my morning routine

Side note: I lost 2.6 pounds this week for a grand total of FIVE. I'm also running faster and my jeans are fitting much better. The muffin top disappeareth.

Anyway, here's a glimpse of my morning:

if you really want to fly...

"Hope for the Flowers" is the story of a caterpillar named Stripe who watched fellow caterpillars climbing and stepping on and over others with no idea about what was at the top. When he asked others what was at the top, the answer was, "No one knows, but it must be awfully good because everybody’s going there."

Stripe tried for a while and even met a lovely female caterpillar named Yellow, and they tried together and gave up together. Stripe tried again, and one day, as Yellow was waiting for Stripe to come back, she discovered a grey caterpillar struggling to get out of a cocoon. She offered to help, but the grey caterpillar said, "No, I have to do this to become a butterfly."

Yellow asked, "What is a butterfly?"

The grey caterpillar replied, "It is what you are meant to become. It flies with beautiful wings and joins the earth to heaven. It drinks only nectar from the flowers and carries the seeds of love from one flower to another. Without butterflies, the world would soon have few flowers."

Yellow asked, "How does one become a butterfly?"

The grey caterpillar replied, "You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar."




I thought about that story today as I went down the running trail. How easy is it for us to get stuck in a rut, follow the same old routine, and stay on the ground, wishing we could fly but being unwilling to undergo the metamorphosis? Beautiful butterflies are not born that way. They become. They give up the relative safety of living on solid ground to take a risk and reach higher, become more beautiful than they have ever been.

It's been a better week for me. I've eaten healthier - not on a diet, thank you - and made myself move more and found some very useful ways to let off steam and anxiety that do not involve peanut butter M&Ms. I found out this morning I let go of two and a half pounds over the past week, which a friend gleefully reminded me is ten sticks of butter. I was torn between my celebratory mood at having dropped the weight and disturbing visions of my body made completely out of butter (with bar-shaped chunks now removed).

I want to fly. I do. I know I'm going to need to resist the urge to buck against the cocooning process: there are some areas of my life that need to be altered, and I just don't like change that much, even good ones. I need to stop treating living healthy like a phase, which I've done time and time again. I'm going into this with a lot of faith and a not-so-great track record - I'm acutely aware that there is an entire congregation of people (literally) who witness the amazing yo-yo effect I do every 8-9 months, and it's a little unnerving to me, feeling like the Great Fluctuation.

So, here's to one more day of the butterfly effect. And one after that, and another after that. For now, though, I'm just working on today's cocoon.

melts in your mouth, not in your hand

Every now and then in my life, I get these stunning reminders that I cannot do life all by myself. I don't mean "all by myself" like a desert island dweller or hunch-backed hermit, but, you know, independent, on top of my game, smooth and unblemished. It's probably not a coincidence that peanut butter M&Ms have been a fixation of mine lately. Hardy candy shells are good for those M&Ms I've downed lately, not human beings or their hearts.

I submit the following evidence to you:



I really hate this picture. I shouldn't, because it was taken just a couple of days ago, and I have not radically altered my appearance since then, so this is pretty much me as I present myself to the world each day. I don't want to say I hate how I look. But I do. I look large. I feel large. I'm not bedridden or waddling or struggling to walk down the hall, but it's a direction I could go. I had this picture taken on purpose: sometimes you need to see exactly where you are to help define where you need to go and how you need to get there.

There's more under the surface, too. I have been anxious. I blamed it on school, the constant threat of homework and shifting schedules and unfair exams for the past 15 months. When I miscarried, I blamed it on my uterus. When I miscarried for the second time this year, I blamed my God. When I graduated, I blamed it on boards. All those things are done, and I'm still worked up. I could blame it now on starting a new job, the upcoming holidays, unrest in the Middle East, Orlando traffic, El nino, whatever. I'm starting to realize that there will always be something. And my God, I cannot keep feeling like a wind-up toy that's been wound too far. It makes me want to eat a lot and hide under the covers. It makes me not call my friends, and I felt so lonely tonight that I just broke down and cried after I couldn't get a hold of one of my best friends that I haven't spent quality time with in, I don't know, forever.

