Monday, May 24, 2010

Conversations from the Back Seat

Some of my best memories of my girls happen while we drive all over Southern New England. This weekend the conversation went something like this:

Hilde: "Mom the car in front of us is a Passat, just like your old one. Does it make you miss your car?"

Me: "Yes, it does. *sigh* I love that car."

Maeve: "Sarah (our babysitter) was talking about what she would do if she won the $170 Power Ball Jackpot. She said she would make sure all her friends had a safe place to live, then she would buy herself a car and then the car you've always wanted and then buy us a pony."

Me: "That's a very wise and thoughtful plan that Sarah has if she wins." I was thinking of the safe place to live part.

Hilde quips: "Yes, it is very wise of Sarah to buy us a pony."

Also heard this....

Maeve and Hilde singing two of their favorite songs, back to back. Carrie Underwood's Temporary Home and Jesus Take the Wheel.

*sniff* *sniff*

I needed a Kleenex.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Strange things that you worry about in the ER

A little back drop to the following story.

I have been suffering on and off from mild abdominal pain. I have been gathering anecdotal evidence that I may have a gall bladder problem. The pain usually lasts a few hours and then goes away. I could push through it. Well, not anymore. Saturday night and then Tuesday, I was writhing in pain. On Saturday after about 4 hours, the pain subsided when I placed a heating pad on my stomach and when I woke up Sunday morning I was better. Tuesday night was a different story. I ended up in the emergency room at Rhode Island Hospital shortly before midnight for what would be an all night stay.

After a definitive gall bladder diagnosis became not-so-definitive, I needed a few new tests.

The very nice, attractive but geeky, way too young ER doctor announced that I would have to have a test that would rule out blood in my stool.


Okay, when you hear this a lot of things run through the average person's mind. Is it going to hurt, how embarrassing, is this really necessary, etc. What was I thinking about?

My underwear.

I am not really embarrassed by any medical procedure. After birthing two babies at two different teaching hospitals (read: they called everyone in the rooms and I had an audience), multiple surgeries and a tattoo, I don't really have any modesty left, especially in medical situations.

I do worry about what people think of me.

When I left for the hospital I wasn't really thinking clearly. This most likely was due to the pain and vomiting. If I had been thinking, I would have changed my underwear.

You see, before the onset of this pain, I had been packing for a trip to see my parents in Virginia. So, of course all my sensible, nonchalant underwear were packed. (Because you bring your sensible underwear when you visit your parents.)

So, instead of boring-ol', sensible underwear, I had on the black, lacy, see-through kind that I wear on only two occasions. The first is when there is no other clean underwear. The second is when I know that my husband will be seeing said underwear sometime in the near future.

It is definitely not the underwear you wear when very nice, attractive but geeky, way too young ER doctor is examining your bottom area.

He did give me the chance to decline the test. For a split second I thought, "Oh I can decline." then I thought, "I could be dying and I am going to decline a test because I don't want him to see my underwear!"

It was really a dilemma.

So, to add insult to the injury I let him perform the test. Since he was a very kind, attractive but geeky, way too young ER doctor he didn't say anything.

He did however, give me the wrong discharge papers.

Daniel says this is because the underwear made him flustered.

Whatever it was I am glad he didn't comment because I would have been mortified.

Just like I am now because I know this blog gets emailed to my father.

Sorry, dad.

....And sorry Dr. S. Biegen. I am sure in your career you will experience stranger, more bizarre things (especially if you stay at RIH) but hopefully they won't involve me.

Monday, May 3, 2010


Our daughters are the most precious of our treasures, the dearest possessions of our homes and the objects of our most watchful love.-- Margaret E. Sangster

Eleven. I am not ready. Maeve will be eleven at 7:55pm on May 4th. Eleven means only two more years until teenager-ness. Emotionally she has been seventeen since she was four, but now the rest of her is catching up. She is finally growing. She gained six pounds this year. So, this marks the first year that the pediatrician didn't send me home with instructions to feed her more.

Maybe it is because she is so small that I have a hard time with her getting older. She doesn't look eleven, if eleven had a look to it.

Eleven means more independence and more steps ahead of me. She was three steps ahead of me at her birthday party, she had the time-table down and moved from crafts to games to presents way ahead of me. I decided Daniel and I don't have to come to the party next year, she can handle it.

Eleven means middle school. Three years until High School and seven until college. Our college fund is not ready.

Eleven means four years and eight months until a learner's permit. Didn't she just learn to ride a bike? She just left her booster seat for goodness sakes!

Eleven means that she blushes around boys.

I am not ready for eleven. She is, but I am not.