Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Growing Like Weeds.

I've had to work late the past 2 nights, so the only time I've had with the kiddos has been the brief and utterly chaotic morning time. So, tonight, when I headed up to bed, I stopped in each of their rooms to give them a little kiss goodnight. I found each in their typical positions. Diana on her belly, wrapped in her 2 pink, fleece blankets, one nearly covering her face. Mitch on his side, fetal position holding his blanky that was given to me for Brock by Susan Kuechler while covered with a small, light quilt that was actually given to Curtis by their Great Aunt Mary Lynne. Hashtag: Fourth child problems. Brock, face up, sweaty, Giraffee across his neck, covered up to his chest with his comforter that was once Matt's. Curtis I found curled into a tight ball completely covered head to toe by the large down comforter, he has always slept with his face covered. Always. And George, fetal position, hugging his ZeeZee, under the same down comforter, as close to the edge as possible. He's our only child to fall off beds or couches when sleeping.

Not one child stirred. I kissed and hugged, each and every one. Patted them. Smiled to myself. I've long since decided that the way they sleep so soundly, every single night, is a testament to how loved, secure and at peace they feel. I have healthy kids, with strong immune systems, and lots of energy, and busy little brains and bodies, because they are so loved. They are supported and enriched. The go to bed after a full day of life. So they sleep deeply, safely and soundly. That makes sense, right? I'm convinced of it.

I reflected to myself, on the life of each child. How much they have grown. That I can't believe we have no infants. It just does not seem all that long ago that we welcomed Brock into our lives. Yet, this morning, he informed me that he was "embarrassed to wear those {IU candy stripe} pants to school" because they were going to the symphony on a field trip. Embarrassed!? When? And how? He is too young to know that word, let alone feel it! He has matured so much. He can actually be quite helpful...unless he's playing Minecraft. Then he's kind of a jerk. I mean seriously, I think it puts him in a trance. He loves chess. He awkwardly and minimally plays basketball. That {lack of} athleticism is absolutely NOT from me. He makes clever jokes that actually elicit laughter, from me as well as others. He also has this obnoxious fake laugh that he does so persistently you can't help but giggle yourself. I think the younger years were hard for Brock, he is very much a man of reason. He needs to know the whys and whens behind everything, and that's so hard for youngsters. I think he will do nothing but flourish as he ages.

Curtis is loving Kindergarten. He has so many friends already, but, of course knows none of their names. He chases the girls, and they all seem to like it. We knew he wouldn't struggle on the social end. Class work on the other hand? His attention to detail is lacking. I'm unsure he will ever write the numbers 2 & 3 the right direction. He has got the color words down, and that's about it. He happily does his work, but I'm pretty sure it's mostly motions and he's not real engaged. At his basketball game the other day, you could literally see a little light bulb go off in that extremely transparent little ball of emotion, when he stole his first ball. He proceeded to have 3 more steals and 4 attempted baskets. Watching him hop around out there and beam ear to ear is entertaining to every spectator. Curtis simply makes one smile, there's no avoiding it. Such positive energy seeping from him (of course, unless he's angry.)

The other day, George sat with his father for hours, and intently watched as Matt rewired, soldered and glued back together a lighted snow globe (that Mitch later shattered). He puts together puzzles for those double his age. He can be so intense, engaged, interested and focused. Yet, you ask him to simply put on his shoes or pick up that puzzle and suddenly he collapses, has no energy and cries "but it's going to take too long." He might be the goofiest child I've been blessed to know. But has a heart of gold. His teacher informed us that everyday he looks out for his friend "Hendry Bush", finds him a seat and makes him feel welcomed. When you give this boy a purpose, he puts his all into it, and the pride beams from his "real man" chest as well as the smile he's trying to contain.

