World Down Syndrome Day, 3/21

3/21 is Down Syndrome Day.  Down Syndrome, aka, Trisomy 21, meaning when those tiny gametes met to create a zygote -- there was an extra chromosome 21 -- and that little zygote grew up to be our adorable miracle: Grant.  

So, he's just like the rest of us, except he has an extra chromosome.  It can make some things harder for him, like speech and fine motor skills -- but it also makes him pretty darn special; anyone who has ever been lucky enough to feel his hug knows exactly what I'm talking about.  He is patient, kind, loving and so stinking funny that he keeps us all giggling.  His connection with animals is infinitely deep, so much that it feels spiritual.  His tolerance of others is one I envy.  He teaches us new life lessons every single day and we are all better and wiser humans for it.

I'm so utterly humbled by and grateful for this little man that I can hardly go a day without seeing him.  He's my nephew, my little buddy, my helper and my backseat co-pilot and I can't imagine a life without him. ❤

Not All Sunsets and Fine Wine

My house plants are wilted and begging for water, laundry is piled waist high, clutter has overtaken every flat surface available, the refrigerator is home to new species of funk never meant to be edible and if I don't remember to order contacts tomorrow, I will soon be walking around without the gift of sight.  

My immune system is fighting valiantly to overcome the last viral assault launched my direction by a patient that actually PULLED DOWN HER MASK, turned towards me and coughed.  (Yep. Turns out "mask wearing" is a special skill not all are qualified for).  My body knows when to call uncle and retreat into a mini coma, which is how I've spent the last few days. You know I'm sick when my husband seeks refuge in the guest room and sends the dog in to sleep next to me.  It's the equivalent of sending a parakeet in with the miners down the mine shaft.  "If the dog's okay, she's okay."

I picked up too many shifts this month and these are the consequences. Everything is dirty, undone, dying or neglected.  Life has been shrunk down to a world that can be summed up in 3 words: work, sleep, repeat. Every minute is accounted for, every moment assigned.

Yet -- in the midst of the chaos, there is a level of validation that helps me find my smile.  There's a certain satisfaction in knowing that I can still keep up with the big dogs at work.  I may not eat, sleep and dream emergency nursing like I once did - but I haven't lost my touch, either.

And in an odd way, it's nice to know that things fall apart at home without me.  The dogs forget their manners, the goats lose their ever livin' minds, the chickens nearly starve to death (they won't come out of hiding even to eat for fear of running into a half-crazed goat) and my husband is counting down the days until he gets his wife (and clean laundry) back.  It's proof that, in some small way, my existence really does make a difference -- and that's enough for me.

To the rest of you nightshift working, family raising, full time nurses out there: You are ahhhh - mazing!!!  I promise to never judge your messy house, empty frig, the fact you fell asleep during your child's last dance recital or that time you wore two different shoes to work.

In all honesty, I hide from the goats, too.  If they see me, they start screaming at me to come play with them and don't stop until I do.  Goats are acutely alert and freakishly smart.  They know I put my eye contacts in every day and keep an eye through the window so they know when to start yelling for attention -- yes, EVERY single day.

Define Naughty

I saw a sign last year and I should have bought it at that moment - but the size was wrong, the color was off and seriously, I'm not paying nearly $40 for an old, beat up piece of wood with some witty words scribbled on it.  I knew I could make it and do it exactly the way I wanted it for about $6.  I stopped at the craft store on the way home.  I found almost everything I needed except for the board.  No problem, I'll pick one up later, right?

My bag of craft supplies sat on the counter for days.  It got moved to "the mail pile" and then to the top of the bar.  Around St.Patty's Day or Easter, the same bag was then stashed into one of the cubby spots IN the bar and there it has sat for the remainder of the year.  Oh yes, friends.  For every project that finds it's way to fruition, there are at least 10 others in various states of non-completion stashed somewhere waiting for the right moment of inspiration and energy to connect.  I'm terrible.  I hate that I'm terrible but my 4th decade has brought with it a new level of self-acceptance.  

I found my bag of craft supplies a few days ago and couldn't help but giggle.  I had been to the craft store for a totally different project and a little chalkboard caught my eye.  I didn't know what I was going to do with it but I knew it would work for something so I brought it home.  Wouldn't you know?  It was exactly what I needed to complete the sign I wanted to make 12 months earlier!

You see how life tends to circle back to things unfinished?

So I finished making my sign, finally.  And the timing was perfect.  Not only did I find a matching sticker but I had recently received a shipment from the wine club and everything came together so perfectly, I couldn't help but forward on a photo to Naked Winery, which you will understand better after seeing the photo...

