WTF Was That? Only Me!

Seriously. This is not a joke. I am up, studying for my chemistry exam, when late night hunger sets in. I send John to get some food. The restauraunt shall remain nameless. He comes back and we start to scarf. I go to unwrap my taco, and notice the outside of the taco shell is moist. I figure it is just steam from the hot taco being in the wrapper. I take a bite, and my mouth fills with the taste of something soapy or perfumey. I start to investigate further, thinking that surely my mind is playing tricks on me. But the wrappy smells like someone sprayed it with cologne. So John gets on the phone to call the restauraunt, and speaks to the manager. We just want to know what sort of chemical I just ingested. The manager gets rude with John, then offers to replace the food. He told her again that we just wanted to know what it could have been. Was someone cleaning before they made my food? Had someone just put on cologne or washed their hands and had soap residue on them? WTF did I eat???? She continued to be rude to John, so we had no choice but to call another store with which they were affiliated. I end up with the cell number of the general manager, who was very sweet. But we still do not know what it is that was on the damned taco. I just no that I can still taste it in my mouth, and it is making me queasy. And I don't know if it was something benign or something poisonous. If there is never another post on this blog, you know I was poisoned by the perfumey taco!

Loves It

I have joined the wireless revolution. I finally bought a laptop. So.... Evan is sitting in there playing on the desktop and I am in here(the living room), on the sofa, blogging away. I bought this damned thing to aid in the whole "school" thing. I am never home, which is obviously where my desktop is. Any task that needed to be done on a computer had to be done here. It was getting to be a terrible burden. So ta-da!!!!! I fixed it. Of course then I needed to buy a new modem. Lovely.

What a Day!

Today was B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L outside. I actually sat outside with my pile of textbooks, wearing a tee and some hot pink flip-flops and got a large volume of reading done for class. Time came for Evan to be picked up from school, so John went to get him, and he immediately changed into shorts a tee himself upon his arrival home. I'm sure the two of us made quite the picture: mother and son on the porch together in the sunshine, both working on homework. Chemistry for me and math for him.
I still have huge volumes to get accomplished before next week, which is really going to be a pain considering tomorrow marks the beginning of my work week. Plus I have bio and chem lectures tomorrow afternoon. I swear this quarter is going to kill me.

On a completely separate, unrelated note, I watched the ER farewell episode tonight and cried. I was excited to see that they brought back the original music for the opening credits. I loved that. They switched it at some point and it was never the same after. Of course John teased me for crying, but I started watching that show from the very first episode. In a cheesy way, it confirmed to the young me that yes, I did truly want to be a doctor. It seems almost surreal that all of these later, I am working on becoming one and the show ends. Hmmm.

Okay, back to work. Or to sleep. It started raining tonight and the sound of it hitting the roof is just what I need to doze off in the middle of a chem problem.

I Am Blogging as a method of procrastination....

A recent quote from me to my husband: "You do realize that I have a gazillion things on my mind and what you are saying to me right now is registering as "blah blah blah blah", right?"

New classes are cool. But crazy. I am left to ponder this riddle: WTF was I thinking? I think I will do well this quarter. Nothing has sent me into freak out mode yet, other than my schedule and infinite to-do list. Right now, I am just feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it all. I need to find my groove. Seriously.

What in the blue hell is going on with this computer virus? Was I not supposed to get online today or something? My computer has not yet burst into flames, so I think I am okay...

