the lineup

Tomorrow's food will be:

LUNCH
Mimi's Corn Chowder (you can get the recipe here)
Monkey bread
Fruit with creamy vanilla-y topping

SUPPER
Roast chicken (hey, there's only four of us)
Mashed potatoes
Stuffing
Green beans
Yeast rolls (the kind you have to let rise, too)
Chocolate Mousse Pie

I'm hungry already. And because I'm such a doll, here's the ultra-yummy and easy recipe for the Monkey Bread:



MONKEY BREAD

2 1-lb packages pizza dough
4 oz. butter, melted (plus more for the pan)
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

Directions: Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Mix the sugar and cinnamon together in a shallow bowl. Pull off the pizza dough into 1-2 inch balls. Dip each ball in the melted butter, then roll the ball in the cinnamon sugar mix. Put each ball into a buttered bundt pan. Any butter left over should be poured over the top of the, er, balls, and the remaining cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top. Stick it in the oven for about 40 minutes, or until the top is all nice and golden brown. Take out of the oven, let sit for about 5 minutes, then flip over onto a plate. Guests can just pull the bread apart with their fingers... but be forewarned: it's mega-gooey!

..........

So freakin' tired. Want to fall over into bed. Mental process absent. Writing only because I signed up for NaBloPoMo and, well, I gotta. This nursing thing is great, but it wears me out.

Peace out. More mentation tomorrow. Maybe.

afraid to fall

I can totally relate to this. It made me laugh, but it's so true. Props to my hubby for first posting this on his blog:

I did it

Today, I took all three patients on my own. Well, not on my own completely: my preceptor was there to help me out if I needed it, and she did help me quite a bit. Because she is a rock star.

I did have one very memorable guy under my care today: a motorcycle accident that left my patient with this huge chunk taken out of his arm. He's resting in bed, having been informed over and over again that his arm will never work again and needs to be amputated or else will become so infected that he would die from the infection. He roundly refuses each time. Instead, he sports a huge dressing and a metal rod fixator. He is covered with all sorts of interesting tattoos: naked people in acrobatic poses, swastikas, weapons, you name it. He's pretty weak from everything, but he still growls at you when you walk in. Here's my favorite conversation with him today:

"Hi, Mr. ____. Do you want some more of your Gatorade?"

(slurred) "You're all trying to kill me, I know it." (then motions for Gatorade)

"No, we're trying to get you better so you can go home. But you know we can't let you go home just yet, right? There's a big metal fixator coming out your arm to keep it still."

(scowls)"I know that."

(pause while I mess with his IV pump)

"Look honey... c'mere. Listen to me. I mean, really listen to me. I've got $300 right here in my pocket," (motions to bare ass) "and it's all yours if you just drive me home, okay? Drive me home."

"Hmmmm. No, I don't think so."

(look of disgust and shock) "Well, why not?"

"I'm not that cheap, sir."

the outcome

Up 1.2 pounds. Ugh. I'm not beating myself up but instead choosing to blame it on PMS hormones, water retention, and building up muscle, which weighs more than fat. Starting afresh today, right after I finish these chocolate-covered walnuts and meatball pizza slices. Right.

Shower was lovely. Really. It's kind of touching and funny, watching a mom used to all boys get showered with lots of pink ruffly lace things, and then watching her melt over and over, realizing that she's really having a girl, and how that little girl will change everything. In a good way.

I made it through intact. I smiled through tears. I felt genuinely happy for her. I still prayed a lot. And then I went home and took a long nap. Sometimes, you just need to rest.

celebrate

Not a whole lot to say tonight - this NaBloPoMo thing is getting harder than I thought. Originally, I envisioned this great blog coming out of my fingertips onto my computer screen, full of original witticisms and gorgeous pictures. Kind of like dooce and her daily hilarious adventures being a mom of one adorable toddler, and who just remodeled her already-gorgeous website and now includes a new stunning picture of herself with glass-cutting cheekbones. Alas, I do not have such cheekbones. Nor do I have the website. Nor the toddler. Nor the daily hilarious adventures. At least, not the kind I actually sit down, remember, and write about.

Anyway...

I have two big challenges tomorrow: weigh-in and a baby shower. The weigh-in might be a special challenge because this week, though I have run and Jazzercised and worked on my body, has been full of little goodies, like tidbits from the Food and Wine Festival at Epcot, a tasty or two from Starbucks, and perhaps slightly larger helpings of foods that should be in slightly smaller quantities. Hmmm. I'm proud of myself for not getting neurotic over it - I have struggled mightily with my brain short-circuiting in the past when I've realized I've eaten too much over the past week, and then I find myself trying to not eat anything the day before I weigh in, only to get too hungry in the end and consume whatever I can lay hands on first, a lot of it. So, I didn't do that this week, at least not the neurotic aspect. But, tomorrow may not be the numbers I want. C'est la vie, ma belle, I must say.

The baby shower is a different story. It's a dear friend of mine who, unexpectedly, is finally getting to add a sweet bundle of pink to her Bruiser Farm. Both parents are completely delighted. I want to be so excited for them, and I am, I really am, somewhere inside of my heart, I really am. I happily spent too much money at Target yesterday to buy them lots of pink little lovelies, and half of them I had wished came in adult sizes because they were just that cute. I mean, what self-respecting girl would not want a huge bedspread of cabled pink chenille, even if her husband might heartily object? Tomorrow, I know, will be a great shower of pinkness. I love pink. I love girly stuff. I adore babies. But taped up on my refrigerator next to my friend's stylish shower invitation is an appointment card for my reproductive endocrinologist, and it just gives me pangs and the tears start up in my eyes and I just silently pray Dear God, please, DON'T FORGET ME. And I think about both times Jason and I got all excited, wondering whether to decorate our spare room in blue tugboats or pink butterflies, only to end up wondering what the hell happened and why my body decides to be fickle and change its mind.

