It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I Want To.

I didn't take any Lortab with my Nyquil last night, because the hallucinations have gotten really bad. I am pleased to report that I had a good night's rest and an accusation-free morning, and it feels good. For the last 11 days, I have been stricken down with a razor-blades-soaked-in-lemon-juice sore throat. When I get sick, I always assume it is just the penance part of my personal Pride Cycle, and that God is punishing me. I realize, my illness is probably due in some part, to working in a veritable germ hive, but as my temperature rises, so does my drama.

I awoke this morning to Daveskins tapping a card on my forehead. Ahh, my birthday. It was a lovely card, one that we bought long before we had kids, and have stored just in case we should ever need an emergency, flatulence-themed all occasion card. Apparently today, was just such an emergency. Dave was not able to find an envelope to fit the card, so I struggled a bit to un-cram it from the tiny one he had stuffed it in, but it was worth the trouble. Inside was a lovely note about what a great mother and wife I am, and something about how he would still tap it, even though I am middle aged now. The best part was the hand drawn birthday cake, complete with 31 candles and a self portrait of Naked Dave jumping out to surprise me.(Censor bar included, of course.)

My throat hurt like a son of a biznatch the whole morning, so I didn't put up much of a fight when Dawson wanted to stay home again from school. The kids got their own cereal and I scarfed down 800mg of ibuprofen. With as much ibuprofen as I have eaten over the last two weeks, I am anxiously anticipating a GI bleed, or hopefully a bleeding ulcer. I got undressed to get in the shower, and was briefly distracted by the chipped paint, on my glittery toes. I decided to fix them, and thought it would brighten my spirit to have great toes for my birthday. At the very least, I could inhale enough acetone that I didn't care about my toes.(kidding) Emma somehow sensed that the nail polish box was down from the top shelf, and before I could unscrew the top off of a velvety green color, she had assumed the position in front of me, with her bare toes wiggling excitedly on my thigh, and one of my magazines in her lap. After I finished Em's pedi, I did my own. It was just like having a professional do it, minus the wax, the orgasmic hot stone calf massage, and awkward language barrier, plus I saved $30........Happy birthday to me.

Daws has had a rash for the last few months that I have been ignoring, much to Dave's dismay. When he also came down with a sore throat last Tuesday, being the non-alarmist mother that I am, I blamed a virus and let him stay home from school. I only agreed to take him to the doctor, when Dave started googling rashes on the Internet, which he knows, drives me crazy. So Wednesday of last week, I took him to an urgent care, since his pediatrician wasn't available, and they swabbed him for strep, which was negative, but then told me, he had ring worm. That made no sense whatsoever, but I bought some generic jock itch spray and agreed to hose him down three times a day. Dave was pumped about the diagnosis, seeing as though he had also made the same diagnosis, after printing off pictures of ringworm and holding them next to Dawson's body.

This morning, Dawson's rash was worse and so was his throat. Lucky for us, his pediatrician was in. We made an appointment for noon, and after loading Dyl onto the bus, we headed to Park City. On the way over, Dawson mused that he ought to take me to lunch since it was my birthday. After vetoing McDonalds, and Burger King, he got frustrated and said, "Well, I guess we'll go where YOU want to then." We had a successful doctor's visit where I got the news that it was indeed strep, and not a ring worm in sight. The rash was some big long name that doesn't require any intervention, and will go away in a couple of months. While we were there, I also hopped the kids up on flu vaccine for the dreaded season ahead, and felt like we had really accomplished something. It turns out, I also had a positive strep test, and could have been cured 10 or so days ago, if I didn't think I knew so much. Happy Birthday to me.

Dawson and I finally agreed on Quiznos for my celebratory birthday lunch. No one enjoys a meatball sandwich quite like Dawson, and I love to watch it go down. We had a good lunch and some great conversation. I made sure to thank him for taking me out on my birthday, and he thanked me right back for not making him pay for it, and for doing all the driving.

When Daveskins got home, he informed me that we were going to dinner and that he had arranged for a sitter. There is nothing I crave more than spending time alone with Dave, and it was the perfect way to end my birthday celebration, and the perfect birthday gift, along with all the things I bought myself this month, including a new laptop. Happy Birthday to me.

