Tuesday, October 5, 2010

How Do I Know?


See those? Blurry, I know. But, those are nails. Fingernails. My own.
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I started biting my nails in the second grade. I remember one of the fourth grade teachers stopping me in the hall one day and asking why I was biting my nails. She told me that one day, when I was older, I would want them to be pretty for a boy that I loved and I would stop. It was a lovely sentiment, but has thus far turned out to be untrue.
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I spent a good 6 years or so with acrylics. This allowed me to have nice hands for a professional life.
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BUT, magically, when I began my CNA class, I stopped biting them. It was not a conscious decision. I only discovered it on accident when I realized I needed to trim my nails. Holy cow!
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Seven months later..... I have to trim and file them weekly. This is a whole new world to me, but very symbolic of my feelings.
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I'll never know why I started biting my nails. I think it's because I saw someone do it and thought I'd give it a try. But, it became a 25-year nervous habit. I didn't FEEL nervous or stressed, but I think in the back of my mind there was a residual wondering if I was on the right path or making the choices to take me to where the Lord wanted me to go in life.
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That feeling went away the minute I made actual steps and progress toward nursing. And... the habit stopped all on it's own.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

To The Mothers Out There

I spotted this on Tracie's blog a little while back, and have wanted to share it too ever since. Thanks for finding it, Tracie!


The Invisible Woman, Excerpt By Nicole Johnson



At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness.

It started to happen gradually…


One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?” 


“Nobody,” he shrugged. 


Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only five, but as we crossed the street I thought, oh my goodness, nobody? 


I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family, like “Turn the TV down, please.” And nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing. 


Just the other night my husband and I were out to a party. We’d been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept right on talking. 


That’s when I started putting all the pieces together. I don’t think he can see me. I don’t think anyone can see me. 


I’m invisible.

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I’m invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more.
Can you fix this?
Can you tie this?
Can you open this?
Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being.
I’m a clock to ask, “What time is it?”
I’m a satellite guide to answer, “What number is the Disney Channel?”
I’m a car to order, “Right around 5:30, please.”

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude – but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She’s going…she’s going…she’s gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out of style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped 
package and said, “I brought you this.”

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription. “To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”

In the days ahead I would read, no, devour, the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I would pattern my work:


• No one can say who built the great Cathedrals—we have no record of their names.

• These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

 • They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

 • The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.”

And the workman replied, “Because God sees.”


I closed the book, feeling the missing piece just push into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I see you Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one else does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.”

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn, pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who will show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, “My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for 3 hours and presses all the linens for the table.” That would mean I’d built a shrine or monument to myself. I just want him to come home. And then if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, “You’re gonna love it here.”

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Friday, September 3, 2010

Calvert St. T-Shirt Designs

Alright, Calvert Alumni.... thoughts?







Monday, August 23, 2010

A Tale of Pain

Earlier this summer, I had the distinct pleasure of breaking my first bone. I wish I could say it was while doing something dangerous, heroic or otherwise horrendously amusing. But, the truth is.... it was the result of my flip-flop-clad feet and clumsy nature colliding with the bottom of a ice cream parlor door. OUCH.

I didn't get an immediate picture after the accident. In hindsight, I wish I had. You can imagine my right pinky toe parting from the rest of my foot at a right angle. (it hurt so bad when it happened, I was sure I had ripped the toe completely off and was afraid to look).

After about 36 hours of keeping it taped in place, it looked like this:


The position got better, but the colors starting coming out after that.




Wearing my shoes for work was tough, and heels were totally out of the question for a while. I'm happy to report now, that all is back to normal. Back to running, heels, and living pain free. I'm very grateful home treatment seems to have worked.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

These Boots (or Asics) were Made for Jogging

Too bad it's extremely hard to do from the house.

The weather this week, in combo with a surge in motivation to regain control of my life, is perfect for daily exercise. There's plenty of fresh country air to breathe and abundant neighbors to wave at.

I really miss the days of living in any of my Northern VA apartments, but particularly the Arlington ones where a paved trail was right outside my door, waiting to take me for a scenic stroll along the Potomac or by the monuments.

