I see dead people.

No really, I do. It's my job. I see the sick, the dying, and then...the dead.

At first seeing dead people used to freak me out. Then it fascinated me. Now I don't have any unusual feelings that arise when I see a new dead body. I don't see much of anything anymore. I see a soul-less carcass. That may be a cold way to put it but I know what people look like, and a dead body is not how they look. This is a part of my job that really sucks. I like taking care of people, living people. Frankly, I would love to see some people that actually get better. But they never do. Even the ones that are highly functioning, energetic people...they die too, and usually within 6 months.

Now that I've switched to the night shift I don't have the same relationships with my patients as I did before. I'm not managing their care, getting to know their families, learning about their lives. Instead I respond to emergencies and I help to get them through the night. This could be any number of events: a pain crisis, a pulled catheter, agitation, or many times, death. I have mixed feelings about this new role. As a primary nurse with patients of my own I used to feel like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. People expect so much of you as their nurse. They expect you to fix them, solve their problems, show them the answers. This is a highly stressful job. I can't describe how stressful it can feel when people look to you to help them on this caliber when there is only so much you can offer. It feels awful on a deep core level. On the flip side there is a significant relationship that is built. These relationships bring meaning and purpose to the profession. They make the stress worth it, mostly. But it does have a cost.

Last night I got called out to a death. This was a fairly young guy, just a few years older than me, with children. He was stricken with a rare, fast moving form of cancer and he died. I saw his dead body. It looked bad. He didn't look handsome or athletic. He didn't look funny or caring. He looked dead.

My lack of feeling this man's humanity really bothered me last night, especially as I watched his teenage son sulking into his own despair. That was sad. So I went home and I found this dead patient on facebook. I saw that he actually was all of those things that I couldn't see. He was very handsome (hot even), athletic, musical, funny, and he looked at his son with such love. I stared at his photos. They stirred up something that I have just not felt for a while: sadness. I felt sadness about a man who was awesome who is no longer here. I missed him. I never knew him and I missed him. It felt overwhelming. It felt like shit.

I know dying happens to all of us but sometimes I just hate it so much. I hate thinking about it and how it will affect my family. I hate thinking about in context of my daughter, my husband, my mom. I hate replaying my own father's death, imagining some nonattached person attending to his dead body. They would have no idea how awesome he was. But I see it all so much. I see the random, awful things that happen to good people. Sometimes I have to actively steer my thoughts into a more healthy direction. I have to find the light in the moment I'm in. The LIFE in the moment I'm in.

When Ellie made the tiniest peep in her room last night I went in to hold her. I just had to.

I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to see the crack of your ass

To my husband that is. Who decided when our tub started filling up with a mysterious brown liquid with tomotoes in it, that no I could not call a plumber. He would fix it. And folks let me just say it was gross. It was bring-in-an-entire-bottle-of-bleach kind of gross. But that man will NOT pay for external services unless he is utterly convinced he can't do it himself. This drives me nuts most of the time, like when we're shopping and I see something I like and he's all "are you kidding I could make that?". Ergh! (btw he never does). Anyway this time he did it. He came home from work, rolled up his shirt sleeves and I took Ellie into the living room while we listened to a series of clangs, metal scrapings, and drunken sailor diatribes. But he emerged victorious!!! We can all shower again!

Speaking of getting things done yourself pardon me while I toot my own horn.

This was our lawn less than 3 years ago when we bought our house.

 And true to form, when I pleaded with Mike to gut that horrendous pavement backyard his answer of course was "sure, but we can do it ourselves". And we did. And it sucked. And I wrote about it here. Then fast forward 2 years later, add several plants, lots of nurturing, tons of mistakes, incredible learning, scraped knees and happy results.  