Pre-Birthday Celebration

I am a little sad today, as my birthday month draws to an end. There are a few things that happen in the fall, that I feel are in homage to my birthday. First-ly, the leaves begin to change colors, in an effort to make me feel better about the impending doom of winter. Second, Ringling Brothers starts advertising, and lastly, but most importantly, Endless Shrimp at Red Lobster comes back. I am a simple girl, with simple needs, who was blessed with a complex enough, husband, that knows how to juggle and fulfill all my needs. Pretty much circus folk and shrimp, and I am a happy camper.

We celebrated Friday with the kids, and really loved the circus. The circus birthday tradition goes way back, when my parents would take us to Salt Lake, to see the show and stay overnight in a hotel. Remind me if I am wrong Mom, but it seems like we would get to the hotel, and then you guys would give us five bucks and tell us to explore the hotel for the next few hours. That is so weird that you would just want to watch t.v. or whatever, hmm.

Anyway, one year that sticks out in my mind, was the time my bro, Jordan and I got bored turning all the Privacy Please cards over to the Housekeeping side,(including our own room). After we lost interest in pushing all the buttons in the elevator, we made our way down to the weight room and found a great new game that consisted of pulling the lat bar down as far as we could get it, and then launching it, in sling shot fashion toward the sky. Unfortunately, one time, it went all the way to the ceiling and broke several lights, which then scattered broken glass around us, and lacerated Jordan's knee, or his leg somewhere. I can't really remember much, other that a lot of blood, glass, hotel management, and my angry parents. They really should have given us more than five bucks.

Endless shrimp, to me, truly feels like a personal challenge. Over the years, Dave and I, both being sickeningly competitive, have done our fair share of damage at All-You-Can-Eat Shrimp night. This year was a little different though, since we brought the Hoodlums along, and I have been stricken down with a severe sore throat for the last week. Although we barely ate enough shrimp to be worth the trip, we had a great time reminiscing about all our past shrimp memories, like, " 'member 2004?" "Oh, yeah. That was a great year for shrimp, and the waitress was phenomenal."

After wrenching the Hoodlums away from Red Lobster, we hit the Circus. The fun of the Circus, hit us long before we actually found our seats. Even as we parked the car, and started towards the arena, we found ourselves in people-watching heaven. The circus was great, and absolutely made better, by watching it with the kids. I sat by Dylan, who was glued to the action the whole time. He oohed and aahhed and was totally stumped when they made the elephant disappear. I got to sit really close to him, since the woman next to me, was taking up half my seat as well. There really is nothing like being reminded why you shouldn't overindulge in Shrimpfest, by your armrest being taken hostage by another woman's belly roll. It ended up being an awesome night with the fam.

I worked the rest of the weekend, and on Sunday was surprised by my friends, with a birthday cake and lots of love. They chose to present the cake to me immediately after I had just finished mopping up a mess of Sunday Brunch vomit from my pants, so I wasn't able to dive right in, but I enjoyed it all the same, once I could no longer smell the caprese salad, olives, and bile. You know, a true nurse could eat cake while covered in vomit. That is how I know I am really a cop, trapped in a health care profession.

I thought it might be a lame day in the ER, when I came on shift Sunday, to a mostly drunk patient population, but I was wrong. The night nurse gave me a heads up on the spitting and belligerence of a patient I am going to call "Lou", and the also massive paper work, because he was requiring four-point restraints. Lou and I got along fabulously though and when I went in to introduce myself he didn't spit at me, he just said, "you little b*$tch." With only one day before I turn 31, it was like music to my ears. "Little" has never been a word thrown loosely at me and I'll take it.

Saturday Morning At The Broadbents

7AM: Kids are up bright and early. We give our blessing on a fruit snack breakfast, along with a warning not to return for 1 hour.


8AM: Dave bolts out of bed, and throws on some clothes, when we hear the first of 10 loads of topsoil being dumped in our yard. I used to think there was nothing worse than buying tires, but $1600 bucks worth of dirt, might be worse than tires.

