Heeeeyyyy Vic!

I can totally see your beaver.

Turns Out I'm not Stupid

Last week I took my first nursing school exam in Gerontology. Internet, I'm happy to report to you that I made an A. This is huge for me.... usually I fail the first couple of tests and then magically pull something spectacular out of my butt at the very end. I'm not talking good enough to pass... I'm talking grand slam territory. My physics professor wasn't sure what to do with me for that very reason. I killed his final, but I never went to class. I was too busy staying up late making googly eyes at my new boyfriend who only had afternoon classes. I eventually married the guy so I'd say that it was worth it, but it got me a B on principle. I didn't say my method was perfect.

This time I did something new. It's called applying myself. I actually read the book ahead of time and studied a few days in advance. This is a totally foreign concept to me. I usually prefer the method mentioned above. Spectacular feats out of left field keep things much more interesting for everyone.

Now if I can just keep it up. Stay tuned.

My Husband is Annoying

I love this blog. There are so many things I can identify with, except my husband isn't a total slob. Favorites include The Pushover and Pots and Pans and Plates Oh My!!

myhusbandisannoying.com

She's only been married 6 months and she's histerical. They're going to be a hilariously cranky old couple much like us.

The End of Evil E?

My sister-in-law Elicia has played a pretty big role in my relationship with Ben. We met at Freebird's for dinner shortly after Ben and I started dating, and I remember thinking, "this girl's pretty funny, I hope she likes me." Also, "Holy crap. I can't believe Phil (now her husband) can eat a whole Monster all by himself in 10 minutes flat." For those of you who are not familiar with Freebird's, a Monster is comparable in size to half a salami and can feed a family of 4.

Elicia has been the one prodding Ben to let go of his bachelor ways and settle down with me. She's also hooked me up with some pretty sweet Christmas gifts. I appreciate all she's done for us and am really glad she's my sister-in-law.

Unfortunately for her, she's also pretty witty and has earned a reputation as "the evil one." After 6 1/2 years, I was pretty sure I had her all figured out. Ben was too, but then she got pregnant and all that changed. Here are the top 5 common misconceptions we had about her:

1. She did not eat her young (whew!).

2. Collossus Hippopotamus is NOT a funny name for a pregnant lady.... not even if she is your sister and would have thought it was hilarious before. Just for the record, I warned Ben about that. His response? EFF YOU, HORMONES!!!

3. Dodger has been demoted. He's no longer her child. He's (gasp!) just the dog.

4. Anyone heard of the term, Mommy Blogger? What ever happened to making fun of rude girls in Target who cut you in line to pay for their embarrassing hygiene products?

5. She is a total champ. She gave birth naturally to a kid with Phil's gigantor genes and didn't complain once about the pain that must have inflicted on her poor body. That takes some serious guts.

Motherhood has really changed her. We're so happy that she and Phil have a beautiful, healthy, daughter that they both wanted so badly and that everyone is adjusting and bonding well. Could this really be the end of Evil E? Ben is not convinced. She's so pretty on the outside.

Why I Hate the Commissary

We live literally a mile from the country's largest commissary, where food shopping is tax free, cheap, and and it actually resembles a real grocery store (unlike that Whiting Field wannabe). That one was pretty gross and it kept weird hours, so I never could take advantage of the savings. The Winn Dixie in town was even worse, so eating out was a pretty good option at the time.

Anyway, back on topic. NAS Norfolk has a HUGE commissary full of all kinds of goodies that are actually somewhat organized (you really had to know where we moved from to appreciate that), but since it is the largest, it is also the most packed. Only military personnel and their families are allowed to shop there, so logic would tell you that people would generally be pretty cordial toward one another since we're all part of a unique community and yadda yadda yadda, but you would be wrong. I have had better experiences with the general public at Wal-mart.

First of all, because we are a unique community, there are many unique challenges a lot of dependents have to face when braving the military-only facilities. Husbands deploy a lot, and this leaves a disproportionate number of "single" mothers left to wrangle their kids while taking care of the family shopping. If the average American family has 2.5 children, the average military family has 4.5 children. I'm exaggerating but sadly, not by much. Every one of these moms has a gaggle of children trailing behind her, a shopping cart overflowing with goods, and is usually followed by another cart pushed by a 3 foot tall kid trying to navigate through the store. She's meanwhile breastfeeding as she absentmindedly crashes her cart into the back of your heel, yelling at her other 2 kids, and complaining that her miniature cart-pusher can't keep up and is therefore NOT getting to pick out a toy. You have to feel for her. I'm sure the stress of having that many kids and your husband on a ship is phenomenal, however, slamming your cart into someone's heel and not apologizing or acknowledging the pain you have inflicted on them is flat out unforgivable.

