Funkytown

I'm in a funk. Nothing's wrong, life is good, nothing bad is happening, bills are paid, so what's the problem? I don't know. I'm not depressed, just...in a funk. I get a few free minutes at work to write charts, and instead I sit at my desk with my eyes closed while the stack gets bigger and bigger. I open up my blog to write something, and I can't think of anything to say. After feverishly collecting recipes and buying new cookbooks, I end up standing in front of the open fridge like a statue, unable to think of anything to make. At night I'm tired but doing that stupid thing where you sit in front of the TV surfing around from channel to channel with your eyes burning from tiredness but you can't...turn...it...off. (I mean seriously, did I really need to watch the Top Chef Season 4 Reunion Show until midnight last night?) When I'm talking to clients my brain feels numb, and I'm laboring to explain simple things, like why it's not a good idea to use duct tape as bandage material after "cleaning" a cat's wound with vodka (oh, how I wish I was kidding).

Actually I think work is a big part of the problem. I love my career. Most days, I love my job. The past few weeks, however, I've been burning the candle at both ends at work. 3 days out of 4 I'm not able to leave early enough to pick J up from daycare (he has to be picked up by 6. Thankfully TH now expects the frantic 4:30 call from me as appointments keep piling up and I need him to rush across town to get J). I'm still not good at making myself take a lunch break or a breather during busy days. So I end up burned out, worn down, and sometimes close to tears when another sick animal comes through the door.

Add to that The Sinus Infection From Hell that turned into bronchitis last weekend, and you have a good picture of where I'm at mentally right now. J, of course is happy and oblivious, spending all day outside getting a cute little farmer's tan and even cuter scraped knees from being a rambunctious little boy during the summer.

Hopefully when we go on vacation soon it'll help my doldrums, or whatever it is.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day, TH. I always knew you were going to be a great dad. Not just good, but great. I knew it when I was pregnant and for Christmas you got me one of those big body pillows, which you actually wrapped up and put under the tree as if I wouldn't be able to tell what it was. I knew it when I was 8 months pregnant and you suprised me by hiring a professional photographer to take maternity portraits -- I never knew you'd even heard of maternity pictures. I knew it when you cried in the delivery room after J was born, only the second time in 15 years I've ever seen you cry. I knew it when you almost passed out during J's circumsion and when I asked you if it was the blood that was bothering you, you replied "I don't mind the blood. I just don't like seeing him get hurt." I knew it when J was 8 weeks old and screaming his head off one night and you took one look at my stressed-out face and said, "Maybe me and the baby should sleep downstairs tonight so you can get some rest." (Like an idiot I wouldn't take you up on it but it was still nice to offer). I knew it when you were SO supportive when I was having such a hard time breastfeeding and you got mad with me at my old employer when they wouldn't provide a decent room for me to pump in. I knew it every time you got up in the middle of the night and walked up and down the hall with J, singing hymns to him until he went to sleep. I knew it when you randomly went out one day for a couple of hours and came back with baby sports jerseys and a little basketball, telling me, "I never get to buy what I want for the baby." I knew it that day J was so sick and he barfed all over you and you didn't even flinch. I knew it when we stayed up late this past Christmas Eve getting presents ready even though J still isn't old enough to understand, and you were so cute, all excited putting stuff in his stocking. I know it everytime you get him ready in the morning, take sick days to stay home with him when I can't, put VapoRub on his feet when he's coughing, read stories to him, and recite the Lord's Prayer with him every morning.

You really are the best dad a kid could have on top of being the best husband I could have ever asked for. There's no words to describe how blessed we are to have you. We love you, Daddy!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Reality Check

Well there were alot of things I wanted to write about this week, but of course life got in the way and I've been too busy, too tired, and my brain too numb to come up with anything. After my glowing post about how May was the best month ever, in comes June to give us a big reality check.

It all started on Friday, my usual day off with J. We immediately should have known something was up because he slept in until 7:30am (trust me, this is sleeping in for him). As soon as he woke up we could tell he didn't feel well -- he didn't want to eat or drink, and he didn't want to do anything but lay on our bed watching TV. Oh yeah and he had a 103.2 fever. Yikes. There were no other real symptoms, just lethargy and fever, so we loaded him up with Motrin and he basically hung out on the couch all day. By the end of the day the fever had only come down a little bit to 101.0, and thus began the Weekend Illness Shuffle: Go to Urgent Care or ride it out? How long with a fever should we be worried? 24 hours? 48? (Yes I know, I'm a doctor, as my husband never fails to point out. Why don't I know the answers to these questions? I'm a vet, people. If he was a puppy he'd already have the appropriate antibiotics and maybe an IV. Since he's not a puppy, I'm just as clueless sometimes with these things as every other parent.)


The fever continued throughout the weekend. I had to work on Saturday and when I got home J looked a little better but along with the fever he acquired Extreme Crankiness which resulted in Extreme Satanic Tantrums. I'm serious. At one point in the midst of one of these 30-minute episodes of screaming, kicking the floor, and growling (best way I can describe it), TH looked at me and said, "I don't think he needs anymore Tylenol. What he needs is an exorcist." Then we laughed kind of nervously...just kidding, right? Right?

That was pretty much how our weekend went. We tempted fate by going to Home Depot on Sunday for much-needed house stuff, and of course The Universe rewarded us with one of the most embarassing public melt-downs J has ever had. I won't go into detail except to say that as we were trying to scoop him up from the floor (where he was doing that flailing limp rag-doll thing) this pregnant lady who was looking at nursery wallpaper was standing there with the most horrified look on her face. You know, that judgemental look we all gave moms with screaming toddlers in the store back when we were still the supermom who hadn't had kids yet. I wanted to say, "Sorry to burst your bubble, lady--what you just witnessed wasn't bad parenting, it was a glimpse into your future," but instead of being snarky I figured she'll find out on her own eventually so I smiled apologetically and gave the Lame Mom Excuse: "He's just tired."

Sooo....here we are on Monday. J's is at daycare (after much debating again this morning about whether he should stay home) and I'm back at work. All I have to say is THANK GOD we're going on vacation in a couple of weeks.

A haiku at work

I sit writing charts.
"Paperless" system? Not yet.
My hand is cramping.

When I grow up...

Another blogger recently posted about her struggles to maintain balance between work and home, and what struck me about her post and the responses to it was that A LOT of us would rather be doing something else. Sure, we like our jobs, make good money, are well-trained at what we do, but for many of us there's that secret career we really wish we had. For her it's interior design. For me....it's comedy.

Seriously. Stop laughing. Unless you found that humorous and comedic, then laugh away. My friends and family know I'm telling the truth. There was a period, probably lasting through college, where I spent alot of time daydreaming about becoming a stand-up comedian. No, I never tried an open-mic night. Too chicken. I'm not sure if I'm even all that funny, although people tell me I am all the time. Of course we all know being funny when you're at a party does not necessarily translate into being a good stand-up comedian.

Oh, well. Maybe one day when I get sick of being a vet I'll chuck it all and you'll see me on Last Comic Standing. Probably not, but you never know...