Sorry.

I didn't mean to worry anyone. I haven't blogged in a month! That was rude and I'm sorry. I think I've been dealing a little with post-partem depression. I haven't had motivation to do much at all. I need to get out and find activities. I've never been one to sit idle and not do much. In fact, my usual is to get too much on my plate, say "yes" to everyone and everything (sorry guys, not to THAT), but since Rachel has been born I have pretty much been a hermit. I worry that I'm not doing this or that enough for Rachel, or too much of this or the other thing. I obsess about it. So much so that I obsess that I'm not enjoying her, either. It's constant worry and obsess and get depressed. And then get depressed because I want to get involved in stuff, but yet I feel like I am stuck at home because she is on a 3 hour feeding schedule. And, as much as others are willing, I am just not one to whip out a boob anywhere at any time. Also, the kid won't sleep unless she is on top of me, which is a wee bit inconvenient.

Anyway, enough whining. That's where I've been and I realize it was rude just to disappear. I promise to do better.

Writer's Block

Everyone has to write about writers block at least one, right? OK, here is mine.

As you can tell the posts have been coming fewer and further in between. I guess I have been applying my grandmother's old saying "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" to my blog. Except that I can think of nice things to say. It's more like "If you can't write anything good, then don't write anything at all". To all of you that actually write something once a day, and something GOOD once a day how do you do it??

Since my mind seems to have turned to mush since I got pregnant and had a child (I'll at least blame it on that to make myself feel better) there's nothing in there except 'how many poops has she had today' and 'what time was she fed last?'

I used to read. I haven't cracked open a book since she was born three months ago. I had started Leo Tolstoy's book "Anna Karenina" before Rachel was born, and now I opened it and tried to start it again. It was like I forgot how to read. I couldn't keep up with who was who and where was where. I better stick to "Clifford the Big Red Dog Counts to Three" and "I Can Help Mommy" by the Muppet Babies. Sigh.

I just realized I have hit my first anniversary of blogging. Yes, one year ago I started this thing. I went back thinking I might get inspiration from one of my earlier posts. I realized they sucked, too. Maybe it isn't writer's block. Maybe I'm just realizing I suck.

Jack

Jack was a friend.
Jack was a family friend to be exact. My dad met him at work, I think. I was too young to know really how they met him, but ever since I could remember he was around. He was the kind of man every child needs as a friend. Once Jack invited my family to a friend's farm. The friend was a potato farmer, and had cultivated his potatoes but hadn't harvested them yet. The friend told Jack to come and get as many as he wanted. As a child of about 5 years of age going potato gathering was very exciting. I had my little bucket and started gathering. I found a huge potato, the biggest potato I had ever seen! I proudly showed Jack and he made me feel like I had found a piece of gold. He told me that potato could probably feed my whole family! Yes, every child needs a friend like Jack.

Everyone knew Jack.
I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, and Jack lived there as well. Everyone in the town knew jack. If you walked downtown, everyone would smile and say "hello" to Jack. He was a friendly guy and always willing to lend a hand when he heard one was needed. He was the town snowplower and would always go the extra mile. He would often come down our street and pile the plowed snow in the field next to our house so my sister and I could sled ride down it.

Jack was generous.
I remember as a kid how he would always come on Sunday mornings and bring doughnuts. I will forever look at an apple fritter and think of Jack. Once when we were on vacation Jack took my broken, rusty little red wagon and refinished it. As we came home and drove in the driveway there it was, all shiny and new. He even took me for a ride in it!

Jack was silly.
Jack would tease the bejeebers out of my sister and me. I had a security blanket as a child and he would call me "Linus". He told me my ears would fall off if I didn't wash behind them, and if I kept playing with toads I would get warts. And to think I believed him! He would let us climb on him and sit on his feet while he walked never tiring of our play.

Jack was smart.
Jack taught my family how to make saurkraut, an important side dish in Pennsylvania. I remember him in our basement with my parents standing over an old whiskey barrel and using an antique cutter to cut the cabbage. Apparently beer was an ingredient in saurkraut, because he would always say "a swig for the cabbage and a swig for me".

