Ten Things I Learned in 2010

Note:  The idea for the topic of this blog is not my own.  Cindy Froese was the originator of this idea.  She wrote a wonderful post which made me think long and hard about 2010 and what I had learned.  After asking her permission to copy her idea, here's what I learned in 2010. Some lessons were learned in a positive manner, others were learned from negative consequences; not all lessons learned were pleasant.  Some caused a great deal of inner turmoil. 

1. I learned that Kev is truly the most important aspect of my life at this point in time.  My #1 goal for 2010 was to provide him with a loving and stable home environment, and I believe I have been able to do so.  The rewards for this have been endless.  He's a bright, charming and energetic little boy who has his "moments" like any other toddler, but is happy and cheerful the majority of the time.
2. Taking care of myself is vitally important, and should sometimes take precedence over #1.  If I'm not healthy and well, I can't work and can't provide for Kev financially or emotionally.  I am referring to my physical health and my emotional and mental health.  I've been ignoring the need to place a priority on my health and its showing up as health concerns and weight gain.  
3. A woman's intuition is to be trusted.  And I am obviously making reference to my intuition which I ignored and ignored some more during the earlier half of the year.  That came back to bite me in the ass and taught me this very important lesson.  Its a lesson I won't soon forget. If you think someone is not being honest with you, and your gut tells you they are lying, believe your gut.  There are numerous clues that your subconscious notices that your conscious self does not pick up on.  That is essentially what intuition is. 
4. Doing the right thing sometimes causes a lot of heartache and pain.  Not sure how much I want to elaborate on this one, though.  Its a sensitive topic for someone I love dearly.
5. I'm not as independent as I thought I was.  I'm actually quite lonely. How much do I need to explain this lesson?  I'm lonely for the company of an adult male as a romantic partner, spouse, boyfriend, whatever.  And this came as a surprise to me as I always thought of myself as independent to the point where I would never want to be involved in another relationship.  But there is a very strong desire to share my life with someone who loves me as a woman, not as a mother or grandmother, daughter or sister.  But let me clarify that I am not lonely enough to make anymore foolish or rash choices when it comes to a partner.  For example, I'm not hanging out in bars and hoping to meet Mr. Right, and I'm not settling for the first guy that comes along.  This is gonna take some more work than that. 
6. Help and support can come from the most unexpected sources.  When I had to make that emergency trip to Quebec to "retrieve" Jen, moral support came from co-workers, cousins, and a nephew.  The ones I expected to receive the most support from, were not forthcoming in anyway with moral support or any other support.  This made me question the value and loyalty of those closest to me at the time. For those who listened, prayed, and sent words of encouragement, thank you.  You will long be valued as friends.
7. People can lie to you without saying a word.  Omitting to tell you something critically important is virtually the same as lying.  These particular instances involved simply not telling me information that would have affected choices I made and the company I chose to keep.  This is another one of those difficult lessons to learn and has greatly affected a close friendship.
8. When having an issue with a co-worker, it is almost always better to go directly to the source than to go over their head to management.  Approach the person tactfully and respectfully, giving them the benefit of the doubt and discuss concerns you may have.  A lesson learned and heeded.
9. Be true to yourself and be yourself.  Do not listen to the well-meaning manager that tells you that you need to "tone down" your personality in order to fit in with a group of co-workers.  If people do not like who you are, then perhaps they are not the right group of people for you.  The nurses in Emerg at Bethesda are a wonderful group of nurses, very professional and very good at their job and I would literally trust them with my life.  However, my personality was not a good fit with this group.  But I did find a good fit on NU1 Medicine, and again on Rehab (where I've taken a temporary position).  I tried to "tone down" my personality in order to fit in with the Emerg department nurses to no avail.  I became miserable and unhappy and quite possibly a bit depressed.  To the manager who told me to "tone it down," you didn't do me any favors and that was horrible advice.  Be yourself and those who are meant to be in your life will find you.  
10. Running away from home is sometimes a good thing.  Taking time away from those you love the most should not be cause for guilt or shame.  It is a time to regroup and rediscover who YOU are.  So when my Facebook status says I'm running away from home, it usually only means for an hour or two or for the evening.  Although, I'd like to run away from home for a week to a warm sandy beach with a romantic partner sometime.  

So, lessons learned in 2010 . . . some good and easy to learn.  Some not so easy.  I've had to make some mistakes over and over and over again in my life.  I'd like to think I'd finally learned the above lessons.

Rehab Nursing

No, not the kind of rehab where you go to dry up! This is the kind of rehab that you go to when you're not quite ready to go home, but you're not sick enough to occupy an acute bed. Rehab is for stroke victims learning to live with any deficits caused by the stroke. Rehab is for those who have broken a hip and need to learn how to walk all over again. There is a large emphasis on occupational therapy and physiotherapy.

Some nurses refer to rehab nursing as "not real nursing." I'd rather say that it is simply a different type of nursing. True, there is not a lot of medical or surgical nursing involved, but you certainly need to have a broad knowledge base of both areas to do rehab. Working in orthopedics has given me a great understanding of the procedures that patients have undergone before arriving here. My brief term in medicine has increased my medical knowledge exponentially.

When I leave rehab nursing and return to orthopedics @ HSC (date unknown), I will not think of rehab as this unknown entity where we ship our patients off to when they no longer qualify for taking up a bed on the orthopedic unit.

It's a complicated tale of how I came to be working in rehab, and I won't bore you with details. I accepted this position primarily because of the eight-hour nights, no days and no evenings; it's a term position that is mine potentially until July 2011.

What do I not like about rehab nursing? Hmm, no IV starts, no IV meds, no pre-op or post-op patients. No vital signs needed on nights. No assessments unless indicated by a patients condition. In short, it is far removed from my "the sicker my patients, the happier I am" mantra. The excitement and unpredictability of HSC trauma nursing is not present here, and I miss it more with each passing day.

What do I like about rehab nursing? The nights are relatively laid back which is perfect for right now, but won't always be what I need. I am the only nurse for twenty patients; working alone is teaching me to rely on my judgement and trust in my assessment skills. Handing out meds to the majority of the patients in the early morning hours requires organizational skills and lots of triple and quadruple checking your meds against the patients med sheets. Doing paperwork for twenty patients is amazingly quick! Taping report is a breeze when they've all had a good, quiet night.

Those positives do not include all the positive human aspects of rehab nursing. Of the 17 patients on the ward tonight, I know the names of all of them by memory. And I've gotten to know a lot of their personalities and stories. I've got a feel for the ones I can joke with (almost all) and the ones I cannot joke with (only one). In short, rehab nursing allows you to build relationships past the point of rapport building; this is both a good thing and a bad thing.

To summarize, I'm enjoying my time here and plan to finish my term, but I do not want to finish out my career here.

I've now worked in emerg, medicine, and rehab at this facility. Perhaps a little labor and delivery experience would round out my knowledge base even further.

Television

Every now and then someone's status on Facebook triggers something in the "writer" part of my brain and I've just gotta write about it. Tonight was one of those times.

One of my relatives (Matt, it was you) posted something about the content of today's television program and the decline in content over the years. This, for whatever reason, brought to mind my concern regarding televisions in bedrooms and video game systems for young children. Video games is a whole other issue, this post is simply about television sets in the bedroom.