8-Ten: I try to go back to sleep, but the Hoodlums are taking turns riding each other down the stairs, and I hear Dylan say that it's Emma's turn to be the human sled. I reluctantly roll out of bed and step over the mound of clean laundry that I was going to put away Wednesday.

8-Thirty: The Hoodlums are in a race to see who can eat their omelette's the fastest, because everything has to be a competition. Dawson has put a few too many jalapenos on his eggs, and has to chase every bite with O.J. which is slowing him down considerably, but making it possible for Dyl to be in the running.

0845: Dave pops his head in, to tell me he's running to the neighbors to borrow a back hoe. When you live rurally, you can borrow heavy machinery from your neighbors as easy as a cup of sugar. Who knew?

0900: I have resolved to swallow the bitter Saturday morning chore pill, and just bust through and get it down. There are few things I detest more than cleaning, which is why I only do it every couple of weeks. I decide to tackle the laundry pile at the foot of my bed and separate the towels for Dyl to fold, and the kids clothes for Dawson to take care of. I have to isolate Dylan and his 7 bath towels, in order for him to accomplish the task. He starts bawling about how much he has to do, and "what am I even going to do to help," and the wailing and gnashing of teeth begins.

0930: I look out the window to see Dave at the controls of a huge CAT, moving the mounds of dirt around. He looks totally construction-y and hot, so I press my bare bosoms to the window in a secret hope that he will come in and whisk me away to a special place that doesn't involve cleaning or crying. He looks over, just as I have to put my shirt down as a car passes, and gives me a wink. Oh, goody, a wink to get me through the morning. I reluctantly look back into the living room where Dylan is rolling around on the floor, staring at his hands, in an effort to avoid the 7 freaking towels that he has to fold. He is so, my child.

0945: Dawson comes to report that he has completed everything on his list, and everything but the towels on Dylan's list............He definitely lucked into Dave's determination and drive. I ask him to dust the stairs, and he happily skips off to perform the task. Dylan has scooped all the towels into a pile and is trying to fold them with his toes. I do a little dusting, and look out the window again. Dave is out of the back hoe, looking at some white pipes sticking out of the ground. I lean out the door to say Hi, and he informs me that he just demolished the newly buried sprinkler pipe with the back hoe. I say, maybe we should just borrow sugar from our neighbors.

0950: I go into the bathroom with a new magazine and resolve to just read one article, and then get started on the vacuuming. Dylan is now whining that he is hungry, so I lock the door and turn on the fan, even though I don't even need to use the bathroom.

1020: My legs have fallen asleep and I have consumed half the magazine, but I think it is in everyone's best interest if I don't go out until Dawson is no longer yelling about Emma hitting him with the light saber, and Dylan has untangled himself from the towel pile.

1040: I hear Dave hollering to me, as I stagger out of the bathroom on completely numb feet. I pass the stairs where Emma has positioned herself two steps above Dawson, so that she can put her little feet on his forehead and try to push him backwards down the stairs. Dawson is almost oblivious to anything but his fervent dusting and desperation to finish his jobs. The towels are still strewn around the living room, but Dylan is nowhere to be seen. Dave is lurking sheepishly, in the entry with our camera in pieces. He tried to look back on our camera, at the sprinkler pictures, and in the process, dropped the camera on the concrete where it died. R.I.P. good little camera.

1050: I'm rooting around the boys' backpacks and find this little gem in Dawson's. I can't even imagine what his teacher thinks about us. This is a project called Dawson's Week, please to enjoy.

(I called the cops on my mom.)

(I trashed the yard)

(I colored a picture for my Dad.)

(I caught a cat fish.)

(I eat a taco.)

(I set a fire.)

(I had a rest.) Thank the Lord!

1100:Grilled Dawson about his project. When I asked him why he would call the cops on me, he just laughed and said, because I get so funny when the cops come around, and then Dad gets mad at me. Nice.

High Noon: Dylan extracted himself from behind the pillows on the couch where he had been hiding, and folded the damn towels. I got burst of energy and did my chores, and we all headed outside to play. It was painful, but our house looks presentable, and the Chitlins are learning to be responsible. Maybe?