Tomorrow, I want to celebrate for all the reasons I can.

jazzin' it up

I decided to try something new tonight: my friend Joslyn has been encouraging me to come with her to Jazzercise, and tonight, I did. The first class is free, she told me, and I could come try it out. I'll admit: I had visions of shuffling around, barely getting the heart rate up, surrounded by the geriatric set. The last I'd heard of Jazzercise was when I was a kid in the 80's and aerobics were all the rage. I think I half-expected those spandex bodysuits to show up - you know, the thong bodysuit over tights. I never understood that, giving yourself a wedgie intentionally. Hmmm.



Well, back to Jazzercise tonight: I had a great time! It was not the geriatric set by far, and Joslyn and I were not the only young'uns there. (To be fair, the average age of participants was around 40, but that ain't old, folks.) Nor were there any be-thonged spandexed ladies (praise God). No Olivia Newton-John 80's action. And even though tonight was not a traditional dance workout but a strength-training set, you better believe I was sweatin'! I'd gone for a run before I went, thinking I needed to do something to get my heart pumping... and ended up doing just that for another hour when I went to the class. (Hey, it can only help, right?) Thank goodness I'd had the presence of mind to change clothes between the two workouts and freshen up a bit. No one needs the Grand Master Funk, y'all.

I think I might go back. We did get to do a little dancing at the end, and it was sweet: cool enough for me to enjoy it, easy enough for any klutzo to follow along. Even better was that I wasn't racing to get the workout in before the sun went down - always an advantage of working out indoors.

dear santa

Okay, I did it. I made up my list for Santa this year. I'll admit it: I LOVE Christmas. I love getting gifts, and I love giving gifts. I love the joy on faces when they open a gift that I got for them. It gives me quite a thrill. And, for as much as I try not to, I still love getting stuff. Particularly thoughtful, meaningful stuff.

I've also found that the best way to ensure good relations among family and friends during gift-giving times (such as Christmas and one's birthday) is to provide a detailed, comprehensive list of wanted goodies. There's expensive stuff for people who want to splurge on you. There's inexpensive stuff so that even your friend who subsists on Ramen noodles can get you a little something you want and not feel like a schmuck. It takes the stress off of others when creating their to-buy-for list for the holidays. I mean, it's all about keeping the peace, my peeps. I'm just saying.

So, in the spirit of joy and love and keeping peace and relieving stress, I've taken all the guesswork out of giving me some gift lovin' this Christmas. Behold, the list:



Happy Holidays!

the sweet spot

I'm not sure why I ever stopped running. Earlier this year, I was on a roll: I ran 4-5 days a week, about 18-20 miles. I know many runners who do more than that, but for a girl who used to barely huff and puff her way through a half a mile, well... it was a freaking miracle, right up there with fishes and loaves and the Red Sea parting. Even better was that it was not 18-20 miles of sheer torture a week. Lo, I enjoyed each day I got to run. I felt empowered, unstoppable, even if I wasn't a speed demon. Rawrrrrr.

Maybe I got lazy, or bored, or overwhelmed by my last semester of nursing school, but I dropped the ball. Big time. I stopped running and promptly became more stressed, not as much fun to be around, and about 25 pounds heavier (not just from not running, but from a horrible downward spiral of my eating habits). Ugh.

So, at the beginning of October, I started running again. And eating right. There was some instant gratification from the eating: you feel good almost immediately, even if there are some residual cravings, like a really unexplainable desire for Chicago-style hot dogs. (Okay, I still have those cravings.) But picking up running again after you haven't ran in nearly 6 months isn't quite as easy at first. I ran a mile that first day, and it was about as enjoyable as having my teeth cleaned. Dude, was I SLOW. I am really not exaggerating when I say that a pair of senior citizens easily passed me on the trail, and they were walking. But I kept going.

Within a few weeks, I was still running, getting close to the two mile mark, not a whole lot faster, but not overtaken by the over-70 demographic. And I knew that I would get back to where I used to be, fitness-wise. It was a better experience: definitely not the fabled runner's high or anywhere close, but I wasn't shouting colorful expletives and twitching anymore, either.

Pretty soon, it started getting easier. I started getting a little faster. My stride got a little longer. I ventured farther and farther. As a side bonus to complement my better eating habits, I dropped a dress size and 8 pounds.

Tonight, I ran a 5K in length on the trail, and I felt like I was gliding. There were the usual aches and pains at the beginning of the run, my body reminding me that I spent the day in a classroom and not walking around to get warmed up, but after about a half a mile, they were gone. Other runners passed me. I didn't care. I enjoyed all 45 minutes of it (see? not a speed demon) and came home, stinky, sweaty and happy, wondering why I'd ever stopped running in the first place.

Can I inspire any fellow couch potatoes out there? It's not impossible to do it, enjoy it, and want to do it again the next day. Go Team!

*yawn*

So after this amazing weekend, I am still totally exhausted. After spending Friday running around the ICU, then Friday night jumping up and down for 3 hours, then Saturday ALL DAY jumping around and shouting and crying and dancing and singing and full of joy, then having the most powerful experience at church Sunday, well... I went to work today and came home, went to take a short nap, and CRASHED. I'm still sleepy. I didn't run, and I heated up a Lean Cuisine for dinner because anything else required too much effort.

So, excuse my laziness. Since the conference, I've fallen in love with Brooke Fraser's music all over again. And because I think my brain might implode and then leak out of my ears if I tried to write anything more than a few sentences, I'll leave you with yet another video. (Are ya tired of the videos already?)

Love,
me