Mostly I am referring to children's rooms, but I, personally, abhor the thought of having a TV in my room and always have thought that way. Bedrooms are to be used for sleeping and sex, but since I'm single, I use it for sleeping. Having a television in my bedroom (I tried it once for a few months) took me from the living room couch, a central and neutral part of the house, into the privacy and sanctuary of my bedroom. It's much easier to access Mom's time when she's sitting on the couch watching TV than when she's curled up under the covers, half asleep, watching TV.

As for children and TVs in their bedrooms, never never never. I'd be perfectly happy with no TV in the house, period. But, apparently "everyone" has a TV by now! If a child has a TV in their bedroom, what reason do they have to leave their room and interact with family? It takes away from the family's time as a family and promotes the individuality of the child over family bonding. Individuality is good and healthy, but I am referring to placing family as a unit in the background while the individual takes priority.

This is an issue on which I feel very strongly, and am not willing to compromise. My adult daughter, 20, has a TV set in her room, but rarely uses it. She frequently spends her TV watching evenings in the living room of our home, while I putter around doing housework or get ready for work. In general, I am referring to children from birth to late teens having TVs in their rooms.

Families have precious little time to spend together in this era, why would anyone want to sacrifice any of this time by sending their child to their bedroom to watch TV? A better solution, if there is a TV in the house, is to watch select TV programs together as a family.

Please note that my rant against bedroom TV has nothing to do with the content of television programming, but is based more on how bedroom TV takes away from the family unit. TV programming is another post entirely!

Doing the Right Thing

Why do we always have to do the right thing?  Why can't we ever just do what we want to and screw the consequences?

Not sure about everyone else but I find myself  'doing the right thing' even if it means sacrificing myself and what's good for me.  I'm certainly not going to use any examples to demonstrate this, just rest assured that its true.

Some days I just want to say "f**k it" and do the things that I want to do.  Yeah, that sounds harsh.  Don't tell me none of you haven't ever thought or felt that way, or even acted that way.

Okay, so I might be referring to raising kids, no surprise there.  For 23 years I've been doing what's right for the kids (most of the time) and putting my needs aside.  There's been times when I didn't even know what my own needs and wants were cuz I was so wrapped up in my kids' needs.  Now I'm 43 and I certainly know what my needs and wants are but I have no time to indulge them.  Or the money.  The sacrifices we make for kids are unbelievable and every parent reading this knows what I mean. 

And you all know I love my kids more than anything, all three of them.  But, damn it, I want to do fun things.  I want to be able to get up and go for a walk when I want to.  I want to be able to go to the gym and not worry about childcare.  I want to go out for coffee with friends when the opportunity presents itself.  I'd like to be able to spend a portion of my hard earned paycheque on myself.  I'd love to be able to do travel nursing.  I'd like to be able to work full time and not burn out because I've also got two kids at home that need me and my support. 

Call me selfish, I'm just speaking what's on a lot of parents' minds. 

We don't only do the right thing when it comes to our offspring, we do the right thing when it comes to our parents.  Its so damn hard watching Mom have dementia.  Its exhausting taking her anywhere cuz she can't hear and she asks the same questions over and over and over again.  Occasionally she calls me in a state of extreme agitation and bitches me out for something that happened years ago, her license being taken away.  Seems she blames me for it.  Each time we're together or on the phone I hear the same old questions and get the same old response,  its always the same.  Mom, as I once knew her, is gone.  Occasionally, she makes an appearance, but its short and sweet. 

How much easier wouldn't it be to just walk away, or move away, and let my brothers deal with it?  In reality, it would be my sisters in law, as my brothers aren't the ones who care for her on a day to day basis.

And if that weren't enough, sometimes I have my children, two of them, and my mother with me at the same time.  One is constantly asking me to repeat myself, and keeps interrupting conversations cuz she can't hear that we're already talking, one is a toddler that demands close supervision at the best of times, and the other is jealous that I'm paying attention to the other two.  After an hour of this scenario, I'm ready to get in my car alone and drive away from it all.  But that wouldn't be considered doing the right thing.

So we continue 'doing the right thing' and making sacrifices and tell ourselves that someday it will be our turn.

This is not a reflection of how I feel on a day to day basis, it is just written during a period of frustration which was triggered by something that was said yesterday. I am not about to run away from home, at least not for more than a few hours at a time.  I'm not going to stop parenting Kev or Jen (Chris doesn't need so much parenting anymore), and I'm not going to abdicate my responsibilities with my mother. 

I get jealous sometimes when I see single women who have no responsibilities except themselves and have their whole paycheque to themselves.  They can come and go as they please.

But, they don't wake up every morning to a happy smiling Kev who thinks they are just the greatest thing in the world.  They don't have adult daughters to go shopping with.  They are not surrounded by love and commotion on a daily basis. 

The grass is always greener.

The Strength of a Woman

This post could have had any variety of titles, one being "The Power of a Woman."

As females who have grown up in traditional Mennonite culture and other cultures as well (I can only address the Mennonite experience), we have been taught from birth forward to be the "weaker" sex. Girls are given dolls and kitchen toys to prepare them for their years of domestic duty. Boys are given tractors and trucks. Boys are prepared to earn money, support a family, and be the "man of the house."

So, men are taught to be the decision makers of the family, and are to be respected by the women in their lives, be it their wives, daughters, sisters, or even mothers.

This puts the women in an inferior position. Remember, I am generally referring to my childhood experiences. I'm aware that things are changing and men and women are being married to be partners, rather than having the dominant male.

What happens then when a female child enters this world with an inner strength that prohibits her from following the path that has been followed by thousands of women before her? This female child is beaten down at every opportunity and told that her ideas and opinions are wrong. Never physically beaten, this girl is psychologically trod underfoot and learns to hide her strength from everyone, even herself.

Depression is the inevitable result of concealing her strength for so many years. Depression makes her appear weak when she is, in fact, quite the opposite.

When this woman finally realizes her strength, it is met with disbelief. She doesn't believe that she is strong, having believed for so long that her trait was weakness.

Adapting to a newly discovered trait proves to be difficult and she often hides behind humor.

Slowly her confidence grows and she is able to convey this strength. Each day presents new challenges and scenarios for her, but she is growing much more comfortable with being strong.

So, that's kind of how I see myself.

Bitter vs Non-Bitter

What makes one person become bitter over life's perceived hardships, while another person faces equally challenging hardships but shows no evidence of bitterness?

Several months ago I wrote a post titled "Happiness is a Choice." Today's topic is quite similar, but yet so different. Unhappiness and bitterness are often found hand in hand, fouling up the life of their host with their toxic presence.

Is there a difference in the genetic makeup of two opposite individuals? Have they learned different behaviors in their families of origin? Does one have a stronger faith base than the other? Is there any explainable, visible difference between them?

If only there was an answer! Then we could all be "non-bitter." Unfortunately, there is no obvious difference other than a simple difference in attitude.

One has chosen to be bitter, the other has chosen the opposite. Yes, you read that correctly! I said "chose." In allowing yourself to be bitter you have, in effect, chosen to not be the opposite. Life is full of choices, bitterness is one of them.

Likewise, in living a life of non-bitterness, you have chosen that bitterness is not something you would like in your life.

In my opinion, bitterness usually comes with an unhealthy dose of blaming others for all the ills in one's life. No sense of responsibility for one's life circumstances is found in these individuals.