We spent the late afternoon watching the Cougs get spanked, and eating lots of delicious whore's dervs with our friends. After everyone left, the kids got ready for bed, and Emma said our family prayer. She thanked the Lord for "the good day, and Fisherman's Friends." That sent the boy's into delirium, as they were already really tired and giggly. I used to use Fishermans Friends, which are nasty cough drops, as the ultimate punishment for potty words. The boys' have both only had them once or twice, and Emma has never had them, but she still is eternally grateful for them. Whatever. Amen.

This morning I was an un-eager participant in our annual CSEPP drill at work. Basically, if someone bombs the Tooele Weapons Depot, and your skin is melting off from mustard gas, I'm your gal. Of course we only practice a couple of times a year, and I can really only stand 10 minutes of being duct taped into my Tyvec suit. Certainly nothing makes a claustrophobic chick, like myself more comfortable, than having a hood taped snuggly around my face with only a small, Plexiglas window view, out to the mustard gassed world.

Thank goodness today was only a drill. My commitment to the duct tape suit lasted only about an hour and a half. That borders on being about an hour and 25 minutes to long, especially if you have recently had Mexican food, check, or sweat like a mutha, when sealed in a tight blue tarp, double check. I always have wondered what the victims will think, when they see this large blue bubble with a respirator and hood, come toward them in a sort of awkward moon bounce, only to strip them naked, out in the ambulance bay, and hose them off for all to see. Of course if you are debilitated by the gas, we will just throw you on the meat roller,(I do not lie, that is totally what it is called), and send you through the indoor shower that looks identical to the gas chambers at Dachau. Either way, it totally beats the last option, and that is if you are simply dead, I will just put a black zip tie on any appendage that is attached to your corpse and nudge you outta the way.

After doing my time in the sweat lodge, I met my favorite cuz, Annie, for lunch and some shopping, which I don't particularly love. Lunch, yes. Shopping, not so much. Annie is a drop dead gorgeous red head, petite as all get out, and an incredibly stylish babe. I on the other hand, am six feet tall,(since 6th grade), curvy, (ha ha), and my wardrobe consists of jeans, and sweatshirts, mostly of the construction advertisement types. I really only have one penchant for fashion, and that is a great pair of sexy beotch boots. I had a great stroke of luck today when I was wandering down the aisle's at Ross:Dress For Less. I found some seriously beotchin' boots. I immediately tried them on, which is trickier than it sounds, since they were zip tied really tight to each other, and they had 3" heels. Lucky for me, I only teetered once and did not start a domino effect of the shoe racks, when I did a penguin-like shuffle around the aisle to find Anne. She came running around the other side, breathless and excited about her new find, and then stopped abruptly to see that I was indeed wearing the same boots. Neither pair had a price tag on it, but as we checked out across from each other, the boots rang up at $16.99. We were both shizzing our schaps. What a find.

Still glowing from my purchase, I went home to find the sprinkler guys filling in all the trenches in our yard. Yesterday, when I went to Heber to do Gram's shopping, I let Dylan go into the store with me and after we had successfully acquired all the important things on Gram's list, we got sidetracked by the Halloween display. I let Dyl talk me into buying some bloody legs to put in the sprinkler trenches as a joke on the workers. He really didn't have to talk very hard, as I am a sucker for bloody body parts, fake or real. I also purchased some glittery nail polish and some adult-y temp tatts for myself, but forgot anything of substance for dinner. Anyway, when I surveyed the yard, all the trenches had been filled in, but no bloody legs to be seen. Due to the language barrier, I traipsed through the mud and started pointing to my legs and motioning at the area where we last left the legs. It was...... no bueno. I started digging through the dirt until I found a bloody pant leg. By this time all the workers were gathered around me, watching as I unearthed the legs. When I finally had wrestled them free, I held them up and tried to explain the joke. It was....... no bueno. I think the hilarity was lost in translation, or maybe they thought they were doing me a favor, by burying the body.

