Delirium

If you haven't heard of Zhu Zhu pets, I hope you remain ignorant.

I am not so lucky.  My poor son and I traipsed all over town today looking for the darned things to give as a birthday present to D's niece (whose birthday was more than 2 weeks ago, by the way...we're terrible...).  It was after dinner, and after a long day, and E was being extremely good, but I could tell it was wearing on him, because he was starting to lose control of his limbs.  I'll explain in some other post, but it's hilarious.  He starts to lose coordination, I'm serious.

Anyway, we had just come out of Wally World, which happened to have one Zhu Zhu product, but not the one we were searching for (I bought it anyway, as surety against further disappointment).  And I had put a cardigan on whilst in the Big W, since fall is in the air and all that.  But apparently E missed that development in his sleepiness.

Because while we were trudging into Toys 'R Us, he put his hand on my arm, and jumped about a mile in the air, then exclaimed, "I thought you were turning into a BEAR!"

I laughed so hard that I cried.

I Haven't Been Around in a While...

But I'm baaaaaack!

Quick update, just to get things rolling.  Jess, I heard your complaint, I just had to finish Step 2 before I let anything else fun happen in my life...

My sister moved to New Orleans to go to law school.  She is Legally Blonde-ing it up down there, and having a blast.  I'm so jealous.

My brother moved to the LA area to go to film school.  He is taking gorgeous pictures and eating Filipino food, and having a blast.  I'm so jealous.

So now it's just me, my boys, and the rents here in the city!

My life path took a rather abrupt turn at the onset of my surgery rotation last May, with the result that I'm deserting pediatrics for general surgery! The residency application process started up officially on September 1st and I've already applied to 30 places.  Because I'd really like to get a job...

E finished up a semester of piano lessons with his first piano recital.  It was adorable, and he performed wonderfully.  Unfortunately, due to our time constraints, we had to pick between soccer and piano this semester.  And piano we can provide, but soccer is a little more difficult when you only have one 6-year-old on your team.  So piano is currently being provided by my long-suffering mother.  She's awesome.

We went to Dallas, San Antonio, and South Padre Island for our vacation this summer.  And then E traveled to Branson and South Dakota with various in-laws.  Craziness.

Newest on the lifestyle adjustments is finding a babysitter.  It's a drama, but we finally (may have) found someone.  We're meeting her tomorrow, and if she's at all normal and safe to be around children, she's going to get paid a lot to make my life much easier.  So I'm looking forward to it.

That's about it for now! I'm glad you stuck around, if you're reading this...

We're Going on a Bear Hunt

Remember that book/rhyme/game? We probably all played or read some form of it as kids. Well, my son has never read that book for some reason. But he has his own version of the bear hunt...it's called (and I quote) "Jungle Hunt". It involves E and his meek mama creeping creepily through his room, stopping frequently to comment in awed tones on various toys that have morphed into either statues or robots or treasure. 'Robots?' you say. Yes, robots. There are robots in this jungle. And they periodically come to life and chase any unsuspecting jungle travelers, forcing us to run for the trees (aka his upper bunk) and hide under the covers, clutching whatever supplies we may have packed in our trusty jungle pack close to our bosoms. It's ridiculous. And he gets a huge thrill out of it, to where it's our "special game". Probably because it's the only game Mommy's apparently any good at.

Yesterday, we played this game. And everything was going fine and dandy as usual (we found an "ancient sword" and the "ancient hands of a giant" and a mini version of said giant that cast a reddish glow and looked suspiciously like someone who would say "you won't like me when I'm angry") until the robots came to life and chased us to our treetop haven. Whereupon the game suddenly morphed to involve Bakugans.

Bakugans are currently E's favorite toy. If you don't know what the little devils are, they are literally small balls that have a magnet in them, so when you roll/pass them over special magnetized cards (one in every package!), the balls pop open to reveal tiny little anime creatures. Like Transformers, but tiny and magnetized and in balls. And more Japanese. He's obsessed, and there is apparently some form of card-trading game where exchanges of "G's" and various "powers" are made. Unfortunately, this game is unimaginably complicated when described by a five-year-old who likes to make up his own rules when the game starts going against him... Anyway, most of our games recently have been involving Bakugan (Bakugans? Bakugani?) and I was looking forward to a respite. But oh no. There we were, in our airy sanctuary, and the darn things make their appearance.

The next thing I knew, E told me we were making a "virus", which involved some ridiculous ritual of mixing the cards up, casting some spells, picking out the cards that were miraculously turned upside-down, and throwing them down on the floor while yelling "Evackirate!" at the tops of our lungs and then adding up points on the cards. This somehow equaled making a virus.

I can't explain him. I'm just there for the show.