Methodical Mitch. He, I could go on about all day, and all night, and not necessarily good things. Three is a tough, tough age for him. He does not sleep enough. He goes to bed at 8 and is up at 6 every morning. He needs to sleep another hour. I have never met someone with such a precise internal clock. He literally comes to my bedside at 6:21 every single morning. This is after he has peed. Watched some Umi-Zoomi. And gone downstairs to help himself to a granola bar or Gogurt, which is why he is at my bedside. To ask me to open it. This kid and his routines. After dinner, while the other 4 typically join me or their father in the family room, Mitch slips back upstairs to be alone. To watch a show, or read, or do a puzzle. That being said, he is such the intense, silent observer. He shocks you. He potty-trained himself at 2.5 (earlier by almost a year than any of his brothers.) He can read an entire book (Hello, Ninja). One day, I saw the emptied contents of his back pack and asked Matt...did he write his name!? There was a paper, with a very obvious "M" and somewhat obvious "i" and "c" and 2 other not to completely obvious letters, but definite potential attempts. So, the next time I saw him with a marker and paper, I asked, "Mitch, do you know how to write your name?" And his eyes lit UP! "Yeah, M-I-T-C-H". Sure enough, he wrote every, single letter. Clearly. In reverse order, but clear as day. Not one of my children has done this at age 3.  I couldn't believe my eyes, and I excitedly congratulated him, "Mitch, that's so good, you are writing your name!!" His joy vanished, he scowled at me, and said, "stop it mom." Just like when I, or my sister sing. He doesn't like hysterics.

Last, my sweet little Dee. She harbors that same infectious joy gene as Curtis. You cannot help but smile when you see her. She loves all that is little and cute. She loves to be part of it all. She hugs the dog (and hits her and laughs.) She eats all the things. I think she out eats those brothers at every meal, yet she is still in size 3 diapers. Perhaps, like Brock, she will never grow out of them. This morning, when I got her out of bed, changed her, and pulled her hair back, she immediately said, "bow". She loves to accessorize, specifically her bows and her shoes...no clue where she go this! She has begun to ask "why" when we deny her anything. I find this to be so unbelievably adorable. I wish the previous 4 had done this at 20 months, instead of age 4. She received a baby doll for Christmas from her Mimi. I think it has changed her life.

These are just a few of my fleeting thoughts and memories from the past few months. So many amazing moments. They simply never stop. Thankfully.

Monday, January 2, 2017

My Organizational Mind.

This might come as a shock to those who don't know me well, and be old news to those that do, but I struggle quite significantly with "perfectionism". I am avoiding terms like A-type personality or OCD, because the first is WAYYY over-used and the second is an actual disorder, of which I'm sure I don't quite reach that level...yet.

This "perfectionism" both energizes and paralyzes me on a day to day basis and nothing is immune to it. I care {too} passionately about every single aspect of my life. I am such an extremely visual person that this perfectionism affects things like the interior of my home, my photos, my and my children's wardrobe/closet situations the worst. And a HUGE contributing factor to the paralysis is my second most notable trait: commitment. I avoid terms like persistence, stubbornness, inflexibility... hoarder...because I don't think those are quite accurate ALL the time, just sometimes. If I decide on something, it's for LIFE. Done. Sports. Schools. Paint colors. Significant other. Career. Shoes. Don't ask me how many pairs of shoes I have, nor how old the oldest pair I still wear is. (Ok fine, I'll bite...2001. In my defense, they're New Balance and coming back in style. I'm about to pull out my Doc Martin's from '96).

Lately, I have been stuck in a major Photo rut. Totally paralyzed. I used to simply load my phone photos (which were about 1/10th the number I take today), my point and shoot photos and Matt's DSLR photos on one computer, in our family room/office, and go from there. Create blog entries. Albums. Store in an organized fashion in folders on the PC. Well, now my media amount is out of control. We have a Go-Pro to add to the mix over and above that I take at least a dozen photos daily. There's not enough storage space on the computers. It takes to long to gather from all the different sources. The computer/office is no longer located in a central area of the house. So now, for a year or two, I have been trying to formulate a solution to this problem. Instead of just throwing together a family album (to at least say I have one), I have been thinking and thinking and thinking about it. I cannot just put something together, it has to be perfect. I am still annoyed about my family album from 2014 because I forgot ONE photo. One, single family photo from Christmas day is not in there, and to this day I view it as an incomplete Album that I need to remake and possibly just throw away. I'm not saying it's right, it's just who I be.