For now, life is taken in little one-minute bites. I've started eating better this week. It's hard, but it does feel better. I'm looking for someone to help me (professionally) sort out all the jumbled emotions I've squashed over the past two years, trying to be in control and not all messy and untoward. I'm getting out the running shoes - walking first for a while - because I remember feeling calmer and clearer when I did that. I'm calling friends. I'm praying a whole lot. I'm trying to shed the hard candy shell.

ah... you were right all along

I passed!

These last few days have been torture, although a special bravery award should be given to my dearest husband for marrying a woman who has an exaggerated flair for melodrama and possesses an overactive imagination and sense of self-doom. Really, I was frightfully intolerable, and he was wonderful, pouring peanut butter M&Ms and Strongbow directly down my throat upon command and giving me lots of snuggly hugs without expecting any nookie in return.

And yes, I have Learned My Lesson, folks: it ain't over 'til the Fat Lady at the Florida Board of Nursing office sings. No matter how convinced I was of certain failure, let's face it: a girl just can't be right all of the time, you know? I was wrong. Never have I been so happy to be wrong in my life.

A special side note for all my friends still waiting to take their exams: yes, it really did suck that bad. But expect the suckiness. Embrace it. Snuggle with it. It probably means you passed. Go to the mall after the exam and blow some money.

And a huge thanks to everyone who knew better than I did and had faith in me, even if I did put on a pretty convincing boo-hoo act after it was all over.

Picture of navy scrubbed-me forthcoming.

patience, grasshopper...

Yesterday, I took my board examination, the NCLEX-RN. I can honestly say that it was the worst testing experience, if not one of the worst overall experiences of my life so far. Despite all of my previous vows to remain the epitome of calm and Zen, despite my repeated prayers leading up to and during the exam, I still became so anxious that I cried in the middle of the test. I walked out, certain that I had failed. I am remembering snippets of questions and realizing in my calmer, post-exam state that I likely got those wrong.

I am waiting for results now. I am told that I can check a website by tomorrow afternoon and know if I passed or not, though I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't peeked on the website to see if I made it or not. The official letter will come sometime during the middle of next week.

It's hard to describe how I feel right now, because the emotion changes every five minutes: fear, relief that it's done, sorrow, panic, agitation, anger, hope, despair, envy at friends who passed, sympathy for those who didn't and comfort that if I don't pass, I'm not alone. Most of all, I find myself confused and frustrated: this is just the latest of a series of events that has left me feeling wounded and hurt over the past couple of month, and I wonder, "Why this, God? Why now? What are you doing to me?" I know am certainly not the first, nor will I be the last, to ask that question. I know God is big enough, as my friend Tiffany says, to handle my anger and frustration. But there are still many moments of being overwhelmed, tears of fear (no, not Tears For Fears), and praying for miracles and grace.

I am trying not to think about having to go back to work, demoted from graduate nurse to clinical tech, in maroon scrubs and a constant stream of questions like, "why are you not in your navy scrubs?" and "how did the test go?" I'm trying not to think about having to repeat the awful experience in two months, to go through all that anxiety and hell again. I'm trying not to think, period.

For everyone who has given me encouragement and good wishes, thank you. I hope that all those people who said, "I'm sure you did fine" are absolutely right...

dreams do come true

Today was my first day at work as a graduate nurse at ORMC. It was a little surreal at first, walking onto the floor in navy blue scrubs. Up until now, I'd been working as a student nurse (in my awful student uniform scrubs) or as a tech (clad in maroon or teal blue). Wearing navy was a tangible, visible sign that I had graduated to a whole new level of employment. I've dreamed of wearing navy scrubs for years now, of finally seeing my long-held dream come true. However, once I got on the floor, I spent the day doing just paperwork, computer work, watching orientation videos... no actual patient care. And so, it was easy to forget that I'd begun a new role in an otherwise familiar environment.

I met Jason at Moe's after work for some queso love - there ain't none better, folks - and since it was both two minutes from our church AND kids' night, it was like a Tuesday night Grace Fellowship gathering, topped with pico de gallo. We ran into a family from the church; Jason had met them before, so he introduced me and we all exchanged the usual pleasantries about where we live and what we do. The wife, Jamie, asks me what I did at the hospital, and without a pause, I replied, "I'm a nurse." And it hit me, right after I said that, as Jamie was asking me where in the hospital I worked, that I am, in fact, a nurse. Granted, I could have done my usual routine where I introduced myself not as a nurse but as a graduate nurse, gone into the long explanation of what that term meant, and explained that once I took my boards, I would be a real registered nurse. But I didn't. I simply said "nurse". It gave me little zings up and down my spine. I felt proud. I smoothed out my navy blue scrubs and stood just a little taller.