Second, there is almost always a child screaming bloody murder somewhere in the store. Not crying.... SCREAMING. Today my blood pressure hit dangerous levels as this child screamed and screamed while BOTH parents walked calmly through the store pretending like their kid wasn't irritating the hell out of the other 150 people there. This went on for 45 minutes. 45!! I'm a rational person. I understand that small children have meltdowns. If you're by yourself and obviously trying to pacify your kid but have no other option, I'm probably going to throw a knowing smile your way. If you have someone there who can take the child outside and deal with it and instead choose not to parent, I'm going to shoot you the stink eye. That phase of your life ended the moment you peed on a stick and two lines appeared.

Third, do you know how many people park their carts side by side in the aisles and refuse to let anyone pass while they read through nutrition labels or compare pricing? Are you kidding me? There is nothing worse than getting blocked in (there is ALWAYS someone behind you) 2 feet from the item you were after on the shelf, waiting 10 minutes while the person in front of you discusses the fiber content of ice cream with the person beside them who is also blocking the aisle. If you're so concerned about being healthy.... ice cream ain't it, sweetheart.

It really makes Wal-mart feel like Nordstrom's on days like this. Maybe I'll get lucky and snap a few gems like these.

It's an Epidemic

Today my dear friend Alyson lifted up the side of her shirt and revealed some very familiar-looking red bumps. Red bumps that appeared on my body just a week or so ago and burn like the devil. Shingles?! At least I'm not the only one having a phsiologic reaction to nursing school stress. It's funny - I haven't felt overwhelmed at all, but the body has a weird way of giving you insight to your subconscious. Stupid body. WHY WON'T YOU JUST LET ME LIE TO MYSELF?

Mine seem to be subsiding a bit since I have been careful not to irritate them, and I still haven't gone to the doctor because government-run health care is so painfully inefficient that it's just not worth my time or the headache. Also, they really screwed me over on my nursing school physical and I'm still mad about that, so I'm pretty sure I'm just going to wait this one out and switch doctors ASAP. It's been a fairly mild case and I'm WAY too self-conscious to fill a prescription for Valtrex anyway. Fun fact: When you get a prescription at a Navy medical institution, every time you show up for an appointment they hand you a list with everything they have ever issued to you and you mark what you are currently taking. I can't face seeing an obsolete Valtrex prescription EVERY DANG TIME for the rest of my life knowing that the corpsman that handed me the sheet has seen my shame. I'd die.

I know this is fairly common - I get it.... but I can't shake the feeling that there would be some 19 year old corpsman fresh out of Great Lakes who would see that on my sheet when I'm old and weathered, assume I have herpes, and wonder, "Who the heck would do THAT with HER?!"

Feeling Uninspired

I feel like my blog started out on the right foot. Make fun of myself - check. Make fun of Ben - check. Make fun of both dogs - check and check. I even got a sideways jab in at my brother and parents. Calm down, they deserved it. Lately though, it seems I have run out of family members to tease and my blog has fallen into "the novelty has worn off" category. Before you go getting all crazy with thoughts like, "Hey Chelley, maybe it's time you and Ben got on that and started having kids" let me stop you right there. Not happening anytime soon so you would be better off not mentioning it to me because I might explode. It's only been a year and 4 months, people. We're not about to go inserting little clones into a perfectly good marriage just for the sake of shaking things up. At the very least not on purpose. I do however realize that some day I may change my mind and my blog will turn into a homage to the love I have for my children and you will all naturally be very happy for me but then sad that all I post about are my child's bowel movements instead of Hank's. It's ok to mourn when that day comes. I'll be right there with you.

