This one is about periods.

But it's scientific.

In preparing for my growth and development talk with fourth grade girls, I was wondering if there is any evidence I can give them to show that "starting your period" doesn't mean "ready to have a baby."

I googled it.

Rabbit trail: Remember doing research in the LIBRARY? Dewey Decimal System ring any bells? Micro Fische anyone?

One result that came up was fascinating to me. Now while abc does a stellar job of LOST, I can't say that I feel strongly about the validity of their research. They claimed here that studies show the absence of a father is consistent with early menarche in young girls. (starting your period)

Fascinating.

Ok. So I googled again, and got this. For those of you (like me) who are never gonna read all that, here is the abstract:

Abstract
In this study we examined the relationship between menarche and interest in infants among adolescent girls, and the effects of early environment, particularly of father absence from home, on both variables. Eighty-three girls ranging in age from between 11 and 14 years served as study participants. Interest in infants was assessed through their preferences for photos and silhouettes of animal and human faces of infants versus adults. Information on menarche and the early family environment was obtained with questionnaires and interviews. Variation in menarcheal status or timing of menarche was associated with some differences in interest in infants. There was little or no evidence, however, that suggested a direct causal relationship between these variables. Instead, both menarche and interest in infants were independently associated with early father absence from home such that father-absent girls exhibited earlier menarche and greater attraction to infant visual stimuli than father-present girls. Our results are consistent with the hypothesis that father absence is associated with a developmental trajectory characterized by earlier readiness for reproduction and parenting.


For those of you who need the one sentence version, it says that they are making a reasonable guess supported by evidence that father absenteeism is associated with early maturation and readiness for reproduction.

My thoughts were as follows:


"Is this because there is some invisible chain connecting us and testosterone or lack thereof is sensed and the body naturally tries to gather/produce more of it?"

"Thank goodness that Bill is such a good and present father to Em."

"Yet one more reason to appreciate my own father."

"Wait. What if it is simple psychology, and the desire for parenting is translated into a desire to be a parent?"

"There is no hope for alot of my girls at school. How can I help them?"

"I'm so ready for the weekend."

I did not say they were great thoughts. Just thoughts.



Do you have anything to share? I would appreciate.

"

My Dream Job

I love my job.

There have been moments of supreme hatred and loathing, but that usually
was not related to the job itself,but to the people with whom I was attempting to work.

I have wanted to do this job since I was seven.

I remember confirming that moment when I was 17.

I watched in the hospital while my sisters had her babies. I remember when she had Mary in Florida, I was watching the other four. I spent the night with her in the hospital while Bryan was home, and the next morning the nurse came in and asked me to leave for a moment. I think I cried a little, but managed to eat breakfast in the cafeteria. I'm fairly certain it was biscuits and gravy. And hot chocolate. When I came back, there sat my newly operated on, dearly adored, mama of a sister sitting on the edge of a delicious looking, fluffed up, pristinely white bed with the sun shining in the window. She was eating breakfast in a new gown with her hair and teeth brushed. Baby Mary was cocooned up in the bassinet sleeping peacefully.

I had an epiphany. It's such a clear memory. I wanted to be the magician who stayed in the room and made THAT happen. It seemed like a miracle to me.

Nursing school was two of the worst years ever. It was HARD. No one could sleep before clinicals, and we would ride up the elevator to 9 Roberts, nauseous and sweating in our white uniforms, with Brandi muttering "I hate our lives."

I liked home health. Mostly. I loved my patients, and I liked seeing them and caring for them in their homes. That was a special experience. I grew frustrated though, by the fact that I could not really make anyone better. I found myself saying "I just need that magic wand!"

I liked post-partum. Loved taking care of the babies, mother-baby care, teaching and comforting new moms. Straightening the trays, opening the blinds and snuggling the newborns. I don't get to make that particular magic happen anymore.

I was ok with floating through med-surg. I learned alot. If you had a bad day, you just moved to a different floor the next time you came in for a shift. But I just hated working at that time. My babies were babies. I wanted to be home with them, even if I was only gone two days a week. I still get a sick feeling in my stomach when I remember pulling out of the driveway on Miller St. and pulling in to the parking lot at Crawford Long.

But it kept me in nursing. That mattered a lot.

It matters because now that both of my kids are in school, I can work full time, and I can be home with them when they are home. Schedule, though a huge part of it, is not all of the reason I love this job.

It's walking through the doors, saying good morning to all the sleepy, grumpy, happy, sneezy (yes, and dopey doc and bashful) faces...calling out as many names as I possibly can. It's having a girl waiting by my clinic door just to say "hi" or ask me a question. It's putting bandaids on owies. It's feeling small arms around my waist as I walk through the cafeteria to get ice each day. It's a line of 70 kindergarteners with big smiles to show me that they brushed their teeth. It's pulling lice out a girls hair, while teaching her older sisters how to do it too, because if they don't, no one will. It's joking and laughing with my friends through the course of the day.

Ok. Ok. I admit it. It's all the Mexican food.