I'd like to dedicate this post to my friend Fenny, who made me laugh with a recent blog post on the impossibilities of playing with your kids. While E and I were playing this game, I was thinking to myself "some other kid would be so much better at this than I am. I have NO idea when it's appropriate to celebrate because I've created a virus, or be scared because I've uncovered the ancient sword." So here's to us, Fenny, and our attempts to fit into their magical worlds. I don't remember how to live there, but I can watch through the windows.

Healing

Disclaimer: I'm feeling religious this evening, so don't read this if you are in the mood to roll your eyes.  Or do, because I'll provide fodder or something.  But hey, if you can't write about religion during Lent, when can you?

I went to Mass this evening, because it's Holy Thursday.  While there, I was thinking about why I've remained Catholic, in the face of all the bad rep and/or influence out there.  I was thinking about why I hate to miss Mass on Sundays, on why I drag my husband kicking and screaming, on why I do my best to bring up my son with a healthy respect for why we go to church every weekend without fail.

For me, it goes beyond wanting to please my mother any more.  Something goes missing in my weekly life when I don't make it to Mass, and something feels incomplete for the rest of the week until I can go again.

I think it is because Mass is a haven for me.  No one at Mass is judging me (at least where I can hear them) and no one is asking anything of me.  I don't have to be the perfect medical student, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect daughter.  I don't have to interact with anyone else, don't have to present a front to the world.  I get to interact with my faith and my God only.  I get to just be me, in the silence and stillness of my own soul.  I get to reflect only on me and the positioning of my life for one precious hour.  I get the chance to voice all of my joys, my worries, my concerns, my secret fears, my sins to a God who I truly believe listens to me, even if only with half an ear (He's busy, after all, I cut Him some slack...).  In a life of unscheduled, spontaneous chaos, where my days revolve around the wishes of so many other people, the Mass is highly structured, with no uncertainty and no surprises.  It's such a relief to spend an entire hour doing something so ritualistic, something that has been the same for my entire life, for hundreds of years, something that in essence never changes and hopefully never will change. A girl likes a little stability in her life.

And in the end, I truly feel so lucky/blessed/happily predestined/whatever in this life.  I feel as if I have so much joy that I could never possibly deserve.  And if I choose to attribute that joy to a higher being, to something larger than chance, and if I choose to be grateful for that joy, what better way than to give an hour of my week over to reflecting on that gratitude?  It's only an hour.  And I receive so very much in return.

The Parents' Club is Kind of Exclusive

I love animals just as much as the next person (ok, less than some people I know...D...). But I have sort of a pet peeve. (Pun non-intentional until I reread this post...) And none of my best friends who have pets have EVER done this to me, so I don't feel bad about bringing it up here...

When people are talking about their children, I understand that it may be difficult to participate in the conversation. But let us have our time. Our children drive us crazy and make our lives difficult, it's nice to revel in our shared insanity and shared delirious joy when we can. But we don't think we're the only ones who have ever been around children, so jump in with questions, comments, whatever. At the least, we will act as a form of birth control.

But for goodness' sake, please don't ever attempt to jump into the conversation by saying: "Well, I have a four-legged child!"

Because later that day, when I tell my husband about how ridiculous you sounded, he'll say things like "Did you ask if they had considered any surgeries for it?" And then I'll laugh.

(As an aside, I'll be perfectly happy to listen to you talk about your precious pet. Believe me, I'll be jealous of how easy it was for you to potty-train it. Just pick your moments better than my classmates generally do.)

What would I do without him?

Thank God my husband was here last week.  Because it was a bad week.

In med school, certain rotations are dreaded by all.  Well, one specific rotation, really.  Both because of the intense nature of surgeons pretty much everywhere and because of the impossible work hours.  And I'm definitely not eager to start my surgery rotation at the end of the school year.

But as of tomorrow, I will have completed the rotation I was dreading the most: Neurology.

It's only a 2-week rotation (thank goodness), but the course director is one of the most terrifying men I've ever met (because he's manic and opinionated and loud and not very nice).  And neurology and I did not get off to a good start my first year of med school.  Let's just say me and the brain do not get along.  So I was NOT looking forward to this rotation.

That may have been a self-fulfilling prophecy, because sure enough, by the 2nd day, I was holding back tears.  My mind was blanking during lectures, and I was completely incapable of answering such basic questions as "What are the parts of the cerebellum?"  I mean, come on, I should know this stuff.  But I didn't.  My mind was dead and I couldn't even come up with good B.S. answers.  Needless to say, I embarrassed myself pretty thoroughly and spent the rest of the week frantically trying to improve my performance, and failing miserably.  By Friday, I was a nervous wreck.

D and I had last weekend to ourselves.  So we saw The Reader, which was very good, but made me cry.  Now, I'm the type of person who cries a lot during movies and not very much in real life (well, except for certain times...mod people, don't tell on me).  But I guess I opened the floodgates, because once we got home, I succumbed to about an hour of torrential crying.  Over stupid neuro, for goodness' sake.