Emma woke up early from her nap, so we walked up to the bus stop to wait for the boys. We beat the bus there, so Emma and I crouched down in the bushes, so that we could scare the boys when they walked past. They do it to me all the time, so I was ready to make even. We were hidden perfectly, and could see the boys approaching, when I heard the following conversation:
Dawson: Hey Dyl, You're a ba-gina. (lots of laughter)
Dylan: What?
Dawson: Do you know what a ba-gina is?
Dylan: No.
Dawson: Tanner told me it's like when boys get kicked in the....(then points to his groin)
Dylan: Nuts?
Dawson: Yeah, but for a girl.
Dylan: Oh.

This is when I leaped out and yelled sur-PRISE! They both almost jumped out of their skin, which was the reaction I was hoping for, and then both boys looked instantly guilty. I let them look that way for the rest of the way home. I asked them all about school and lunch and made small talk, but kept smirking at Dawson in a way to let him know he wasn't off the hook. When we got home, I had a great politically and anatomically correct conversation about boy and girl parts with Dawson, and let him know he could always ask me questions if he was concerned about something. He didn't have any inquiries today, but I could see the wheels a turning.

An Open Letter To Ricardo Jr.

Dear Junior,

I have given you some of the best years of my life. In the last 12 years, you have been there for me, and with me, to celebrate my happiest times and accomplishments, to pick me up from my deepest disappointments, and usually every other Wednesday. I celebrated with you every time I got knocked up, when I passed my nursing boards, if I was pissed at Daveskins, if I was happy with Daveskins, if I was tired, if I had burned dinner, if Dave was trying to get some, lots of birthdays, anniversaries, President's day, and even if I was on a diet. Damn you, Ricardo Jr., damn you all to hell. Now it is all gone, and for what? So you can frolic in North Dakota with your special, delicious, salsa recipe to keep you warm? North Dakota blows like the bitter cold place you have left in my heart and bowels, and now I am left here with only the Loco Lizard for my rebound Mexican, and 12 years of memories. Shame on you.

XOXOXOX,
You Know Who

P.S. I would take you back in a heartbeat, or at least the salsa recipe.

I didn't get anything fixed for dinner last night, because I was totally.......busy.........during..... alright, I had a two and a half hour nap, but it was awesome. So by the time Daveskins got home, the boys' homework was mostly done, and I had them primed to bug Dave for Don Pedro's third strike. Sometime in the last two months, we have had two terrible experiences with my favorite Mexican place, and a noticeable absence of our beloved waiter, Ricardo Jr. It has been very difficult for me, and that's what I have attributed my increased napping too.

I was ready to write off the whole Don Pedro family on our last experience, after falling victim to a true, small bowel obstruction. (For which I did not go to the ER! Contrary to popular belief, some things can resolve at home without the help of narcotics.) Anyway, after almost 5 days without a poop, I took matters into my own hands and downed 3 fiber bars, a carton of fresh cherries, fiber yogurt and a half gallon of water, with, you guessed it, added fiber. I did it right before bed, which made for a very long night, for both of us, but in the morning, I was cured. Holla!

Yesterday Dave was down with giving the Don, one last chance, so we loaded up the Hoodlums and headed to the city. The mood was very tense as they brought us the chips and salsa. It didn't help to have a raging lightening storm brewing outside, and no Ricardo in sight, but I could tell as soon as they placed the salsa in front of me, we were doomed. It was not the real stuff, although we managed to put away four bowls of it. We steered clear of our usual snot-chos, and went back to our roots with our old favorite dishes. The Boys got a fajita salad to split, so weird. I don't know if they are trying to set a good example for us, or if they just like healthy crap, but whatever.

The evening turned out to be not a total bummer. Our food was pretty good and everyone but Daveskins, came away unscathed. We had F.H.E. on the way home with a good lesson on being nice to everyone, which was interrupted briefly when Dave noticed several large puddles on the side of the road. We circled the block multiple times to drive through the water and laugh hysterically. The kids tired of the activity long before me and Dave, but they aren't in charge. Eventually we made it home, content with our mostly successful dinner and a great F.H.E.. I don't know why we didn't think of buckling the Hoodlums into car seats for every Family Home Evening, so much better.