They sent me a message that they loved it and were posting it on their Facebook Pages.  So tonight I'm celebrating my 10 seconds of Facebook fame with a nice glass of Naked Merlot.  Personally, I think they should find someone to make some signs and sell them as a package deal with wine, wine rack and sign for the holidays.  I have a list of people I'd like to send a gift package like that.  

Hmmm.... Wait, I have an idea.

Christmas Wreath

A glass of wine, a glue gun, a giant container of Christmas ornaments and a styrofoam wreath form = easiest Christmas project ever.  Seriously.  

A New Roost

The best things in life rarely come easy.  There is something about the struggle that embeds meaning, grips our soul and connects us to the parts of life we value most.  Marriage.  Children.  Careers.  None of it is easy but most of us can't imagine our lives without them.

Life has taught me to surround myself with goodness and beauty.  It keeps me alive and feeds my spirit.  I anchor it with truth.  Without the truth, nothing is real, so I cling to it as if it just might be the single thread holding us all together.  These are the goals I aspire to. This is how I want my life to be carved.  Simple.  Real.  Beautiful.  Full of goodness.  Full of love.

I'm not petitioning for sainthood and I don't always live up to my own expectations.  I don't claim to be perfect.  There are days that I don't even feel 'good enough.' We all fall down.  We all have bad days, myself included.  I make mistakes, too.  It happens.  It just means that we can be better or do better next time.  Most of us are able to rise above, endure and find ways to recenter ourselves.  We recalibrate.  We start over.  We pull each other towards goodness. We move on.  We grow into better humans.

I haven't been writing as much lately because I have been very busy with a new job.  I transferred from the first hospital that launched my nursing career to one that is a lot bigger and a little closer.  The truth is, leaving my old job was heartbreaking.  Things had changed to the point that I had begun questioning why I had ever become a nurse in the first place.  I know.  The enormity of that statement is not lost on me.  It was a very big deal.  I needed to recenter myself.  I needed to seek out goodness and a place that supported the ideals that I believe in.  I needed to let go of what once was so I could reach out and find what I needed.

I'm not going to lie, it was terrifying.  I'd been in one place for 7 years and they were the hardest but best 7 years of my adult life.  All established nurses know that nursing school teaches you to pass the boards - all real nursing skills come from "Boots (ah, Danskos rather) on the Ground" action.  Understanding the pathophysiology of multiple disease processes is swell but it doesn't really teach you what you need to do when a doc orders a STAT dose of lasix at midnight on a demented patient with Sundowner's who is suppose to be on full bed rest.

Nursing school doesn't prep you for specialty areas, like emergency nursing.  You learn all of that from your endearing coworkers and supervisors who build your skills and support you like you have your own personal education and cheerleading squad.  Leaving meant letting go, jumping the nest, flying the coop.  Walking away from all of those genuinely wonderful people and that amazing team was one of the hardest, scariest things I've done.  I still can't talk about it without my eyes filling up with tears.  (Crap, tear wipe. Sniff.)

Ok.  Deep breath.  The point of my story is that I did it and it was a great decision.  I love my job again.  I love showing up.  I love being a nurse.  I love working around ER medicine and ER patients.  I love my new coworkers and manager.  It's still a hard job.  It's still scary sometimes.  It's suppose to be.  It's often what we do or don't do that means the difference between someone living and someone dying.  We all take that very seriously and it's that purposeful teamwork that I love most.  I enjoy learning new skills from other nurses that do things a different way.  It feels good to dust off these Danskos and spread my wings a little.  It feels so good and I love it so much, in fact, that I'm picking up many more shifts than usual.  I've been working just shy of what a full time position would be which is why I've been so busy.  I believe those hours will decrease as open shifts become less available in the next few weeks but for now, I'm a little worker bee.

This also means I have a pile of unfinished projects, my house is a wreck, laundry is backed up and all of the hilarious stories I have to share are protected by HIPPA laws and will never get to leave my own head.  Bummer.  There are some good ones!  Did I mention I love my job?!

Nest Management

My sister's Facebook post about her husband asking her if she was going to clean the house before she left to pick the kids up today reminded me of a moment I had last week.

I came home from a quick trip over the hill to find my own husband at the tail end of a cleaning fit; you know, that deep clean that happens after you find something gross, get pissed and freaked out at the same time then gut the house of any evidence of dirt, grime or disarray.

I stood in one spot, overnight bag still hanging from my shoulder, mouth gaped open as I watched him buzz from room to room, in various stages of cleaning, giving me a list of all the things he had done and a long list of things that still needed to be done, in an exasperated tone that well, frankly, I had only heard come out of me before.  

He was like a disheveled Tasmanian Devil on crack-cocaine, talking with his hands, a broom in one hand, a bottle of cleaner in the other, a rag tucked under one arm and a garbage bag hanging from his elbow.  Was that sweat on his brow?

