Archive | November, 2015

Toddler tantrums and such…

29 Nov

I would like to start off by saying I love my children.  I even love people…most of them anyways. And I don’t like to judge people when it comes to parenting. We all have awful parenting moments. (Yes, even you, perfect parent!) I hope my kids will mostly love me later on and not have to spend years on a therapist’s couch whining over what an asshole I am. What I mostly don’t want, is to raise an asshole for a kid. I don’t want my kid to be labeled the dickhead or bitch of the group. I want them to be strong, kind and helpful. At the same time I don’t want them taking guff from anyone. My girl is 9 and she is shy and amazingly beautiful but she is sassy as hell if she’s comfortable with you. But like most first born children, she is a pleaser. My 5 year old little dude is going to be in sales. He is witty, loving and persistent in all endeavors. This includes misbehaving and tantrums. When we are out and about these are the people who don’t help out in my goal to create a future amazing adult.

The lady at the Target who can’t stand seeing my little man crying over not being about to buy the latest 3.0 character. He’s persistent and we usually have to get through the line. He doesn’t get spoiled. He also doesn’t get rewarded for awful behavior. So when you are giving out candy and you look at him and tell him you’ll give him candy, and my I put my bitch face on and tell you no he can’t have candy, please don’t be insulted. Also, please don’t overlook a parent to address a kid when it comes to your hard caramel candy. Firstly, it’s a hard candy for crying out loud and secondly, you can’t just give a kid candy without asking parents. I’m sorry it’s inconvenient to hear him cry…but I don’t really give a rat’s ass. It bothers me more more than it does you because I have to endure it through the line and into the car. I also have to second guess myself the whole way secretly wondering what I’m doing wrong that makes him so persistent every day.  I didn’t mean to give you that “shove the candy up your ass” look, but really…I kinda did.

The lady at Publix who huffs and puffs over any kid having a tantrum in  their store. I just assume put my “asshole” crown on and wave through the store like it’s a shit show parade. I’m more embarrassed than you are annoyed. But I need milk and most likely wine now.  So just let me get through the line and think about getting your tubes tied. No ones kids are perfect. (But if you do have a perfect kid, hit me up because I want to see what that looks like!) My kids are a reflection of my imperfection. Ask my mom, I’m the reason why there were no more.

And lastly, Andrew, the clerk at CVS who helped me and my son last night. J wanted a big wheel truck toy and I said no. So he whined and cried through the empty store. Andrew must have had his sassy pants on and certainly didn’t want to deal with the whining. (Did he think I did?) So what does he do at check out? Hands me my item, blows up an empty CVS bag, ties it up and silently hands it to J. So my son walks out with an empty bag full of gross hot air. I mutter what an asshole he was under my breath.  And suddenly, my son goes into defense mode because he heard how annoyed I was.  “Mommy, he’s not an asshole. I’m just mad because I didn’t want an empty bag.” I lost mother of the year and felt kind of proud all at once. For a moment in all of the irritation of the tantrum, I see the light. He saw  good in someone. He was mad about the empty bag…but he saw something good in someone who was ultimately pissy about being inconvenienced.

So, I realized (minus the bad word), that he is a mix of me. I’m a pain in the ass, persistent and full of attitude and sass (and even a bit whiney sometimes). But I like to look for the good in people. I even find good in people that most people don’t like. Maybe it’s a flaw but I kind of like finding treasures in people. Now I realize I can handle the embarrassing tantrums, because maybe my kid won’t be a jerk after all. Maybe…

So, let’s just all agree that we are all trying to do our best. And maybe try not to beat the other parents up. We all have lots of parenting challenges. So just celebrate each other and stop being a dick about my kid having a tantrum. I’m doing my best not to raise a bully or a total jerk for an adult.

I have to go now…my kids are beating the shit out of each other! 😳


The Thanksgiving Prequel

25 Nov

Source: The Thanksgiving Prequel

The Thanksgiving Prequel

25 Nov

With the holidays fast approaching and Thanksgiving being so damn close you can touch it, I thought I would give a shout out to everything I’m thankful for. I’m thankful for too many things to list, so I’ll just give you a few.

Firstly, I’m thankful I’m here and that all of you are too. Each one of you holds a special place in my life. Yes, even the people I don’t know, like the two people who kind of made me an international blogger (Thank you Costa Rica and Canada!). You read my ramblings, and maybe even liked it. To people I know, the ones that make me laugh, the ones that trip on the imaginary cracks in the ground, or tell a dirty joke or even  use those ridiculous new emoticons. I’m a big fan of spirit fingers and eye rolling…big fat thank you to you.

To the guy who vaccumed my car the other day. You may have vaccumed up all of the “good luck” coins my family threw under the rug, but my car remains looking stellar so thank you. You totally wiped out my good luck or even stole the coins to buy a bag of chips. But my family has a bet running to see how long I can keep my new car maintained. They are all losing the bet, and for that I thank you.

I’d like to give a shout out to the lady at Target who when my son had a melt down looked down at him, smiled, and said “Bless your heart.” Girlfriend, I knew what the eff that meant.  But thank you, I bless his heart every damn day. He’s got the energy of a dazzle of zebras, so bless his heart all you want.  I’m all positive and thankful that he has energy to burn and that when he’s 30 him throwing a fit on the floor of Target will be a thing of the past.

To the dude who honked his horn  as soon as the light turned green today, thanks for reminding it was time to move. Now, as soon as the FOUR cars in front of me start groovin’, I’ll be happy to help a brother out. Until then, thanks for being a dickhead nice person and giving me a “gentle” reminder.

I’m thankful to the maker of my prelit Christmas tree. Because of our schedules, I had to bite the bullet and put it up a few days early.  You have reminded me how important “just the tip” is. The whole damn tree is almost lit.  Do you know what’s not lit? Yep, you guessed it…just the tip. Big important life lessons out of a little Christmas tree.

I’m thankful I have a job. Being a Pediatric ICU nurse is certainly rewarding, but it has also given me a sick and twisted sense of humor to deal with the ins and outs of it.  Speaking of that sick and twisted sense of humor, I am thankful for 3am conversations. The ones that are done mostly in whispers so no one wakes up. The ones that have us giggling and crying. I’d also like to apologize because sometimes 3am convos turn in to 6 and 7am convos when I’m there. Frankly, I think the day shift needs a little shock and awe. I’m thankful I can provide that. (You’re welcome bitches!)

I’m thankful for all of my friends who don’t judge me and know that even though I’m a bearer of comedy and twisted fun, realize that I just like to make sure everyone is laughing or smiling. These are my favorite things. Although we can’t do them all of the time, I’m going to give it my best .

Speaking of sick and twisted. I would like to thank the Disney Junior show PJ Masks for somehow prompting my son to call me a pussy ninja the other day.  Um, that’s not a nice word, Jax! Where did you learn that (I am known for not saying that word so stop thinking it’s my fault!) So somehow he misconstrued something on the show and now thinks his mom is a pussy ninja. I’m not even sure what that is…but hell, I guess I’ll take it as a compliment. I’m stealthy and shit.  I’d also like to thank him for being smart enough to realize when I said “Shitakke mushrooms” upon dropping something on the floor the other day, that it was a lot nicer than saying shit.  “Mommy! You said Shitakke mus-rooms! That sounds weird but nicer than shit.” Way to sneak one in there big guy. I’m on to you.

Lastly, and seriously. I really do have so much to be thankful for. We all do. Life sucks sometimes. Sometimes it’s great, exciting even. I like the exciting parts. Everyone of us can find one small thing to be thankful for. Hey, you reading this. Thank you…just for being you. I know that the holidays are stressful, but just when you think you’ve had enough…take a little breath and know that you are the reason someone smiles…or even pees their pants laughing.  Strap on your Depends ladies and gents because the weeks ahead could be wild.

Wishing everyone a very very Happy Thanksgiving. I am so thankful for you. Xo

Follow up: Dear Sweet Baby Jesus of Running (warning: expect some laughing and some tears)

17 Nov
"That's 5! Enough for a hand job!!"

“That’s 5! Enough for a hand job!!”