In blaming others, you are essentially handing over power of your destiny and future. When your life is filled with blame and bitterness, you are abdicating any sense of control of your life.

On the opposite side of the equation, if you believe that you are responsible for your life and it's circumstances, you are in control of your life.

I'm not sure about the rest of you, but I'd rather have a sense of being in control of my life. That means no bitterness allowed, and no blaming others.

Jen Moves "Home"

For those who are not in the know, I made an emergency trip to Quebec to retrieve my daughter, Jen, who was experiencing a major episode of depression. She is also the birth mother of Kev, the toddler I so often speak of and am raising as my own son.

Jen moved to Quebec on January 12 of this year to live with her boyfriend and I found that it was quite liberating to be the only adult in the house and to be the sole parent in Kev's life.  When she first asked about coming home again to live with me, I balked at the prospect as I wanted to maintain my current status.  However, when the depression deepened, her need to come home superseded my need for solitude.

She is now comfortably living in my home, having made the "pink room" in the basement her home.  We refer to it as the "pink room" because of the hideous pink paint which literally sends out a glow into the surrounding basement when the door to the room is open.  Painting this room was on my list of things to do, but I doubt that I'll need to do that anytime soon, as she loves the color.

She's moved into the room with the panache and energy with which she does everything and I'm relieved to see that she is doing so.  Our tenative timeline for having her here is six months and that's a period that I can deal with.  If it turns out to be longer, so be it.  

Physically this house has room for all three of us: Jen, Kev, and myself.  Whether it is feasible on an emotional level remains to be seen.

Quebec to Toronto

My 19 year old daughter and I are midway between Quebec and Toronto, at an altitude of 36000 feet, a speed of 416 miles per hour, with an outside temperature of -72.6C.

Flying sure isn't what it used to be; instead of a huge movie screen in the front of the cabin, each seat has a screen built into the back of it. We can watch movies, tv, or news. I've been watching "A-Team," a movie based on a TV series I used to watch as a teen.

Jen is listening to music and watching the detailed map that illustrates our progress.

Juno is sleeping in her kennel by my feet. There was quite a kerfluffle actually getting her on the plane as her kennel was a half inch too large. It was a tense few minutes when an Air Canada supervisor physically took the kennel onto the actual aircraft to ensure that it would stow properly beneath the seat.

We've just begun out descent into Toronto where we will have a layover of about two hours; just long enough to take Juno out for a pee and poop, then find the right gate and do a bit of exploring on the airport.

I have not seen the inside of the Toronto airport since 1992 when I flew to Gagetown to see Kevin, my ex-husband. Chris and Jen stayed with my late sister, Marj for the four days and three nights that I was gone.

It's just a smidge more than five hours till Kev can give me a big sloppy hug and kiss.

Still too long!

Toronto to Winnipeg

At last! The final leg of our journey!

We are on an Airbus 320: three seats on either side of the aisle. Jen is in the center seat on one side of the aisle and I'm in the same seat on the opposite side. I've got Juno, she's got the handsome young seatmate.

Kev's schoolbus is in the sidepocket of my carry on so I've got quick and easy access to it when I first see him. He is the love of my life and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't afraid of him preferring Jen over me. Perhaps on some level I'm afraid of losing him to her. She swears it will never happen, but it's impossible to not fall head over heels in love with the gremlin.

The two hour layover in Toronto was wonderful. We first spent ten to twenty minutes outside the terminal trying to make Juno pee or poop. She did nothing but attract attention by acting cute and adorable. She graciously allowed us to walk her up and down the sidewalk a few times but refused to do her business.

Getting back in through security was tense. The first guard had such a thick accent that I could not understand him, so I couldn't follow his instructions as expected. I suppose that made me appear ill at ease and he made a fuss about my hoodie and the fact that my boarding pass did not have mention of a pet on it. To top it off, I prematurely walked through the body scanner and he noisily waved me back through.

And, the second bag search ensued shortly after. This time they were privy to a two-day old pair of sock and two days worth of dirty underwear. Serves them right. I never did figure out the reason for this search.

In Winnipeg they were searching for my toothpaste, but here, who knows. Jen and I got Starbucks and sat down together. We shared a remarkably good time. The mother - daughter time that we so desperately needed. It was quit a civil interlude for both of us.

So, yeah, we're getting close to Winnipeg; less than an hour till our arrival. I'd imagine Carol, Mom and Kev are close by and waiting anxiously to see us.

Must stop blogging now. Am falling asleep intermittently.

Mixed Feelings

As I write this post I cruising along at a speed of 586 mph at an altitude of 41629. According to the map that shows up on the TV every few minutes, we are just north of one of the Great Lakes and the nose of the plane is right over the star that represents Montreal.

Kevin was not happy about being awoken at 0545 and carried to the already running car. Although his outlook on life changed as soon as I mentioned Timbits; he's a bit of a Timbit freak.

Christopher, on the other hand, didn't grumble at all when I called to ask if he was ready for our early morning date. Remarkably, I did not wait for him as I had become accustomed to during his late teen years.

He waited with me at the airport for 45 minutes or so and we discussed many topics ranging from cats to dogs to Jen.

Ah, we are beginning our descent into Montreal, an airport which I have seen twice, a city which I have never seen.

Mixed feelings seem to rule the day today. Excitement over the adventure I'm on, sadness for the reason for my adventure, and plain old excitement at the prospect of seeing my baby girl this afternoon. All that is mixed with loneliness for the gremlin child and gratitude for his truly wonderful sitter.

And I'd be flat out lying if I didn't mention the "oh my god I'm gonna be able to take such cool pictures" feeling that's come over me as I realized that I was seeing the St. Lawrence River!!

Bye bye! More tonight! Thanks for all the positive vibes and energy you've been sending our way; I can certainly feel it.

Love you all.

My Baby Girl

Its 0526 on Monday, September 20, 2010.  In twelve hours I'll see my daughter, who I haven't seen since January 12 of this year, which is the day I put her on a plane to Quebec.

I've got mixed feelings about the visit, as I had initially planned to visit her in October for her 20th birthday.  Then reality took over and there was no way I could wring enough money out of my budget for two tickets, or even one. 

Her first few months there were good; we both needed our time away from each other to gain some perspective on a complicated situation.  As time progressed, it became evident that, while she was content being there with Travis, her mood was declining.  She elected to not return to school for the second semester of French school and got a puppy instead so she could stay home and work on puppy training.

Phone calls from her became a rare thing as time went on; instead of phoning to simply talk about life and listen to Kev's toddler talk, she called when she needed something.  And since I had opted out of paying her exorbiant cell phone bills for her, her phone was no longer in service and I could not call her.  I had to wait for her to call me.

We chatted on Facebook occasionally, but even that ended in an argument and harsh words before too long. 

Yesterday I went for a walk and left my phone at home.  When I arrived home I had missed three phone calls.  The phone promptly rang again and I was pleased to hear Jen's voice on the other end of the line until I heard, "Mom, this isn't a happy phone call."

My first thought was that she was pregnant.  And in my mind I had already welcomed a new grandchild into the world until she told me that she needed help because she had overdosed.

To make a long story short, and because I have to leave for the airport soon, I called 911 from here.  They picked her up, along with the military police, because they live on a military base, and brought her to a hospital in Quebec City. 

I am hoping by the time I arrive in Quebec City, she will have been released into Travis's care, but something tells me I will have to get her from the hospital myself. 