Jack was an alcoholic.
He spent hours at the local bar, then drive home drunk. He once woke up the next morning to find a huge dent in the front of his truck. He panicked, not knowing what he had hit. He drove around looking for some evidence and found a tree on the way to his house that had damage that matched his truck. Phew! Just a tree.

Jack was mean.
He was known to get into fights at the bar when he was drunk. As a child I heard my parents talk about Jack's drinking, and not knowing what being drunk was like, I remember thinking he must have turned green and got muscular, kind of like the Incredible Hulk, and smashed chairs and things. Jack had a family but lost it due to his alcoholism.

Jack was lonely.
We moved to Texas when I was 10. We went back to visit a couple of times and visited Jack. He was off of work because of a work-related injury, and drunk pretty much all the time at that point. The townspeople no longer said "hello" to Jack, they avoided him and looked at him like he was a burdeon.

Jack died alone in his bathroom.
I remember the day I heard. I mourned my childhood friend, who really died many years before his true death. I will forever remember Jack as a part of my childhood.

War

War is a bad thing. I don't like war. It scares me, and I often wonder if it hurts more than it helps. Unfortunatley, I feel as though there was no other way. Some species just don't deserve to walk the face of the earth, and we have to abolish them. Yes, I am a proponent of species clensing of fire ants.

I seem to attract the things. Perhaps in a former life I was a hot fire ant model who was very popular and all the other fire ants wanted to be like me. Yea, that's it. They're jealous.

Either way, I bought this property and I don't see them paying rent or sharing the house payment so I want them gone. I am ashamed to say, I have become the Little Fire Ant Hitler. I have declaired war even though I don't have the support of the French neighbors across the street. And even though the UN (united neighbors) voted against it I declaired war anyway. They weren't the ones terrorized on their legs by the bites.

As self declaired Commander in Chief of this war, and, since I am also the only person on this side, I had no other choice but to enforce a draft. I drafted my husband. He was promoted from Private to General in about 5 minutes since he was the only other person on this side.

As most Commander in Chiefs do, I made him do all the work. I armed him with the equivalent to the Tomahawk Missle in the Fire Ant War, Orthene Fire Ant Bait. It is a smart bait because it knows how to kill the queen. He put on his uniform (gardening gloves) and headed out to the battlefield (yard). We had our "shock and awe" mission yesterday. So far so good, but we're waiting for the counter attack.

Question: Is there anything in your life you'd like to declare war against?

The Surgery

Rachel so cute
Originally uploaded by Carol H.

Things went well, as I said before. And thanks for your well wishes!

We woke up promptly at 4:30 a.m. because we had to be downtown at Texas Children's Hospital at 7:30 a.m. We checked in and went to the waiting area. Rachel slept, thank God. We were herded into one room where they weighed her (13 pounds 8 oz!) and took her blood pressure with a tiny little cuff. Then we were herded into another room where they took some blood from her. She was good the entire time. Then we were put into a waiting room where the people waiting for surgery are kept. The doctor comes into this room to talk to the parents before surgery. At this point I did an unscientific survey and realized 5 out of every 6 surgeries on children under 10 are due to foreign objects injected into various body orifices. The boy beside us put something up his nose (I tried to evesdrop to figure out what it was, but I missed it). The girl to the right of us swallowed a coin. There was a x-ray carried across the room that was clearly a chest with something stuck in the esophogus.

Luckily she was sleeping when I had to hand her over for surgery. If she was crying I don't think I could have handled it.

They brought us into recovery about an hour later. There she was, screaming her little head off, which I was unusually happy to hear. They told us we would be in recovery about an hour until they got our room ready. What they DIDN'T tell us is they meant an hour in football minutes, because we sat there for five hours.

We finally got to her room. Texas Children's hospital rocks. They have a day bed for parents in the room, cable TV, a room for each age group of children from 3-18 with age-appropriate toys, videos, etc. A clown that visits, videos to bring to the room, a family center with a refrigerator, free coffee and muffins in the morning.