I Went To College Once.

It seems like a million years ago, but in reality, it was only a decade ago. Well a decade and a couple of years.......Anyway, I was super psyched to lunch with some of my, I'm gonna say ol' without the "d", college roommates from Southern Virginia today. I met Tina and Krystal, and their chitlins, at the Mickey D's in Happy Valley. It was so fun to see them and, if I closed my eyes really tight and blocked out the veritable screams of the copious amount of sticky kids running amok, I could almost picture us lounging on my bed, watching a continuous reel of 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun', (which was an OLD movie back then) or crammed into the team van, on our way to a softball game.

Both girls were on the softball team with me, and we talked about all the fun that we had, and of course they remembered the fight I started when an opposing team dissed one of my teammates. I am really no stranger to a good fight, but it was disappointing for my parents when they came out the next week to watch me play, and I was benched. Any-who, I really enjoyed seeing them and I had some really great flash-backs. Thanks girls.

We stopped by the Pizza Factory to snuggle Hannah for a second before heading up the canyon, and she gave the kids suckers, and me, a delicious cinnamon stick. We were really hurrying to get home before the Daws-man got off the bus, so I was bummed to see traffic lined up at the entrance of the canyon. It was one of those, two lanes that have to merge into one, kind of deals, which always bring out the moron drivers. As we were creeping along, one of the aforementioned morons came speeding up along side us. Being the courteous driver that I am, I allowed one car to get in front of me and then stayed right on his bumper. The idiot next to me started waving and screaming about me letting him in too. I declined, and that is when he just rammed into the side of me. It was all in slow motion, but there he was scraping alongside of me in his black Honda. I rolled down my window, and un-politely asked the AYE-hole what he was up to, and mentioned that I was now involving the Fuzz. He didn't take to kindly to that and darted diagonally in front of me and slammed on his brakes. I slammed on mine, and stopped a few inches from him. I jumped out of the Tahoe and scurried around to take pics of his license plate.

Long story short, the Fuzz agreed with me,(first time ever) and cited the poor bastard for aggressive and improper lane change. We exchanged insurance info for the enormous scrape down my passenger side, and Dyl and Emma hardly even took their eyes of the Letter Factory they were watching, for the long ride home. I did notice that he had two screaming babies and a wife that looked pretty mad. What. A. Douche.

When I got home, Dave scooped us all up in a big hug, and then buffed out most of the damage to the car with his sweat shirt sleeve. What a man. He was extra sweet the whole night and only made one comment about his cajones being in my purse, when I whipped out the chick flick I had picked up for movie night. Seriously, the last 10 movies we have seen, have involved machine gun fire, and/or childhood superheros. Spare me.

After watching Inkheart with the kids, and sending them off to bed. We sat through He's Just Not That Into You, which was pretty lame, even by chick flick standards, although it did open up some interesting dialogue between us. I casually mentioned between tooth paste spits, all the terrible things I would do to Daveskins, and his mistress, should he ever cheat on me. He was down, as long as I never stop giving it up, or being fun. Since we are both in the throes of an upper respiratory virus, I offered to let him do his nightly nasal sprays off of my abs, in a kind of head-cold themed body shot. He declined, but I think we're pretty solid for now.

Caterpillars and Unitards

A very exciting day in the Broadbent household today. Our annual adopt-a-caterpillar-and-stuff-milkweed-in-a-glass-jar-until-the-caterpillar-metamorphs-or-we-give-up-because-we-figure-they-are-dead, was a blazing success. Whilst my mother was here, (she hates to be called "mother") she loaded down the four-wheeler with the Chitlins and in true country fashion, trespassed onto most of our neighbors property to extract prime young Monarch caterpillars, and all the milk weed they could possibly ever eat.

They were able to harvest 5, although in the transfer from containers, Cool Whip, to a glass pitcher, one escaped, most likely to his death, on the junk counter, among the piles of expired coupons and other important junk. A moment of silence, please.