Nature is so cool.

in it

I wish I spoke baby sometime. I wish there was some way for my child to communicate with words that wasn't just "Eh. Eh! EHHH!!!!" Yes, words will be fun. And I know you're not supposed to wish away the stage that you're in but I will be happy for words. Although I do admit Ellie does find clever
ways of communicating with us lately. Several times a day she'll scrimmage for the door to find my flip flops, grab one and come crawling toward me with lightning speed and a sense of extreme urgency going "Eh. Eh! EHHHH!!!". She literally WILL NOT STOP until I put on that dang flipflop. Then she'll go get the other one. And then she'll get a hat etc etc and so really at any time of the day you will find Mike and I walking around wearing sunglasses, hats, scarves, shoes, etc . This makes little miss thang very happy. I mean she's just such a helper.

It's all about the helping really. Helping herself eat. Helping herself clean. Helping herself walk. She's getting it. Now when she sees a brush she immediately put it to her hair, a washcloth and she immediately puts it to her crotch (so dang funny). She wants to help me with my water bottle. And she wants to hold the cup herself. No, she WANTS to. Eh. Eh! EHHHHH!!!!!!!

Oh that child. She gives us a run for our money. A test for our patience. A ride down the old freeway of keeping it together. Truthfully sometimes things over here are hard. My child is so terribly clingy. There are days when I wear my pajamas all day...and night. And the next day. Yeah. No one even notices. I swear this house will never be completely clean for more than 4 hours at a time again. I haven't gone out on a date with my husband in months. But you know, we're in it. This is us getting through it. Enjoying it even. We laugh every day at our little peanut. Our world revolves around her right now, and we are okay with that. It's ironic, because as hard as life can sometimes be right now, I don't ever remember feeling this happy.

 

Ellie giving kisses to her cousin. This face cracks me up.

Yeah that's my kid that took it to the next level and got IN the cabinet. Sorry about the mess Aunt Jo.

But oh I love her sooooo much.

arenting

I married a mullet.

Oh that silly little husband of mine....

First, Mike decides to go with the full on moustache. He says a bunch of guys on his softball team are doing it and basically the whole team will be jinxed if he has to shave it. I actually forgot about it in all my hurried/franticness in getting ready for our family photo shoot...until I was driving to the shoot where I was meeting Mike. Then I remembered. I was like "Damn! Mike's got that friggen moustache!". Ergh!!

But now this!! Mike came into the living room the other day and declared that he wants to have a mullet now. A mullet. A freaking mullet. Now of course he's kidding, though he does have a tendency to resonate with mid-80's' memorabilia. I mean COME ON, Mike!

So I'm getting ready for the day and Mike just keeps looking at me with this wierd googley eyed stare. Finally I realize he's trying to get me to notice something. Finally I see what it is exactly that I'm supposed to be noticing.

Ergh!!! Truly this picture does not do the start up of his fine mullet justice. And of course this is on the day that we go to meet the family of my new friend that I made on the plane a couple weeks ago. I wanted to be like hi, this is my daughter Ellie and my husband, the Mullet. How do you do?

On another note, look at this sweet little photo I took of Ellie on our hike this morning. She's so cute. And I can tell you now she will not be sporting a childhood mullet, like I did.

Let's try to have a normal conversation and please don't pay attention to the toddler crawling up my leg...

Let's face it, babies need routine. And my poor little tot has slept in her own room a total of 10 nights for the last 30. And though we have had some amazing adventures in this fun little summer of ours, this pleasure surely comes with consequence.

Hello separation anxiety!

It is bad. Crawling up my leg if I try to go into the other room, trying to crawl all over my lap, and (boys cover your eyes) reaching in my shirt for my boobs ALL the TIME! She just can't get close enough. And it is sweet, and I am so in love with this sweet, beautiful child of mine, but this? Well something's gotta give.

So I'm going to be a good mommy now and stay put and give this little youngin just what she needs...routine. It's kind of boring for me I'll admit, especially when the sun is just streaming through this beautiful land we live on. But she needs the structure of a familiar schedule. And I need to NOT have a child trying to flash me whereever it is we go. It's....not classy.