Best I can gather, I have a few problems. The first being, I need to either A.) take fewer photos or B.) figure out how to be more selective and just immediately delete ones I don't need or won't use or I guess C.) get medicated. Seriously though, how many takes does one REALLY need of one single situation? My logical brain knows this is absurd, but my obsessive brain knows there is a chance that out of the depths of my ridiculously unpredictable and vivid visual memory, I will suddenly want a photo that I might have deleted. Gasp! This creates quite the predicament...I can't hit that delete button! For example, how do I pick from these 5 photos:
I posted one to Instagram that I felt, all things considered, encompassed the moment I was trying to capture, but all 5 together REALLY brings me back to this day. The feelings. The cuteness and absurdity. Dee with her finger to nose, and adorable outfit her Mimi purchased for her in Ireland. Mitch, on his sugar crash and Holiday exhaustion. Brock, bored. George and Curtis??? But, I can't have 5 photos from EVERY DAY and EVERY moment of our lives. I shouldn't even have one photo from everyday. It's too much. Not necessary. Overkill. And impossible to keep up with, store, organize and develop.

The second is that I need a system and storage location that is convenient, flexible, operational that also preserves photo quality. A lot of these online places compress the file, even iPhoto does it.

Third, I am often terrified to order any online product because I am sooo intensely disappointed with poor quality. I forgot to mention, but stationary, albums, and, well absolutely any paper products of any type are a source of one of my most intense idiosyncratic obsessions and loves. If I told you my birth announcement "budget", you might vomit (which is why I don't tell anyone...least of all, Matt.) I view them as art, ok!?

Therefore, I've decided, this is the year. I will find one place to store top quality photos from all my media. That I will exercise extreme self restraint and compile only photos I plan to use forever and always. That I will click that button and just print it, even if it is far less than perfect. And I will start from January 1 (well, 2) 2017 and though I hope to regain those lost years, will focus on the current one.

When I do finally figure out the perfect method to this social media, camera at our fingertips, digitally excessive media madness world...I will share it with you fellow A-type, OCD, perfectionists. 

Thursday, December 8, 2016

Because, 5 kids.

I remember seeing my mother as she would get dressed, and noticing that her underwear had holes in it. My mother, who also had five children. I remember even asking her once why she didn't just get new underwear? (Which I now realize means that I was following her around in her closet, the bathroom, her bedroom. She probably just wanted to get dressed for the day in peace, and here I am, being a little @$$hole, asking her a question that only further solidifies her annoyance at the situation. Trapped by small humans.) She kind of laughed, one of those, "ha, you don't have the time for me to explain nor the capacity to understand, and it's all basically because of you, but thanks for asking" kind of laughs, and abbreviated the response to the frequent parent default of: "because." I didn't get it. Underwear isn't overly expensive. I knew we had the money. I'd seen it in a lot of stores. It really seemed affordable and readily available, so why is she still in tattered old undies!?

I get it now. Boy, do I. Get. It.

I am down to my final 2 bras. If you can even call them that. The elastic is shot. The wires completely warped, and totally threatening to poke through at any given moment. This is not for lack of trying. I have purchased 4 bras in the past couple months. 2 simply don't fit right, and the other 2 broke in some way, shape or form, during the first or second wear. I'm not altogether sure those ones fit either, anyway. I hate all my underwear, and am probably throwing a pair away weekly, because I decided I would never wear underwear with holes. Half of it doesn't fit either. So...any day now, I will either be going commando or doing my own laundry daily. We can ALL guess which one of those is more likely...

Why would I purchase a bra or underwear that doesn't fit, you might ask?

Because, 5 kids.

I'll start with the obvious. Having 5 kids, means 5 pregnancies. Means 5 times breastfeeding. Means 5 times, during which my size has shifted significantly in less than a year. So, yeah, I have no *$%#ing clue what size I am. To this day, I don't even know. And I may never know, because I'm still losing weight (hopefully). In all honesty, I'm not real confident that I even HAVE a "size". And if I DID, let's say, actually have a size, how on earth would I go about finding that out? With 5 kids? Because I know your thoughts here: Hey, Erin, you can actually "find out" your "size" by going into a store that sells these type of items and trying THEM ON. Done. Right?