Ring Ring

Seriously?
Okay, peeps. I am busy. Very busy. Picture the busiest person you know and I am even busier than that. Seriously. Well, I slipped. I have managed to work away most of my spring break, picking up extra shifts at work to make up for the deficit in OT while school is in session. After all is said and done, I am human, and so while I can gracefully manage my full-time hours, I do not pile on extra while classes are going on unless someone makes me, and that someone has the power to say I am no longer employed. So anyhow... In addition to the extra work, I am trying to get ready for the next quarter of classes. Buy books. Ensure tuition is paid. Make sure my schedule will mesh with John's and Evan's. I forgot to pay my phone bill. Oops. In a crunch, I give John a wad of cash and tell him to go somewhere and hurry up and pay the total amount due before the powers that be at the phone company decide I am no longer deserving of phone and internet services. I did this once before, so I knew exactly where to go so that the payment would post immediately. I gave my dear husband specific directions on where to take the payment.
So here I am at work last night. It is about time for me to leave. I picked up extra to help out coworkers during our period of short-staffedness. All I wanted was a quesadilla on my way home. I anted to see if John wanted anything. What happened? "The number you are trying to reach is either out of service or is being worked on at the current time." Whaaa?????? My first though was "BUT I PAID YOU PEOPLE A LOT OF MONEY!" Then the confusion turned to panic. I called the repair center from work to let them know that something has to be wrong with my line. She let's me know in a snippy tone that there is a block on my line for nonpayment. She sounds very judgemental, as in I am the type of scum who does not pay my bills. I get mad and tell her I paid my bill and I want my phone turned back on right now. When she tells me I have to wait until the morning, I tell her she needs to quit her job, as she obviously sucks at it. Poor girl. I was so rude to her. So I wake up early this morning, though it is my one day off, in order to send up a flare to the phone company to clear up the mistake. Hmmmmf!
The first lady I speak with treats me almost exactly the same. I explain that we paid. I have the receipt right in front of me, and offer the transaction number. She tells me that apparently there are authorized payment centers and unauthorized payment centers. John took the money to an unauthorized payment center, so we will have to go without a phone for 5 days while we wait for it to post. Then (gasp) she tells me the internet will be disconnected tomorrow if I do not pay. OMG, now they are out for blood. I freak out and tell her that we paid the damned bill. And I didn't pay just what was past due. I paid the entire thing, old and new charges. With my internet now in jeopardy, I demand to speak to a supervisor. She gets very rude, and transfers me anyway.
So the supervisor comes on the line, and I tell her what happened. She repeats what the rude girl told me, that they cannot turn the service back on unless the payment is posted or I go and pay the past due amount at an authorized payment center. I desperately ask if there are any other options. She is giving me directions on how to fax the receipt to her when I blurt out that I am going to make John do it, as he is the one who didn't go to the payment center to which I told him to go. She laughs, and I also blurt out that I am full-time pre-med student, a full-time RT, a full-time wife and mom, and that some things fall through the cracks. That my husband is new to the Mr. Mom role and doesn't always do the best job. This is when she softens up and tells me she isn't going to make me go through the ordeal of faxing her a receipt. She'll turn it back on, but to watch my account to be sure that the payment posts. If I would have been speaking to her in person, I would have hugged her right then and there.
So.....Lisa from Cincinnati Bell: Thanks!

Wrong?

I am sitting here pondering my schedule for next quarter as this one is drawing to a close. I am enrolled in HIS489, which is a senior-level history course entitled "U.S. Women's History". Hmmmm. I am wondering what it will be like. Enlightening? Eye-opening? Thought-provoking?
But the greater question is this: are my classmates going to remind me of this?


Say it with me, ladies: One can have smooth underarms and legs and bikini lines, smell like flowers, and wear makeup without it equating to the downfall of equality for women. Better yet, the true test of a strong woman is whether or not you can kick some ass while smelling like gardenias. I know I can.

Breeders

Everyone. Is. Pregnant.

There is a guy at work who has a wife who is about to pop. A girl at work is. Another guy I work with just found out his wife is. John's sister is. Some friends just had a baby.

WTF is going on? It better not be contagious!

The Handprints They Leave

My boys, that is. Let me explain. I firmly believe that the people that come and go from our lives leave evidence that they were there in their wake. Some leave us smiling, and some leave us crying. Some stay longer than others. We are born alone, and we surround ourselves with others throughout our life, and we cannot take them with us when we go.

As I flit around from class to class, campus to campus, to work and to home and back again, the evidence my John and Evan leave behind is hard to miss. I spent the largest part of my day infuriated yesterday. You see, I stopped at a carwash to clean the salt grime that winter driving leaves on a car. And I thought to myself, "Self, why don't you vacuum it out while you're here. It will save you the hassle of tangled extension cords and a cumbersome Kirby being dragged to the curb at home." So I did. And for the first time, in the glaring light of day, I actually looked at my car. (Since John's car died a while back, he has mainly been driving my car and chaufferring me to the places I need to go.) What I found pissed me off beyond belief. Scuffs from gym shoes on the backs of the seats. French fries under the floor mats in the backseat. Dirt everywhere. What was supposed to be a quick stop turned into a 2-hour cleaning frenzy. Let me remind you that this car was brand spanking new in September. A 2009. The first new car I have ever purchased for myself. I was livid, and the boys got quite the lecture about respecting the things we own. I even broke down $20,000 to Evan in his terms, explaing that I could buy x amount of Webkinz for the price of the car, thinking maybe he would realize just how expensive automobiles are, and would respect the car a little more.