Interestingly enough, I was putting some things away and came across my Senior Memories Book from high school. It's basically a scrapbook that serves the same purpose as a yearbook but I HAD to have it because high school was just that important to me even though I really didn't like it much. I knew there were bigger things in store for me than Willis, TX could provide. In it I wrote down my dreams, goals, and included pictures of my friends and all those boys I was so in love with from freshman year on. What's my point? I honestly believed until the moment I opened that book today that when I left high school I was very pro children. There, in my own handwriting:

Family: Probably not.

My 17 year old self was very wise despite her all her innocence. Let that sink in for a moment. At 17 I subconsciously made and put in writing a decision that would continue to be right for me 9 years later as a completely different person with a whole set of experiences that went the opposite way I had planned. I really should have listened to her more.

Then again, that super wise and oh so skinny girl was a band nerd. Those geeks are crazy.

Shingles..... maybe.

Ever since I started regaining interest in the medical field, I find that more and more often I self-diagnose at the very first sign of anything. It's a sickness I can't control because of a wonderful invention called the internet where you can look up anything and instantly feel like an expert. Also, I want to be knowledgeable since I'm in nursing school and will probably see these things a lot. Later on when my brother says nurses are stupid, ugly, retards whose only purpose in the hospital is to clean up poop (HE REALLY SAID THAT) I can challenge him and make him feel like the jackass he acts like sometimes. Sibling rivalry at it's finest.

Lately I have had these little red bumps appear just below my chest on the left side of my body. They started out as one and soon became 5. I'm guessing by Monday I'm going to have at least 10. Behold:


Ben at first said that he thought it looked a lot like shingles (he got them at age 24), but then tried to take it back because he knows exactly who he's dealing with and what I would do with such information. About 5 seconds later I had pulled up pictures on my iPhone and spent the next half hour scrutinizing myself in the mirror to compare and so far I fit the mold exactly. I love technology.

A few things about shingles for those of you who may be thinking I am sharing something super embarrassing. Shingles is a condition where the nerve endings on one side of your body blister and get inflamed. They are an after effect of the chicken pox and the condition lies dormant in your system most of your life. It pops out when you have suppressed immunity or are under a lot of stress, but in most cases it strikes in your late 70's. Supposedly only 1% of the population gets this at our age. What are the odds that both me and my husband are in that 1%? I'm guessing it's pretty good since I laughed and made fun of Ben for getting a geriatric disease and having to take herpes medicine to cure it.

I suppose scolding my mom for purposefully exposing me to the chicken pox is out of the question. Karma is out for blood.

Earning Her Keep

Ben's always complaining that our dogs are worthless and need to earn their keep. Hank's been newly appointed as the Monkey Butler and is expected to get his lazy butt off the bed and greet us when we come home, but Kimber gets crated. She would love to take on Piggy Butler duties, but we're not willing to replace the burber carpet she keeps pulling up when we leave her out. Darn separation anxiety.

Every time I open up the front door to go downstairs and get the mail, Kimber follows me all the way down and back up just in case I pull a fast one. You never know when I might sneak away and never come back. The other day we got a bunch of junk mail, so I decided I'd see if she would carry it. She did it all too happily, but then tried to run off with it I assume to tear it to pieces. Kimber loves getting into paper. With a few treats and lots of encouragement, she actually picked up what she was supposed to be doing pretty quickly and hands it over as soon as she gets in the door. Meet our new Mail Dog!

Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon

Yesterday I helped out at one of the medical tents at the Virginia Beach Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon.  Our tent was just past the finish line on the beach.  Pretty sweet gig for a nursing student of only 5 days.  I really wanted to help with those who were overheated or in big trouble since my goal for the moment is to become an ER/Trauma nurse, but I overlooked one minor detail.  Since we were on the beach, I wore flip flops.  People who have just run 13.1 miles puke.  Puke + Flip Flops = Disaster.

I instead opted to work with a local podiatrist helping those who had destroyed their feet and I also did some minor first aid cleaning and dressing wounds for people who had pretty bad road rash.  As it turns out, the podiatrist did his residency with the guy who did my bunion surgery back in College Station, TX.  Small world.  He finished up the year before my surgery, and I'm actually pretty good with that considering at the time Dr. Liesten's resident was hands down the hottest med student I had ever seen.  Don't judge me - I was 21 and just about to go under the knife only to spend my spring break on my mom's couch and not helicopter skiing in the Alps.  Hot med students can be very comforting when you are facing that kind of peril.