And as I drove home from dinner, speaking those words aloud reminded me how faithful and good God is. I find that even among my Christian friends and family, the credit is so often given to my perseverance, my hard work, my ambition, my intelligence, my sacrifice. And yet, I wouldn't be feeling the warm glow of today without Him. For lots of reasons I'll keep a mystery, life has been rough lately, rough in ways that have made me doubt the presence of a God who loves me intimately and has plans for my good and prosperity. I still face more hurdles, most notably the hurdle of board examinations next Monday, where the worth of my entire nursing education boils down to my critical-thinking skills over a 2-3 hour period. I'll admit it: I'm pretty nervous. I don't want to face the possibility of failure, or worse yet, how that possible failure might further shake my already-shaken faith. But then in the middle of all these trials and nerves, there's a rock-solid reminder of how far He's carried me, how solid and unshakable He is, how much He loves me.

It's my navy blue scrubs.

universal marriage gripe #23

Put the laundry in the laundry basket. Good.
Took the laundry to the laundry room. Good.
Put laundry into washing machines. No complaints here.
Took laundry out of washing machine and into dryer. Excellent.
Brought laundry back to apartment and into bedroom. Again, excellent.

Left warm laundry scrunched and smashed down in laundry basket until cool, thereby preserving scrunchy wrinkled state. Huh?!?



But I wouldn't trade him for all the clean folded laundry in the world. I'm just saying is all...

run, do not walk

...and get thyself to your local CD shop (or iTunes) and listen to Leeland. Jason and I got to catch them live at Night of Joy, and holy mother of God, are they good. I mean really, amazingly, kick-ass good, not just "positive hits" good, the kind of bland good that I've come to expect from our local Christian radio station where knowing Jesus must mean that you are always supposed to focus on the positive. The music Leeland puts out can simultaneously announce that God is indeed good and that life really sucks sometimes AND that it is entirely appropriate to praise God with loud guitars and Coldplay-esque musicality. Which is probably why our local radio station hardly plays their music in favor of early 90's Michael W. Smith and Rebecca St. James ad nauseum.

(If you're really bored, take a minute and go to our local Christian radio station's website and count how many times the word "positive" is used... even just on the first page. Mind-numbing, isn't it?)

Plus, the talent on this guy (the lead singer for whom the band is named after) is mind-blowing: half of these songs were written before he sprouted his first chin hairs.

So, a preview:



Enjoy. Seeing him live was one of the musical high points of my entire life, even if he did look eerily similar to Bryce Dallas Howard. Well, minus the make-up, anyway.

I gots em

My letters, anyway: one from Pearson Vue saying that I have their authorization to take the NCLEX, and one from the Florida Board of Nursing saying that I may being as a graduate nurse. Together in hand, I will present these to the hospital HR office, and my life is officially signed over to them.

It's been nice during this past month, getting to sleep in most of the days of the week, working here and there, studying for boards, and generally having an open schedule. Jason even had a week off in there, too, and until I cut it short by flying last-minute to Pennsylvania, it was sweet to have us both at home, arranging our schedules as we saw fit.

When I bring those letters to HR, though, it means that for the next three months, I work whenever my preceptor is working. My days working will be 12 hours of running around, alternately sweating and freezing, multi-tasking, ADD-fighting days. It will be a huge change from sitting on the couch, idly wondering whether you should watch Ellen, Oprah, or just flip back and forth on commercial breaks. I think I was re-developing soft spots on my skull.

And yet with all of the above comes the job for which I have been dreaming, working, studying, sometimes slaving, and hoping for six years now, when the idea first entered my head that maybe, just maybe, instead of running around from audition to audition (note: I have always hated auditions!), I could rekindle that childhood dream of being a nurse and enjoy what I do.


graduation day with wendy and shannon

My pay gets doubled. My job satisfaction multiplies exponentially, even with the frustrating, teeth-gnashing days I know will pop up now and then. Plus, I get to wear scrubs instead of polyester-blend something with pantyhose. I don't like pantyhose. I like pajama-like workwear.

he came over to the dark side

The dark side of blogging, anyway: my dear husband is beginning his own blog. In good wifely form, I will shamelessly plug it every chance I get.

Jason Vermeulen's blog

Go check it out.