I'm planning on spending a few days with her in Quebec and then flying back to Winnipeg with her and Juno the Puppy on Friday. 

Until then, please send all the positive energy you can spare to Jen to help her recover physically and emotionally.

My Mom

Its not Mother's Day, I'm aware of that.  I just feel like writing a post about my Mom today; not sure why, but here goes anyway.

My Mom is 85, she was 43 when I was born.  She gave birth to six babies, raised four to adulthood, lost one to cancer in 1993, and has one daughter (me) and two sons, 19 grandchildren, and I've lost count of how many great-grandchildren.

She was married to the same man for 49 years, until he passed away ten years ago as a result of a car accident.  She's never been quite the same since the day of the accident.  Her hearing and her mental clarity seemed to begin a gradual decline since that time.

It was almost nine years ago that I noticed the first sign of the declining function when she asked questions that she should know the answer to.  For example, she asked me for directions on how to get home from a location that she had driven home from at least a thousand times (okay, I exagerrate).  

These little clues became more and more frequent, but I and my brothers and their wives just passed it off as old age.  When I became concerned that it had progressed beyond normal aging, my brothers hinted that I would fare no better when I became a senior citizen.  

Along with her mental clarity, her hearing has also gradually declined since the accident to the point where it is an exercise in frustration or humor, depending on how you look at it, to have a conversation with her.

Some of the misunderstandings have been just downright hilarious!  One day when I was helping her go through some of her belongings, I saw piles of magazines under a little bookshelf and said "Oh, there's more under there."  She immediately perked up and said, "Where's Marj?"  (Marj is my late sister). When I could manage a straight face, I repeated myself, "There's more under there."  Indignantly she pointed at them, and said "I am not hiding them!"

When she asked why I was laughing, I made an attempt at explaining what had just transpired in our conversation. Minimal success.  

Cautious and guilt-ridden people remind me that some day I'll be old, too, and my own children will laugh at me. That's funny, because they already laugh at me every chance they have! 

Tupperware Party at My House

Since a few of you have asked how the Tupperware party went last night at my house, I'll give you my version of how it went down. 

I'm sure the Tupperware lady was horrified to learn that the amount of sales made at my house didn't really excite me much either way!  I told her, just like I've told everyone else, that I didn't have the party to make lots of sales, I just needed an excuse to have people over to my house.  Apparently I'm tired of not socializing.  Hey, stranger things have happened.

Before the Tupperware lady arrived, I had two guests; I wasn't even dressed in my party attire yet, which consisted of my infamous black and white Adidas track pants and a dirty t-shirt.  I pull out all the stops when it comes to entertaining! 

My darling sister-in-law was supposed to be here at 1630 to make her new dip recipe, but arrived after the first two guests and before the Tupperware lady.  She had my Mom with her, which totally made my day!

My niece was the next to arrive and I hardly recognized her!  I had seen her just a few days prior but then she was dressed in "work outside" clothing and now I think she may have been wearing makeup!  She's gorgeous!  Anyway, her husband sent her with strict orders to come home with MORE Tupperware!  Have you ever heard of a husband doing that?! 

From then until the end of the party, guests came and went.  Some stayed a while, some bounced in and bounced right out again.  Neighbors from down the street walked over; it was awesome!  I loved every minute of it. 

My two nieces were here with their girls, Kev's babysitter was here with her girls, and so on. 

No tale of a party would be complete without the menu, would it?  Snickerdoodles, Chocolate Snickerdoodles, and Chocolate Chip Cookies.  Made by yours truly, of course.  Interestingly enough, it was the Chocolate Chip Cookies that kept on disappearing, while enough remained of the others to bring to my son's today.  Those Chocolate Chip Cookies are always a hit, no matter how they look, no matter how crisp or chewy they are.  Every time I make them, they just disappear as if by magic.

I had planned on making Dad's Oatmeal Cookies, too, but sort of ran out of time in my day because the Snickerdoodles had an unfortunate mishap that required fixing in order to be edible.  They blended together in the pan into one large cookie, something I've never had a problem with before.  Rather than start all over, I used a heart-shaped cookie cutter and cut the dough into heart shapes.  They were still as delicious as only
Snickerdoodles can be, but they likely looked a little bit suspect to the guests. 

Luanna made a chip dip of refried beans, sour cream, guacomole, lettuce, and cheese.  It was absolutely divine! Its only downfall was that there were olives on it.  I accidentally ate one and thought I might die from the taste of it.  Yes, I'm exagerrating, but only a little.

All in all, the evening couldn't have been any better than the way it was as it was absolutely perfect. There will be more parties at my house in the near future.  Epicure, Pampered Chef, Passion Party, Norwex, etc. 

For those of you in the area, just come on down and join me. 

"How to Make a Living Without a Job"

This is a book I bought way back in December 2009, read it once, packed it for moving, and just read it again this week.  This book gives me hope that it is possible to be a SAHM for Kev sometime before he starts school.

As much as I love my chosen field of work, I have found something that I love even more than being at work, and that is being with my sunshine. 

Far from suggesting that people should all be born rich and not have to work, this book suggests that we all have our own talents and niches and that being our own bosses provides happiness in ways that working for corporations cannot. 

It also suggests that one can have multiple different ventures going on consecutively to provide variety.  Sounds like that idea might work for someone with ADD!

Usually its the activity in life that makes us feel the most alive that is the one that we could be financially successful at.  

I'm not quitting my job tomorrow, in case any of you are concerned about that.  Not nearly; I'm actually flat broke right now. No danger of me tapering down to casual employment until I've got some backup income coming in. 

Before that happens I need to brainstorm all the things that I enjoy doing, and then try to devise a way to make money from one of those activities.  Wow.  That's no small order. 

If any of you are "joyfully jobless" as the author refers to those who follow her advice, please tell me how you did it and what you do.

Clutter

It’s 2010, what could anyone possibly be doing with a 1991 Sears catalogue? Or three identical seminar textbooks from 1984? A two foot high stack of church periodicals? A bagful of mismatched gloves and mitts?

This particular home has long held an oppressive energy for me every time I walked through the front door, and now I know the reason. In every nook and cranny there are “treasures” from another era, piled haphazardly or stuffed into plastic bags, strung together by cobwebs put in place years ago..

This type of clutter makes me sad, because the person in question is very dear to me and I was not truly aware of the issue until yesterday.

The air in this residence is heavy and stale and somewhat musty. While doing some heavy duty cleaning yesterday, with several windows open and a fan on, I found mold on the walls and areas where moisture had made the drywall bow out in a convex fashion.

If its true that the state of one’s residence mirrors that of their mind, this is a very sad reflection; the owner of this home has dementia and has likely had it for longer than we suspect.

Taking matters into my own hands I entered her home and told her I was there to help her clean. “Oh?”

I emptied the contents of two closets onto the floor and witnessed her discomfort rise with each item that hit the floor. “I can’t give that away!” “I got that from someone special but I can’t remember who.” Many times I reassured her that I was going to put everything back when I had washed the walls and the floors of the closets; it was not my intention to throw out anything without her consent. Its possible I repeated these words ten or eleven times in the first hour alone.

As we progressed in our (it did become a team effort) sorting through of items, surprisingly many were thrown onto the thrift store pile. Every time she asked “What should I do with this?” I pointed to that pile. When she came across an item that needed to be kept, she didn’t ask. When she found something she wanted to share with her sons, she didn’t ask. Perhaps she needed permission to part with items or perhaps she needed direction, I don’t know which.