So I go back to class, and am a little early. I whip out my MP3 player from my backpack and am going to listen to some tunage while I am reviewing my notes for our quiz in biology. No music. What???? Why does it not work? The battery is charged, but it keeps trying to reboot itself. I try to remember the last time I used it. Or the last time it was used, period. And I flashback to a vision of little Evan wearing it and be-bopping around the house with it. He has his own, but mine has more memory, and thus more songs. Now I need a new MP3 player.

There is evidence all over the place that the boys are here. A discarded pile of school uniforms in the laundry room, holes in the knees of the pants or stains on the shirts (Pant: $45/pair, Shirts: $25/ each). Piles of shoes that are not outgrown, but simply worn out because they don't treat them well (I don't buy them the cheapies, either). Dirty dishes piled on the counter. Litlle pastel colored Post-It's all over my desk because the little one thinks they are "make-your-own" stickers. Money missing from my purse because someone, at some time, removed it for something they needed. It would seem that my boys don't leave handprints. They leave a path of destruction.

But wait...

This is the same little boy who came up to me early this morning and hugged my neck, telling me how I am the best Mommy he has ever had (LOL!). The one who gives me sloppy kisses on the cheek and presents to me Crayola masterpieces and macaroni sculptures, that I accept with such glee that you would be convinced that they are from Van Gogh. The one whose rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" would have given Beethoven a run for his money.

This is the man who looks deep into my eyes and tells me how convinced he is that I can do this when I am doubting myself the most. The one who kept his hand on my leg and wore lead the entire time I was getting head scans done for a brain tumor, just to assure me that he was there, that he was not leaving me. The one who cried with me when the doctors told me to consider aborting our child who was sure to be too premature to survive.

My life with these boys is messy. And expensive.That's a definite. Yes, they leave paths of destruction through it all. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world, truth be told. These are all such small prices for the joy they can bring to my life.

Guess What! Calculus Sucks (And Other Random Drama)

The first week of school is officially completed. Biology was okay. I managed to work ahead there, completing an asignment and handing it in a week before the deadline. Chamistry? I guess it is okay too, other than the fact that he made a 3-hour online assignment due the morning after a 12 hour shift, and there was physically no way for me to complete it on time. After a discussion with the professor, we agreed that some points were better than none, and I would complete it for partial credit, with the intent of dropping that grade at the end of the quarter. Calculus? The good news there is that I actually comprehend the lectures. But it completely sucks. I actually have to use my brain. A lot.

Maybe it is because this is a new thing to me, but the whole issue of being a full-time student, and a mom, and a wife, and a full-time RT...Well the task has been rather daunting this week. I have had no breathing room in my schedule. I keep telling myself that this is because it is still oin the old schedule, where I am not off on the weekdays. This past week was the last week I have to worry about that for awhile. Hopefully this week will be better. I work a 12 tonight, then am off for 5 days, then I go back to working just the weekends.

So what is the other drama? Our neighbors and our landlord. When John called him to make arrangements to get our rent to him, he had some interesting things to say. Apparently the other tenants have been complaining about us and the level of noise that is coming from our apartment. Doors slamming and Evan playing, and even the time I come home from work on the weekend mornings. What are we supposed to do? Evan is 7. He has to play at some point. Toy trucks are loud on hardwood floors, especially with these 12-foot high ceilings, where the sound is amplified. Yet he cannot go outside to play because the yard is full of German Shepherd crap. The doors slamming? Same effect. When you shut a door here, it echos. And Evan's bedroom doors are pocket doors. They make a horrible racket when you close them because they don't slide smoothly on the track. And me? Coming home from work in the morning, I am as quiet as possible, because usually John and Evan are still asleep. But the same thing goes there as well. You can hear the front door to the building, I am sure, because I can hear when they all come and go. But they are complaining that they can hear me enter the building at 7:30 in the morning on Saturdays when they are trying to sleep in. Am I supposed to quit my job???
They say the noise starts at 7:30 in the morning. I can see that. During the week, that is when Evan is usally leaving for school. On the weekends, I am coming home from work. But they say it has been going all day everyday this week. How? Evan has been back in school. I have been in school. When I am not in school, I have been sleeping. Or studying. I guaruntee that Calculus-study does not get me into a wild frenzy enough to disturb my neighbors. The weeks before that? I was working so many nights a week that I was sleeping all day, and under fear of death, John and Evan were quiet to allow it.
I refuse to walk on eggshells. As it is, since we have heard of the complaints, we have stopped allowing Evan to close his bedroom doors. We are turning everything off at night so as not to disturb him while he is trying to sleep in the open room. I am afraid to even leave the house or return because of this. And I have been getting on my child and husband over every tiny noise.
Yet there is Kurt Cobain upstairs (we call him this in the hopes that he will have the same demise). This guy, at about 2 in the morning, will crank his stereo all the way up and try to play his electric guitar along with the songs. Most are asleep at that time, but you know my hours. If I am home, I am studying. On two different occasions, I had to stop because I couldn't concentrate. Yet I did not complain. There are just certain things you have to deal with when living in an apartment, especially in a building that was not designed initially to be an apartment.
The dog crap? It came to my attention that not only do we have Beowulf in the backyard, but the upstairs neighboir is allowing her dog (the ugliest dog I have evr seen) to do the same in the front yard, where I tread to go to and from the house. What is wrong with these people???