I have to say, I've had some low points in my life, but I've never felt truly depressed until that night.  I felt hopeless, as if things were never going to improve, and like I was completely incapable of doing anything right.  I wanted to quit med school.  I was reminding myself of all the things I've given up in order to be where I am right now, and telling myself that it just wasn't worth it.  And in retrospect, I was just scared and exhausted and stressed and tired of holding myself together.  I just needed to let it all out, but at the time, I thought I wouldn't be able to move on from that point.

But I did.  Because D was there, holding my hand and patting my shoulder the entire time.  I was feeling so sorry for myself that my own mother probably would have given up and walked away after about 10 minutes, much less an hour.  But D stayed and said all the right things.  And he said one thing that really struck me and has been kind of a mantra for me this past week:

"The real world hasn't changed.  We're still here.  Just come back to us."

...this week was much better.  I can do this.

Stacy London, we've done something awful

I made the mistake of putting the TLC show "What Not To Wear" on our DVR list last week.  All the episodes that were running.  So by yesterday evening, I had about 12 episodes to watch, and that didn't include the repeats...  Needless to say, this weekend I spent a lot of time clearing the list.  And my poor, hapless husband and son were forced to watch with me at times.

This came back to bite me.  I was at the mall today, engaging in some intensive retail therapy.  I happened to be in a clothing store, examining the shoes, when E piped up from behind me: "Oh, no, Mom, not those."  (Now, I must admit, I'm always "involving" him in the process by asking him what he thinks, so we had established a premise for him to give fashion advice long before this.) 

"What's wrong with these?!" I gasped.  (And I'll have you know, they were adorable.)

"Remember?  'What not to wear?'" He replied, with a rather "duh, Mom, they're awful" intonation.

I'm not sure what he meant, exactly, but I know that [straight] men everywhere are screaming in horror.

Well, If It's True...

Whilst finishing up after my son's very cursory self-brushing of his teeth, I mentioned (to myself, primarily), that he needed to go to the dentist.

"WHAT?" He moaned, horror in his eyes.  "Um. You liked the dentist." I reminded him.

"Oh, yeah," He replied sheepishly.  "After all, the last time I went, she was quite....quite...."

"Quite impressed."


I should have taken him down a few pegs by informing him that if "she" had been at all impressed the last time he went to the dentist, it definitely wasn't due to his stellar tooth-brushing skills.  But I was busy trying not to laugh.

I Miss You, Mickey D

My New Year's resolution actually started before 2009. It began back in November, when I realized that my honeymoon on the beach in December was swiftly creeping up on me...I'm sure you can guess what my resolution was. So, I started counting calories (with the help of The Daily Plate) and working out (with the help of Billy). And it worked! I didn't really lost that much weight before I met the beach, and I didn't exactly develop a 6-pack. But despite the fact that I'm pretty sure I look exactly the same in the mirror, I felt better about wresting control of my health from the tyrannical rule of medical school. Believe me, the lack of free time is more influential on one's well-being than the hazard and/or motivation of being around sick people all day.

Suffice it to say that I started, and I've continued the habit into the New Year, with the aim of reaching the size I was way back when I was 17 and a soccer player. We'll see how that goes. I'd settle for being able to move fast enough to keep up with residents in the hospital stairwells.

Two lovely friends of mine (and occasionally my mother and sister) have been helping me stay motivated by joining me for group sessions in the evenings after my son has been banished to his bed. Our combined collection of workout videos includes such gems as Hip Hop Abs and "Bollywood Booty". In the former, we get to shake our backsides to the Pussycat Dolls, and the in the latter, we get to practice our "Bollywood vogue" hands. Seriously. And if anything's going to keep me pointed straight toward my goal, it's the joy of dancing to Indian music with two of my best friends and laughing our butts off as we "paint the world with love".

Being Green

On our way to the house to change for dinner (out of nice clothes into t-shirts and jeans, ironically), E was calmly eating a bag of M&Ms in the back seat. Yes, I give him candy before dinner. If I do it, I can't expect him not to...

Anyway, so he's eating the devil dots, and the next thing I know, he says "Mama, can we recycle this M&M bag?"

I was instantly overcome with pride. My obsession with searching out every single recyclable item in our lives had been picked up by my five-year-old son! O frabjous day! (My mom made me memorize that poem when I was about 11 and I can still recite it 13 years later. So don't blame me, blame my crazy literature-obsessed homeschooling mom.)

I answer, "Probably," immediately trying to categorize to myself which bin that little bag is going to end up in (help me out: it's paper, right?). Then E says "Good. Because I tore it up."

And sure enough, as I whip around to cast my gimlet eye upon him, he's cradling a pile of tiny M&M bag scraps in his chubby hands, cherubically grinning at me.

"Why would you DO that?" I gasped. "What are we going to do with that NOW?!"

"Mom!" He frowned at my failure to immediately grasp the silver lining. "We're going to use them for CREATIONS!"

.......

So I suppose the point got across...just not in the way I had imagined.