Nearing the end of my time there yesterday, I could sense her rising anxiety level, and cut my efforts somewhat short. Together we drove to the thrift store to empty my car of her donated belongings, and then to a recycling depot.

Through heated discussions on our drive I have begun to catch a glimpse of her bewilderment and sense of betrayal, perhaps even abandonment.

My heart truly goes out to her as she feels everyone in her world is against her. There are many negatives in her mind, and very little positive. The woman that was once there is merely a shadow, her essence having been replaced by the clutter in her mind.

5 Life Lessons I Have Learned

The lessons I’ve learned in my life have come from trial and error and are mostly a result of my horrendous sense of humor.  Others are a bit more serious.  You won’t find anything extremely original here, its likely stuff you’ve all figured out on your own by now anyway.

1. Always, always pee when you have the chance.  If there is a bathroom in sight, use it.  This is altered a bit for nurses:  always, always pee when you have a free minute.  You may not get another chance till the end of shift. 
2. Turn the idiot box off.  It benefits you and your family in more ways than you can count.  I’m not telling you to never watch TV, just watch a whole lot less of it. Get off the couch and move.  Clean the house.  Mow the lawn.  Go for a walk.  Or, gasp, read a book. 
3. Learn the lessons that the universe is trying to teach you, preferably the first time around.  The more you try to resist, the more painful the lesson gets. 
4. Don’t be afraid to have conversations with random strangers; you never know what you might learn from the little old lady sitting on the bench in the mall or at the bus stop. 
5. Accept that your way of doing things or your way of seeing the world is unique.  There is no one who sees it the way you do.  Don’t force your view on someone else, and don’t accept someone else’s view just because they want you to.

There’s more where this came from, so you will be blessed with a few more “Life Lessons” in the next week or so. 

Tell me about lessons you’ve learned; I’d love to hear them.

Tough Love

"Tough Love" was the name of a book that I caught my parents reading when I was a teen and, of course, I ridiculed them for it.  After all, I didn't need tough love.

What do you think when you hear the expression "tough love?" I can't remember what my first thoughts were when I heard the expression, but I know what my thoughts and feelings are now!  And, yes, I will share those thoughts and feelings with you.

Its difficult to write this post as I have a current issue in my life that is causing me distress and I do not want to get into specific details, in order to protect the "innocent."  Blogging is not like Facebook in that you cannot block others from seeing your profile.  No, this blog is open to the world. 

In referring to tough love, I am not referring to the teen boot camps that were shown on TV a few years ago and have become somewhat controversial.  I'm referring to refusing to continue to enable someone to continue on a path of self-destruction.  It is one thing to help a person out if help is genuinely wanted and the person is sincerely hoping to make a turn-around in their lives. Or, if the person has already made a commitment to change.  Using alcoholism or drug addiction as an example, I would insist that the addict be sober for a certain period of time before helping them financially, or in any way. There are plenty of professionals whose role it is to provide assistance to those who seek it out.

So where do we draw the line when offering assistance to those we love who are hell-bent on a lifestyle that is neither safe nor healthy?  Do we continue to bail them out or do we simply say "enough is enough" and let them hit rock-bottom, make a change, and then help them? Distancing oneself from a loved one and allowing them to self-destruct is not easy; the tendency is always there to step in an help out. How do we stop ourselves when helping would only enable the behavior?

As always, your comments are welcome, and I will respond to them.

Six Months Probation

The decision to move from the capitol city to a smaller town was made based on a six month probationary period. If, after six months, I absolutely hated it, I would move back to the city.  The six months will be up in two short weeks.

I’m staying.

I’m staying primarily because Kev and I are undisputedly happy here.

The tire park is Kev's reason.

I’m staying because of the positive experience in my own Emergency Department (ED) the other day.

I’m staying because I filled out my own triage form.

I’m staying because the initial physician to assess me was a female physician who I have the utmost respect for and would consider a friend. 

I’m staying because a co-worker (who is my 2^nd cousin) held my hand through a difficult and painful procedure in the ED.

I’m staying because that same cousin started an IV on me, also in the ED.

I’m staying because I’ve started IVs on my cousins.

I’m staying because the 2^nd nurse in the procedure room stayed behind and talked with me as I cried and reassured me that crying was okay and I shouldn’t be ashamed of my tears.

I’m staying because the physician who performed the painful procedure came over to me, took my hand, apologized for causing me pain, and genuinely meant it. 

I’m staying because I knew every one of the team that treated me in the ED, and not one of them was happy to see me under the circumstances.

He loves tires.

I’m staying because the surgeon who was consulted was one I had watched do procedures in the OR just a few months prior and I know he is caring and gentle. 

I’m staying because that same surgeon verbalized that he did not like to see me on ‘the other side of the fence’ as a patient.

I’m staying because my VBF brought me mashed potatoes, chicken, and an iced coffee while I was stuck on a stretcher in the ED.

I’m staying because my sister-in-law, who just happened to be in town, stopped by the ED for a few minutes despite me texting her that I was okay and she did not need to come and visit.

I’m staying because the manager of my home unit, not my CRN, walked over to ED to see how I was doing and stayed for a few minutes.

I’m staying because my CRN offered to come with me for an ultrasound the next morning when she realized I was alone at the hospital.

I’m staying because another sister-in-law stopped in at my home the next morning to check up on me and how I was doing.

I’m staying because Kev’s sitter kept Kev overnight and brought him home the next day, along with an iced coffee.

I’m staying.

Now, the Positve Aspect

Contrary to what my previous post "Religious Superiority" may have implied, it is not the people themselves that as individuals I have a concern with, it is the belief system I take issue with.

As a significant portion of my family (nieces, nephews, cousins,etc) and friends remain a part of this community, I love the people themselves dearly.  As individuals and as families they are "good people."

Following is a brief list of the qualities that I admire and respect, keeping in mind that as with all other communities or groups, there are always exceptions to the rule. 

• Childcare -  In my opinion, there is no better childcare than can be found in their homes.  From personal example, I have required childcare on a regular basis for two of my children.  The homes have no television sets, no radios, plenty of toys, and tons of love.  My youngest, who is 2 1/2, stays with a mom and her two daughters while I work.  He is happy to go there, and is treated like a member of the family when he is there.  She rocks him to sleep at naptime and nighttime.  In short, he is loved in her home; he is not simply a source of income. 
• Assistance - In the event that a natural disaster or any other type of calamity befalls the community or those around them, they are virtually first on the scene to offer assistance.In my life I have seen this put into action on a large scale several times. 
• Morality - This community has an incredibe sense of moral values, some of which it would not hurt the surrounding areas to adopt.  For example, honesty.  And, as with all other groups of people, there are those who push the boundaries and take the concept of honesty loosely.  But, as a rule, they will not lie to you, they will not cheat you.  
• Their marriages are based on "till death us do part" and they mean it when they say it.  They do not flee the home at the first sign of trouble.  Having said that, there are of course, instances in which a partner becomes abusive and then it is best to leave to ensure safety.
• Fathers are fathers.  Its very rare, indeed that a father does not take an active and loving role in his child's life.  A father does not cease being a father when the child leaves the home for marriage or other purposes.  

