I love working Halloween. Is it bad that I get a little (just a little, guys) kick out of people hurting themselves while they're in costume? Another much less important question that comes along with Halloween: How many Tootsie Rolls is too many? I may have very well exceeded the recommended limit.
This year there were an overwhelming number of kids having allergic reactions to their candy. Talk about trick or treat. I had a little devil who had turned bright red from eating something with wheat, a grape who was wheezing from goodness knows what and a pint-sized Spiderman who came in, running and yelling through his swollen lips, "I ate a peanut M&M and now my throat is SPICY!!!"
And, as promised, the news about swine flu is this: STAY HOME. For the love of all things holy. Don't infect everyone else in the world. Certainly don't come in to see me unless you can't breathe.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I'm Ready, I Am
I'm back at work, and people are still crazy.
There isn't much else in the world like being the smiling target for folks on the worst days of their lives. In the past three weeks I've been put in my place by a doctor who is younger than I am, a woman wearing a "Mall of America" hat, a drunken trust fund baby, a nearly dead old woman (whose resurrection happened alarmingly when she began to scream at me in Romanian), a negligent grandparent and wheezing 6 year-old in mismatching Power Ranger pajamas. Who watches the Power Rangers anymore anyway? Really.
It's back to the salt mines and the story-telling.
More about swine flu to come . . . .
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The Biggest Lie
When I was very little, I used to ask Jesus to wait to return "until I go to the fair." Or, "until we get back from vacation with Grandmommy." Or, "until I get to see the musical at the Orpheum." As a grew up, I realized how silly this was and recognized the reality that, no matter how good something seems here, it is a trifling bit compared to the joy that will be in heaven.
That being said, I have a confession to make. Last night, my husband and I were driving downtown to get ice cream and he said, "everyone's dying; it's almost apocalyptic." This comment came directly on the heels of radio commentary about Ted Kennedy and Ellie Greenwich (writer of a bazillion famous 60's pop songs). We started marveling at everyone who has died recently: Michael Jackson, John Updike, Ed McMahon, Les Paul, Frank McCourt, Walter Cronkite, Farrah Fawcett, Oscar Mayer, Robert McNamara . . . the list goes on and on. And after we finished the back and forth list of every famous person we knew who had passed away, I bit my lip and thought, just for a moment, "I want to see my son grow up."
These thoughts kept me awake last night and I came to a few conclusions:
1. Death still makes news. It's not supposed to happen; it's part of the curse. Everyone knows that - it's one of the sure signs that the law IS written on our hearts (Romans 1).
2. Famous people weren't the only ones who have died this year. Many people all over the world have lost someone who is meaningful to them. A child dies every 8 seconds of a preventable disease!
3. Perhaps I should spend my time focussing on the latter.
4. This world isn't a total waste - creation and we created ones are part of a huge, redemptive plan. It's normal and good for me to want to see my son grow up here.
5. However, that desire shouldn't trump the one that keeps looking toward that future hope of life, in glory, with Christ. Therefore, I can say, with a smile, "come quickly, Lord Jesus."
That being said, I have a confession to make. Last night, my husband and I were driving downtown to get ice cream and he said, "everyone's dying; it's almost apocalyptic." This comment came directly on the heels of radio commentary about Ted Kennedy and Ellie Greenwich (writer of a bazillion famous 60's pop songs). We started marveling at everyone who has died recently: Michael Jackson, John Updike, Ed McMahon, Les Paul, Frank McCourt, Walter Cronkite, Farrah Fawcett, Oscar Mayer, Robert McNamara . . . the list goes on and on. And after we finished the back and forth list of every famous person we knew who had passed away, I bit my lip and thought, just for a moment, "I want to see my son grow up."
These thoughts kept me awake last night and I came to a few conclusions:
1. Death still makes news. It's not supposed to happen; it's part of the curse. Everyone knows that - it's one of the sure signs that the law IS written on our hearts (Romans 1).
2. Famous people weren't the only ones who have died this year. Many people all over the world have lost someone who is meaningful to them. A child dies every 8 seconds of a preventable disease!
3. Perhaps I should spend my time focussing on the latter.
4. This world isn't a total waste - creation and we created ones are part of a huge, redemptive plan. It's normal and good for me to want to see my son grow up here.
5. However, that desire shouldn't trump the one that keeps looking toward that future hope of life, in glory, with Christ. Therefore, I can say, with a smile, "come quickly, Lord Jesus."
Friday, August 07, 2009
I Ain't Living Long Like This
If you haven't noticed, the folks who used to run the airline industry have been replaced by a pack of wild boars.
After leaving home at 5:30am, driving to Philadelphia, and flying to North Carolina, my two-month old son and I spent my birthday wandering through the Charlotte airport, boarding and then de-boarding numerous planes with "maintenance" problems. It was great. I had no stroller, limited formula and by midnight I was bribing the driver of a shuttle for the Sleep Inn to stop by Walgreens to get diapers for me because junior had clearly reached the tipping point in the last of the ones I had packed. Said shuttle driver, after receiving a generous tip for the stop said to me, "if you need to do that thing, you know that thing to feed him, you can do it in here. I used to work in a strip club; it's no big deal." I only wish I was kidding.
After we finally made it to Memphis the next day (nearly 24 hours late), I was cranky, dirty and free ticket-less. It used to be that we wore tights and shiny shoes to fly (when I was a child, this was the definition of dressing up) because airline travel was akin to a day at the Ritz. Now it's just, as my husband says, "a sweaty Greyhound in the sky."
P.S. The greatest New Jersey joke, thanks to Peter Sagal: "If you're from Ohio, you're a Buckeye. If you're from Indiana, you're a Hoosier. If you're from New Jersey, you're an Indicted Co-conspirator." Yessss.