A big smile crept over my face as cardboard and expired food goods began flying out the pantry door and I cautiously, gently and lovingly said, "Oh honey, you are nesting!"  In that single moment, I was both grateful for his efforts and SOOOOO thankful that he wasn't like that very often.  

Now, I don't mind being "the one" with the responsibility of keeping the house in order.  Not only is it my excuse to have a housekeeper come in and help me a couple times a month, but living on the flip side of a cleaning fit is downright terrifying!  Who knew?

I also now completely understand why hunting season and fall cleaning coincide.  Next year, I hope he gets his deer tags.

As Quiet as a Spouse

I grew up in a loud house.  We didn't whisper, the dishes clanged and banged when they came out of the cupboard and there wasn't a big difference between walking and stomping.  Sneaking wasn't sneaking - it was more like not getting caught because someone else in another part of the house was being louder.  To top it off, I'm clumsy and have really crappy vision, especially after I take my contacts out.

My nightshift life keeps me up late.  Jeff's farm boy schedule puts him to sleep early.  This means that I spend my nights attempting to sneak around a dimly lit house and I am terrible at it.  You would think I would improve with practice but no.  It has yet to happen.  Jeff can get out of bed every morning, shower, get dressed and leave the house like a ghost.  He grew up hunting.  The guy is freaky quiet in sneak mode.  

I've spent 7 years of nights running into door frames, walls and doors.  I bend over in the dark to take off my socks and whack my head on my nightstand.  I've missed steps both on the way down and up the stairs.  I've dropped pans.  I have shattered more than one glass.  I've tripped over the shoes I've just taken off.  I've tripped over thin air.  I've lost my balance sneaking into our pitch black closet feeling my way to my PJs.  I've walked into the screen door - and the glass slider.  Cupboards slam, electronics malfunction.  I was once listening to my earphones only to realize when I took them out that the sound was playing through the speakers, too.  I think you get the idea.  I'm not really quiet.

So last night, I stayed up late.  I wasn't sleepy.  The outside temp was suppose to hit nearly freezing. (Eeeeee-gads!  What about the tomatoes?!) Scout, the wonder Aussie, was restless.  So I was up until just past 4.  I got ready for bed and didn't make a peep...  I'm practicing.  He will never take me hunting if I can't manage how much noise I make.  I was so proud of myself!

I was on the homestretch.  All I had to do was move my clothes off the end of the bed and slip in without waking him up.  I reached my hand out into the darkness to grab my sweatshirt and heard a yell.  I screamed.  Well, I had miscalculated where I was in the room and when I reached out to grab my sweatshirt, I mistakingly grabbed Jeff's warm, wiggly foot instead.  He came out of a dead sleep, doing the drowning man as he came to.  I screamed, not only because what ever I had a hold of was alive and moving but Jeff's yell startled the bajeezus out of me.  I would have wet my pants if I had anything in my bladder.  What a disaster!  And who can sleep after an adrenaline rush like that? 

So tonight there will be no sneaking.  There will be no darkness.  There will be no quiet.  I'm less loud when I'm not trying to be so quiet.  Better yet, I think I'll sleep upstairs and just face the fact I will never be a stealthy hunter or quiet spouse.  

Antler Light Fixture

I have been working on lots of little projects to make our house into the home that fits us.  When we built it in 2004, we had a different future in mind.  We designed this house to raise a family.  Life has a way of changing plans in spite of our greatest efforts.  We adjusted.  We got busy.  The house got old and it's time for some updates.

So, I've been working to make this happen.  Not only was this my first real house but it was custom designed by a collaborative effort between me, Jeff, my dad who drew up the plans and Rocky, the builder -- plus anyone else who was willing to give advice along the way.  I love it too much to leave it but there are lots of little things I would do differently next time. 

We have an awesome wrap around porch but the lighting has always bothered me.  So much, in fact, that I'd rather just leave the burnt out bulbs in place and ignore them.  I've been keeping my eyes open for something that would speak to me.  After our trip to Jackson, Wyoming last winter - I knew exactly what we needed, I wanted a new antler light fixture for the deck.  I waited for the right fixture to go on sale for the right price and pulled the trigger.

Light fixtures are easy to swap out.  It's a matter of unscrewing things, matching like colored wires, screwing them back in and calling it good.  Usually.  Until there is an extra wire.  And a mismatched colored wire.  And the ladder barely reaches.  And you have to perform all of installation tasks 16 feet in the air with one arm because you are holding the 30 pound fixture with the other hand.  But after a 911 call to my favorite electrician, an impromptu trip to borrow my brothers ladder and a little bit of blood, sweat and tears -- the fixture was up -- and it's beautiful.

Before:

After: