Why I'm probably never going to volunteer in an ER...

This post is mostly for Hilary.  And any other mom that isn't good with blood or fluids. 

It was 5:45 AM Monday morning, and I had just gotten back in bed after feeding the dogs.  Actually, for accuracy's sake, I got up to pee a little after 5:30, and the dogs were all like, "BREAKFAST!"  I didn't want them to wake the baby, so I gave in and put kibble in their bowls so they would collectively calm the f*ck down. 

Note:  The dog thing happens every morning.  Sometimes I pretend I'm still asleep because I can FEEL them waiting for me to move or show signs of stirring.  It is very annoying.  I'd fix it if A) I knew how; and B) if I was more motivated to take a stand in the pre-dawn hours (which, no.  I just want to get the whole shebang over with so I can go back to bed).

Anyway, I climbed back in bed, pulled the covers up to my chin and started drifting back to sleep.  Then, all of sudden, I heard a loud THUD in the nursery followed a blood curdling scream.

I assumed that Banner had fallen out of his crib.  Except the thud - although loud - wasn't quite loud enough to be his little thirty pound body hitting the floor.  So - in the five seconds that it took me to sprint from my bed to Banner's room - I was imagining that he had fallen out of the crib and hit some toy (like his rocking cow) on the way down.  And of course I was thinking the worst, because I am a catastrophist and that is what I do.

Except when I arrived, Banner was still in his crib.  Which was initially confusing because I was still half asleep and thinking the worst while simultaneously looking for the source of the thud that precipitated the screaming in the first place.  And then I saw all the blood, and...well, I'm not sure what happened next because I panicked and started shrieking for Trevor.

Here's the thing.  I'm not good with fluids.  Poop and snot are a real challenge for me some days, which makes me feel guilty because everyone used to tell me that I'd be able to deal with them better once I had a child.  Yes, I do deal with them, but I wouldn't say it has gotten any easier.  And then there is vomit, which...well, makes me vomit.  Or at least almost vomit.  Banner had some bad milk back in December and threw up all over the back of Trevor's car, and I almost followed suit.  True, I was the one who drew the short straw and cleaned it up (Trevor bathed the baby), but I had to do it outside in the fresh air.  It was (literally) freezing, and the fabric cleaners and deodorizers kept turning to an icy slush on the car seat cover.  But I preferred numb hands to the alternative which involved being able to smell regurgitated spoiled milk.

So, it should come as no surprise that I am also not so good with blood.  Actually, I take that back, I'm fine with blood.  I donate blood.  The smell of blood doesn't bother me.  The sight of blood doesn't bother me.  INJURIES bother me.  PAIN bothers me.  And, for whatever reason, blood BOTHERS me greatly if associated with injuries and pain.  Does that make sense?  I can watch real life medical stuff (surgeries and what have you) on TV, because they are fixing the person.  Blood in that situation is apparently fine.  But blood as a result of an accident?  I freak the f*ck out.  Honestly, I think it is because - for a nano second - I can feel their pain.  Or imagine their pain.  And then I'm in pain and screaming with them, because I'm super unhelpful and empathic that way.

But back to Monday morning, Trevor came sprinting into the nursery with visions of compound fractures in his head mostly because I'm screaming like my child has just amputated his arm and thrown it at me.  Except, in reality, Banner had just bumped his nose on his crib and was bleeding from his right nostril.  Which doesn't sound like that big of a deal unless I explain to you that I've never had a bloody nose; despite my deviated septum and years of playing rugby on two continents.  In fact, I told Trevor YEARS AGO that if I - or any of our hypothetical future offspring - ever sustained a bloody nose, he would have to deal with it because I lack the experience necessary to be anything but a hysterical lunatic.

See how well I know myself?

Anyway, Trevor dealt with the nose bleed like a champ.  Which means he did nothing but comfort our child until it stopped bleeding on its own.  Luckily, this didn't take very long, and Banner was his happy, giggly self less than five minutes later.  Nose fine.  Teeth fine.  Crisis over.

Meanwhile, I was still all shaky and hyped up on adrenaline.  To calm myself, I stripped the bed and baby, stain treated every thing and tossed it in the washer.  Trevor mocked me for having to do all this immediately, but - to my credit - there isn't a single blood stain on any of the affected bedding or clothing.  Also, it meant that I had done two loads of laundry from start to finish before 8 AM. 

How's that for efficiency?

Because, apparently, I'm the efficiency QUEEN post crisis.  Which is probably why you want me on your team after the start of the zombie apocalypse.  Assuming I don't get eaten, because we've already concluded I'm not good with the initial injuries+pain+blood thing.  Hopefully I'll have Laryngitis that day so the zombies don't hear me screaming while I'm processing the shock, blood, PAIN and brains of the situation.

After that, I'm golden.

Jog'r Egg Nog'r...

Why is it that every race we want to run this year happens to coincide with some sort of major weather event?  The Turkey Trot was a frigid 28 degrees at race time, the half marathon was canceled due to the ice storm and the Jog'r Egg Nog'r took place mere hours after a major cold front hit the area.  Twenty four hours earlier, it had been 68 and sunny.  I wore flip flops.  But at race time Saturday morning, it was pouring down rain and a blustery 40 degrees.  Officially, it only rained about an inch and a quarter at the airport, but my rain gauge told a different story.  Just over three inches filled the little plastic tube in our backyard by Saturday afternoon.  Which is important to note since the race started and ended within walking distance of our house.  It is like the rain gods knew a$$hats like Trevor and I would be running outside that morning, and saved the real heavy downpours for our heads.  Lucky us, right?

All this sort of explains why I could be seen sporting a garbage bag at 8:30 Saturday morning. Some people actually ran the entire race in their garbage bag, but I was stupid and took mine off before the race started. By the end of the first mile, I was completely soaked. I'd say it was awesome, but it was actually rather uncomfortable, heavy and…well, drippy.

Then it started to thunder about 1.2 miles in, and that 5K turnaround point never looked so good.  Except I was registered for the 15K, and I couldn't let Trevor show me up.  Because I have to live with him.

All in all, it took us just over an hour and a half to run 9.3 miles.  Not as fast as the Turkey Trot a few weeks ago, but not bad considering I'd been laid up with food poisoning and fever on Tuesday and Wednesday.  That and I find it hard to run fast when the street is covered in water.

But the most hysterical part of the morning came after the race was over.  I came in first in my division and Trevor came in second in his.  Sounds impressive, right?  But that is what is so funny!  Because it isn't hard to do really, really well in the standings when less than an eighth of the registrants show up and run the actual race.  Also helpful?  I was the ONLY person in my division, and Trevor was one of two in his.  So to qualify, all we had to do was FINISH.

Go us!

(Also, my division was "Athena".  Which sounds all awesome, but just means I weigh more than 150 pounds.  So, basically, I came in first in the fat a$$ division.  But it is all good because I still beat every single one of those skinny b*tches that finished after me.  And we all know that is what really matters when trying to outrun a bear or zombie.  Silver lining:  REALIZED.)

Of course, we had to stand around for forty five minutes after the race to claim our prizes.  Because it isn't like we are first and second in our divisions every day.  We had to relish in that sh*t.

Plus, they had eggnog.  The good stuff.  With whisky. 

Posing post race with our coffee mug "trophies"!

The CDC, Zombies and ;P

I am so glad that the CDC finally decided to follow my lead, and start encouraging people to come up with an emergency preparedness and response plan in the event of a zombie attack in the United States:

CLICK HERE FOR THE CDC'S WEBSITE IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME

Obviously, if the world ends on Saturday, zombies will be the least of our worries. But it is always better to be safe than sorry. You know, just in case.

On home improvements. And, well, zombies...

Thanks to Melissa for this little tidbit:

READ ME

I am just excited that This Old House is taking the risk of an impending zombie attack seriously. ;P

Appreciate away...

In case you didn't hear, May is Zombie Appreciation Month.

Not sure how you are supposed to go about "appreciating" zombies, but this is just as good of a time as any to stock up on bottled water, canned food and some sort of weapon to protect yourself with.

Luckily, Rach is back in town from Africa, so at least that part of the plan is going...well, according to plan.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

I never said I was a rational thinker...

Last night, Trevor and I waited eagerly for President Obama's big announcement. There was a lot of speculation about what he would say. The broadcast journalists just kept talking about how rare late night, last minute Presidential speeches are. The only thing known for sure was that it was a matter of national security.

During this time of anxious waiting, I started to convince myself that maybe...just maybe...Obama was going to announce that the zombie apocalypse had begun. No kidding. I even asked Trevor if I should fill up the bathtubs with fresh water.

So, it was relief to hear that Osama bin Ladin had finally been caught. For so many reasons.

If I ever have kids, I hope they never have to do a school project on what mommy and daddy were doing when they heard the news that bin Ladin was dead. Because I would be lying if I didn't say that daddy was trying to talk mommy off of mount crazy.

In my defense, I blame that Honda Civic commercial with the zombie. And Rachel over at Singular Girl. Thanks to them, I've had a hard time getting my mind off the undead.

Bother.

How I accidentally turned Lazarus into a zombie...

Last week in Sunday School we were supposed to teach the kiddos about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.

If there had been a word of the day, it would have been “resurrection”. We all but hit them over the head with it.

First we played a version of hot potato. The rules were the same as regular hot potato (i.e. the person caught holding the ball when the music stopped was out), with one major difference. Randomly the word “resurrection” was called, and everyone who was “out” was allowed to come back in to the circle. The kids really enjoyed this activity. The teachers would have enjoyed it more if there was a good way of ending it. After all, it is hard to find a good stopping point with all the constant resurrecting of old players.

We also had the kids draw butterflies by tracing the outlines of their hands on a piece of construction paper, and then decorating them.


This activity drew heavily on the kids understanding of the whole caterpillar-cocoon/chrysalis-butterfly cycle. The idea was to have the kids connect a butterfly emerging from the cocoon as being reborn or, you guessed it, resurrected.

Additionally, the kids read the Bible story about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, and wrote down their weekly bible verse. Basically: Resurrection, resurrection, resurrection.

Finally, it was my turn to teach. I drew a picture of tree in winter on the dry erase board, and asked the kids if the tree looked dead or alive. They all yelled, "Dead", so I asked them how I could make it look more alive. "By drawing leaves on it", they called out.

So, I had them come up and take turns decorating the tree. We only had one green, so the kids also drew lights, flowers and whatnot on the branches. We even had Steve the Squirrel, Tom the Turtle and a random butterly represented, although I am not quite sure how they came to be part of the drawing.






After the tree was finished, the kids returned to their seats and I asked them again if the tree looked dead or alive. This time the answer was, “Alive!”


Me: “So before we drew leaves and decorations on the tree it looked like it was what?”

Kids: “Dead! Like in winter!”

Me: “Exactly! And what do we call it when something is dead and it comes back to life? Like in the story of Jesus and Lazarus? Resur…”

Andrew (one of the kids): “…ZOMBIES!”

Me: “Wait, no…”

Other teacher: “Well, kind of…”

Kids: “Zombies! When something is dead and it comes back to life it is called a 'zombie'!"

Trevor: “[Shaking head] I am never going to think of Easter the same way again.”

Sigh...

I can only imagine what the kids told their parents later on:

Mom or Dad: “So, what did you learn in Sunday School today?”

Child: “Well, we played hot potato and drew pictures of butterflies and learned about Jesus turning Lazarus into a zombie."

Mom or Dad: “That’s nice, hon…wait. What?”