This breastfeeding thing...when does it stop? I don't think Ellie will EVER want to stop, and frankly, I'm ready. I say that though I do tend to pull out my breastfeeding ammunition any time I need Ellie to just chill out. Or if I'm trying to work and talk to a patient on the phone and can't have her screaming. And bedtimes. And morning times. See? I talked about stopping at 7 months but maybe neither one of us was really ready. Ellie is 13 months old now and TRULY I do not want to be one of those mothers that is still pulling out the boob when her child can speak in full sentences to ask for it. And frankly I'm seeing a pretty strong correlation between breastfeeding and this crazy separation anxiety. Basically I feel like a human binky. And we all know how babies can get with their binkies.....  Oh crap. We have some work to do, her and I.

On another note, Telluride Bluegrass Festival lived up to and exceeded all of my expectations again. That place, that awesome, magical place, fills me up. Put a bunch of good people on vacation in the beautiful boxed in canyon surrounded by gorgeous Colorado mountains, shine on some sunshine, play some really great music, and Live. It. Up. We had an amazing time and are already looking forward to next year.

Leaving it up to the pros.

So even though I bought my super nice camera when Ellie came into the world, and I had to buy an external harddrive just to fit my thousands of pictures on it, there was one experience I wanted to have to commemorate Ellie's first birthday...portraits. Real, honest to God portraits done by an actual photographer in an actual studio. Aside from some pretty snazzy Sears shots when I was a kid,
 and of course the yearly school photo, this was an experience I have not really had. And I like photography. Not like I'm going to declare "I love photography and want to be a photographer gosh darnit" but you know, I like to pretend, on the sly. Use my alter "photog" ego as I'm snapping away with my super awesome Canon. So this experience was not just for the experience, but also to spy. What is this crazy world of "photography"? 

So we had our shoot with the lovely and talented photographer Kellie Coughlin. The pictures are back and here are a few. What do you think? Any favorites?

p.s. For the record, my husband does not usually have this burly moustache. However our pictures happened to coincide with Mike's softball tournament, and apparently shaving the 'stache could've jinxed the whole thing. So what are ya gonna do? Though he doesn't come out and admit it, he's pretty proud of the damn thing.

A heart full of bluegrass

Though I'm in the middle of a 5 night work stretch (read: 75hours in 5 days) I have been surprisingly happy. For one, it hasn't been busy thank GOD, for two, on Wednesday at 5:00 me and the fam are making the 6.5hour trek to Telluride so we can spend the next 4 days shaking our bones...bluegrass style.

Telluride Bluegrass festival is my favorite festival of all time. It may in fact be my favorite thing to do of all time. I've felt my absolute happiest at summer festivals, to me nothing feels more free or more good then to dance outside in the beautiful weather to live music. And Telluride is the cream of the crop in my opinion. It is so dang pretty. And the music is so dang good. Ah, festival living. I remember one year, I was oh 23 or so, I was at Berkfest in Massachusetts and I watched this woman, she was probably about my age now, and she was with her little daughter who was maybe one. Her daughter was boogeying and I watched that mom, she was so pretty with the sun streaming in her hair, looking at her daughter with the most awesome look of love. And I thought how special that was. I thought that one day that would be me, looking at my daughter while outside in the bliss of a summer festival.

This is our weekend.

I think Ellie will love it. Though she may be in the deep throughs of separation anxiety issues right now, when we go out in public and there are other people around (though I must be at her side) she is ecstatically happy. Squeals of laughter. Screams of joy. I mean it is just so cute. So I can't wait to see her, my little festivarian baby. I can't wait to see her cute little Ellie baby bop that she does. Her sweet little sundresses. That enchanting smile. Man I love that child of mine.

So that's how my heart is today....full of bluegrass.

Why Portland, Maine calls our name

Making a move across the country is no small feat, and we are not entirely resounded to the idea. There are things to put in place, practical things, like 401k's and housing markets, and there is a letting go that I think we are both kind of scared to make.