Absolutely, wrong. There is no way, on God's green earth, I am inviting ANY one of those children into a teeny, tiny dressing room, while I try on bras or underwear. Not happening. This would be disastrous and mentally scarring for ALL those involved. Not to mention that 4/5's of my brood are boys. So, any bra purchasing, shopping or trying on, must be done alone. Can anyone venture a guess as to how frequently I get out shopping? ALONE!? It happens. A few times a week, for 20-30 minutes while I dash to Target over lunch to buy my son a basketball for his first practice tonight. While I buy items for the homeless for their school stewardship's. While I get food so they can have a lunch, or breakfast because this morning when the nanny walked in and opened the fridge to get them breakfast, she jokingly (but for reals) said, "pickin's are slim". Some weekends, I might even get a couple hours. But in those 2 hours, I visit 5 stores gathering the many needs for my family of 7, and items much higher on the priority list than an undergarment that no one sees, except for me. Well, and my kids, you know, when they won't leave me alone while I am try to get dressed in peace. And, maybe my husband, but, well...TMI.

I have so much to do on these alone-shopping miracles that the thought of wasting 30 minutes to pick out some under garments, get in a dressing room, undress completely and try them on is absolutely THE LAST thing I feel like doing. So, what do I do? I find a bra, I guess my size. I stand in the isle stretching it over my shirt on my chest to see if the cup size seems right, and I say, meh, this should work. I take it home. I wear it for a day. It hurts. It breaks.

I'm back to square one.

Perhaps, one of these days, I will make it a priority. Until then, everyday, when I'm putting on my pathetic bra, and my extremely worn underwear, I'll continue to think of my mother.  And how I know now EXACTLY why she wore underwear with holes in it.

Because, 5 kids.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

16 months. (Posted Late)

While the boys were all downstairs watching a movie, I snuck away to give Diana a bath. I can probably count on two hands the number of times I've bathed her alone. She actually got to play at her leisure, relaxed and happy. Normally, you can tell she's on edge because of all her maniac brothers swirling around her. I let her linger in the tub much longer than I normally would. By the time I took her out, her lips were a little blue and her lips quivering. I took her down to the changing table and got her in some warm PJs. I then sat her in my lap to trim her nails and comb her hair. She sat stone still, yet at ease, the entire time I was combing. She seem to even enjoy it. In my previous experience, she would run away the instant she saw the comb in hand. I combed her hair for longer than I normally would. When I finally finished she didn't seem to want to go anywhere. So, I just sat with Diana on my lap, in her room. Just the two of us. She laid her head on my chest. She never fidgeted or tried to do anything but sit with me. She was simply content.

It's like she knew that just hours earlier I had packed away the last of her size 3 shoes. Like she knew that I was struggling to deal with her aging. Becoming a toddler, growing out of her clothes. Like she knew that I had a tough day dealing with knowing she's my last. I teared up a little and hugged her tighter and sat there for a lot longer. For the first time, in a long time, I felt just completely at ease. My baby Xanax. Perhaps, it's OK she's the last. Perhaps, I'll get these sneak attack precious moments for the rest of our lives together. I'm sure they will evolve into something else, as I don't see my 20 year old daughter enjoying me bathing and combing her hair, but we could do pedicures together. Needlepoint with a glass of wine. Maybe, I'll get to sit with her infant someday. I know that I have loved every phase of life so far, so, life beyond pregnancy, infant and toddlers will be wonderful. But I just love them so.

Diana, in physique, started out like George. Big cheeked, soft, pudgy, so squishy. Slowly, she has evolved to become more Brock-like, only not quite so tall. I am not sure she will ever grow out of size 3 diapers. Her hair gets longer and thicker by the day. Her little personality continues to resemble most closely her brother Curtis. Who also happens to be her best friend in the family. Her big helper, guardian, and buddy. This personality is one full of smiles. Smiles for me, and smiles for strangers.