The little 'pillars were all in different stages of their plumping when we got them, so two had morphed into butterflies last weekend. I was afraid that we had lost the other two, into a perpetual cocoon, but when we got home from Gram's today, they were black as could be. In just a few short hours they emerged wet and dewy from their cocoons and started to slowly move their wings. We moved them out to the patio and watched them dry off in the breeze. I watched them and was jealous of their upcoming trip to Mexico. Of course, since they are just going there to die, I guess I am content to hang in Oakley for a bit.

After naps today, Em got all 'tarded up to go to her first Acrobat lesson. Since she loves her little leotards so much, and is always twirling around, I decided to send her with her little friends, Brinley and Halle, to acrobat class. Dave thinks it probably won't yield any fantastic results, since Emma at two years old, already has three inches and twenty pounds on Shawn Johnson, but I reminded him, it is "Acrobatics," so that doesn't exclude a career in the circus, which is really where all the money, travel and prestige come into play.

When she got home, we got the full report. She had a great time, and only cried one time, when she missed her Mom, awwww. She twirled around and told her Bros' about performing headstands and somersaults, and then disappeared for a bit. When she made it back into the living room, she had changed from her 'tard, into Dawson's football shirt and executed a perfect diving tackle onto Dawson's back. It didn't take long for Dyl to get in on the action, and as Dave and I watched Emma expertly toss and pin her brothers, we thought about maybe adding a ballet class to her schedule. Yikes.

Dawson Luvs Me

In our scurry to get to the bus stop, on time the other day, Dawson and I, only managed to holler to each other, of our love. I didn't think anything of it and spent the next 20 minutes b.essing. with my friend at the bus stop. About an hour later, I came out of the shower, and heard Dyl giving someone the third degree on the phone. He handed it to me, and all I could make out was some tears and a lot of sniffing. Finally, after some coaxing, Dawson said, "Mom, 'sniff' I need to tell you 2 things, 'sniff'." Even when he is emotional, he is organized. The two things were, 1. That he forgot to give me a hug and kiss and tell me that he loves me, and 2. He forgot his lunch, and didn't want to have to eat pears at school.

Easily fixable things for sure. I wrote him a special note and stuck it in his lunch box, and then when I delivered the lunch to school, he came out and we had a great hug and kiss. All better.

Today when he came home from school, he slipped this note in my purse, and then couldn't wait for me to find it, so he brought it right to me. What a special kid, and he happens to be mine.

I had a weird day. It didn't start out all that great, as I woke up with a lump in my throat, and one stuffed nostril, that I swear trailed straight up into my brain. I was honestly surprised that my right eye wasn't cloudy because of it, and I had to talk fast and hard to convince myself it was just cause we slept with the window open. I cannot get sick.

I thoroughly dislike my niner shifts. I have to deal with traffic, and parking and all sorts of headaches.They don't come around all that often, as I am a regular 7aye to 7pee shifter, but at least I get to see the Hoodlums for a bit before I drop them off at the sitter, and by the time I swing through McDonalds, they are busy enough not to say, "Oh Miss Broadbent, I didn't know you worked today." Seriously, I am already eating there, why not let me keep a little dignity and not recognize me from my order?

This morning, I walked into the kitchen to find Dylan chowing down as fast as he could, on plain white bread. He does not like to eat breakfast away from home, and the speed was due to the fact that he wanted to get it gone before I caught him. I am not a fan of white bread, being the health nut that I am, and the only reason it even exists in our house, is because Daveskins has an all out tantrum, if I don't buy it for him. It gets really ugly, and I would rather just not deal with him holding his breath until he passes out. Don't even get me started on the toaster strudels.......

After a mass amount of hugs and kisses, I left my little sweeties, at the sitter and migrated towards the city. I hate traffic, and there was plenty of it, so by the time I got to the hospital, I was late, and my mood was dangerously teetering on the side of unpleasantness. I parked illegally in the visitor lot, and made it to the elevator a couple of minutes ahead of a family walking towards me. I turned around and plastered a smile on my face, but about broke my finger, trying to jab at any button that would close the doors. For some reason the damn doors kept closing half way and then opening again. When the family got on the elevator, I pressed the same button I had been pushing, which I thought was to the hospital entrance, and the doors half closed and opened right back up. Freak! The woman looked over at me and cooly said, "You have to push a button for a floor you're not already on." Yeah....well, duh. I was totally busted, and had to endure a painfully awkward ride. I should have just taken the 12 damn stairs.