Having said that, it is easy to fall in love with Portland, Maine. It's a gorgeous city, full of old time charm with it's cobblestone streets and it's old architecture. Right on the water's edge it smells like clean ocean air and has a salt of the earth energy when you explore the hidden treasures of it's local dives. You can stand downtown amidst the bustle of city life and look out to the lush, green islands of Casco Bay. In short, it's beautiful, it really is. As a foodie wanna be Portland feeds me well; the restaurants are superb. It has culture and art, awesome coffee shops, diners for breakfast, and if you take the ever so short drives to the ocean, you can stop at dairy bars! (rarely seen in Colorado) Now THAT is good eating!

I won't say that we are moving there. And I won't say that we aren't. We have a lot to figure out. But it appeals to both of us, and as a mom, it seems like a pretty great place to raise a child. And as luck would have it I seem to have lots of old friends with children right around Ellie's age, and that is pretty special. We have wonderful friends there in general, so a transition so big would not seem nearly as daunting.

I'm not sure what the future will bring for us. As far as I'm concerned I'm home wherever my family is. But Portland is a special place for us, and it's easy to envision our lives there.

Dear Jet Blue...

This post is for you Jet Blue.

All in all I actually like you. You let me check a bag for free. Your seats have a surprising amount of leg room. You have a ton of channels on the little seat tv's.

Now let's talk staffing.

When me, my husband and my little girl flew from Colorado to Maine,
your staff was superb. Flight attendants were amazing. They were clearly mothers, or grandmothers, and had the kind of compassion you need during an in flight play date. Our amazing flight attendants on this outbound trip comped us our drinks, our movie rentals. They let us go into the back so Ellie could take the bottled water in and out of the shelves. They saw how challenging it was to occupy a toddler for such lengths in such confined quarters. They even gave her her very own frequent flyer badge!

Then we returned home. No husband this time. Just me and Ellie. And yes I had a lot of stuff. And yes my child was incredibly clingy and whiny...she had just been on a whirlwind tour of friends and family and was exhausted. So when we took our seats, us smooshed into the window seat, infant on lap (not two yet!), of course the middle and aisle were occupied too.

But oh look, the entire exit row behind us is empty. Surely one of us could sit there, and it couldn't be me because of the child.

Hello Mr. Flight Attendant. What? None of us can sit there because it costs $25 for that row? Even though it's clearly completely empty?

Fine. I tell Mr. Flight Attendant that I will pay for the lovely gal in the middle to sit there. And she does. And we are all so much happier. But the work doesn't stop there. Let's remember that my child is developmentally at the age where you want to touch, play with, and put in your mouth....everything! And each object gives you about 1 minute of distraction, then on to the next.  This is nonstop work. So we struggle. She's up, she's down. She wants to breastfeed, she doesn't want to breastfeed (um yeah, there was surely flashing). She wants a toy, no she wants to play with the buttons. I'm sweating. Ellie takes two craps.

And here comes Mr. Flight Attendant over to Romper Room row. "Ma'am, I'm going to need a credit card".

You are SO not a woman.

(on another note I met a lovely woman who shared my row who was sympathetic, has children of her own, and turns out to be my neighbor. We talked the entire 5 hours. Crappy flight, but new friend.)

a day at the beach

Sun high in the sky

Water glistening,

Sand in your mouth,

Salt in your hair,

Seashells at your feet,

Sandwiches from the cooler,

Sandcastles created, then destroyed,

Birds overhead,

Waves swooshing,

Boats in the distance,

Children laughing,

Treasures left from the tide,

Lounging,

Remembering how sweet life can be.

traveling

We have returned from 10 days in Maine. We are tired, glad for routine, but for me anyway, still reeling. Maine is amazing and special in so many different ways. And the friends and family that are there make it so difficult to leave. There is nothing compared to the smell of that ocean air,
the saltiness on your skin, the green foliage, the amazing people. I just unpacked my bag and there is sand from the Atlantic Ocean all over my floor. I don't want to pick it up.

This week I'm dedicating to Maine. Goodness to come all week.