If I had to choose the single-most unique thing about her versus her brothers (and I think it's strictly because she's a girl) it's her communication skills. She both positively gestures and says "ya" if she wants something, and does the same for "no" if she doesn't. It's accurate, every time. The boys NEVER did this. I think they were all 3 before they ever uttered a "yes". They had "no" down, and otherwise, they just enjoyed the constant opportunity to throw a temper tantrum because I'm not giving them the thing that I don't know they want. Barring exhaustion or extreme hunger, she even has the ability to wait patiently for me to get these items for her (another distinction from the 4 before her.) It's quite impressive. She seems to think before acting...as in, she has yet to fall off a chair, bed, table (yeah, I don't know why she'd be on a table either), stool, slide, stairs.

Diana had a 1st birthday party. It was a tea party. It was beautiful, elegant, extravagant. So many lovely and perfect flower arrangements, with tea cups for everyone, and tea pots for the arrangements. It was well-attended with a photo booth too. But, as things typically go for a fifth child, I'd imagine, I've yet to document it. I don't think I've even loaded the pictures from the photo booth. In fact, I don't even have the pictures from her baptism well over a year ago! Where she wore my baptismal gown, unlike her brothers who all wore Matt's. Except Mitch, I think we got him his own, seeing as he was too big. Diana's go-with-the flow, laid back personality will serve her well as a 5th. She honestly has no choice.

If you turn on music, she will dance. She will smile, and twirl. She will shove her brothers away. She likes to be bossy with them, and she likes to have the stage. Though she be but little, she be nosey. As in, she wants to be included...in EVERYTHING. She will eat anything. Though, she has been known to refuse the heel of the bread loaf. How do they all know this is less desirable!? She is also extremely possessive of her food (again, I'd imagine this isn't unusual for a 5th.) Once, as I opened for her the last yogurt from the fridge, Mitch asked if he could havea  yogurt. Diana became insane, repeating "no, mine" over and over, grabbing the yogurt from me as if it were the last in the world and we were all to starve soon. She loves salsa. Will eat bowls of it, like soup. Her tongue will hang out of her mouth, due to the spice, and she will keep going, even after the mid-meal, momentary screaming and crying due to the heat in her mouth.

She likes to choose her own bows. And shoes. And socks. Luckily, she still leaves the outfits to me (though I imagine this is changing any day now.) She can repeat most any word, and also thinks she talks in sentences (shhh...don't tell her, but it's complete jibberish.) She will sing "bing bong bing bong" when she hears iton the movie Inside Out while riding in the van. If you start a sentence with "Who...." she will consistently be the first one to respond with an emphatic "ME!!" often long before the rest of the sentence it uttered. I believe the first time she did this Matt had said, "Who clogged the toilet!?" She loves her blankies, 2 of them, they're really soft. She loves her Jelly Cat bunny and a paci. She goes right to bed when put down and wakes up sometime about 12 hours later, and that's all there is to say about that...for the past 12 months (or more #sorrynotsorry.)

I mean, all around, I'm not sure you can ask for a better baby. A cuter baby. A happier baby. So, none of you all can blame me for kind of being sad about no more. Then again, I am thrilled I get to end on SUCH a high note. My little Diana Bede. Stay happy, little girl, and be strong.







Monday, November 7, 2016

Math

15 minutes. This is the typical amount of time allotted for any single follow-up or acute type appointment in Primary Care. 30 minute spots are reserved for new or complicated appointments. Now, I just want that to sink in for a minute. I want everyone to sit down and think real hard for a moment, about how much they can get done in 15 minutes.


How long does it take you to unload and load the dishwasher? How organized, nearby and accessible are your cabinets? If your house is like mine, half the cabinet doors have locks on them, so there's that obstacle as well. Are all the dishes already rinsed off and in the sink? Or do you need to walk about the house gathering them? Do some need to soak? Some need scraping? Does it always take the same amount of time? Is every unload and loading of the dishwasher the same? Or are some meals harder to clean up after, requiring a bit more time and effort?