Growing up in the community and remaining enmeshed with the community due to familial relations and childcare needs, I primarily see the good vs. the negative in virtually each individual I come in contact with. 

It was my destiny to become a part of this community but I was pulled away by parents at the age of 10.  Life on the outside was a constant struggle for the first 10-20 years following.  It has since become easier as I have been able to shed some of the mindset which was so instilled into me in those short ten years.

In summary, it is best to look at both sides of every story.  Yes, there are negative aspects to this religious community; but I believe the positive far outweighs the negative. Is this not the same in communities around the world?

Religious Superiority?

Each of us has an outlook on life that is unique to us as individuals. Some of us go through life living by someone else’s rules, and others insist on making their own rules.  The majority of us are on a continuum between the two points. My personal outlook is light years away from what I was taught as a child.

I was raised in a very strict religious environment from birth to the age of 10.  Even after we left the “cult,” my parents’ values continued to be based on those which had been instilled in them through years of teaching a.k.a. brainwashing.  

This “cult” that I left as a child has many ideas or beliefs which I am not at ease with and, quite frankly, I am appalled that people still subscribe to this way of thinking. 

One example of a belief that I cannot understand is their attitude of religious superiority.  It makes me shudder because it is this very attitude that provokes them to send missionaries around the globe for ‘church planting.’  Africa seems to be a favorite destination, as if Africans in particular, are in need of religious assistance.  This is sending a strong message that they believe their religion is superior, and in turn implying that they are superior people.  Coincidentally or not, the missionaries being sent to Africa by this religious organization are inevitably white, and frequently ministering to non-whites.  To assume superiority, spoken or unspoken, based on religion or any other criteria is absolute poppycock. 

Another example of a practice I believe is incorrect is the breaking of a child’s spirit.  From infancy forward, a child is subject to the whims of the head of the household..   There are several methods in which this “breaking the spirit”  is accomplished.  Holding a child tight until they give in is one way.  Expecting young children to sit still and be quiet during the hour long church services, and spanking them if they do not is another way.  A child whose spirit has been broken is unable to think of themselves as an individual..

Another of their basic tenets which is repulsive is that women are “possessions” of men and men are the “head of the household.”  In their eyes, even though I was not a member of their community, Myrna Penner ceased to exist when I married.  Not only did I lose “Penner,’ I became Mrs. Mead, a possession of Kevin Mead.  I became Kevin’s wife.  Visiting our home meant that visitors were going to ‘Kevin’s” not to Kevin and Myrna’s.  Waiting for us at family gatherings became waiting for Kevin’s, not waiting for Kevin and Myrna.

The previous mindset ties right into their belief that men are the “stronger vessel” and by inference, if one is the stronger vessel, the other is weaker and somewhat inferior.  Women are taught to “submit” to their husbands, which can potentially put them in a highly dangerous situation if the man is on a power trip due to his perceived superiority.

At the time I began to think for myself and question such things as I have described above, every attempt was made by others to squelch my voice and break my spirit.  In some ways they succeeded, but that has only made me speak volumes louder later in life; as if to make up for the silence that was enforced in my earlier years.

I will not be silenced.

Down Fifty @ 43

Dear Readers:

Like the title says "Random Musings From the Past and Present."

For eight months now I've been blogging about random topics, whatever inspires me at the moment, but at the same time, trying to find a topic to focus my efforts on.

It seems I have found a subject that I can post regularly on and virtually never run out of topics.

Thus, I am beginning a second blog about my journey to lose fifty pounds. It is my intention that, along the way, this blog will become a healthy lifestyle and/or fitness blog, delving into topics which affect our physical health.

Five posts from "Blurb" have been transferred over to "Down Fifty @ 43," the new blog.

No worries, though, I will keep posting here as well; there is always something on my mind, always some burning issue for me to blog about.

And thank you to all of you who read my ramblings, it is my great pleasure to write and actually have someone read what I write.

Sincerely,

Myrna Penner RN BN

10 Parenting Tips Learned From My Children

Before I give you advice on how to parent your children, let me clarify a few important details.  I’ve already raised two children to adulthood and am currently raising a 2 ½ year old grandson.  That sentence alone should speak volumes. 

First, obviously something went awry if I’m raising a grandchild.  Second, I’ve got more experience with raising kids than just the toddler that I always blog about.  Experience has a way of teaching you more things that don’t work than things that do work.

And without further ado, here are my 10 parenting tips: 

1. Have lots of cheap or second hand clothes.  You may change your child’s clothes more times in a day than you ever knew possible.  Dirt has a way of attaching itself to your child’s clothing and every inch of your child. 
2. Have a sense of humor.  That should really be self-explanatory, but as a first time parent (23 years ago) that wasn’t the case.  Not everything they do is a predictor of future criminal activity or a sign of being a social misfit. 
3. Don’t worry.  Worry is a waste of time and gets you nowhere.  Whether you worry about your child or not, whatever is meant to happen is gonna happen.  Worrying will not keep your child from falling out of his highchair, or tripping on an invisible shoe on the floor.  If worrying was an effective protective barrier, none of my mothers children or grandchildren would ever have been injured.
4. Live close to a good Emergency Department.  Now that I’ve told you not to worry, I’m telling you to live close to a hospital.  Accidents will happen; some of them will be humorous in hindsight, others will be serious, but the majority will be minor. 
5. Don’t try to go anywhere in a hurry.  Its absolutely a waste of time.  You’ll end up taking longer than if you had gone with an attitude of patience.  Easier said than done, I know.  But it is possible.  I’m living proof; with the first two my life was always rush, rush, rush.  Now I’ve got a few more years behind me, and I know to start preparing early and to allow lots of extra time for mishaps or simply for stopping to smell the roses.  Plus, you’ll all be happier when you get wherever it was that you were going.
6. Enjoy your time with your children.  They are going to be young and exasperating only once and then you blink and they are full grown adults.  Take the time to enjoy them and their personalities.  I’m not suggesting that you enjoy the dirty diapers and sleepless nights, I’m simply suggesting that you enjoy their company as they grow faster than you could ever imagine.
7. Be prepared to give up a bit of yourself.  As a young (19) first-time mother, I thought that when I had a child I could be a mom when I was with him and then be a bar-hopping-social-butterfly when I was out with friends.  Not so at all.  I once spent a fair sum of money to come home from Europe a week early because I missed my son so much.  Your life will never be the same again, never.  A piece of your heart is inside every child.
8. Don’t expect quality moments to happen during quality time.  Quality moments happen during quantity time.  Stay at home moms around the world can attest to that fact.  Children need their parents’ time more than they need their parents’ money.
9. Be consistent.  When you say that you’re going to put them in a time-out if they throw something one more time, follow through.  Be fair, but also be consistent. Be reasonable but consistent.  Children then know what to expect if they behave in a particular manner and children need boundaries.
10. Shoes are not required.  This means that you do not need to protect your child from every possible danger in the world.  This also means that we, as parents, need to relax and let our child feel the warm grass beneath their feet in the summer sun.

These tips are somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but also very serious.  I am by no means a parenting expert, but these are some things I have learned on the journey called mommy-hood.

Summary

My very first attempt at blogging was short-lived and only lasted for two posts.  Life has a way of getting busy and overriding the things you need to do for yourself.  It was only six short weeks after I initially tried blogging that I found out Jen was pregnant with my first grandchild, Kev.

