. I need a job where it’s not imperative that I be stuck and dependent on someone else’s good graces to take care of bodily functions.
I’ve decided to transfer up to the ICU and eventually go to school to become a CRNA. I hate school with a hairy passion, but I hate my job right now worse. I was dreading going back to work, I’m not focused, and I don’t want to be there. I have to force myself to get up and gird my loins for work every morning. You spend waaaaaay too much time at work to be unhappy,in my opinion, so it’s time to do something new.
In other news, Fletcher’s beginning to realize that Sabrina’s not going away. He is not amused. Alas. I have new pictures. My offspring:
Country Girl has spoken. I have a true obsessive/compulsive streak, and I am in total agreement. Click here for knowledge.
Y’all are gonna have to send the paddywagon after me. OMG. I don’t DO critters. My husband had the audacity to be working in my time of dire need, so I had to get rid of the mouse (and sweep and mop the floor) myself. I had to pull out the rubber gloves and everything. The damn thing tried to attack me and do you know it was the size of my pug? Huge mouse. I hate mouses.
and what I actually did were at war with each other, but it worked, for now. Yes, folks, I’ve had another run-in with the crazy neighbor. He tried to call the codes/restriction department for the city and get us fined for working on a car outside the garage (to the side of the house). We got the letter while I was in the hospital, and initially, I wanted to run out of there in my backless gown and whoop his ass. Personally. Yeah, it was the dope talking, I know. However, after I calmed down, I wanted to go to the H.ustler Hollywood store, buy a footlong d.ildo, and wrap it up with a ribbon and a note:
Dear STUPID NEIGHBOR, You are cordially invited to go f.uck yourself. Here’s a little gift to get the party started! Love, Nina and YCU.
So, maybe it wasn’t the dope talking, but I digress. Anyway, the letter stated that we had to work on the car on gravel/pavement that wasn’t a sidewalk (the whole sideyard is gravel), and it had to be enclosed on 3 sides ( let’s see…rock wall, rock wall, house, check!) and the car couldn’t be unregistered (well, I’m pretty sure that stickers on the license plate that say 2011 aren’t out of date yet, buy who am I to make that call?). Does all this sound stupid to anyone else? My husband confronted the guy and was informed that Stupid Neighbor and our other 2 adjoining neighbors had had a meeting about us and that no one wanted to live around us because we were so trashy. WAIT A MINUTE. HOLD THE PHONE. Just who the HELL you callin’ trashy? How dare he? I’m sorry, but he didn’t have any meeting, cause the other two neighbors wave at us when they see us and ask about the kids. Sorry, jackass, you’re nothing but a controlling, bullying, hypocritical person of suspect parentage, and you don’t get to threaten us. If I want to paint my house orange with purple polka dots, it’s MINE, motherfu.cker!! Anyway, so Monday, when he was mowing our grass (at 8am, no less), I marched out there in my bathrobe and bare feet and ordered him off our property. I also threatened to have him arrested for trespassing if he ever showed up over here again. He started spouting codes and policies, to which I responded: “We’re not in violation yet, so you can leave. NOW!” He then started spouting how Jesus loves me and God will take care of my family…whatever. I informed him he was a hypocritical bastard and gave him the “You’re #1” sign, then walked back in the house. Haven’t laid eyes on him since, but…you know we will again. He apparently has Alzheimer’s where we’re concerned. My next move is to call the police and tell them he’s been peeping in my windows. Which he technically has, since he takes it on himself to push our trashcans up from the road each week and he has to look right in the windows behind the cans…But that’s only if he shows up again.
I leave you with this:
He seems to be adjusting well.
Hello world! Party can start, I’m here!!! I’m Sabrina, and I got here Tuesday, via the scenic route. I’ve had kind of a big week. First, I got born, which made me cold, then they kept sticking my foot to see why I’m all yellow. Mama says I look like a punkin’. My big brother doesn’t quite know what I’m supposed to do, he wants to play, but Mama and Daddy won’t let him. I weighed 6lbs and 6oz when I got here, same as my brother. I’m short, though. Only 17 inches. I’m going to the doctor tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes!
I do. And did I mention that I love my doctor for giving me one? My maternity leave’s starting today. I have cankles, my bp’s up a little, everything hurts, and Little Miss Stubborn still hasn’t turned. So. Unless I think she’s turned by Monday morning, I’m to show up Tuesday morning to Labor and Delivery for a c-section.
Yesterday was horrible. Suffice it to say, EVERYTHING went wrong. I don’t think I had a single case go correctly, specimens got confused, equipment was malfunctioning, we thought we were ready but weren’t, as we didn’t have all the stuff in the room, you name it, it happened. I ended up in tears in the assistant director’s office, just needing a break. I just sort of unloaded. I’m stressed out, burnt out, and tuckered out, and I’m so glad I don’t have to see that place for at least 8 weeks, I can hardly stand myself right now. So. My plan is to pack a bag, clean up, straighten up, and put up, and relax for the next few days.
I’m singing the Elmo Song trying to get my daughter to turn in utero. (I’ll give you a hint. Every song he sings is to the tune of “Jingle Bells”.) So far, no luck. My doc’s giving me till next week, then she’s scheduling me for a c-section. Yay. I’m 36 weeks, 3 days, today.
In other news, Fletcher said “Bear Bear” last night, and “Duck”!! Finally. Sorry for the short post, not much going on here.