Bruiser

The husband travels. A lot. It can be stressful for all of us. Generally the mornings are the worst. Get myself ready, get cranky tired children ready, get dogs together, feed everything and make it to work on time. This is a lot to do with two people and alone there can be very rough mornings. This one, was actually a good one.

Lunches are ready, back packs are on backs - we're headed out the door - on time even! I'm actually feeling cocky about it - we're all on time! My hands are full, often the case. I'm hurried, also often the case. In the crazy of everything, and trying to get the door locked, my snack, an orange, falls out of my hand and rolls across the front porch.

Walking toward the steps, I looked at it lying there on the floor. Tucked up against the pillar, I considered just leaving it there because, hey the hands are full and I've not got a minute to waste. (I'm on time!) But my obsession with not wasting food beat out my instinct to be lazy. And then everything got fuzzy.

In a hurry and not really paying attention, I bent down. And essentially knocked myself out. Now, I've got nothing to brag about. It's a fairly ordinary face, kind of long, pointy chin, odd really… but its my face nonetheless. I'd like to keep it in reasonable condition. No point in making it worse by hitting it with things. That's a job for sun damage and alcohol.

You sir are an asshole. Asshole!

I'd like to say that some attacker had come up on the porch, someone desperate for a clementine orange from Costco, and bashed me in the face. Sadly, I cannot say that. I can report that all the times I've said, 'they just don't make them like this anymore' when referencing my house are pretty much true. That pillar is over 100 years old and just as sturdy and stable and able to remove cheekbones as it was the day it was built.




As my dad would've said, it smarted. 










As I would say, HOLYHELLIMMAGONNABURNTHISMOTHERFUCKINGHOUSEDOWN!

I grabbed my cheek, very hot to the touch and throbbing. No blood. Keep going. We're on time! Stay on time. Stay on time.

Ah, poor face.

Here's the thing. The job. It's new. At the old job where I had known some of my coworkers for ten years or more they probably wouldn't be very shocked by anything I showed up with on my face or otherwise. As the day wore on I noticed some double takes around the office. I work with a lot of sporty people, there are surely injuries with some regularity. But injuries where you look like you've been punched in the face at 7 AM? Probably not as many of those. I found myself explaining it. Loudly. So all my cube neighbors would know the situation. One of the engineers said he thought I just looked tired. ...I'll be dealing with him later... I don't care if you are a socially inept nerd, you don't ever tell a woman she just looks tired. (Notice I didn't say lady, obviously.)

Fortunately for the husband his alibi is strong. He wasn't even on the continent at the time and really the story is just too stupid not to be real.  And anyone who knows either of us would just laugh hysterically at the thought of him hurting me. A) he wouldn't. B) should 'A' be incorrect, he'd be dead.

And so, to share my stupidity and at least have a little fun with it, I have to take a selfie and post it. What you can't see in the selfie is the dimension. The bruise sticks out, like an egg. It's out front. It's loud and proud. And, then, I notice how badly the eyebrows look - so overdue for a wax. And, holy shit... are those my pores? This shiner isn't looking so bad now compared to everything else. Maybe I should always have one to sort of distract from the rest. I'd go get a wax and a facial post haste but the thought of anyone touching the right side of my face makes me cringe.

A few days in and it's fading to a nice shade of green. I plan on glaring at that pillar for the rest of my life. Given it's sturdiness it's going to be around a lot longer than me. 

10 Years of the Boy

Last Wednesday the boy turned 10. Double digits. I’m constantly amazed at how quickly time passes.

In 2002, the baby bug hit. It hit hard. And it didn’t happen. And didn’t happen and didn’t happen. And there were tests and tests and tests. I was shocked because there are a lot of people around that look a lot like me. Fertility has never really been a family challenge. Apparently the cure for me was margaritas. That’s what it took. A big ‘ol margarita party and all the sudden 18 months of trying was over. Baby on the way!

It’s a boy. A big sturdy boy - just like I wished for. Right on the 22 week mark I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I obsessed. The nutritionist was shocked at my numbers - they were perfect every time. Mom mode starts much before there is actually a baby to hold onto.

There were weekly tests and then on his due date an induction. He was huge, my blood pressure was going up and he didn’t seem to be doing well. We checked into the hospital with all the excitement. The carseat was ready, the music, the birth plan. 12 hours in, the birthplan was out the window. He was struggling. Nothing was happening. Contractions were big and he was stuck. My first parental decision right there - paper work signed. Rushed down the hall. Surgery started.  