So...desperate times call for desperate measures, and I made a discovery that is going to be in the next post because there is too much to tell.

A Parking Issue and a Lesson Learned

Yesterday, on my only day off, when I had this huge list of things to accomplish, the public works department through a big kink -in -the -chain at me. Leaf Removal. Seriously! It is January, and they are worried about removing leaves???

Our house is on the corner of two rather heavily-traveled city streets. We have no off-street parking. I usually can find a spot that is either on the street directly in front of the house, or on the intersecting street that runs parallel to the side of the house. Thursday night, coming home from work was no exception. BUT...

There are these ominous-looking red and white signs on each street saying that there was to be no parking between the hours of 8 AM and 4 PM on Friday for leaf-removal. No biggie. I go ahead and park there anyway, as there are no other spots. I figure I will set my alarm for the morning to get up at 7:30 after everyone with normal jobs has left for work. There will be plenty of parking then, right? Wrong! Friday morning, there are no places to park, because there is only one side of one street on which to park for a 4-block grid of the city. In other words: Everybody was parked as tightly as they could in front of my house. The only exception was my neighbor who lives across the street and is a Covington police officer. He boldly left the police Suburban, light bar and all, parked on the street illegally. No one was brave enough to ticket that car!

We had no idea what to do with my car. My very shiny new conspicuous orange car. Still with Indiana plates long after the 30-day deadline because A) I have had the work schedule from hell since we moved, and B) it has been the holiday season, so the limited time I did have to go and take care of this wasn't always the time the license branch was open. Of course, though John has lived in a city before, he has never lived someplace quite so urban. He is completely flabbergasted/ pissed-off by this. Our only option was to hurry and leave the house before they started doing whatever it was they were going to do. After all, I had errands to run, and didn't know how long it would take me. Maybe someone would move before we got home.

I drive to the college to pick up my parking decal (Which boldly states University of Cincinnati Student. WOOOHOOO!), then we head to human resources at work to talk tuition reimbursement. This is where I find out that, if I pull an Andrea this semester and keep up my 4.0 GPA, the hospital will cut me a check for $3K in March at quarter's end. Aside from the pesky getting-into-med-school issue, what better incentive to study and keep my grades up???

The whole fam then decides we are hungry. Being the crafty mom that I am, I see this as an opportunity to kill time while the parking saga unfolds at home. I, armed with my copy of Twilight, head to the nearest Mickey D's with the biggest Playland that I can find. My intention is to stay there and let Evan play for awhile. The next item on my list of things to accomplish was getting groceries. John would have to carry the groceries four blocks from car to house if I didn't wait until we had a better place to park, so I was trying to stall. This is where I had a very interesting social encounter: a lesson in socioeconomic status.

You see, my kiddo has mainly lived in rural areas. Small towns where everyone knows everyone else. He has been adored all of his life by family and friends alike. As a result, he is confident and out-going. He has never had a reason not to be. Everyone loves Evan. Strangers have even bought him candy while waiting in line at stores, for crying out loud. But here is the thing: we live on the cusp of a very wealthy neighborhood. A neighborhood where they will look at you like you are a pile of garbage if your expensive Nikes have a scuff on the toe or your jeans are a little too frayed or, heaven forbid, have the wrong label on them. We have been a low-income family before, mainly while I was finishing college the first time. Evan has nice things, but he is a boy. He scuffs his shoes as soon as they are put on his feet. The hems of his jeans get frayed where he walks on them. Being the detail-oriented person I am, I don't pay attention to the fact that his clothing is expensive as hell. I notice these details. This is probably some huge indication of my abnormal psyche, but is true nonetheless. Being in a wealthy metropolitan area just feeds this flaw in an unhealthy way. People are unfriendly and keep to themsleves, and while is probably more related to city life, I see it as some sort of sign that we just don't measure up. I think this is just a remnant of the poor lifestyle we used to have. So...