The surgeons, well, they're good surgeons. Their bedside manner was, well, something else.

We were given a paste to put on her butt to numb it so the stitches didn't hurt so bad. However, she had an allergic reaction to it. So, the nurse gave us some skin drying paste and some vaseline. He said put the paste on first to dry the skin then the vaseline. It didn't have the numbing agent, but keeping the sutures on her anal opening dry would help.

Guess what? Paste + vaseline = glue. Yes, we glued my childs butt cheeks together. I had to soak her in the bathtub to loosen the "glue" to get them apart. Who said child rearing wasn't a science experiment? Come to think of it, maybe I should market the stuff to pay for her medical bills.

We came home Sat evening. With the exception of a little fussiness, as to be expected, she is doing great!

Question: Have you ever made an interesting discovery?

Things are fine!

Just wanted to let you know the surgery went fine! Rachel is sore but otherwise doing good. I'll post details a little later when I have a second. Thanks to everyone for their kind words. :)

The dreaded day is here

Actually I'm glad it's here I just want to get it over with. Rachel's surgery day is tomorrow (Friday). So, the next two day's we'll be at the hospital, so I won't be around much!

Commercial Jingles

As usual I was awakened last night at 2 a.m. by a fussing baby. I got her up, changed her, and started to nurse her. As I sat sleepily in the dimly lit room looking down at my precious little baby as she nursed all I could think was "Cambells, Chicken Noodle...possiblilities".

Yes, at this precious moment, a stupid commerical jingle was running through my head. It happens a lot. In fact, there's one that hasn't aired in years that seems to surface quite often in my head for some silly reason..."Doxidan, Doxidan, when nature needs a helping hand, get overnight relief with Doxidan". I would say if their goal is product identification they had a successful advertising campaign, although maybe not so much as I've never purchased the stuff.

I can still repeat the McDonalds jingle from the 80's "Two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun.". Or how about "The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup!". Or more recently "I want my baby back, Chilies baby back ribs".

Nothing is worse than having a advertising jingle in your head. It is one thing for a company to have music during the commercial. Car commercials usually have great music. HP has some really good music with their commericals these days. The commercials where the person holds a frame in front of their face and the frame suddenly becomes a picture of them at that moment. I often find myself singing their songs (although I don't know the titles) hours after. I don't mind singing songs, but having an ad jingle in my head is downright irritating. Jingles are usually one line, so you are saying one line over and over again until you either buy a product or go insane. I don't think the companies care which one comes first.

Is there a particular jingle that you can't get out of your head?

Delurk Day

**When I came to my blog this morning and read what I wrote I think I sounded mad! LOL. This, like most of my posts, was jokingly written. Geez, I'm so rude.**

I have decided to have a delurk day. Many of my blogging friends did this long ago. I thought then that they were silly. I mean, if someone was to come to this page they would post, right? If nothing else but to tell me how stupid I am? However, in the last few weeks I have learned a few tidbits about my friends and family.

First, people I THOUGHT were reading my blog and not bothering to comment were actually NOT reading my blog. My sister is a good example. Do you know what that means? That means I get to start talking about her. I can talk about all the stories when we were little and how mean she was. Like the time....oh, I'll save it for another post.

Then, I found out that people who I thought never or rarely read my blog actually read it on a daily or somewhat daily basis. My husband is this example. That means I have to be nice to him on here. Not that I'm generally not nice to him, because I generally don't have reason to be mean to him, but if I did have reason then I know he would read it. Actually, that could come in handy. How RUDE of him just to read and not comment. And I MARRIED him.

Anyway, it's officially delurk day. If you are reading this, post something. If you don't you will officially hurt my feelings. Yes, I'm that pathetic.

Texas Traditions

** Something else I never thought about....a mum IS a mother, but it is also a flower, a chrysantheMUM. Sorry for the confusion! **

Fall is in the air (OK, not really. It's freakin' 95 here still. But for the sake of the story I'll pretend), the leaves are changing (I'm lying here, too), and the football season makes it way into the hearts of every Texan (This, however, is true).