See that little blonde holding the sign...she's one of the reasons why I run. ❤️

See that little blonde holding the sign…she’s one of the reasons why I run. ❤️

Whoever said “If you dream it, you can do it” probably meant you actually have to fall asleep and dream it. Saturday night went like any pre-race prep for me with the exception of sleep (like not one bit of it). The wheels turned. My heart raced. The nerves wouldn’t settle. And then the alarm went off. So off I went.

Prepped and ready to go and totally feeling like donkey shit(I assume donkey shit doesn’t feel great…I don’t know this for a fact), I laced up and headed to the starting line. These are my thoughts and experiences:

Mile one was a warm up, and the run through the tunnel with the crowd felt amazing. I can feel the energy. But why the hell is my mouth so dry.

Mile two: It’s a little breezy. Why does my whole entire body feel like its got the prickles. I think I may puke. Look…there’s  the three hour pacer. I’ll stick with her.

Mile 3: I’m totally going to hurl. I’m dizzy. WTF? Why am I dizzy at mile 3. Am I dying. God!!!! Am I going to die at mile 3 behind pace. What a douche…who the hell dies at mile 3?  Pull your shit together! (I laugh at this now) I may not finish. How the hell will I pull off the New York City Marathon if I can’t get past mile 3…or if I die first.

Halfway between three and four…I had an enlightening moment because I saw her. My little girl. My amazing friends and my daughter were standing on the street jumping up and down and cheering. . She was holding a sign and looking proud. She is the reason I started running. The reason why I got healthy.  I need her to know she can do anything if she tries.  I can only show her because words are just words.  How the hell do I give up on that? I don’t…I just keep going.

So I stood a little straighter, gave them all kisses and off I go. That’s when things got a little more amusing to me.

Miles 4 and 5: Am I running in an effing Hurricane?  I am not aerodynamically shaped enough for this shit. This wind isn’t lifting me and my ass certainly isn’t flying. My hat is getting ready to go.  God, why can’t I just be a Kenyan today.

10K split:1:32:19. Dammit!!!!! I am way off where I need to be. Way off than my best. Fuck this wind already. I have screwed my goal. ( I really did drop the F bomb and I’m not sugar coating it.)

Then just over the bridge, I see the wheelchair competitors and I feel like such a dip shit and whiner. They endure struggles every day far worse than my measly 13.1 mile struggle and here I am feeling sorry for myself. So I put my big girl panties on and muddle through. (And no I didn’t physically put them on because like a good portion of runners, panties don’t work for me.)

Then goes the tough run down the beach. The wind was even more brutal but I like all of the others fought for the finish. At the ten mile mark an amazing man went in for the high five and my calf totally seized up. I have never experienced anything like that pain while racing. So I hobbled, stretched, walked a bit and knew I could run slower but that I couldn’t speed up or I was done. The medal is a bottle opener. I can’t fail and not get a bottle opener for crying out loud!

A mile before the finish line I get the magic text. Siri reads it to me and I cry like a baby. “Don’t be discouraged. You can still finish and we are all here at the finish line for you.” and then another “Lady, you got this-we believe in you.” Tears pouring, salt and sand on my face, that was what I needed to get me the next half mile.

A half mile before the finish I see an angel, well sort of ! My running coach’s amazing friend is there waiting to run me in.  He talks me through the last half mile pointing out every positive.  Our scenery, how brutal the wind was for  everyone, how amazing I was doing…that the finish line was coming. I was almost there.

And just like that I got through the finish line.  And yes as embarrassing as it is I did dry heave.   My family and friends were there. My bottle opener medal was waiting for me. And in that instant, I realized that my goal was the journey.  That for my next half marathon, I don’t want to think about my pace…I want to enjoy the race.  I want to enjoy the people, the signs, the cowbell, the scenery, the hurricane force winds. The more I concentrate on the time, the less I enjoy it.  And why the hell would I ever run 13.1 if I didn’t get to enjoy parts of it. By the way, I still want to be a Kenyan for the day…but only if I can look good in those runner speedos.

I would truly like to thank everyone who encouraged me. Siri read your texts to me unless you said the “F” word…she refused to read those. I got them all and they mattered. Special thanks to my cheering squad and family, my coach, and that “Crazy Ever After” blogger ( who talked me though a rough spot on Las Olas.  My favorite after half marathon quote from her “Congratulations! That’s 5!! Enough for a hand job!!!” (Now you know why we’re friends, right?)  She is my first and forever half marathon partner in crime. Check out her blog. She rocks.


Quotes of the weekend:

“Not all races are PR performances, but they are all learning experiences and will ultimately make you a better runner.” LD

“Always have goals, both big and small, without them you are a rudderless ship in life, not just running.” LD

Peace out for now…








Dear Sweet Baby Jesus of Running…

13 Nov


This Sunday will cross off half marathon number five for me. I remember anticipating number one and thinking how exciting yet how possibly impossible it could be.  Now, not only do I know how possible it is, I want more. Each one has taught me something about myself. The last one I did in New Jersey on my own. No one waiting at the finish line, no one sharing my post race meal. No one sharing the hot tub afterwards (damn the person who thought it was funny to put soap in it!!!) The finish time wasn’t what I wanted, and I was so disappointed in having back pedaled pace wise. It was a big emotional hit for me and to this day I can’t figure out why it mattered so much then. After several months, I realize what this taught me. It taught me that I can finish anything on my own. While it’s nice to have a cheering section, I now know I don’t need one to finish. It was really inside me the whole freaking time. I also learned that like everything else in life, not every race can be a great one. No one needs to understand my running or be happy about it. It completes me and no one else.  It’s an amazing thing to know that you inspired people. It’s also nice to have someone be nice enough to ask how your run was. I know that going into Sunday, there is so much to be thankful for and also so much to strive for. So here I go with my pre-race prayer, the way only I can do it.

Dear Sweet Baby Jesus,

Firstly, let me pre-thank you for those awesome first responders that will hopefully be making the big fat dough to get up at the ass crack of dawn keep us safe and pick us up if we fall on our face. I love thanking them as I go, but seriously, they need a bonus to put up with all of the whiney commuters and possible injured runners.  We’re a pain in the ass.

Thanks for the volunteers who hand us cups of Gatorade and water and those f@cking awful Gu’s to keep our energy up. Seriously, I had one volunteer hand me a salted apple something or other while doing jumping jacks in Jersey.  I didn’t know whether to thank her for the gross gel or throat punch her for the nonstop jumping. I don’t ever use them. I stick a bag of Haribo gummy bears (my favorite) in my bra and eat those while I run and that’s all I need.  I especially love the volunteers that hand you your medal while your dry heaving at the finish line. Oh, and while we are here…I’m thankful there are no pictures of me dry heaving at the finish line.

I am thankful for all of the other runners and I pray for a safe finish, free from chafing and injury.  Do you want to know what makes someone a real runner? Not only do they run, but they are humble and supportive. I chased a guy in a hot pink shirt once for the whole race. In the end we wound up chatting and making our way towards the finish together. That dude didn’t in the least bit get pissed when my coach came swooping in to speed me to the finish line. In fact, he cheered! In New Jersey, after the race, a nice lady came up and hugged me and told me she was pacing me the whole time. That’s a runner…they come in all shapes and sizes but they are super supportive. (Did I mention humble?) Now, I never said they weren’t competitive. I have learned that running is mostly about competing with yourself. I’m hoping to beat the pants off of myself (while keeping them on of course!)

Now for some wish-like prayers:

A no chafing day. May the Butt Butter or Trail Toes do its job. Running with junk in your trunk needs a little extra attention. I don’t need to be running like someone stuck a pole up my ass. That’s almost worse than a dry heaving picture.

Speaking of pictures, may I not look like I’m dying or have an extra boob or a muffin top in my pictures? (Maybe I should run in backwards… just for fun!) Let’s keep my girls perky while making me look bad ass. I know…I’m asking for a miracle!

For the port-a-johns to maybe have some toilet paper…maybe.  I mean, I may have wipes hidden in my bra too, but for Jake’s sake, I am running out of room in there. How about sinks with water or extra antibacterial? How about I just wish I don’t even have to use them. And let’s also keep everyone “accident” free if you get my drift.  (wink, wink)

Oh and toe nails. My running shoes are two sizes bigger than my actual shoe size. I really like my feet and my toes. I want to keep my toe nails. I already lost one last year,so I’m initiated. Let that be good. Fair enough?

