Taking that deep breath will make her wrinkle her nose at the stink wafting out of the diaper pail.
Once she’s taken out the bag of dirty diapers, she’ll probably collect all of the trashes from the rest of the bathrooms.
In the master bathroom, she’ll notice this morning’s towels laying in a pile on the floor. She’ll replace the old towels with clean ones and decided to run the dirties through the laundry.
Not wanting to run half a load, she’ll strip the beds and empty the hampers.
Once in the laundry room, she’ll see that she is low on detergent, so she’ll head to the kitchen to grab the magnetic pad off of the fridge to make a grocery list.
She’ll write down detergent, open the fridge an check to see what else she need to pick up.
With her head in the fridge, she’ll spy the chicken breasts she took out the night before to defrost for dinner.
Thinking of dinner makes her hungry and she’ll realize that the breakfast table hasn’t been cleared.
She’ll clear the table, crumb the table, and wipe down the table.
All of that cleaning has given her an appetite and she realizes that she hasn’t had breakfast.
She’ll brew a pot of coffee and reach for her favorite mug, but the mug isn’t there.
She’ll open the dishwasher to find it wedged between a milky sippy cup and peanut-butter smeared Hello Kitty plate.
Once she has the dishwasher off and running, she’ll de-crumb the kitchen counters and sweep the kitchen floor.
Sweeping the kitchen floor will remind her of Cinderella, which will make her think of the Princess themed birthday party the kids will be attending this week-end.
Thinking of the birthday party, she’ll head to the hall closet where she keeps emergency party gifts.
On her way to the closet, she’ll wind her way through two coats, four pairs of mis-matched shoes, a doll-carriage, a doll missing its head, several books overdue at the library, and a Netflix DVD.
She’ll reseal the DVD in the envelope, slide the library books onto the mail table by the door, strap the headless baby into the carriage, place the shoes at the foot of the stairs to be taken up on her next pass, and hangs the coats in the closet.
Once in the closet, she feels around for the party gift and gives herself a pat on the back for her proper prior planning.
A pat on the back makes her think how nice a massage would be, so she decides to add that to her “to-do” list.
And chances are, before she reaches for that “to-do” list, she’s going to take a deep breath, if only for just a moment.
The other day it rained, and rained, and rained. The kids were like the little boy and Sally from “The Cat in the Hat”, “too wet to go out, too cold to play ball, so we sat in the house. We did nothing at all.”
You all know how much I
loathe love arts and crafts. After school, I raided my scrapbooking box and pulled out all kinds of stickers, scrap paper, glue dots, and crayons. I was going to have the girls make some birthday cards for the birthday parties they have this week-end. They preferred to just cut and paste and cut and paste. Who am I to stand in the way of artistic expression?
Five minutes later, when they were bored of that, we moved onto dress ups, Play-doh, Barbies, and tea party. I was steadily running out of ideas, the rain kept coming down and I really wanted to stave off putting on the TV for as long as I could. I told the girls they needed to read some library books until dinner was ready. That bought me about 6 minutes and the biggest stroke of genius I’ve had in a long time.
I pulled their activity table into the middle of the kitchen, put their Anywhere Chairs on either side, and laid out some satin napkins. I put out two port glasses filled with milk and two crystal candle holders with some stubby candles left over from the Nor’Easter. I called the girls to the table for dinner and told them how excited I was that they were going to join us for dinner.
The look of bewilderment on their faces evaporated as quickly as it arrived once they saw the spread on the table. When I offered them a choice between hot dog or grilled chicken, Morgan snapped her napkin across her lap and said, “I’ll have the chicken, please.” Coever insisted on the hot dog. Their respective entrees came with corn on the cob and cucumbers with hummus.
Once plated on some real dishes (i.e. not plasticware) and served with their tall port glasses of milk, you would have thought Morgan and Coever were some society ladies taking afternoon tea. The kitchen was filled with “Why yes please” and “Oh isn’t this pleasant” and “Let’s have a toast”. I knew I took a risk with the candles and the glasses, but smack my face and call me Rosie, those two were ever so mindful of the potential to set the house on fire or impale themselves on a shard of glass.
If they toasted each other once, they toasted each other half a dozen times, each more vigorous than the last.
For dessert, the kitchen offered a choice of chocolate pudding or a Popsicle. Didn’t the little diva (a.k.a. Morgan) request her pudding to be served in a bowl, on a saucer, with a spoon and some cool “huh-whip“? Coever opted for the Popsicle and refill of milk, natch.
When they had dined sufficiently and lapsed into a nice post-dinner conversation about what to do next, I had to shake my head and smile. Something as routine as dinner can be made totally brand new with the addition of a few simple touches. I’m glad they enjoyed it.
Maybe next time, they can leave ol’ Mom a tip. . .
So, this week I have been at orientation for school. Every day from 8am to 12pm, I’ve been bombarded with expectations, available resources, best practices, course scheduling, long-lines at the bookstore and fractions. Yes, fractions. I knew that there was some degree of mathematical knowledge involved with nursing, but to be slammed with the addition, subtraction, multiplication and division of fractions at 8am on a Monday morning is cruel and unusual punishment.
Now, I’m a Type A personality, an endearing character quirk that has consistently served me in good stead ‘lo these 30 years of mine. Before going back to school for anatomy last year, I invested in a teach-yourself-math workbook. Notice I said “invested in”, as opposed to “opened and used”. Yeah, that joker sat pristine for the past year on a shelf in my closet until about two weeks ago. In the orientation packet, there was one brief line about a math assessment and seriously, I saw my life flash before my eyes. And then I remembered the work-book. So I pulled it out, blew the dust off of the cover and started Chapter 1, Basic Mathematics. Then Season 1 of True Blood came in the mail on Netflix and well. . .here we are.
Math and I have never gotten along. In fact, one of the lowest grades I ever received was in math. In more fact, aside from getting a violation for talking in Chemistry, the only other mark on my school discipline came from my algebra teacher. I had long come to the realization that I had a bad attitude towards math. I didn’t get it, therefore, I didn’t like it, therefore, I chose to just eke out passing grades and deal with it later. Shocking, I know, but truly, I couldn’t stomach it. So, having embraced that mentality, I thought nothing of sticking whatever fiction book I was reading into my algebra book and reading that during class. Of course, the teacher had been calling on me, I hadn’t been paying attention and the charade came crashing down like my test scores over the semester.
How bad did it get? How about in sophomore geometry, when we were learning proofs, I put CPCTC for every answer on a test. Every. Single. Answer. I just looked at those proofs and knew absolutely nothing.
Fast forward to my A&P class first semester last year. My professor was talking about how tough the course was going to be, how the attrition rate was astronomical, and so on and so forth. She then went on to say that if we had a good attitude towards the class, if we acted excited when we opened our books, we’d basically trick our brains into retaining more info because we’ve been telling ourselves that A&P was the shiggity! Can you say, “skeptical”?
That little nugget of info remained with me. This past week, as we’ve continued to work on fractions, percents, and ratios, I’ve tried to get happy about it. I’ve tried positive self-talk. I’ve admitted to myself that while Math and I have agreed to disagree, we will make a truce for the sake of my impending nursing career. I will open up desirable accommodations in my memory bank and decorate it any which way Math wants, so long as the concepts move-in for an extended stay.
As the week draws to a close, I can quite honestly say that I have become quite oriented to what the next 24 months of school will be like. Seeing as I already broke the seal on my 60 pound Concepts of Nursing book, I guess I’ll be staying, fractions and all.