Life kind of spiralled out of control after that, my teen-age daughter was pregnant, I was working almost full time on D2, a love relationship started, Kev was born (what a happy day that was!), Jen had post-partum depression, Chris moved out with his girlfriend, I became Kev's guardian/mother, financial difficulties abounded, and Jen and I were butting heads constantly.

The first year of Kev's life was a very challenging one for all of us but I was determined that Kev should not feel any of its effects. The second year of his life started with a huge birthday party and lots of gifts, followed by his birth-mother's graduation from high school, and the end of my love relationship.  Jen and I were butting heads more as time went on. I wanted her to work and provide income for the household but since she wasn't employed until September, I insisted that she take care of Kev while I worked.  She did so, and with much greater ease than was evident a year previously. 

In September 2009 Kev began attending daycare in Winnipeg and had a full-time spot which he used only when I worked.  It was very rare that I brought him there when I was not working.  Jen had a job at this time and she picked him up on her way home from work on the days that he was there and rode the bus home with him.  I'd come home from work and he'd be fast asleep in his crib, having had a good supper that Jen cooked.

Just days prior to my 42nd birthday in October it became apparent that the anti-depressants that I'd been taking for 15 years (I started in 1993, just 5 months after my sister passed away) had abruptly stopped working.  More financial difficulties ensued as I had to take two weeks off of work in order switch from one med to another.  When the new meds entered my system and began to take effect my thinking became much clearer than it had been in years!

I realized that if Kev and I were going to be a family, and if Jen and I were ever going to salvage any sort of mother-daughter relationship we would have to live in separate homes.  It was then I decided to move back to the "country" with my son.

During my paid holidays in November I began purging my belongings in a way that I hadn't manage to do before in my lifetime.  I was throwing off the chains of the past and moving ahead for a brighter and lighter future.  I journalled, I cleaned, journalled some more, and then cleaned again.

December came around and I headed back to work on GD2 at Health Science Centre and told my unit manager that I was planning on leaving early in the new year.  She and my coworkers completely supported me in making this move and the corresponding life change. 

I started blogging again on X-mas Day  of 2009 and you already know the rest. 

But, just in case you missed it, here's some old posts which don't show up in my side bar to the left.

Night Shift and Stuff

A Confession

Random Thoughts From a Nurse on Break

Money Talk

A Day in the Life of a Nurse

Resolutions vs. Goals


My Regrets

For Rent: House #1

Night Shift

Baby Girl Leaves the Nest

Farewell Sony Ericson, Hello iPhone

Goal #1

Honesty From a Would Be Empty Nester

Cleaning Out Jennifer's Room

Quick Post ...

Scared and Worried

My New Home

Options in the Rental Market

Countdown

Emergency Room Nurse

More Details

First Day at Our New House

A Night on D2

The Morning After

Wednesday, With a Twist

Last Night Shift on GD2 - Orthopedics

Please Don't Feed The Nurses

Nurses spend an excessive amount of time on their feet, walking, standing, and occasionally running. You'd think that with all that activity our metabolisms would be on par with long distance runners and we'd have low bodyfat percentages.

Not so at all! Many nurses I know are slightly overweight and many are trying to lose a few pounds, myself included. There's a reason for that; it's a rare occasion that there is not some form of junk food on our tables and countertops.

Well meaning family members, grateful for the care their loved one is receiving or had received, bring boxes of chocolate, bags of chips, etc. It's rare that we receive a veggie platter or a fruit basket as a thank you gift and I'm not quite sure why that is.  Perhaps family members feel that we deserve a 'treat' and then get us junk food.  Well, it is a treat for us, and we inhale our treats as if we hadn't eaten in a month.

Its not that I'm ungrateful for the gifts we get from family members, not at all, we appreciate each and every gesture of appreciation.  It would just be much kinder for our health and our waistlines if you would bring us healthy treats vs. chocolate or donuts.

 Just for the record, I'm sure that I am not speaking on behalf of all nurses; I'm sure there are those who prefer the junk food treats and then I'm sure there are those who feel that we should be happy with whatever gift we get.  But I can assure you that regardless of the edible gift you bring us as a team will get eaten asap.

Homelessness in Steinbach

Following my previous post, I did a quick internet search using “Steinbach” and ‘homeless” as my search criteria.

Most of the results directed me to someone named Steinbach who was either writing about the homeless or advocating for homeless somewhere in California.

In a blog post from 2009, someone wrote that there were 3-5 homeless people in Steinbach, a long way from the alleged 82 in 2010. Another site stated that the number rises sharply in summer and added that our park benches become beds at night.

The majority of the sites simply mentioned homelessness in passing like it was a dirty word.

Interestingly, there were plenty of sites urging the community to assist the humane society in caring for homeless pets.

Upon first hearing that there were homeless in Steinbach, my first reaction was disbelief, and then amazement. How can a town that is this wealthy have homeless? Is there not enough wealth present in this rich community to ensure that we don’t have this issue?

My biggest question is not directly related to finances, but related more to the religious concentration in this town. There is a church on every street corner, many of which have missionaries in numerous exotic locations around the world. Why is it necessary to send people out of the country to improve the lives of others when there are lives to be improved on right here? Shouldn’t we take care of our own homes and town first?

Note that I am not referring to any of the homeless who have chosen to be homeless, if there are in fact, any of those included in this number. Nor am I referring to the ones who refuse any type of assistance. When I refer to the “homeless,” I am referring to those who are legitimately without a place to live and those who would genuinely appreciate a non-condescending form of assistance.

Homelessness in Steinbach and other locations is a much larger social issue than I could even begin to address here; the concerns and contributing factors to homelessness are endless. Rather than each individual being to blame, it is a system that has failed.

Since I’m sort of new to blogging, and totally new to actually addressing a social issue, I’m a bit afraid of offending the wrong people, or people laughing at my opinion, and so on, having not yet developed a thick enough skin to withstand harsh criticism. Regardless, please comment, tell me what you think about this issue, imaginary or not.

Thanks for reading.

82 Homeless in Steinbach

Steinbach has 82 homeless; for real?!

First, you’re probably wondering where that information comes from, right? I heard it at work and my source shall remain nameless. Apparently there is someone out there who cares enough to keep stats on them.

Second, you’re likely wondering, if this is true, why does Steinbach have homeless? I’d like to know the answer to that one, too.

Third, have you ever seen a homeless person in Steinbach? I haven’t. Do they really exist? Are they Steinbach’s dirty little secret?

Fourth, is this information true? I can’t say for sure; perhaps its one of those urban legends.

If you have any insight into this subject, please enlighten me. In the meantime, I’m gonna do a little research.

Single Grandparent

It seems there are support groups in existence for nearly every imaginable purpose, but I have yet to see one for Single Grandparents. Granted, its not a common phenomenon, but there are special and unique circumstances and situations we deal on a daily basis. This “isolation” from those in a situation similar to mine makes me wonder how others are coping and what strategies they use for coping.

The biggest issue for me regarding this topic is one that I mentioned to a co-worker at night while we were winding down from our gong show of a shift. Who do I tell when Kev does something really cute, or really naughty (yes, he has his naughty moments), or when he hits a new developmental milestone?