Tonight, when I asked the 26th patient I'd seen today, a patient I have never met, mind you, if they had any allergies to antibiotics, they crassly replied, "It's in my chart."  This comment doesn't shock me, as I hear it near daily in some shape or form, but it does piss me off. Every. Single. Time. Now, let me preface this to say that I have very consciously chosen not to bring a computer in with me when I see patients. I cannot focus on the patient when I have that thing in front of me. Period. So, I am unable to reference patient charts while in the room. This sort of response to my simple and straight forward question, that every patient should reflexively be able to respond to in an instant, absolutely encompasses ALL that is lacking in patient education and awareness of how a doctor and the office where in they work, functions.


Oh. It's in your chart!? Silly me. How did I miss that? It's only one column of a chart with no less than 15 columns. And having met you for the first time, to discuss your one urgent problem, in less than 15 minutes, how on earth, have I not managed to memorize your ENTIRE chart? I must be a completely negligent and idiotic doctor. I must be incompetent. How rude and irresponsible of me to not know your entire life, inside and out. To not know every med you've ever taken, every surgery you've had. What you've tried previously for your high blood pressure. That you've had an xray of this same knee before.


If you have guests and they offer to help you clean up after dinner, when they ask, "Where does this spatula belong?" Do you reply, "In the kitchen." If you do, you're an asshole. Unless, of course, your kitchen literally has one drawer. Otherwise, they need to open every cabinet door and every drawer until they find where each item belongs, when you could have simply guided them.


Somewhere along the way, people have gotten the impression that doctors have super powers. That we can read and interpret hundreds of pages of "past medical records" in minutes. How far into a novel do you get in 15 minutes? That's just reading it. That's not discussing it, giving it a grade, then writing a review about it. Which is what seems to be expected of us at nearly every visit. We get nasty messages and reviews when disability paperwork doesn't get faxed in a timely manner. When their calls aren't returned same day.


We are supposed to see patients. Document about it. Send in medications. Order labs. Interpret labs. Call patients. Fill out their work physical forms. They're sports release forms. Send in their proof of vaccinations. Refer them to specialists. Talk to pharmacists. Re-explain problems to loved ones. Schedule them. And people wonder why they feel like "they only see their doctor for 2 minutes." Because they do!! That's all there is time for. Literally. It's math. There are only so many minutes in the day. There is no time left to talk to the patient, get to know them, actually listen and enjoy patient interactions. There is simply no way to live up to patient expectations in the current climate.


I'll be the first to admit, I love the people side of patient care. I spend way too much time in the room. I like to problem-solve with the patient and include them in the decisions about their health. I like to educate them. I force them to tell me names of meds and allergies, because I think it's important they know these things. But, you know what? All of this takes time. A lot of it. So, if I am in the room talking to you, that means that something else is getting pushed down the totem pole. For me, it's paperwork. Anything paperwork. Your short-term disability papers, your letter to your employer, it's going to take a while, because I am inside a patient's room, talking to them. Connecting. If your labs are normal, you likely won't hear about it for a couple days. To trade off, if you're scan comes back showing cancer, I have personally called the oncologist already, I've set up your appointment, I've made all the plans for you and I am on the phone calling you immediately.


Trust me, I know everything is important to each patient. Even normal labs. If it could be any different way, I would do it. But it can't. We all have priorities and we all have the same number of minutes in a day. So, quit making snide remarks to your doctor. Quit having super-human expectations of your physician. Take charge of your health, and if you haven't gotten the call back that you wanted, keep calling. But don't be mad that you've called us 3 times to ask if the MRI has been scheduled, and we've already told you once that insurance hasn't responded yet.


Just stop for a moment, and really think about 15 minutes. You might start to appreciate all that we get done, and perhaps even be amazed. Maybe you will be more prepared and thankful during those minutes you have face-to-face with your doctor. Maybe you will forgive those moments where they ask redundant questions about allergies or previous medications. Maybe you will take ownership of your own health and drop forms off earlier than the day they're due. Request refills a week in advance. Schedule follow-ups more regularly. Maybe you will make, what is currently a very rushed and somewhat stressful interaction, a completely functional and enjoyable one.


I mean, a doctor can only hope.