The half marathon went well and we didn't have anyone who got too seriously injured.  Most people who pass out get better after about 20 minutes of ice and rest.  We did entertain ourselves by telling those people they won just to see what their reaction was.  It's not near as fun as it sounds.  When you wake up and find yourself in a medical tent surrounded by strangers telling you that you won while giggling and trying to stifle their laughs, you could really give a crap.  Sounds reasonable.

A few words to the wise:  Train before you decide to run 13.1 miles in public amongst a herd of people.  Get good shoes and synthetic socks.  Pay lots of money for them.  Bananas and carbs are your friends in the days leading up to the race.  Puke happens.  So does passing out.  Don't do both on the idiot who wore flip flops.

Uncle Ben

Ben's sister Elicia gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Lily a couple of weeks ago and we could not be more excited to be Aunt Chelley and Uncle Ben. This weekend Ben got to go home for a couple of days to meet her and I have to admit I'm a bit jealous I couldn't make it. Bob's been doing a good job of sending me pictures and keeping me updated. I really hit the in-law jackpot.

The first thing Lily did upon meeting Uncle Ben was pee on him. I think I have a new partner in crime. Good job, kiddo. We're going to get along famously.

Not Dead, Just Lazy

This morning I thought Hank was dead.

Hank and I have been roommates for well over 4 years now. To me, Hank is that once in a lifetime dog that I know I will love and miss and cry about long after he's gone. You might even say I knew Ben was "the one" the day I realized he loved Hank more than me, and call me crazy, but that just did it for me. That's how much I love that sad, skinny, scared sack of bones I took home all those years ago against the advice of my family and friends and who no one understood or even liked for months until he came out of his shell and started showing off his hilarious side. When I'm 90 I'm sure I'm going to tell everyone who will listen to my crazy stories about that dog I had in my 20's when I was young and full of life, you know, before I got all saggy and bitter and old.

Hank learns and adapts to the general routine pretty well every time it changes, and believe you me, it has changed A LOT in the past 4 years from college to professional life to unemployment, and now back to college again. He likes to sleep in right up until the last possible second when he knows he has to get up and take care of business before I leave for the day. Today was the first time in a long time that I have gotten up before Ben, and Hank intended to stay in his bed until I was completely dressed and ready for school (makeup and all), then get up to go potty and maybe have a little breakfast, but only if I was offering it. Otherwise he was going to jump up into our bed for some snuggle time with Ben.

Kimber the hungries ridgeback just does not get it. Since the bathroom is not attached to the bedroom in this house, the second either of us leaves the room she's up and running around, sticking her cold, wet nose on the remaining person's back to remind them about that thing? You know breakfast? Is it time yet? Did Ben get up so he could give me breakfast? Where is he going? BREAKFAST? BREAKFAST? BREAKFAST? She would have you believe she would die of starvation if she ever skipped a meal. It's a ridgeback thing.


I decided to be proactive this morning and take both dogs out immediately, feed them, and then tuck them back in while I got a shower. Kimber popped right up, but Hank didn't move when I whispered his name. I tried again... nothing. This time I moved over to him and shook him a bit. Not one muscle moved. At this point I was starting to get nervous, so I started feeling his side for breath, but again there was no movement. I then checked his ears to see if they were still warm and hoped that the sensation would annoy him enough that he would pop up out of bed. No warmth, no response. Then the panic set in. I started slapping my hands across his side calling his name trying to get some sort of response, pushing and pulling and doing everything I could to wake him up and still I got nothing, and right there on the floor next to the bed, my heart stopped beating and I died. I fell over and I died and I somehow came back to life and this is at least the 3rd time this dog has gotten that exact reaction out of me. I'm not going to make it to 100 like the rest of my family.

Ben was starting to stir from all the noise I was making and that's when I told him, "Hank's not moving!!" Ben, not fully awake or aware of the situation was completely unconcerned.

Ben:"You mean like he won't get up?"
Me: "No... as in he's not alive."

That, dear friends, is how you get your husband to wake the hell up and pay attention. Ben jumped up and smacked Hank on the side and said, "Hank!" in his normal voice and only then did Hank's groggy little head start to slowly come out from under his blanket. Talk about a heart attack.

Perhaps Monkey is not the right name for him. I think I'll call him Sloth.