And then, out. My big sturdy boy. Almost nine pounds. And he cried for a second and then looked at me. More of a glance really, and a look of ‘you’ll do’.

Now we’re here. It’s 10 years later. There are days where I think no children would be a nice life. There are days where I make a momma bear look calm and tame. Most days, I’m overwhelmed. Overwhelmed at how I look into those blue eyes and realize that I love that little beast more than anything has ever loved anything. Even though now he doesn’t have much time for mom and he’s ‘checking his pits’ every day for hair and he’s got a definite boy smell.

There are still the occasional nights where he wants to be tucked in and get a snuggle. They are becoming less and less and I need to focus on taking full advantage of them. I’m not a perfect parent, there are days where I’m barely adequate. And, I screw up a lot. I expect therapy bills to come my way at some point. Don’t we all?

But some day, I hope he looks back and thinks, ‘my mom was pretty awesome’. Hopefully that will outweigh the, ‘when my mom yells, the house shakes’. Not sure how that happens. Pretty sure it involves buying the love. And, I’m OK with that.

Valentine's Day!

In February 2007 (might have been 2006, but I'm not really sure and its not super important to the story, so what the hell...) a lunch date was made. Tracey, Vikki and I would go out for lunch on Valentine's Day. I'm not sure what even started the conversation although I can assume that some where a husband was in trouble. After lunch we'd go to that new place, St Cupcake. Because, cupcakes were all the rage.

I can't remember where we ate lunch but we walked over to St. Cupcake after. To the location on 'the other side of 405'. In the rain. Well, I'm pretty sure it was raining. Either way, the story is better if it's raining. So, in the rain. The line to get into St Cupcake was around the block. People desperate for cupcakes on Valentine's Day. And then, at some point while we stood there pathetically in the rain, the baker came outside and said, 'we've got less than a dozen cupcakes left'. The crowd groaned. We looked at each other and started to walk away. But, still, we wanted a damn cupcake.

And so, we walked. On our morning coffee runs we'd noticed that Starbucks had cupcakes - that'll work! A cupcake is a cupcake after all!

To Starbucks we went! And then the next Starbucks and then the next. I'm going to go with twenty. We went to twenty different Starbucks. Finally, we had success! Red Velvet cupcakes all around! And, we were happy. And so started a tradition. Sort of.

On Valentine's Day 2008, I was on bed rest. The little girl inside me was pissed off. I don't know why, I'm pretty fun - you'd think she'd be pretty happy hanging out with me all the time. But, she wasn't. And so, she and I stayed in bed that day. And the next several days.

I followed Vikki and Tracey to work at Multnomah County in 2008, shortly after that pissed off baby girl was born. Every eight weeks at Multnomah County there is a blood drive. The email would go out, I'd read it, I'd not donate blood. But, I knew I should. I could use the points, so to speak. It's not that I'm a murderer or anything but I'm also not super awesome. My main problem is that I just don't really care. So, this blood thing. It could help me out. It's like giving and everything. Sort of like being nice. Whatever that is.

Some how Tracey and I talked each other into donating blood.  With ID in hand we headed into the blood donation room. We dutifully read the documents, we signed the forms, we were up on the beds - we were donating blood! Slowly. Oh, my God. So slowly. The whole process is painful. Painful! It's waiting and questions and then waiting again. And then your blood drains slowly out of you. And if you close your eyes just out of boredom, they think you've passed out and they FREAK out.

But, we carried on. We learned through experience that if you drank a gallon of water the day before, you could give blood in less than five minutes. NOTE: The Red Cross does not think its funny when you race to the fill the pint the fastest. In fact, I'd say its generally frowned upon. But, oh so fun.

In 2009 we picked up our Valentine's tradition. Vikki, Tracey and I off to lunch and cupcakes for Valentines day. I don't remember much about that particular lunch date but I'm going to assume that it was epic.

And the years ticked by and we added a new friend to our annual lunch dates. We got Becca! And we still got our cupcakes and now there were a lot of cupcake shops so getting our Valentine cupcakes wasn't such a challenge.

The blood drives continued, we made it almost every time. We answered the questions. No, we do not have sex with men who have sex with men. No, we do not trade drugs or money for sex. No, we have not lived in Mexico for more than three years between 1972 and 1986. No, we have not had a positive HIV test. And we'd race.

The county started to schedule a blood drive on Valentine's Day. Well, heck. Doing something nice and we get our lunch date and cupcake. Win. Win. 2013. Blood donation. Fun lunch. Cupcake. Check. Check. Check.