Here we are at McD's in a snobby neighborhood. In my flawed mind, we do not fit in. I feel conspicuously out of place, though in truth we probably would have been a few years back, but are no longer. I am uncomfortable, and Evan's outgoing style of interacting with others is drawing even more attention to us. I could see the other parents sizing us up as we walk through the door with our tray of breakfast fare. I am wearing a UC sweatshirt, have no makeup on, and my hair is pulled into a sloppy topnot to get it off of my face and neck. I am assessing my flaws as I am sure they are. I see appraising eyes lingering on my expensive handbag, the prominent Versace label on my glasses, the clothing my son and husband are wearing. It makes me self conscious when everyone stares, and I am wondering if other parents feel this way ever. But then something magical happens...
About 10 little voices squealing "Hi Evaaaaaaaannnnn!" The progeny of these uppity people just happen to be my son's little classmates. At his private school. The entire mood changes. I stop being the mother in the sloppy college sweatshirt with the unkempt hair. I am now The Parent Who Can Afford To Send Her Child To Private School. They stop wondering if my purse is a knock-off. The frayed jeans are no longer an issue. We are one of them. The pinched appraising looks are replaced with warm smiles as our children play together. Only I can tell that the smiles are not genuine because they were noticeably absent when we walked into the room. Regardless, I am no longer feeling self-conscious. If anything, I become ashamed of myself and am extrapolating many lessons from the experience. I am no longer worrying about waht they were thinking. I am more appalled by their behavior than anything, and at myself for even caring. We eat our breakfast and Evan plays while I read and John watches the television. When it is time to go, the blatantly stare as we make our way to our shiny new car. I can already hear the invitations for playdates and social functions which I will turn down. The whole experience is disgusting.
I learned many things. We are no longer the poor family who does not measure up. With my education and hard work, I changed that. Great. But more importantly, why did I want to be one of them in the first place? I have always been the type to strike up a conversation with anyone. People are people, regardless of clothing brand or income level or skin color. Why would I even worry about what others thought of me, of us? And why would I even want to fit in with these fake, insincere, judgemental people? Lesson learned.

Wii Played

Yes, we did. Evan spent the week away with John's family, and he took his new Wii with him. Well, when he returned, I could not wait to get my hands on the coveted game system. Holy Crap. Yes, it was fun. My favorite was boxing.
Okay, so the next day, my arms are sore, and I cannot figure out why. I hadn't done anything. Then I tried to play the game again. Sure, enough, the repetitive motions of the boxing revealed to me just exactly what cause the muscle soreness. This is not the ordinary video game.

100% Psychsomatic

I have worked a great deal in the past week, leaving my poor body to ache in places it never has before. At the end of the hellish week, my tibia was killing me, right below the knee. I did not know what the hell was going on, but was not concerned because it went away with rest that only 3 days off in a row could provide.
So yesterday, I am getting undressed to take a shower, and I see it: A huge black bruise on the very area that was hurting. The diameter of this thing is about 4 inches, no joke! I don't remember running into anything or bumping it in any way. All I know is that it hurt, and now there is this.Well, with this realization came this new problem: all of the sudden, it hurts again. I just know it is because I now know it is there. If I never would have seen it, I would have been fine.I have gone completely nutso.

Little Fires Everywhere

In healthcare, we have this saying. We call it "putting out fires". This is when you run around like crazy all day, attempting to get something accomplished, and never seem to succeed or make a dent in that to-do list because of little things that crop up randomly. Yet you work your arse off that day. Mr. X's SPO2 has dropped and you need to tweak his oxygen. Patient A calls saying she is short of breath and you must stop and give her a PRN treatment. Mrs. Y's ventilator keeps setting off crazy alarms, to which you must be attentive, even though she is ventilating well and everything seems to be in order. So you put out these fires all day, and when your twelve hours are over and you look back at the day, with feet that are screaming and a level of mental exhaustion you thought impossible, you wonder why you were so damned busy in the first place.

We put out little fires at home to, I suppose. With the upcoming move, I have been busy organizing and checking off tasks from my mental list. I was so releived after Monday night, knowing I had days off, thinking of all of the time I would have to accomplish these tasks, and even planning on getting some other stuff done as well. Well, here it is: Friday night. I am off tomorrow for the much-anticipated OSU/ UM game (Go bucks!), but then I report back to work to start a 72-hour work week on Sunday night. What in the blue hell did I do withh all of that time?