My street now would be the perfect jogging trail if I could magically cease motor traffic. But, alas, that is beyond my power. Instead, I went out for a jog on our street which is too narrow for the county to legally paint a center line for two lane traffic. Few spots have level grass on the shoulder to ditch out on when a car is coming. The entire time I was out there, I was praying that each of those cars coming along our 45 mph rural road about to pass me contained alert drivers that had their eyes on the road (and me), and not on their iPods or latest text.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Fault or Frustration?

I'd like your opinion - I'm genuinely confused on whether this is a fault of mine or a legitimate gripe.

I have a hard time asking for help. I tend to run myself into the ground rather than ask for help. (I know this part is a fault)

BUT - It seems in the last few months, there have been several times I've tried to take a few folks up on offers for help, and they are either too busy or don't follow through. This leaves me feeling validated in not asking for help. I am but one person in the throng that is their life, and, at the end of the day, they have too much on their plate.

Now, a couple of these times I might consider my fault because I waited too long and then asked on too short of a notice. Understandable. But for a couple others, it's been over a month, and my need hasn't been met.

I don't think it's fair to anyone I ask for help to explain that I only ask if my very livlihood depends on it. It seems too much pressure to put on someone. BUT - let it be known, that I don't ask for help... nearly ever. And, if I am, it's because I REALLY need it. I'm probably a lot more stressed, worried and drowning than I let on.

So, readership, (however small you may be since I've been lax in posting) is this my fault or a legitimate frustration? How do you handle asking for help, and are you successful?

Friday, March 5, 2010

In Tune

I can think of no way to say this other than for the first time in a LONG time, I feel like the universe and I are in sync. I've had my share of career adventures and variety. I don't regret any. But, now that I've made steps to follow what my heart was telling me in November - nursing - the confirmation is stronger by the moment. This is the right path.

Orientation for the CNA program was this afternoon. I've never been so excited to meet my textbook. Classes start Monday, and it's a condensed 3 week program. I've done the homework for Monday already and will work on Tues. and Wed. tomorrow. I don't plan to made CNA my career. It's a step on the ladder. As I read through the text and think about the patients and residents ahead, it becomes a more calming, warm and fuzzy step by the minute.


Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Today

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life"

You've heard it before, right? Not like I just did.

When Dad was admitted into the VA hospital in early January to finally get his surgery done, he was so upbeat. He was estatic to have a date set and an end to his hemotoma, Ralph (we had named him) in sight.

On the spartan industrial walls of unit 2F (surgical wing) that he was in awaiting surgery there were white dry erase boards with permanent marker sketching out:

Room #:

Today is:

Your RN is:

Your CNA is:

Anticipated discharge date:

I believe these are called Patient Communications Boards in the private sector. Heck, they could have been called that at the VA as well, except for the little fact that no one ever wrote anything on them. Day after day would go by with no updates. Zero communication.

I never saw any patients question it, but I always felt that if it were me sitting in one of those hospital beds, I would feel an ever greater sense of loss of time and normality to have it continually in front of my face.... blank date, blank discharge date, etc.

One day before Dad's surgery, he lept out of his bed with agility and energy we hadn't seen from him in a few months. He walked over to the blank board on his half of the room and filled in:

Today is: "the first day of the rest of your life."

Days and weeks after Dad had left that room, the words remained. I guess since no one thought to write on them, no one thought to erase them either. I would see them from the hallway, though, as I would walk past heading to or from another of his rooms. In fact, the one day I got to get him out in a wheelchair for a bit, I wheeled him past it on the way back, so he could see it again.

Until tonight, I had totally forgotten about that. Much of the last month, for me, has been reliving in my mind the hard parts of the hospital visit. The sad times. The pitfalls. Even more annoying than having them play over and over, is that I'm generally an optimist and Dad gave me 33 whole years of good stuff to think about. I really, really, don't want to dwell on the last few weeks. On top of those flashes, real life has been hitting pretty hard too. Not working, debt, moving - it's been nearly more than I can bear. Diems have been Carpe-ing me instead of the other way around.

During my drive to Richmond on Saturday, though, I had little thoughts running through my head of little ways to progress, small things I could do to begin digging out from this hole, prayers being answered. Now that it's a few days past that, and I've acted on them, I actually feel pretty good.