There is a Texas Tradition that I didn't realize was a Texas thing. At least that's what my non-Texan friends tell me. The tradition is the homecoming mum during the High School homecoming football game. Please tell me we're not the only ones that have homecoming football games.

Anyway, this homecoming mum tradition. Basically, a guy asks a girl to the game (or vice-versa), and he buys her a mum. And you can tell how much a boy likes you by the size of the mum, and how gaudy you look in it. Here is an example (I couldn't find a picture of a mum that I could post, and, golly-gee darn I don't have a scanner to scan a picture of me in High School at homecoming, so that link will have to do. Speaking of which, where does everyone get their cool pictures for their blogs that aren't their own, anyway?).

The mum is about the size of a dinner plate. Sometimes, if the boy REALLY likes you, they will get TWO mums and put one in front and one in the back, going over the shoulder. Usually, however it is a single mum pinned on her chest, and has streamers that literally go to her knees or below. The streamers have kick-knacks on it that represent what the girl is into, such as a clarinet in my case because I played the clarinet, a little plastic volleyball, a whistle, a little teddy bear, or other trikets. Bells were essential, because otherwise how would your girlfriends know you were coming with a gaudy mum unless you had the noisemakers to go with them? The ribbons usually have stickers on them to say "Homecoming 2005" and another that says "Carol -n- Bryan" or something of that nature. Like I said, the gaudier the more the boy liked you, because the gaudier the more expensive.

Then, after the game, the high school girl would hang it in her room until she realized the tradition was both silly and gaudy, usually about the time she goes to college or she and the boy broke up, and then she would throw it out.

I never thought much about the tradition until I became an adult, pulled my very faded mum out of the remembrance box (AKA, the moth ridden, silverfish eaten cardboard box about to collape with a zillion pieces of tape on it up in the attic) and looked at it. And threw it away. I guess I'm a late bloomer.

What traditions do you have that you realized were silly once you thought about it?

OK, this is offically now a mommy blog.

Rachel in purple
Originally uploaded by Carol H.

I tried not to go there, but it seems like this blog has turned into a Mommy Blog. Sorry.

I've been putting off blogging hoping for something to blog about that's a little more light hearted or fun. I mean, after a hard pregnancy, a baby in NICU for 11 days, acid reflux, and hurricanes I figured this blog needed it. But, alas, I have nothing. Instead, I will talk about the fact that Rachel needs surgery, because that's about all on my mind these days.

We went to the doctor because of crying that didn't seem to cease. Her tummy was bloated like a balloon, and very firm. It took the doctor little time to find the problem.

Poor little bugger has Anal Stenosis. If you google it, like I did, you will find out it is an unusual tightness in the anal sphincter. That means she can't pass gas or poop easily. Yes, my daughter is literally anal retentive. I knew she took after her daddy.

Treatment is usually the instertion of dialators "and in rare cases surgery". Of course, keeping with our theme of the year of bad luck, we are in the "rare case" category. She was so tight they couldn't even do a normal exam on her.

What's frustrating is she was diagnosed with this almost three weeks ago. They told me they would call to schedule the surgery in 5-7 days, maybe sooner because the doctor knew she was in pain every time she had gas or had to poop, so he requested the surgery be scheduled "ASAP".

Then, the hurricane came and everything in the Houston area came to a screeching halt. AND, to make matters worse, people from New Orleans have been transported to Houston hospitals, which have made the beds limited (not that they don't deserve good care, too, but you know what I mean). So, not only are people who HAD surgeries scheduled rescheduled, but the ones that didn't have them scheduled yet (us) were put off for a freakin TWO WEEKS.

So, here is Rachel, in pain most days until she has her poop. And working for hours pushing to poop. I'm talking sometimes 10 hours of grunting. And there's nothing I can do but call the freakin' pediatric surgeons office every day to beg them to schedule it. Finally yesterday they did. So, we get to have surgery on her butt in two weeks, on October 14th.