Yes, I did manage to arrange the move. The surveyor from the moving company came by today, so that is done. I have placed orders for the new phone service and internet access (Zoomtown, Yay! It has a very good rep). I paid the deposit on the new property and have the old electric bill paid so we just have to make a call and it will be transferred to the new address. The packing crew is coming by on Tuesday to pack, then the stuff will be delivered to the new address on Wednesday. I guess I did get some stuff done. It just doesn't seem so.

But then little fires kept cropping up. My husband, my soulmate, my light of my life, was to call the phone company and let them know we were to be moving no earlier than December 1st to ensure that we would have telephone service for the duration of our remaining time here. He did call the company, but failed to mention the date, so suddenly we were without home phone service. We tried to get the account reactivated, because at the time, we had no idea we would be moving this week. They actually expected me to pay an installation fee and everything to get it started again, with a new nyumber and everything, as if I have never lived here. For one week??? I don't think so. So I figure for emergencies, I always have my cell. Wrong answer! I forgot that when I activated my cell account, it was mainly intended to be used for the days I work (weekends/ nights), plus I could pick 5 numbers I could call at anytime. So basically, my phone was free to use at the times I needed to use, and I did not need the expensive plan withan enormous amount of anytime minutes. So...Without a home phone, with only my cell with a pitiful number of available minutes, we ran through that resource within 48 hours. Sad...Mainly, right now we are relying on email to communicate. I am praying that the new phone is activated early.

So we go to pay the deposit on the property, and the owner mentioned that there had been missed deliveries. Huh? It seems that the day after I ordered the new phone service, Cincinnati Bell decided to deliver the phone I ordered. But UPS did not leave it. So I was left with this tag that was dated 3 days earlier, letting me know that in 5 days, my package would be returned to the sender. It was 2:00 and John and I had to be back in Indiana by 4:00. But there was no way in hell I was going to make a special trip to Cincy just to pick up this phone. We were 10 minutes away. So we head across the river....

Holy Crap! John is driving because I still am not completely used to driving the new car in close traffic. I can, but judging distance has never been my thing, and cars zipping by me, close enough for me to reach out and touch, in a brand new car kind of freaks me out a bit. As is ohmyGodtheyaregonna sideswipemynewcar! So John drives. Did that fix it? Not really because John is not as accustomed to downtown Cincinnati as I am, and he had trouble negotiating the grid of one-way streets, and I could see his blood pressure rising as I was thinking ohmyGodtheyaregonnasideswipemynewcar! All to pick up the new phone. Not even a cool new wireless phone, but instead, just a boring new cordless for the house.

So then UC decides to mess with me. About a week ago, after making sure I had met the deadline and getting my official transcript sent, I started checking the status online. And it kept telling me the same thing: my file was incomplete. So I would call and check, and the people in the transfer office kept reassuring me that all was golden, and they just have not put it into the system yet. So I wait... Then I call 2 days ago just to be sure. That is when I find out that they need the transcript from a college course I took in high school. Way back in 1995. Are you kidding me? I completed 98 credits in 4 semesters with a perfect GPA as recently as 2 years ago, and they are worrying about one class from over 13 years ago???? Seriously? But it gets better. She then tells me that that day in particular is the very last day to get anything in, and I can have it faxed. So I call the college. I get lucky because they don't purge their electronic files until after 15 years have passed. Yes they can fax it, but they need a written request with a signature! The only way to do that is by snail mail. I have no scanner. My digital camera died about 3 weeks ago. What am I going to do? Then I spy my phone laying on the table. I quickly scrawl my signature on a piece of paper and snap a picture. Then I email the picture to myself so I can save it to my computer and insert it into the typed email to the registrar. An hour later, UC has the needed transcript. Now I play the waiting game for them to put it into the system as well.

So tonight, I have ditched the clothes I have been wearing throughout the day in exchange for the most worn-out comfy sweats that say "Diva" across the butt (which I refuse to wear in public. The person responsible for that trend should be shot!) and I plan to tackle the very last bit of Molecular Genetics, followed by a chapter on Evolution in my MCAT review. Once I get that finished, I will have polished off the entire Biological Sciences portion and can start on my Chemistry review. But Chem will have to wait, as I have purchased a copy of Phillipa Gregory's The Boleyn Inheritance, the sequel of sorts to The Other Boleyn Girl, which I loved. I bought the book expressly for my vacation, and have only read a small bit of it. It is calling my name in a chorus with the comfy spot on the sofa.