Lastly, I wish for a PR (personal record). I’m a slow runner and I’m not mad about it.  I have asthma and have overcome some big hurdles. If a runner is going to be bad at something, breathing should not be one of them. But, alas, I have sucked at breathing most of my life. So, slow beats not doing it at all. My goal is to be under 3 hours. I just want a mother effing 2 in the first number. It could say 2:59:59 and I would most likely do cartwheels at the finish line. I was nine seconds off in February and totally screwed it up and added 25 minutes in April. So 2:59:59… that’s what I want. But if that doesn’t happen…I just want to finish. I will get over the disappointment and beat the pants off myself next time!

Really, I will be striving to have fun, run, people watch, chat it up with old friends and meet new people.  But most of all…I’m never giving up on me. This chick is worth every ounce of effort. I deserve the best. So I’m going to go out there and get it myself. (Insert football like “slap on the ass” here). I’ve got this. But I’m still cool if you want to cheer and send out good vibes.

Until next time…

Being a Pediatric ICU Nurse..on the bad nights

3 Nov

This post isn’t the normal funny-ish one. I wrote it a long time ago and read it to remind myself why I do what I do. I’ve wanted to share it, and after losing another little angel last night…I thought it was appropriate to share it today. This patient’s name was changed in this post with his mama’s permission. “Malachi” means my angel. She chose his alias perfectly. There will be more funny in the future…promise!

“How do you do it? I could never do what you do!” That statement sets the tone for my life as a Pediatric ICU nurse. I hear it from friends, family, strangers and even coworkers riding the elevator at the beginning of shift curious as to what adventures are expected on the 7th floor.

I usually have the same thing to say, not thinking much about it. “Of course you could do it.” Or “It’s not always sad.” These last two shifts made me ponder the same statements that I have heard a million times in my PICU career. This time it was my friends’ son in the bed. How do you help your friends and your coworkers who love him so much say goodbye? How do you not fall into a heaping mess on the floor thinking about that beautiful boy laying in the bed? How do you not want to run home screaming to your family?

The answer on this day is that I just don’t know. I’m not sure how we do it. All that I know is that I’m sad. I’m sad that parents left the PICU without their son. I’m sad that my friends and coworkers don’t get to love up on that special boy again. I’m sad that I’m the nurse that made him mad and told him he had to keep his Bipap mask on all night. And I’m worried that my friends, my coworkers, those amazing people who have fought the good fight will always see me as the nurse who took him away from them. It’s my own insecurity and it’s not about me today. Today it’s about him; it’s about them. Cancer took him from them. I prayed him up to Heaven for an 18 hour shift. I watched them love him, suffer to find the right answer. I watched friends and coworkers filter in and out, devastated and not knowing what to do to make it better. (After all, we are healthcare workers, that is what we do.) I heard his aunt tell him the most amazing things, things that will help him let go. I watched mom and dad memorize his face and the way it feels to hold him close. I watched his sick grandmother, fresh from her chemo treatment close her eyes over his body in prayer. In the quiet moments when everyone took a little break I told him how beautiful Heaven is. That there are parties with cake, M&M’s and Pizza and that God let you sit on his lap. I told him he could ask Him all the questions he ever needed the answers to. That his brothers will grow up knowing the strongest, bravest brother ever, there will never be a story about Malachi without the words “brave prince” in it.
And just like that, the brave prince was welcomed into Heaven…and I left work exhausted and questioning every single thing I ever believed in. I cried the whole way home. I cried myself to sleep. But it wasn’t about me… I couldn’t fix a kid…and send him home with his loving family. But he did go home today. He went home to be an angel and for reasons that are none of our business, that’s what he is. Malachi  lives through every person he touched, every song he sang, every joke he made. He lives in the breeze and every rainbow they will see, and every drop of rain will let them know he misses them. But he will live on in every heart…every life, because to know him was to love him. You only had to meet him once to know that he was a hero…a brave prince who now is an angel sitting on God’s lap.