Just kidding.

(sorta)

I like joking with the older kids, comforting the sick ones who's parents have more pressing matters (real and imagined) to attend to. I like teaching about health and deodorant and lice and periods. I like screening 4 year olds for vision and hearing.

I love pulling out splinters. Very satisfying.
I'm not terribly fond of nosebleeds. Or diarrhea.
Vomitting I'm ok with. And earaches. I like looking in ears and listening to lungs.
I get kinda panicky with asthma, because, well, breathing is kind of important for living, you know. There's a life or death aspect there that has always kept me out of the ICU and the ER.

It's really rare when people find a job they love. I feel so grateful to the Lord for putting it in my heart from a very young age, and to my parents who never doubted for a second, educated, supported and paid my way. I know that I have been richly blessed.

I consider it a privilege.

Happy Nurses Day to all my cohorts out there. In the words of a first grader today: "You Rok Alot"

Just playing with Picnik. That's good times.

He's Not Here.

Today after school I witnessed this conversation:

Emma: I'm still hungry.

Goody: You ate a bowl of watermelon, a bowl of strawberries, a bowl of chips and a piece of cake.

Emma: I'm still hungry.

Goody: Eat a banana.

Emma: I'm blind. Where are the bananas? (Her eyes are closed and she does the zombie walk)

Goody: Over there.

Emma: Over here? (and she heads straight for the cake)

Goody. No. Over here. (redirecting her)

Emma: OK (turning and heading back towards the cake)

Grandad: We hid chocolate cake in one of those bananas. You just have to pick the right one.

Emma: Disbelieving smile.

Grandad: But if you pick the wrong one you have to eat the banana.

Emma: You're lying.

Grandad: Grandads never lie.

Emma: Yes they do. I have a Grandad who always lies (quick processing of resulting consequences of that statement) but he's not here.

Goody, Grandad, Me: Die laughing.

Emma: It's just a banana. I told you.

Grandad: You picked the wrong one.

Emma: Yeah. Right. (Consumes entire banana)

Eleven.

Last year was our 10th anniversary. Bill surprised me. It was fabuloso.

This year was our 11th anniversary. We had no plans, except to take our kids camping overnight with some friends. It was really loads of fun. I wondered every once in a while why I was so contented with something so unromantic.

I figured out that it was because it was not ordinary.

We were with friends who acknowledged our long years together with champagne in colored plastic cups and s'mores around the campfire.

If you would have told the newly engaged me that I would be spending my anniversary in a tent near Joe Pool Lake, I would have been either

a) ready to drop kick Bill back to his town house right around the corner

or

b) thinking "I won't care, as long as I'm with Bill!"

(I say either, because I was so emotionally wiggy at the time I probably would have had both thoughts right next door to each other. )

I'm SO glad I didn't know then. Only because I wouldn't appreciate now how a relationship matures. How people mature. How our friendship has grown and our respect and appreciation for each other has deepened.

In other words: How far we've come.

It's all good.

However.

If we go camping for our 12th anniversary, I will not call that a good tradition. I will call it redundant.

I had not intended for this post to be in any way serious. I totally intended for this post to be centered around this photo from our campout:

Oh heavens, Petr, that is just funny. Oh man. I actually think he had the helmet on because this was going on just a few feet away:

We all had a good time, I think.

Welcome to the World, Baby Girl

On this day I got my new Lappy.

The feel of it makes me so happy.

Now my old desktop

Is still so great. NOT.

The speed of the new makes me sappy.

I have entered the world of the sleek, and left behind the old and behemoth. Just in case you doubt the wonder of my new machine, this photo has captured this laptop's powerful aura.

Me likey.

Welcome Home.

I am so grateful every day to be where I am right now. I love this house, I love the neighborhood- the easy familiarity of it all. I love the gorgeous spring days. (never mind that today is 49 and the wind is blowing like a banchee.) I love the kids playing outside with friends. It's just lovely.

Don't you like my geraniums? My dear mother in law planted those for me while they were here.

I also love garage sales. These chairs were 2 dollars each. Though they are not perfect, they are perfectly priced!! It gives me a place to sit while watching the kids do the following:

freerun in the ditch

scooter

skateboard

play tech decks

ride bikes.

The backyard is reserved for another game:

Meet Cracker and Poofle. They live on the planet Zeenger. Cracker has a Magical Sword with Magic Power, and Poofle has a Magical Bucket in which she hides from Monsters. The Dragon, Beach Ball, and Jarritos Bottle are also essential, but in what capacity I am uncertain. Let's not forget The Magic Green Recorder of Magical Power. Cracker just wouldn't be Cracker without his Magic Green Recorder of Magical Power.

And now, my friends the load of whites is ready to be switched to the dryer, so I guess that's the end of today's post. With all the things I love, I do not like laundry. If I ever say that I do, then you know that the Monsters from planet Zeenger have taken over my brain. I'll need to be saved, and quickly. Hopefully, the Jarritos Bottle will do the trick.