After leaving home at 5:30am, driving to Philadelphia, and flying to North Carolina, my two-month old son and I spent my birthday wandering through the Charlotte airport, boarding and then de-boarding numerous planes with "maintenance" problems. It was great. I had no stroller, limited formula and by midnight I was bribing the driver of a shuttle for the Sleep Inn to stop by Walgreens to get diapers for me because junior had clearly reached the tipping point in the last of the ones I had packed. Said shuttle driver, after receiving a generous tip for the stop said to me, "if you need to do that thing, you know that thing to feed him, you can do it in here. I used to work in a strip club; it's no big deal." I only wish I was kidding.
After we finally made it to Memphis the next day (nearly 24 hours late), I was cranky, dirty and free ticket-less. It used to be that we wore tights and shiny shoes to fly (when I was a child, this was the definition of dressing up) because airline travel was akin to a day at the Ritz. Now it's just, as my husband says, "a sweaty Greyhound in the sky."
P.S. The greatest New Jersey joke, thanks to Peter Sagal: "If you're from Ohio, you're a Buckeye. If you're from Indiana, you're a Hoosier. If you're from New Jersey, you're an Indicted Co-conspirator." Yessss.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Falling Slowly
I'm actually awake, waiting for my son to wake up. Yes, it's the middle of the night. Yes, tonight may be "the" night he sleeps through in its entirety. Yes, I'm irritated. It's like waking up 10 minutes before your alarm clock is set to buzz - too late to go back to sleep and early enough to feel the loss.
This gives me plenty of time to fume about the recent explosion of my mother's friends onto Facebook. Curse you, social networking! It makes me realize what my little sister meant when she said (after I joined), "awww, come on! You're too old!" I was slightly offended at the time but now I see, I see. It's embarrassing. My pathetic excuses for what has essentially become late night voyeurism suddenly seem even more ridiculous armed with the knowledge that what I'm doing (looking at pictures of everyone else and checking out their willingness to share things like political affiliation and a love of, say, Mariah Carey) is EXACTLY what these middle-aged ladies are doing. It's like the empty-nester's version of waiting up in the recliner for your kid to come home from a date.
An example of a recent conversation with my mother (who, thank goodness has not signed up): "Ashley* is having trouble getting her baby to sleep through the night, too."
"Oh, really? How do you know?"
"Another one of the teachers found out from Facebook. So, you're not alone, honey."
You're darn right I'm not alone. That's the scary part.
This gives me plenty of time to fume about the recent explosion of my mother's friends onto Facebook. Curse you, social networking! It makes me realize what my little sister meant when she said (after I joined), "awww, come on! You're too old!" I was slightly offended at the time but now I see, I see. It's embarrassing. My pathetic excuses for what has essentially become late night voyeurism suddenly seem even more ridiculous armed with the knowledge that what I'm doing (looking at pictures of everyone else and checking out their willingness to share things like political affiliation and a love of, say, Mariah Carey) is EXACTLY what these middle-aged ladies are doing. It's like the empty-nester's version of waiting up in the recliner for your kid to come home from a date.
An example of a recent conversation with my mother (who, thank goodness has not signed up): "Ashley* is having trouble getting her baby to sleep through the night, too."
"Oh, really? How do you know?"
"Another one of the teachers found out from Facebook. So, you're not alone, honey."
You're darn right I'm not alone. That's the scary part.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Good Times are Killing Me
Is it really necessary to make women look stupid? Again? In a movie? COME ON.
I wasted an hour and half yesterday in an attempt to relax because I made the regrettable decision to rent, "He's Just Not That Into You." I'm just not into it. I held out until the end for some shred of redemption and . . . oh, guess what? There isn't any. Depression reigned for the rest of the evening.
Don't make the same mistake.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
I'll Come Running Back to You
There really is a reason for my absence.
I got pregnant. Then I didn't feel quite like myself for a few weeks. I certainly didn't feel like blogging. It takes two (2) weeks to start a habit. You do the math.
Now, the baby is here (hip, hip) . . . hooray! And although odd hours of sleeping may lead to odd blog posts, I feel like I owe it to the small number of people who actually read this thing to return. Hopefully odd will mean good. Like Prince.
I'm back and I want to say something about sweet justice. My husband is now the chaplain intern at the very same hospital where I am employed. Finally, he understands my stories completely. It's so unbelievably satisfying to have him come home and complain about the same incompetencies, freezing air conditioning, bad smells and demanding patients. I love, love, love to hear about his day.
Meanwhile, I'm taking his post at home all day and find myself saying things I know I've heard before (and about which I might or might not have been a bit disdainful) like, "I was watching the neighbors out the window and their kid ate three popsicles!" "Five people on our street have CRV's!" "Jack pooped four logs and drank all his water!"
I got pregnant. Then I didn't feel quite like myself for a few weeks. I certainly didn't feel like blogging. It takes two (2) weeks to start a habit. You do the math.
Now, the baby is here (hip, hip) . . . hooray! And although odd hours of sleeping may lead to odd blog posts, I feel like I owe it to the small number of people who actually read this thing to return. Hopefully odd will mean good. Like Prince.
I'm back and I want to say something about sweet justice. My husband is now the chaplain intern at the very same hospital where I am employed. Finally, he understands my stories completely. It's so unbelievably satisfying to have him come home and complain about the same incompetencies, freezing air conditioning, bad smells and demanding patients. I love, love, love to hear about his day.
Meanwhile, I'm taking his post at home all day and find myself saying things I know I've heard before (and about which I might or might not have been a bit disdainful) like, "I was watching the neighbors out the window and their kid ate three popsicles!" "Five people on our street have CRV's!" "Jack pooped four logs and drank all his water!"
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