A few moments ago, I began preparing for bed. As the thoughts of what I had done today and what was ahead tomorrow passed, I could almost hear Dad's voice clearly say, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

Thanks, Pa.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Monday, February 22, 2010

Cry Me a River

I just brought in his coat and boots from my car. The orange plastic bag with assorted pills, books and picture that stayed in his hand or at this bedside came in too.

My dad's been gone nearly a month, and I only touched them again just now because of necessity in bringing back a load from the Richmond apt. I would have happily driven them around with me forever. I would have happily driven HIM around with me forever.

It snowed so much right after he left. I knew it was the earth helping to slow the pace of life for our family. Today is drizzly, and feel like the heavens are sobbing along side me. All of the emotions at the surface are as fresh as the morning it happened.

I've wanted to write for so long to help process my thoughts. But no words will come. I'm not in denial, but I can't even bear the thought of sitting down to begin something because it makes it even more real.

While in my sweats and under the electric blanket last week, at a time long past when the productive population left their homes for work, I caught the episode of West Wing when Leo dies on Bravo. CJ's quote summed up my feelings perfectly. "Everyone keeps thinking I have something to say, and I really don't."

Sunday, February 21, 2010

For Crying Out Loud!

Can married men please wear wedding rings?


Men, please understand that this request in no way implies I believe that you are unable to keep your marital vows without a band of gold on your left hand. I trust you. I trust your wife.

The shtick I have is being a single woman who respects and values marriage. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is for me to meet one of you who is mildly attractive, easy to talk to and in possession of a bare left hand? I might think to myself, "Eh? Not bad. We should talk more often," or maybe even, "I think I'd like to try a dinner with this guy." You probably have no clue those thoughts ever flittered through my mind due to my horrid flirting skills, but they're there.

And then I find out though some other means that you are married, and I feel like the "pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum". I would never have thought those things about someone who is married. Even if it's Tiger Woods. I don't tread on the sanctity of marriage. But, in my mind... I just did. If you had been wearing a ring, you would have spared me this guilt.

Put it on. If you don't do it for your wife or for yourself, please... do it for me.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

It's Official - 30 Days of Cereal


Check out my new endeavor. Bookmark it. Visit it. Comment on it. :-)

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Do I Dare?


Due to needing to get serious about eating well and returning to my healthy weight (now that the campaign lifestyle is long gone), I've been doing some thinking. And, now... the stars seem to be aligning. I have an idea, and I'd like your input.

My sweet cousin, Angie, sent a box of 70 sample boxes of Whole Grain Total to my dad when he was in the hospital. Today, and additional box of 150 samples of Fiber One arrived. What to do with all this cereal....?

Here's what I'm thinking. Super Size Me!! For 30 days, I would eat one of these high fiber cereals for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Although I'm currently planning on just a bowl with either skim milk or soymilk, I reserve the right to use the cereal in other recipes, if the preservation of my sanity demands it. Since this would satisfy my carb and dairy suggestions for each day, I'll use fresh fruits, veggies and proteins for my snacks.

Each day, I'll share how things are going. Thoughts?

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Bread for KK

This is mostly for my sister, but everyone else is welcomed to it. Kayt, this is the recipe I used for dinner tonight.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Avoidance

While I avoid putting into writing some of the emotions and happenings of the last two weeks, I bring you the world's best spinach dip recipe ala Carol Carlson of Brunswick Co. Virginia. I nearly ate the entire thing on my own at a gathering of republicans a few months ago. I stumbled on the recipe handwritten in my car this week as I as cleaning.


1 Pint - Sour Cream
1 Cup - Mayo
1 Pkg - Knorr Leek Soup
1 Pkg - Frozen Chopped Spinach
1/2 Cup - Chopped Parsley
1/2 Cup - Chopped Onion
1/2 Can - Water Chestnuts
1/2 tsp - Dillweed
1 T - Dried Italian Dressing

Mix all above with hand mixer

Scoop out bread, use scooped pieces for dipping

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Insert Away Message

I haven't forgotten about blogging. I've just been consumed with decisions, changes, family and priorities over the last two months. I hope to have time to write decently soon. In the meantime, if we're facebook friends, most of this is chronicled there. If we aren't - FRIEND ME :-)