And then. Well, and then. I went ahead and fucked everything up. I resigned. In December 2013. But, before that, in October, I gave blood. In the bloodmobile in downtown. With my loyal blood donating friend. We gave blood.

So, in December... we went to donate again. And Tracey couldn't. Her iron was too low. It was odd and you can be sure that I gave her a hard time about it. But, I went ahead and did my donation. In a record 4 minutes, 38 seconds. And then we went for coffee. We didn't even wait the recommended time in 'The Canteen'. We're pros.

Before I left the county, our Valentine's lunch was already scheduled and on the calendar. There was no way that I was going to miss our lunch date just because I sit in a different office in a different town.
But, when to donate blood. We'd gotten good at our scheduling. First thing in the morning is best. Come in a few minutes early so if someone doesn't show up, you can get in even sooner. And with our impressive donation times, we're going to keep this up - no problem!

There was a flurry of scheduling texts in mid-January. The county blood drive wasn't the 14th this year. It was the 13th. Damn, neither of us could to the 13th. And, a long lunch two days in a row? Too much. We'd either have to skip it or find another way.

The Red Cross Donation Center! We could donate at 11:15, be at lunch with Vikki and Becca by 12:15 and then get our cupcakes! WINNING! And, surely the donation center would be a fast place to go. This is what they do. It's no pop up blood drive. It's a building built for blood donation.

And so at on Valentines Day, Tracey and I met at the blood donation center. A 300 year old man taught me how to use the mouse on the laptop so I could check myself in. And I did! We got our numbers and sat down to wait. It should be noted that the donation center isn't in a neighborhood I regularly frequent. And, I'll never be accused of not being a snob but my focus was on doing my nice thing and not to judge. But, the man across from us did look like a hobo. And I had a sudden urge to wash my hands until the skin came off.

And we waited and waited. We chatted, we caught up. And waited. 11:15 came and went. Then 11:30. Through the years, I've learned some things about my friend. A) don't be late and/or make her late. 2) don't let her get hungry. We're on a slippery slope here. And, we're risking our lunch time with Becca and Vikki. Finally we were escorted into our separate interview rooms. Questions were answered. Still not trading sex for drugs or money. Still not taking medications on the list. And I still haven't taken that trip to a foreign land between 1972 and 1986. My blood pressure was a little higher than normal, oddly enough.

I exited the room triumphant! 11:50. Goal now: be done by 12:05. Slide into the restaurant a couple minutes late at the most. Have our awesome Valentine lunch - still winning!

There was Tracey. Sitting in the waiting room. Unable to donate. And right there in front of the old people and the hobo, louder than I meant, 'What the fuck? Again?'

I was escorted to the back room with all the other people to donate. The bonus being that my friend could come too! So, I got situated and she sat down and we went right back to our conversation. All while checking the time.

And then complaining about the time.

And then rolling our eyes about the time. Seriously. We had appointments. For an hour ago.

And then listening to them complain about my vein on my left arm. Sadly, the right arm couldn't be used because I'd had a life insurance physical a few days before and my arm was bruised from the blood draw.

So, they brought over a woman who has worked there for 17 years. She can get blood out of any one. Allegedly.


Note to self: never tell the Red Cross staff you're in a hurry. Ever. They will somehow all in unison begin to move much, much slower.

They'll start to misplace everything they need. They'll complain that their hair gets caught in their glasses. That you moved your arm. And then, well, then... they'll stab the holy shit out of you. Now, I'm pretty tough. But OHMYGODTHISISNOTOK.

Tracey and I made eye contact. She mouthed, 'There is no blood.' followed quickly by, 'Where is the blood?'.

I looked down. Well, the blood.. it wasn't where it was supposed to be. It wasn't so much inside the needle as outside. You know. Running down my arm. SONOFABITCH.

You should never look down at a 19 gauge needle being manipulated in your arm. She was pinching my skin trying to wrestle the vein to where she wanted. All while saying, 'It's right there, I just can't get it quite right.'

Hmm. Well, OK. We're done here.

Tracey is texting Vikki and Becca. We'll be a couple minutes late. Can they order for us?

Just get through this. 'Ms. 17 Years Here' bandaged me up and reminded me that since no blood hit the bag, I'd be eligible to come tomorrow to try again. UMGEENOTHANKS.

I just want my Valentine's lunch! And, I'm done trying to be nice!