Hi from Rachel

Hi from Rachel
Originally uploaded by Carol H.

My mommy has been busy taking care of and playing with me, so I thought I'd let you know she'll post something soon when she can.

Update!

For some reason I couldn't get on here from my in-laws, so I came to my sisters and thought I'd post this. Thanks for all of your comments and well wishes!

Anyway, just wanted to let you know we made it out, and our house had no damage. The power was out for about 23 hours, but that's all. It was good for us that we were on the west side, not that I wish it on anyone else. Thank God Rita was no Katrina.

It took us a freakin' 12 hours to go 165 miles, though. That's an average of 14 mph! It was CRAZY. Rachel did well the first 10. The last 2 hours she screamed her head off. :) I would, too, if I was stuck in that seat for so long.

It seemed everyone was leaving Houston. We would go only about 6 miles in 3 hours at some spots. And of course a lot of the time there are no bathrooms for several miles, so people were having to go to the bathroom on the side of the road trying to shield themselves with their car door. They were also running out of gas and there was NO GAS ANYWHERE. All the stations were out, and a lot of gas stations were running out of food. Grocery stores were running out, too. It was crazy.

I'm still glad we left, because we're having record heat here. 108 degrees today! Hottest day in 5 years. So, if I was in a house with no air conditioning it would have been very uncomfortable. And Rachel I'm sure would have been uncomfortable.

Anyway, I'm waiting until Wednesday to go back. Hopefully I'll make it back in the normal 2.5 hours instead of 12 again.

Oh, the fun.

Being in Houston, and being Hurricane Rita is headed this way, we're bugging out. Oh the fun!

We're on the North side of Houston, so it isn't like we're on the coast, but we are at risk of losing electricity, extremely high winds, and possibly no water. And of course lots of rain. Being I have a newborn I didn't want to get stuck for who knows how long and not have necessities. So, we're headed to the in-laws in Waco, which is about 200 miles or so.

I'll check in when we come back!

Dogs and Babies

My little mutt Casey was my only "baby" before Rachel was born, so it is safe to say we were a little concerned how this spoiled 15 pound mutt would react to a new "sister". At first she wouldn't come within 10 feet of her. Then after a few weeks she would come and sniff her briefly but would quickly leave. Then she would come up, sniff, and stay a while.

I was sitting on the sofa the other day, Rachel's head in my lap and her butt on the sofa. Casey, my little mutt, usually sits to the right of me on the sofa, where Rachels legs were. Casey jumped on the sofa, sniffs Rachel's legs and starts to take her nose and flick her blanket on her legs. She must have spent a full 5 minutes trying to cover her, and actually successfully did. It was rather interesting to watch. Since I took Animal Behavior in college and never really used it, I figured I'd humor myself by saying I'm using it here and she's now becoming "motherly".

So I figure (I'm into multiple choice these days):
A) My animal behavior class was worth the money and I accurately protrayed Casey as mothering Rachel because in the wild the Alpha dog has all the puppies and the other members of the pack help her raise them.
B) Her diaper was dirty and Casey didn't want to smell it anymore so she was trying to bury it.
C) She is actually in a jealous rage and was trying to smother her.

I prefer to think "A".

What would you do...

If you accidentally used your husband's brand new $15 toothbrush because you were so sleep deprived and your contacts were dry so you didn't see the "blue for boy" color on the toothbrush and mistook it as the "white for girl" one which is yours? Would you:

A) Tell him so he can decide if he wants a new one
B) Not tell him figuring you've shared a lot worse that THAT and he won't miss anything if he is none the wiser
c) Write it on your blog in the off chance that he might actually read it, which he rarely does, but by then it will have been too late because he will have brushed his teeth with it. So that will probably make him keep it.

Oh, decisions, decisions.

The Learning Curve

My husband is a smart man. He graduated Magna Cum Laude with a Masters degree. Generally if he plays a trivia game with someone he wins. If I want to know who wrote some obscure 70's music or who the leader of Luxemburg is I generally don't bother to go to the internet. I ask my hubby.