Gunny, Come Home!

I swear this shall be my dog. Our family needs a dog. Well, not really, I suppose. But I want an English Bulldog. But these pups are very expensive, and so ugly that they are actually cute. John insists that, should we get one, it shall be a He-dog and his name shall be Gunny. That is the Leatherneck in him speaking. He shall have a camouflage bed with his name embroidered on it, with an Eagle, Globe and Anchor. I mentioned we wnated one to the new landlord, and he smiled and said that he has an English Bulldog named Baxter. But we want our Gunny.

Just Mommy and Evan

Today was a beautiful day, and just happened to be my first afternoon off in quite awhile. John started his new job today, and so it was just Evan and I. We had a really good time reading books together, playing outside and more. Evan made a new friend, as you can see from the pics. I couldn't resist taking out the camera and getting a few snapshots. As the sun went down, we ordered a pizza and played board games inside before it was time for bed and bath. Really just a nice, peaceful, simple day. In a way it made me really sad because it reminded me of how little time I truly have with Evan nowadays. And I got a refresher in just what an amazing little person he is turning into.

I Want...

To be here. In this picture. Between the palms. I can feel the breeze now, smell the ocean, hear the waves. Instead I am here, dealing with money and parenting and work, along with about 50 other random obligations. I want to forget it all exists. If I can just make it through the next 48 hours, I can have 4 complete days of peace while my son is at school. I have no overtime shifts this coming week. I need a break from that. All I have to do this week is clean, do my laundry, manage Evan's scouts and school functions. My obligation at work won't begin until Friday evening. It will be so nice to wear just the Mommy hat, instead of switching roles several times in a day. Just...48...more...hours...

wtf

I found this on Candice.Capitalism.Conan. and literally cracked up laughing. Are these people serious? I mean, really serious? This has to be a joke. Just watch it and you will see what I mean. But why did it remind me of this? WARNING: F-Bomb coming up!

A Goodbye Post

So much has happened. A brain tumor resulting a lost job and a lot of turmoil. Financial ruin. 3 crashed computers. And we almost lost it all.

So what happened to me? Why did I disappear?
Well, after the 3rd crash, I could not get a new system due to financial resources. I applied for every job I could and got the same response." Why should we hire you? You got fired from the only RT job you have had?" Because my employer broke labor laws by kicking me while I was down and terminated me while on FMLA for a brain tumor? Nope, not good enough.
I was just about to give up. As a matter of fact, I had started to call temp agencies and see if they had any clerical positions available in the area. Anything for money. We were on the brink of losing everything. Then I just made a call to a hospital I knew about from living in Greater Cincinnati. I asked if they were hiring and they said yes, that they desperately needed therapists. I didn't even fill out an application or send a resume. I did those things after my interview. A week later, I was not only employed, but employed at a better facility with a more challenging environment.
Now? I love my job. I have just completed the six weeks of departmental orientation they make clinical personnel complete to ensure I know what I am doing. Professional respect is automatic because of the credentials I carry. It is a difference like night and day.
I just purchased a new computer and a new SUV. A Dell with enough memory that I do not need to worry about crashes, and a Ford Explorer, respectively.
What is going on with my husband? Well that is a long story. He never did hear the results of the waiver for reenlistment into the Army. The recruiter dropped the ball, and when John, after months of no results, finally went over his head, the recruiter got upset and stopped working on it for him.
Evan? Well, the kid just started 1st grade. He is doing wonderfully with the academic nature of the work. He had outgrown crayon drawings and baby books a long time ago. Each paper he brings home, from math to English, to spelling, are all perfect. He is still my pride and joy, my soft spot, my biggest downfall, and the source of those white hairs that keep popping up on my head.

And we are moving. From the time John and I left Cincinnati, in 2000, I have wanted to go back. It's home. It will always be home. We've lived in Southern Kentucky, and we have lived in Southeastern, Indiana. I have given each of those places my all. But they are not where I belong. And John and Evan...well, they belong with me. For the first time in a long time, I am at a place where I have the ability to go back home. I was afraid to try it before. John and I know that city life can be cruel. If something were to happen and we were to need help, there is no place to turn. But we have been battered and bruised by the other places we have been, also. And we made it through. Together, without anyone else. So we are going to go back to Cincinnati, together. This time around I have an awesome job, and things will be different. I want to see the city lights reflecting in my son's eyes. I want him to grow up with museums, zoos, libraries at his fingertips, and cultural diversity all around him. I want the place that has been a part of me all of my life to become a part of who he is also.