In a traditional home situation the caregiver could tell the work-outside-the-home parent about the child’s day, be it good or bad. Then perhaps a call to the grandparents on either side and do a little bit of bragging about what their grandchild had done. Loving and involved mothers and fathers and grandparents love to hear these little tidbits of news, regardless of how mundane they are

When Kev does something really silly (every 5 minutes) or something super naughty (not often) or when he does something developmentally new, who do I tell?; There is no biological father in the picture, and therefore no second set of grandparents. The next obvious step would be for me to tell my husband/partner, but I don't have anyone to fill that job description. With Jen's dad (Kev's Grandpa) living in Alberta and not involved in Kev’s life, that’s not a realistic option.

Kev's birth mother verbalizes an interest in Kev's life, but I don't feel obligated to regale her with stories of his everyday life, as communication between us has been somewhat strained for the past few months. In my eyes, it is not enough to express interest in a child, you need to demonstrate that interest.

When Chris and Jen were young I could tell my Mom the stuff they did and for a few years I could count on Marj to listen and give pertinent advice if needed. It may be harsh to say this, but telling my Mom stuff these days takes up more energy than its worth. First she has to be able to hear what you're saying, then she has to be able to understand and make sense of what I've said. It’s a rare occasion that a story only needs to be told to her once.

In a sense I feel somewhat isolated in my role as Kev's Mom, but perhaps that is a self-imposed feeling or role. I share his achievements with my friends and relatives on Facebook and most often get a very positive response. My nieces are raising children the age of Kev, so when I see them we talk for hours about what our children are doing or not doing. Co-workers (both on D2 and now NU1) frequently ask about Kev.

My biggest confidante in raising Kev is his babysitter. With no one else have I shared so many details on Kev’s day to day life (right down to the consistency of what’s in his dirty diapers!). I have shared with her my attitudes and ideas about raising children and she knows Kev’s likes and dislikes as well as I do. She loves that boy like her own and rocks him to sleep when I am working.

In summary, there are challenges to being a single grandparent, primarily the feeling of not being able to share the love and joy of Kev with another adult who loves him like I do. While it is a challenge and sometimes isolating, I don't feel as if I'm whining or complaining about the situation. After all, this is my reality. My choices brought me here and the challenges I've presented are easily surmountable. I have yet to meet a challenge that cannot be beaten.

Tell me about your parenting experiences and/or challenges. How do you deal with certain situations?

Waiting . . . .

Working on my book has brought up a lot of memories of relationships past, both good and bad.  With the wisdom and hindsight of my 42 and 3/4 years, I can see patterns of behavior and I've come to an understanding, sort of, of why I made the choices I did.

Tonight I had another one of those epiphanies and I'd like to share it with you to see if any of you out there are equally guilty of "waiting."

Waiting?  Waiting for what, you ask.  Waiting for a man.  Waiting to be rescued.  Waiting to be happy.  Waiting to be taken care of.  The saddest and most pathetic kind of waiting that any self-respecting woman can ever be guilty of.

And I've been guilty so many times in my life.  After each failed relationship I'd pretend to be living my life, but it was just a sham to cover up my insecurity and my perceived need for a man in my life.  I'd wait for the next one to come along and then when someone showed interest the wait would be over and I could begin living again.

If I really look within myself I believe that I have put my life on hold numerous times during these 'waiting' periods.  It was as if I didn't dare be happy or successful while I was single.  Then I would be guilty of something.  Perhaps its my upbringing that has taught me that no woman can get by in life without a man.  Unmarried women often have their brothers or fathers as their "adviser."  Its as if they are incapable of making any type of decision on their own and need a human with a penis to tell them how to live their life. Now, I have nothing against men and nothing against penises, but why does an unmarried adult woman need a male "adviser?"  Why does she need an adviser at all?

That is the mentality that surrounded me as a child and still surrounds me to some extent in relatives and the community in which I live.  I'm assuming that is why I have spent the better portion of my life waiting.

The question is, how do I stop waiting?  How do I live my life not waiting?  I've always imagined that I was an independent and strong woman and could live perfectly well without being in a relationship.  Why is it then that my life is in limbo and I have currently returned to waiting?  And, if I consciously realize that I'm waiting, then I should be able to stop myself, right?  If it were so easy to put an end to this behavior, I'd say adios to it right now.

What would my life look like if I were not "waiting?"  Externally, there would be few signs that anything had changed; my cell phone would not be permanently attached to me, I wouldn't eye each male as a potential rescuer, and perhaps I would talk and joke around less while working. Internally is where the changes would be.  I'm forever waiting for my phone to ring with a call or text from someone special, waiting for any sign that he might be interested in me, not making concrete plans or planning ahead in case he does call or text.  In general, its an unsettled feeling.

Its embarrassing to admit that at 42 and 3/4 I'm waiting again.  Its not embarrassing to be single, I'm ashamed to be waiting for Mr. Right and not being fully happy and fully independent because of that waiting.


Ladies, don't wait for that special someone to come along.  Live your life like its yours and only yours.  Live now.

Guest Post by Kev

Mum  didn’t have to go to work today cuz it was her day off. That makes me happy.

She took so long to wake up today. I jumped and jumped in my crib for a long time. When I got tired of jumping I called “Gumma! Gumma!” Finally she came. She was so happy to see me and I was so happy to see her. She swooped me out of the crib and put me on the floor and I ran to the kitchen. The soy milk is in the fridge and I had waited all night for some.

Mum put the TV on for me so she could go have a bath. “Baa da Bilder” was on. I like that show.

Then Mum got me dressed and we went to Superstore. The cookie people were busy till 1100 so I had to wait for my cookie. I waited very nice and patient. Mum said so. She visited with lots of people in the store today. And she bought me “loop loops.” I’ve never had those before. They are “yummmmmmmy!”

I'm strong, Mum said I was.

Then we drove to “Gate Gumma’s” and got gravel. I didn’t know why Mum was getting gravel. When we got home she put it into a little flat box. I played in my new sandbox all day long!

At naptime I wasn’t tired so I didn’t sleep. Mum didn’t sleep either I don’t think. I just jumped and bounced some more and then she came to get me.

I had a good day. Mum likes being with me and I like being with Mum. We have fun.

Nurse's Notes

The general public may not fully appreciate the humor in this post, but bear with me on this one.

Tonight I set a new record for myself; a mere twenty minutes after leaving report I uttered the familiar and dreaded question: "Has anyone seen my notes?"

For those of you who are not nurses, a nurse's notes are akin to what a bible is to a religious leader. They are that important and they contain that much crucial information. Prior to starting a shift the notes must be prepared and it appears almost ritualistic as each nurse has their own method and they repeat this method each and every shift.  Some use a particular color of paper (I use orange);some use pre-printed forms made up on the computer, while others use multi-colored pens.  

The information contained in the notes is fairly consistent from nurse to nurse. Room number, patient's name, age, gender, physician, diagnosis, date of admission, allergies, brief medical history, IV information, special treatments, and any other pertinent information. I also include times of medications, code status, and LBM (last bowel movement).


Carrying these notes is essentially carrying a summary of each patient in your pocket and are considered to be confidential information.  As such, they are to be destroyed at the end of each shift.  Tossing them in the garbage is not sufficient, they must go into the confidential waste.  

Any nurse who claims she has never lost her notes is lying; its part of being a nurse. Lost notes can be found in the oddest places; in charts, on patients' bedside tables, even in another nurse's pocket.

This time my notes magically appeared on the very same table where I had written them, and once safely back in my bulging scrub pockets, they stayed with me for the remainder of the shift.