Now that I've qualified what I'm about to say (hi, honey!), I'll tell you about my husband and his beginner daddyness. He has never, ever been around a baby before ours. I've already mentioned the backward diaper. I actually managed not to laugh hysterically when I realized it was on backward. Oh, it's not that I didn't want to, but I could tell he felt a little stupid. I couldn't rub it in. Honestly, I can tell he feels really bad that he isn't more experienced at this. He admits the learning curve is great here.

The other day on a Saturday he was up just a bit before me. Rachel sleeps in her cradle beside our bed. He walked into the bedroom as we both were just waking. Her diaper needed to be changed because she just woke up, so I asked him to do it. After all, he needs the experience. He gladly said he would. He took her into her room, which is across the hall from ours. I laid in bed trying to wake up.

I heard: Rustle, Rustle, Rustle....Then I hear Bryan say: "Oh, crap!"....then more Rustling....

I think..."should I go in to see what's going on?" Then I think "No, he needs to learn. One of these days I'll be leaving her alone with him. He'll figure it out".

Then I hear "Oh, geez!"...rustle....drawers being pulled out.....rustle....

I start to put one foot on the floor then stop myself. "No, he is a capable man. He can figure it out" I think.

After what seems like eternity he comes into the bedroom smiling, with Rachel in a new outfit, and says to Rachel "Here's mommy Rachel!" and tells me she is ready to eat.

I take her and realize her head is wet. Her HEAD is wet? What the.....

I ask "Uh, dear? Why is her head wet?"

He Says "Well, she started to pee when I took her diaper off and I tried to keep her out of it, but it wasn't easy to move her as she was peeing, so she got a little on her. That's why I changed her outfit."

Uh, OK. I opened my mouth to ask how the pee managed to get on her HEAD, but thought better of it. I decided I didn't want to know. I got up and drew her bath water.

Prevacid sticks to boobs

The pediatritian knows I'm a new mom. She didn't have to ask if Rachel had a sibling at home. Maybe it was the question "Are all babies legs crooked like hers?", or perhaps "Is it normal for her to have that many folds on her neck?". Or perhaps the urgent statement "Please look at this rash on the back of her head, is she sick?" only to be told it's a birthmark. Or it could be the mere volume of questions I was asking. Or perhaps the fact that I called the nurse more than my fair share of times asking questions.

They probably think I'm bad, but they should see her father. When he changed her diaper the first time he put it on BACKWARDS. (I'm not kidding). I'm happy to say he is getting the hang of it now, though.

Rachel had acid reflux really bad. The pediatritian gave her Zantac in liquid form, which didn't work at all. Finally, after about 10 days I called the nurse (who knows my voice now, btw) because I couldn't stand to see her in pain anymore. They changed her medicine to Prevacid, which is working wonders. (Thank GOD!)

The only problem...Prevacid is not in liquid form, only capsule. So, I was faced with the task of getting a capsule down a 5 week old baby. This is not an easy task. And to make matters worse those pills are EXPENSIVE. So, if I lost some it would cost me.

She is supposed to get half a capsule, so I opened it and spilled the tiny beads from inside the capsule on aluminum foil. I thought I would put it on the foil and separate it into two separate but equal piles with a knife. You can tell I'm not a drug dealer/user simply by the fact I wasn't smart enough to realize that when aluminum foil has little beady things on it and you scrape a knife on it, it krinkles and the beads go shooting across the room. Ok, lost a few beads there.

Plan two. I've seen enough TV to know how the drug users do it. I needed a razorblade and something that doesn't krinkle and shoot things across the room. I opted for the cupboard instead of the foil, and I didn't have a razor so I went for a sharp knife. Getting the beads on the counter was fun. Beads roll. I think I probably should have learned that in Kindergarten. I must have been absent that day. I lost a few beads here, too.