So why is this goodbye? When I started Constant Upheaval, it was my way to cope with the idea of my husband going back to the military after being married all of these years. This was my way to vent and speak about what was going on in my life without my words, views, and emotions influencing the decisions John had to make for himself. I no longer need that outlet. Is the military out of our life for good? Never. First of all, the Marine in John is as much a part of him as Cincinnati is of me. I can do away with that no more than the fact that he is a little older than me or that he has brown eyes. And I am so proud of him. Of all of the work he put into reenlistment. I have never seen him work so hard since the first time I laid eyes on him 8 years ago. And I have new respect for his status as a veteran. My husband served his country, and served her very well.
I also have more respect for the military families out there. I can honestly say that through the involvement with various support websites, I got a glimpse into the life of a wife of a service member. I just did so with my husband by my side. I will never do these women the disservice of saying that I know what it is like to wonder if your loved one is even alive while thousands of miles away in a war zone. I didn't live through that. That experience is their way of serving their country. But I did worry about John's future safety, knowing he was making a career choice that could result in his death. These men and women of our Armed Forces will forever be in my hearts. They have truly been the most amazing people I have met.
There may come a day when I am a service member myself. Before John said the words, "Andi, I want back in. I want to do my part in this war.", I was toying with the idea of a commission in the Navy to be a physician. There are some very impressive programs out there that are hard to pass up. But I also have opportunities to do that as a civilian. So when John told me what his goal was, I gladly stepped away from that so he could go after what he wanted. Now, I have the ability to do it again, and I just might. This would be off in the distance. I have to get myself in shape, take my MCAT and finish my biochemistry degree first. Would I want to do it? Yes, now more than ever. I have met the families of our military, and I can think of nothing more noble than taking care of these men and women.

I never did know if I had any readers here on Constant Upheaval. Whne the new computer was set up in the house, I was eager to get back to blogging, but it had been so long that I had forgotten my email and password I used to set up the account. On the old computers, it was set to automatically sign me in when I told it to. I thought my blog was lost forever, and so I started a new blog. Then I remembered the password, but the new blog was already in the works. Which one should I keep and which one should I close? I had a dilemma. But then I thought about it. Constant Upheaval is set up as a milblog. It just did not seem appropriate to continue now that John is not reenlisting. Plus, with the changes in my life, it seemed more fitting to start anew. If, and I mean a big IF, I have any readers or followers, the new blog is called Bending and Not Breaking, and I hope to see you there.
Otherwise... Goodbye, Friend.

0300?

I was awakened by two different things this morning, both of which are extremely aggravating.

The first was this awful dream I had about John and the military. He had reenlisted, gone through the Warrior Transition Course, as planned, and was almost finished with AIT when he called me and said he had gotten orders to ship to Afghanistan. So I was going to have to go without seeing him for two whole years.
But then I hear this shrill screaming outside our apartment. It was 0230 on a school night! I was worried it would wake Evan. It didn't seem to be a "help me" sort of scream, but rather a we-are-morons variety of scream. I waited for it to stop, and when it did not, I went outside to check. This may have been a mistake, seeing as I am blind as a bat when it is not dark or in the middle of the night when I am half asleep. But then I stumble my groggy arse out without glasses. I think I cussed out someone I did not know. I still have no idea who it was. I hope it was not a neighbor I am friendly with. I guess I won't be anymore if it was.

So now I am sitting here, fully awake. I have been since 0300. It is now 0542, and I have already brewed coffee, had a cup and getting ready to fill 'er up a second time. I have managed to eat breakfast ( mmmmmm, Cheerios) and get my morning supply of nicotine. Lets' start the day!

My Holiday Season

In case you need to know where I will be:

• December 17th: Work/ Pack
• December 18th: Pack
• December 19th: Pack/ On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 20th: Move/ On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 21st: Work 7pm-7am
• December 22nd: Work 7pm-7am
• December 23rd: Work 7pm-7am
• December 24th: Work 3pm-11pm, Our Wedding Anniversary
• December 25th: Travel to Kentucky, Christmas with In-laws
• December 26th: Return trip from Kentucky, On-Call 7pm-7am
• December 27th: Off, Nothing planned
• December 28th: Work 7pm-7am
• December 29th: Work 7 pm-7 am
• December 30th: Work 7 pm-7am
• December 31st: New Year's Eve
• January 1st: New Year's Day/ My Birthday