In a big ER, you know it isn't good if you recognize your patient from previous visits, and that goes doubly so, for patients who you recognize from 12 hours ago on your last shift. My first patient, was detoxing from heroin, and was a total P.I.T.A.(pain in the......arm). He was in a hall bed, due to psych overcrowding, and was trying to negotiate some Dilaudid with me,(medical grade heroin), but I offered him Tylenol, so he threw his cup at me. I had gotten busy with some other patients when one of our security officers radioed me to let me know that my P.I.T.A. had something for me. As I came walking down the hall, all I could see was his arm sticking through the rails of the bed, and a completely full vomit bag, hanging from his fingers. Previously, during the cup throwing tantrum, he was really trying hard to force some puke, but without any luck, so I was impressed that he had managed to actually vomit. Thankfully, security intercepted me and gave me a heads up that the bag had come from underneath the patient's blanket. Dully noted. Life lesson #421- If you give the bird on your morning commute and don't hold the elevator for young families, you're going to get the patient that thinks it's kosh to pee in the hall.

In the afternoon, I had a bloody incident with a patient, and had to go to the locker room to change scrubs. While I was there I wanted to take advantage of our clean, private, bathroom, and had my pants around my ankles when the door flew open. I screamed and the housekeeper, Guadalupe screamed. I started apologizing, and when she opened her eyes and saw it was me, she just gave me this disgusted look and started muttering in Spanish. I have probably forgotten to lock the bathroom door at work about 4 times. For some weird reason, it is always Guadalupe that walks in on me. She must think I am doing this on purpose especially since this is the second time in two weeks. I know I will never forget when she walked in on me using my breast pump, after having Em. It was almost like she couldn't look away from the startled hefer with the full-speed motorized nipple stretcher, perched on the edge of a chair, in the bathroom. I know I still have flashbacks. I can't even imagine what she's telling the other housekeepers that look at me and snicker.

After the bathroom incident I needed a break, so I took a couple of Diet Cokes to my favorite-patient-of-the-day's room to relax. He was a feisty 90 year old guy who had been banned from meat due to an esophageal stricture, but decided to sneak a bite of Chicken Cordon Bleu anyway. The meat got stuck, so the patient's daughter dragged him in to get it removed. We drank our Coke's and fantasized about our favorite cuts of meat. He was a Pork Man, and I am a Beef Girl, but it is always so nice to bump into another meat lover, and it was just what I needed to get me through the rest of the day.

At 9:20, I bolted out of the hospital and headed to my car. At 9:35 I went back through the hospital after realizing I parked in a different garage, shizz. Finally, after wandering the parking levels, following the sound of my car alarm, I was on my way. There is no denying that I am deep in the throes of a head cold, but at least that gives me a legitimate reason to drink Nyquil, and hopefully awake tomorrow refreshed, and with a new resolve to be the kind of person that people say, "Deep down, she's really a nice girl."

Wow, what a fast summer this has been. The boys started school last week and it has been wonderful/sad. It is so nice to spend some one on one time with Dyl and Emma, but I miss Dawson coming home half way through the day and telling me all that happened at school. Both boys have been so tired after school, so I hope they start getting used to all the time they spend there. Last night, we had F.H.E. and Dave was able to give the boys a Fathers' Blessing. I am so grateful to have him as my husband and father to our kids. Emma jumped right down after Dylan's blessing to make sure she had one too. She really doesn't like to be left out, and still cries everytime Dyl gets on the bus to go to school. She says, "I wanna go to firs grade too."

We finally got our driveway poured and now we are working on the sprinkling system. Maybe next summer we will have a great yard. I am not looking forward to winter, although I can already feel a chill in the air. I hate being cold and stuck inside. Maybe we could find some money for a warm vacation in January. At least I will tell myself that so it makes the cold easier to stomach. I really am so glad to have Dave. He means everything to me and he is the best friend among other things, that I could ever hope to have.