Then once I lassoed them back in a pile and separated them into two piles I had to get them into a container. I didn't think about that before the counter idea. I held a little plastic cup at the end of the counter and brushed them in. One cup for each pile. I lost a few on the floor.

OK, now how do I get them into the baby's mouth? A syringe with milk sounds logical. Except the beads didn't want to suck into the syringe very well. I managed to get them sucked in and milk, too. I went to squirt it in her mouth. The beads stuck to the bottom of the plunger. The milk went nicely into the baby's mouth. Sigh. I lost all of the beads.

OK, so that didn't work. On to another dose. How about I stick a few of the beads to my breast and shove it in her mouth for breastfeeding. Ingenious you say? Well, I thought so. Until I realized that Prevacid beads stick to boobs better than they stick to tounges. When she unlatched they were still there, firmly attached to my breast.

I scraped them off my breast and put them back into the container, which wasn't an easy task because, as we learned, wet Prevacid beads stick to everything. Babies chins, fingers, clothing, the chair.

Finally, a revelation. If it sticks to everything, it must stick to fingers! I pressed my finger in the pile of beads and, wallah! They stuck. I waited for her to open her mouth (She'll probably get smart and never yawn again), stuck my finger in there, wiped it on her tounge, and they stayed! Then, I put my breast in for her to drink. Obviously I'm not a fast learner. THey stuck to my breast. I scraped them off again.

We repeated the process, this time with a BOTTLE of breastmilk, and, luckily, Prevacid beads do not stick to plastic nipples, only real ones. She would drool a bit and I had to scrape them off her cheek, folds of her neck, her shirt, and put them back in, but I think I got most of them.

Lucky us, we get to do this every night.

My New Boss

Rachel Smiling
Originally uploaded by Carol H.

My new boss is only 10 pounds, yet she is full of demands. I came into this job with no training, not even a manual. She didn't bother to train me, yet she expects me to know everything. She has very demanding deadlines, and if I do not meet the deadline she screams at me. Loudly. And she doesn't care who she is around when she does it. I can only take bathroom breaks when it is convenient for HER schedule. Often there are days where I can't even take care of the simplest in personal hygene for myself because of her demands. She insists I work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and won't allow me any time for anything else. Often there are days I'm working so hard I don't even stop to eat! And to think I signed a lifetime contract for this job!

Why do I do it? I'm addicted to the bonuses!

P.S. Thanks for all the votes on which was the better picture. I liked the smiley one above, but Bryan liked the one with her eyes open. Your votes allowed me to have the one I wanted on the announcements! :)

Sadness

I don't have much to add about Hurricane Katrina that hasn't already been said, but I feel I must comment. The devastation and the sadness is something that I think this country has not experienced in a very long time. Going days without eating, proper sewage, water, shelter is not something people generally have to worry about here. Yet, we are faced with it by the thousands now. If only we were somewhat prepared for this. We had no clue it would even be remotely this bad. They didn't the levys would break. Yea, "they" were wrong. Now we're faced with saving and moving hundreds of thousands of people.

Living in Houston we are seeing a lot of the evacuees. Among many other things, our church is providing shelter and food for some, and we are volunteering shifts to serve food to those in the Astrodome as well. Because of this we get to hear stories up close and personal. Each person has a story, and there are thousands of stories, and each story is gut wrenching.

I went for my followup doctors visit a couple of days ago and a woman was there who was about to give birth. She had just evacuated and was sure she didn't have a home to go to. I guess that particular story hit home with me, having a newborn myself. I can't imagine giving birth and dealing with those stresses, and also not knowing how you are going to provide a home for the little one.

I am sickened by the looters who are taking big screen TV's (saw one right on TV like he didn't care who saw him), GUNS, computers, and other non-essentials. People are STARVING and these idiots are trying to make out on this disaster. Disgusting.

Also, perhaps we should spend less time ranting about how things aren't being done fast enough, good enough, and more time actually doing things. If each person who has ranted spent that time instead putting together a health kit or flood bucket it would go a lot farther. We need positive energy here.

Please do what you can for these people. And please pray. I know you already are.